JUNE 10, 2011
I know this is wishful thinking but I'm pretty sure my son's first spoken word came out today, and that word was, "sausage." Actually, I don't even care if it really was - I'm officially declaring that it was.
My son already has a nickname. My daughter had a fewwhen she was younger. Just silly names that we gave her that stuck around for a few months before being discarded. First she was called Hippo. No reason for that. Then she was Beaver Patrol. That came from a t-shirt she had with that written on it. That one drove my in-laws nuts because "that's not her real name." Which is pretty amusing seeing as both my in-laws use shortened versions of their actual names. My son's name is Owen. So he went through a litany of throw-away names. Orbit. Oblong. The Insanity Orb. Octopus. I'm sure you can see a theme. But for the last 6 weeks or so I have pretty much called him Oboe. So much so that my daughter even calls him Oboe exclusively now. Actually she has recently started calling him Oboe Mo-Fo without any prompting from me. And then this morning she started calling him The Littlest Oboe. He seems fine with it. Actually they both had the same nickname when they weren't even born. For reasons that I will not explain the unborn children my wife carries are all called Seabiscuit. To be completely honest we both behaved as if both times she was pregnant it was the same Seabiscuit, and not two different entities that shared the same name. And then once she gave birth Seabiscuit just left. Oh the shock we would have had if she actually gave birth to a horse, Toby McGuire and his chinless face straddled on its' back covered in amniotic fluid.
We also hit the craft store this week. Craft stores are one of the wonders of the US. Enormous warehouse stores crammed full of sparkly, hairy, glittery crap that my daughter can stick to stuff. She has a toolbox filled with all kinds of goofy stuff she can be creative with. She was running out of things my wife had purchased many many months ago so it was time to restock. So we went nuts and bought tons of stickers, twizzlers, pom poms, sponge-topped sticky things, glitter-glue, activity pads and all sorts of other assorted ephemera. With the weather tacking a turn for the worse she has pretty much spent at least half her day making different pictures on craft paper for anyone she can think of. She mad some for me, for her brother, grand parents, the neighbors, her pets. She even made some for her Teddy bear and the children that he - yes He - somehow gave birth to. After awhile she developed a theme - I'd draw some water with crayon, then a hill with a house and a tree on it. Then she would decorate it with shiny things, stickers and bits n bobs. She had picked out a massive tube of Noah's Ark foam-stickers and was making page after page of kangaroos up trees and lions under water. I call them Massacre At The Zoo. Then she started wanting to make loads of pictures of herself with her mom to, in her words, "remind me of Mommy." Cute. Of course in practice the idyllic dream-world involved giraffes in bikinis (making use of two sets of stickers there) and crayon-drawings of her mother with unusually massive tits. After the fifth or sixth drawing of the same theme I had to steer on to some other activity because my wife's tits simly didn't fit on the island anymore. Freud would have a field day with that one.
My daughter has started being extra sensitive about the weirdest things too. The slightest knock and she'll break down. She has this odd habit of taking all her clothes off and running around the house and then realizing she's cold. But if you try and put clothes on her she freaks out because they feel cold. She has become very sensitive to sounds. She came downstairs screaming and crying last week because she could hear a crow outside. And yesterday we had this exchange -:
Daughter: Daddy!! Daddy!! What's that awful noise?!
Me: That's Anne Curry honey.
Daughter: You mean that man on TV?
At which point she started crying. Anne Curry may be afflicted with that fake somber furrowed concerned tone that all modern journalists have on US television news (to try and convince you that every story is very VERY important and serious, no matter how trivial) but she is no way man-ish. Add that if anything smells - good or bad - my daughter now simply cannot bare the experience. I made her pizza - she ran away from the smell. I sprayed deet on myself - same deal. I'm guessing she's just in a growing stage and not displaying the early signs that she actually is from Krypton and has heightened sensory detection that she hasn't yet learned to control. Either way is fine by me though.
Lastly, it's Fruitloop Friday!! I figured designating a day to let my kids eat shit will convince them not to ask for it any other day. It mostly works except for when I crave stuff. It was also Thrift Store day. We go every Friday and get my kids stuff to play with for pretty much nothing. It's a great Thrift store set in an entire house. Each room is made up like a real home with every item in the room up for sale. And everything they have is very good quality. The Thrift store up at my in-laws is phenomenal. The rich folks and tourists seem to give away tons of stuff of astounding quality. I buy so many label clothes there for Winter (especially) for my family with the tags still on them, for a dollar or slightly more. Today though we stuck closer to home. My kids picked out a game of Snap on picture cards, a marble game for my daughter, two pairs of shorts (one pair Stars and Stripes, one pair camouflage - now that's the American way), a barely worn Winter coat that needs the zipper fixing and a piggy bank for my daughter. Spent $1.50 in total.
Daily Dump - Sing!