houpley

Mama, Mr. Tim was picking me up and you shouldn't pick people up because some people don't like that. True, but Mr. Tim was picking you up because you guys were tickling each other, remember? Yes. Just like how you kept tickling Ms. Niki's feet? Yes, I tickled her feet and she laughed and laughed and laughed.

My mother was putting Jackson to bed this past Saturday night and during the good-night routine he was filled in on the chain of command: Mam, you are not the boss of me. No, your mama is the boss of you. Oh. But I am the boss of your mama.

During his very first baseball game ever, Jackson consumed the following: 1 granola bar 1 ice cream sandwhich 1 corn dog 1 chocolate milk 1 bite of hamburger 1 bowl of birthday cake flavored dippin' dots (of course he had some ... ahem ... assistance with this one) He also got a taste of some Orange Fanta, Diet Coke and maybe some beer. We're not sure about that last one. I did however, pop open his jaw and stick my nose in there for a few whiffs and returned with no evidence. So, I think we're still good parents. I think his ride home pretty much sums it up. Baseball been berry, berry good to him.

Jackson, it is time to go to sleep. But Mama, will you read Manny to me? No, we have already read your book and now it is time to go to sleep. But Mama! You may keep it with you in bed, and read it to yourself if you like. At this he wrinkled his brow, raised both hands into the air as if I was crazy to have forgotten and shouted: But Mama! I can't read!

I always get a kick out of http://queserasera.org/ regular posts about text messages saved in her phone. And then I got to thinking about how much the text messages in my own phone have changed since we bought a house and had a child. And then they changed again once other friends joined the house/kid bandwagon. While the players may have stayed the same, the content has taken a decidedly different turn. Texts from her phone are always hilarious and good indicators a fun time was being had somewhere and late into the night. My saved texts indicate while it may have been late in the night, it wasn't always a good time. A recent sampling: Maybe. Pretty crabby and starting to pull his ear a little. I took them all to the park bc we are having an open house today. I'll take him in tomorrow. Feel free to bring Jack. Place is a mess and still waiting on couch and table and chairs. Fever broke!! 38 11 lunch then play or something else? Still has fever - going home drs appt at 4.

Hey Mama, we don't poach animals. Uh...ok. We don't poach animals. Right. We only poach Elvis when he is out of his crate. Ahhh! Right. We don't approach animals when they have gone into their crate. Correct. Mama, we don't poach dogs. Got it.

Young love.

You know that if you change out of your giant excavator shirt and into your train t-shirt, we don't have time to pick up donut holes for your friends, ok? Ok.

Ok so, Pop and Dearie are coming to see you today, Jack. Pop and Dearie? Yes, so that we means we need to be extra sweet and very polite to them, ok? Ok. Thank you. I will be sweet to them, Mama. Ok, good. I'm not gonna kick them. I won't bite them. I won't push them and I'm not gonna wrestle them. Right. Good. Please don't wrestle Dearie.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/73102019@N00/4512075609/

This morning was madness. We were all rushing around getting ready for work, getting Jackson ready for school, picking up for company coming right after work today - it was a whirlwind of curling irons, tiny buttons, cups of coffee, trash bags and velcroed sneakers. Eric had risen a bit early to make breakfast. His favorite: biscuits and sausage with gravy. I'm not a fan and generally don't eat breakfast but as I was trying to clasp a necklace, Eric asked from kitchen if I wanted to take a biscuit to work. So sweet. So when I finally landed at my desk and reached in my purse to pull out my makeshift biscuit breakfast, I saw that not only had he prepared a biscuit and sausage, but he thought to put the tiny patty in its own tiny snack Ziploc bag inside the main bag. He didn't want my biscuit to get soggy on the way to work. That's love, people.

Ever since we began reading The Tale of Peter Rabbit from Sylvie's childhood book, Jackson has been hooked. Shortly after he was born, Sylvie, my mother's cousin, sent this book, that had been hers as a little girl. I kept the worn, red book in the nursery for when the right moment came along. Late last year, we started to read it. I wanted him to be ready because the book is delicate with age. Each page is fragile and the spine is weak. But the story is as vivid to him as if it were hot of the press. He fell so deeply in love with the story, we read it each night before bed. Every. Single. Night. And then someone sent him a tiny, abridged, board book of Peter Rabbit's story and not only would we have to read the board book, but then we would have to follow it up with the original. There was a lot of Beatrix Potter in our house during those months. But he devoured it. He memorized nearly every word. Finishing sentences, counting currant buns, shouting phrases and adding sou

"Mama?" "Yes." "Look at my face." "Yes?" "You did a good job at church today."

Ok, Jack. It's just about night-night time. Are you ready to go to bed? Nope. Not yet. But I will be. In a minute.

Is it wrong to take pictures in church? Surely, I get a free pass when its Easter, both boys are donning sweater vests and Jackson is mesmerized by the choir's horns. Yes, surely. Happy Easter.

To see more of the new stadium: http://www.flickr.com/photos/73102019@N00/sets/72157623769048012/

We've got a climber. I was not a climber. But, I've heard stories of a tiny Eric making his way up refrigerators and garage shelves, so we knew this might be an inherited skill. This evening, after Jackson had specifically opened the drawers of his changing table just a tiny bit so as to use them as steps to reach the top, it was only a few seconds before the middle drawer began to pinch his tiny toes. He hopped down and came running over to show me the damage. "Well, that's why you shouldn't climb your changing table," I said. His toes were fine but he still needed to find a place for the blame. He shook a tiny finger at the toe-pinching drawer. "We say 'no! no' changing table! I need my toe back," was Jackson's response. Then he promptly marched right over to that vicious piece of furniture, reached in to the middle drawer, retrieved an invisible toe and placed it back on to his tiny toe.

Jackson's teacher always has the most wonderful art projects for the kids. We display them all over the house - on the fridge, on our blackboard, under the coffee table glass or suspended on his mobile in his room. But this one really takes the prize. His Easter basket is so cute - heads or tails.* *the red wine was not part of his art project ... it was however part of mine

Our first baby is famous! http://www.tulsaworld.com/webextra/blogs/weblog.aspx?column_id=45#7893

Never have I ever "been gotten" so many times on this practical-joke of a holiday. We are truly a gullible bunch as all were believed, if only for a few seconds. Between the members of my family and my coworkers, here are a few of the pranks given and received today: A pregnant relative (this was done twice) A co-worker resigning (this was done twice) Accidental swallowing of a tiny "knick-knack" An impromptu presentation to the president of the company Someone (Elvis? Jax?) had pooped in the middle of our bed (this one had me screaming while running down the hall to find Eric clutching his sides with laughter) A canceled party Google versus Topeka on planet Mars Sweaty mouse click technology Starbucks size changes What have we learned today? I will believe anything. What did you believe? *happy birthday, cookie!

The wrestling match ends with Eric putting Jack in a bear-hug-head-lock. Very close to end-of-day-armpit-country. From the depths of Eric's underarm we hear: "No daddy! I can't live in there!"