See, It's Not Just Me!

Yes, that would be our boy, caught in the act of crawling under our coffee-table...backwards, no less! Since the last random act of blogging, he has learned how to climb up and over the couch pillows we had been using for barriers (Jon calls them speedbumps nowadays), and he has learned how to wait for me to see exactly which off-limits corner he is heading for (complete with sly look over the shoulder) before making a getaway worthy of any Nob Hill chase scene in San Francisco. The boy has picked up two speeds...sleep, and Ha, Ha! SUCKERRRRR!!!! To add to the fun, for the last week and a half, Josh has been pulling himself up and wobbling around the landmarks of our living room. He is no Weeble, believe me. He wobbles, and thumps down...and I’m calmer now about it……..kinda, but I still wish I could get my hands on sedatives for myself...and perhaps that foamy-Moon room from Revenge of the Nerds for him -- minus the Darth Vader/Cheerleader bit, of course. After the first couple of falls -- when I was hysterical, sobby and swimming in copious amounts of my own snot -- and after we saw him fuss a second and shake it off, Jon assured me that he has inherited the fabled noggin of his ancestors...and explained to me that Josh was going to have to really buckle down if he wanted to dent it properly...he then offered to show me the proof of this theory by taking a 2 x 4 to his little (in this case, "little" means taller than both Jon AND his father...combined!) brother's head, but I discouraged this...for now. Might be fun to keep in mind during reruns.

My intention was to write something witty, and perhaps even pithy...I thought that since Jon had a week off, and I would have an extra hand for Josh, and I would skip about my blogging like a happy little Smurf...Unfortunately, Jon was under the weather for the first three days, and Josh has been completely off of his sleeping schedule for the last three weeks...I don't know if it's teething or growth spurt, or what the deal is, but he's been convinced that he needs to be up until 10:30, and then up and charging around from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., with hardly any real napping during the day....so my excuse is that my excuse for a brain has melted. One of the most frequent comments we get from the happy-for-us-folks is "But now that you have him, you can't possibly imagine life without him..." It's a good theory, and I like it, but if I'm dirt-tired, the WHAT-IFs run rampant...especially when I'm dirt-tired, AND have changed my clothes five times in thirty minutes, AND have had the connecting bone in my jawline cracked several times by an excitable little head, AND find myself willing to have a torrid affair with Bobcat Goldthwait in full-out Police Academy mode if it meant that I could have a twenty minute hot bath at the end of it...I find that I start singing the Abu Dhabi song made famous by Garfield the cat as he packed up Nermal for his trip abroad. I am stalled in my attempts to show my son the world this way only because I do not know how many stamps would be required for a 20 lbs, 9 oz little boy. Then he wrecks my travel plans even further when he smiles, or he flirts, or he leans back into me and pats my cheek and sings with me when I sing...this kid is waaaaay too smart for my own good.


Jon, though he doesn't seem to realize it, is blooming. Jon has always been a very guarded person...when we first met, I automatically made it my goal to get him to smile by the end of the evening...and if I could get him to feel comfortable enough to laugh, then all was right with the world. The first time I heard him laugh, I was reminded of the first Tin-Man scene...there was a definite noise…but it needed an oilcan. He really was that rusty. This week has been wonderful though…it’s probably the most consistent time together they’ve had since Josh’s birth…and Josh is enough of his own person now to be interested and excited by his dad, and this attention acts like the sun coming out…So much of Jon’s uneasiness with Josh stemmed, I think, from Jon’s belief that Josh wouldn’t like him…that Josh would know how worried Jon is about this new role in his life, and hold it against Jon forever. Instead, Josh is actively seeking Jon out…and snuggling and kissing, and trying to rub his head (it’s actually more of an enthusiastic double-handed pounding with several attempts to scalp Jon by ripping his head off in clumps, but it’s the thought that counts). Josh doesn't judge, he just absorbs...He is so willing to offer an infinite number of second chances to us...even when we are snappish or impatient...he just waits and watches and hopes. I wish I had paid more attention to babies as I grew up...it would be fascinating to know if all of them are as perceptive as this little fellow, but maybe I would be less amazed by his intuitiveness and more inclined to take it for granted.



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Mel Brooks once explained the difference between comedy and tragedy as follows:
"A tragedy is when I have a papercut. Oh, look at my poor finger! Ohh, it hurts! Ohh, get a doctor! Ohhhh! Call a specialist!"

" When it happens to me, it is sad." He explained. "Comedy is a total stranger walking along, minding his own business, falling into an open sewer and drowning. Now, that's funny!"

I like Mel...I tend to agree with him...but even so, I am not an uncaring beastie...I made a point to obtain permission from the main party involved in this next story before posting it up for you, God, and everybody...I promise. That I was granted permission to run with it is just further proof that Jon is a heck of a good guy.

Jon's had a bit of a rough week...(he would actually say it's been a bit of a rough year). While Josh crashed with my mom, Jon threw himself at the chopping block of love, in a valiant attempt to close any further loop-holes in the progeny situation. Even as he prepared to sacrifice his body on my/our behalf, God (or somebody!) just had to throw a few more jabs his way. As we pulled into the doctor’s parking lot, the oldies station switched songs…and Chuck Berry began to wail…In yet another fine example of how sheltered my life has been, I did not know there was a song called “My Ding-A-Ling.” Nor do I now want to know that there is a song called “My Ding-A-Ling”, especially, as because the chorus has been on infinite-loop in my brain since that day.

He laughed it off. When the doc came in and explained that he’d only just read the how-to’s on the procedure that morning, and hoped Jon didn’t mind, Jon still laughed it off. Jon even offered to hold the book for the doc. Apparently, there are things about these operations that no one bothers to mention to the impending patients…We were told that ice was Jon’s friend, and gravity was not…but the doctor failed to mention that Jon should have brought marshmallows to this party. There was smoke. Great clouds of smoke. In a place that great clouds of smoke most definitely should NOT be. Jon stopped laughing.

We got him home just as the local started to wear off. I had settled my poor, ouch-y, wonderful husband on the couch to begin his doctor-ordered recouping, pausing only long enough to put out the “NO VISITORS” sign and to lock the door. Then I cozied up to the pump in the kitchen and went into Elsie mode while Jon was sprawled in the living room, and it should be noted that neither of us was fit for company at that point. Who should pull in front of our house in a fast, swervy stop worthy of the Dukes of Hazzard, but Harry and Helen - the King and Queen of Comic Bad Timing. Of course. They dashed up to the porch, rang the bell, and tried to come in…meanwhile, I had just barely enough time to flop myself back into a reasonable state of decency, before I tried to head them off. In fairness, they are somehow completely convinced that if you visit a doctor for surgery, YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!!!! --and they were honestly worried about Jon. I understand that. Why they thought THAT PARTICULAR MOMENT was the best time to check in with him…or why they thought donuts would be the best comfort food for the process, I wouldn’t dare guess. I thanked them, told them Jon was fine, accepted the donuts (thinking that Jon might be too sick to eat many of them, and Gee, it would be a shame if they went to waste), and waved them off. As I studied the contents of the donut container, musing over what looked like a dozen éclairs, I found that our innocent neighbors had unknowingly provided the last laugh of the day with the label on their gift…

The donut style had a name. “Long Johns.”




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Cheap Thrill of the Day:

Looked up the word "kelp" (as in seaweed) in the Microsoft Works Word Thesarus...amused and pleased by the first ten "alternate suggestions"...although what they have to do with seaweed, I'll never know:

• keep going
• keep your chin up
• keep your eyes open
• keep your head above water
• keep your mind on it
• keep your nose out of it
• keep your peace
• keep your promise
• keep your bargain
• keep your word

who knew you could get a neat life philosophy from a word search?