Friday, September 23, 2011

Further proof that I am raising an old man and not a 3 year old

If you have been following the posts I made you will be familiar with my theory that Jack is secretly an 83 year old man. I have recently gathered more data to support my advanced scientific theory that Jack is geriatric at heart.

1: While shopping at Target today Jack didn't ask to go see the toys. He didn't ask to see the bikes or the movies or TV's. He wanted to look at vacuums. He wanted so much to peruse the vacuum display that when I dared to turn left towards the cereal aisle he yelled, "No, wait, stop! VACUUMS! MOM, THEY HAVE VACUUMS HERE!" I indulged his inner dust mite annihilator personality and turned the cart to the right and towards the glorious row or shining vacuums. "WOW! Check this one out! It has a hose thing!" So that is what our vacuum has been missing this whole time. A hose thing! Conclusion: Jack likes vacuums more than Count Chocula cereal which can only mean he is 84.

2: Jack regularly calls people "honey," and "sweetie." It is a widely known and established fact that the only people who repeatedly refer to other adults with such names are either over the age of 60, are waitresses in a diner, or are southerners. I've researched it. Trust me. Conclusion: Jack is 84 and a 1/2 or a southerner.

3: Jack can't walk for more than about 10 steps without launching into a compelling list of ailments. His knees hurt. His hips hurt. His back hurts. Once he told me his eyeball hurt. Guys, he is walking so hard his eyeballs hurt. It's not so much the list of ailments that ages Jack, it's more that he will randomly launch into telling others (IE: complete strangers who aren't interested) about said ailments. The cashier at Safeway, barista at Starbucks, mailman, librarian, neighbor walking dog, dog being walked by neighbor, 9 year old selling candy door to door these kind souls have all been subject to Jack's description of physical ailments. "My Mom walks all the day and my back hurts. I have a boo boo." Most people don't really know what to say. I don't blame them. I don't really know what to say either. I mostly resort to, "Wow that is a lot of stuff going on for you huh? I think you'll be ok." Like most aged people he will convince you that he will not be fine and for you to suggest such a thing is ludicrous. Practically offensive! "I'm not think so. I don't think so. I'm not ok." Conclusion: The ferocity that Jack clings to his list of ongoing and fairly fluid list of ailments proves his chronological age is that of a man over 85.

4: Jack prefers a diet of things they feed to people post surgery. You know, jello, saltines, dry toast, things like that. Flavor should be feared. The less chewing the better. The more pieces you can cut your food into the better. The blander the better. The more uniform the color of the foods you consume the better. Conclusion: Current food choices are that of a post operative 85 year old. Pass the plain jello and dry toast.

5: Jack loves a good tissue. He loves having one handy at all times. He likes to shove them into his pockets or just clutch them. You never know when you might need to wipe your nose and Jack likes to be prepared. As you age your body is slowly invaded and finally taken over by tissues. Old people shed tissues like cats shed fur. You find them when they get up from the dinner table, you find trails of them in the supermarket, and every once in awhile you spot the old lady with the tissue tucked into the waistband of her stretchy polyester slacks. Old people are comprised of at least 10% tissues. Conclusion: Jack is an 87 year old 3 year old. I love him like I have never loved another 87 year old 3 year old.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

A day at the park

One of Jack's favorite places in the world is the park. Pretty much any park will do as long as it was swings, a slide, and preferably no other children. Ok, ok so if other kids HAVE to be at the park they shouldn't question Jack's authority or his rules. Jack has a lot of rules about spending time at the park. If I am being real, Jack has a lot of rules about pretty much everything. Food must always be cut in half and when one half is consumed the other half should then be cut into two. You can only eat raisins if you are at Neema's (Grandma) house. You can't sleep with the windows open. Socks are always to be worn. If you find yourself without socks on, its perfectly ok to freak out, in fact, you can darn right panic if you want.

First we hit up the swings because its just what you do. Swings always come first. You have to push with both hands. Jack likes to be pushed so hard his neck sort of jerks back. He's not afraid to critique. Wes prefers a gentle push every now and then and when the wind hits his face on the way down he sticks out his tongue. I have to admit its pretty entertaining and fascinating. He must channel his inner lizard/dog when he is on those swings because that bad larry is just hanging out of his mouth. I was tempted to ask him if the wind was blowing in a Southerly direction but I withheld.

Then we take a latte break. This is Jack's latte. He is a Starbucks devotee. He can recognize the different shops around town and will ask if we are getting a pink donut and a latte. Thankfully Jack's "latte" costs nothing.

One does work up a powerful thirst sitting on a swing demanding to be pushed harder and higher. True story.

So then we hit up the slides.

Jack then informs a random mother and daughter that, "My Mom be clipping my toenails all the day." I didn't edit that. Apparently I be clipping his toenails a lot. In fact, so much, that we have to warn people on the playground that I am on the loose. I could fall into one of my fits and start clipping your toenails against your will. I can't help it. I'm apparently a toe menace. I apologize sincerely. Truthfully I had no idea that you wanted to grow your toenails long enough to start climbing trees like a raccoon. A thousand apologies.

Then to round out our park adventure we take the long way home which means we stop by the pond to see the ducks.

Me: "Wow, what a beautiful day this turned out to be. Don't you think its nice Jack?"
Jack: "I didn't see a black poop. Do you see a black poop?"
Me: "Can't say as I do Jack...Can't say as I do."

Jack likes to climb out onto the storm pipe and point out all the ducks. I have about 15 miniature cardiac arrests and picture myself diving into the shallow pond to rescue him. Thankfully he is cautious and we have avoided disaster thus far.

As I took this picture Jack said, "Check this out! This duck is farting in the bushes!" FYI he was quacking. FYI Jack can't really pronounce "F's" so farting is pronounced "wow-ting." I don't know about you but wowting packs a bigger punch than farting. It's a wow and a fart. A wowt. Feel free to start using this as a real word.

There is no where I would rather be than at the park with my two boys, enjoying the sunshine (while it lasts!), the animals and each others company. Wowts and toenails included.