Lesson #8: Kids ask a lot of questions

I read somewhere that the average 4 year old asks over 400 questions a day. My advanced scientific and mathematical skills have allowed me to extrapolate and compute that 3 year olds ask 700 questions a day. Mostly this happens because they ask you the same question a bare minimum of 4 times. Ok I'm lying. The same question is usually repeated about 20 times. If you're Jack you are an over achiever and need to out shine other 3 year olds so you ask 1401 questions a day. In my quest to determine why so many questions are asked I stumbled on a theory that makes so much sense it has to be right. Teachers and learning types will have you thinking kids ask questions because they are learning. It might be that. It might also be the under diagnosed early onset childhood Alzheimers. While I don't doubt my kiddo is expanding his horizons and amassing enough data and knowledge to find the final solution to world hunger, I think the answer is simpler. It's Santa Clause. Recent investigative efforts and specific research methods I can't reveal lead me to believe that 3 year olds are required to fulfill a daily question quota or Santa doesn't show. Any less than 100 questions and there is a chance Santa Clause passes your house. No reindeers prancing, no stockings stuffed, nada, zip, zilch-do not pass go do not collect $200. Once I discovered this I found I had way more patience when dealing with the endless barrage of questions I field on an average day.

Random sampling of average questions:
"Why you buttoning your pants?" (PS I was getting dressed?)
"Are you cranky? Are you not having a good day?" (PPS I just took a deep breath)
"What's that guy doing?" (PPPS "that guy" was driving a motorized grocery cart)

Let me add that if you are in public Jack is watching you. He is also giving you a play by play of your actions. The stranger your actions the louder his questions. "WHAT'S THIS GUY WEARING? WHY DOES THIS GUY SMELL TERRIBLE?" You know come to think of it maybe Jack is just saying and asking what we are all thinking. I mean seriously what is that guy wearing and why does he smell terrible? I suppose if you are looking for the truth just ask a 3 year old. They'll give it to you straight......... and then ask you 40 follow up questions.

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.

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.

How to make Donald Trump jealous

I think Wes wrote the book on comb overs. Don't worry Trump, he has enough swoopage to go around, and I am sure if you ask really nicely he will show you his super slick comb over moves or maybe even share some of his hair.

Wes: 7 month snapshot

Sleep: Up until last week you had reached an all time low in the sleep department. I started roaming around the house looking like some sort of mangey zombie because you were waking up every 45 minutes at night. Desperate for a solution we did just the teeny tiniest bit of sleep training and let you try out falling asleep in your own crib by yourself. You shocked us by falling asleep all on your own and not even crying. It was as if the sleep fairy swooped down and bestowed you with the gift of sleep. You are now getting up once a night and you are quick to go back down. I am adjusting to a new life of sleep and while I still haven't caught up on my sleep deprivation I worry that once I regain all my energy I won't know what to do with myself. If you see me running through the neighborhood carrying both children you should stage an intervention and tell me to chill out. Your not swaddled anymore but you are still attempting to remove large sections of your face. And ears. Its like you have something against them. I know they are stuck on the side of your face and make brilliant handles but they are not yours to remove. They belong there.



Play: You still love your jumperoo and happily love your brother more. You love your stacking cups, books, paper and trying to eat paper. You would happily gum the page of every book in the house if I let you. You also like to bat at things. You have a mean right hook. I mean seriously you have rung my bell a couple of times. Nothing like an open hand slap from a 7 month old to wake you right up!



Eating: You eat your feet. We should really have a conversation about that because its pretty gross. Have you seen the stuff that gets lodged in between your toes? It can't taste better than a banana and you gag when you try and eat them. I feel tremendously under prepared to serve your current taste profile. Not sure where toes fall in terms of taste categories...Savory? Umami? Oy you have me stumped. Pretty sure if I plunked down some toes and a newspaper you would pass out from sheer joy but don't get too excited I don't have any plans to start rotating that into the meal plans. Come to think of it maybe you should find a hobo. Toe and newspaper soup sounds right up their alley. Things I have fished out of your mouth: Tissue, newspaper, hair. Its sort of like a lint trap.



I love you. I love that you are sleeping. I love the way you look at me when I go and get you from your crib. I love that you try and eat my face off at virtually ever chance you get. I love that you never give up. Ever. In fact you are pretty much trying to eat my face right now.

How to make English muffins

When I moved across the country I knew life would be different. I knew there would be more rain. I knew I would be staying home with my kids instead of working. I knew people wouldn't use the word "wicked." While I accepted these hard truths and solemnly swore to work the phrase, "wicked awesome," into my speech once a week, I could never have anticipated that I would face a carb crisis. No one ever told me that I wouldn't be able to find good English muffins for under $5. People on the left coast don't like English muffins you ask? I don't know but they are definitely not nearly as popular. Can you see the giant crocodile tear running dramatically down my cheek?

So when I saw this recipe on Pinterest I knew I had to try it! I tweaked some steps and the result was a delicious English muffin full of nooks and crannies. The only thing I will do differently next time is to use rings that are taller so my muffins don't ooze out of the top as much. I am also considering just canning the use of jar lids altogether. That's a little canning humor for you all. Yes I have completely gone off the deep end.

English muffins
(courtesy of Alton Brown)
yields 8-15 muffins

Ingredients

1/2 cup non-fat powdered milk
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon shortening
1 cup hot water
1 envelope dry yeast
1/8 teaspoon sugar
1/3 cup warm water
2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted
Non-stick vegetable spray

Special equipment: electric griddle, 3-inch metal rings, see Cook's Note*

Directions

In a bowl combine the powdered milk, 1 tablespoon of sugar, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, shortening, and hot water, stir until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Let cool. In a separate bowl combine the yeast and 1/8 teaspoon of sugar in 1/3 cup of warm water and rest until yeast has dissolved. Add this to the dry milk mixture. Add the sifted flour and beat thoroughly with wooden spoon. Cover the bowl and let it rest in a warm spot for 30 minutes.

Preheat the griddle to 300 degrees F.

Add the remaining 1/2 teaspoon of salt to mixture and beat thoroughly. Place metal rings onto the griddle and coat lightly with vegetable spray. Using a 1/4 cup measuring cup ladle the dough into each ring. Sprinkle the tops of each muffin with cornmeal. This will help prevent it from sticking to the cookie sheet. Cover the rings with a cookie sheet or pot lid that has been generously sprayed with nonstick cooking spray. Cook for 5 to 6 minutes. Remove the lid and flip rings using tongs. Cover with the lid and cook for another 5 to 6 minutes or until golden brown. Place on a cooling rack, remove rings and cool. Split with fork and serve.



*Cook's Note: Small tuna cans with tops and bottoms removed work well for metal rings. I will try this next time as I used mason jar lids and they didn't seem to work as well.

Also if anyone can tell me how to get both sides off of a tuna can without losing a finger you get a treat.

I don't want to brag but........

Jack is advanced. He is making excuses at least on par with most second graders. Its hard to not give into his excuses because some of them are clever, sweet and just funny when you get right down to it.

Me: "Jack come finish your lunch."
Jack: "I can't right now Mom I have to send a quick email."
Me: "Oh, well then by all means please continue I don't want to interrupt any cyber relationships you might have formed."

Me: "Jack can you come here and we will put on your shoes?"
Jack: "Ummm I have to go over here right now."
Me: "Really? Is that all you've got?"

Me: "Jack can you put this tissue in the trash?"
Jack: " I can't I have to give Wes eskimo kisses!"
Me: "Who am I to stand in the way of brotherly love"

Me: "Jack can you pick up your toys?"
Jack: "Mom I told you that I have to go to work."
Me: "Sweet can you pick me up some milk on your way home?"

And while this one technically isn't an excuse it cracked me up.

Jack: "Mom can I have a marshmallow? Mom, the answer is yes. The answer is yes."