Five Thoughts Thursday (I'm using this as a gimmick, because I've got to get things done, and I'm already behind...)
1) Joel can say only a few words, but one of them is "'cracker." It always makes me think of the Chris Rock routine, where he talks about angry old men who sit in barbershops saying, "Cracker-ass Cracker!" I know that this is not at all Joel's intent, but yet, I know that deep inside this little boy lives a white-haired, cane-shaking curmudgeon.
2) Why do I think Joel is a curmudgeon? Things that should make babies happy inexplicably fill him with white-hot rage. For example, at library story time, they pass out shaky eggs--for the uninitiated, these are plastic eggs filled with beads, for shaking/music making enjoyment. The other kids turn cartwheels to get them, and have impressive meltdowns when it is time to return the eggs. My son, on the other hand, glares at the egg, as if saying, "What the eff is this?" and throws it away like it's a moldy prune. When I attempt to retrieve it, he begins to cry.
(I don't think he has sensory issues, except for the little worried man living in my throat tells me periodically to keep an eye on this kind of stuff...)
3) Owen is coming home from preschool already smarter than me. He knows songs for cleaning up, for washing hands, and to predict the weather. When I attempt to sing along, he stares at me with great pity and says, "Mommy? No." He also has been taught that you start all prayers with the following words: "Good Morning, God! Thank you for this beautiful day!" This is something I should incorporate into my own life.
But, best of all, Owen has re-introduced me to this classic ditty: "Missed, me, missed me, now you have to kiss me!" Ahhhh, school.
4) At this time next week, I will be on an airplane, traveling to AZ to see my college girlfriends for NAU Homecoming. I had thought it would be a great idea to become an awesome dancer between now and then, thus showing my old friends my sweet moves. I planned on doing it Napolean Dynamite style---getting a video tape, practicing while swilling the red Gatorade, and then cutting a rug on the dance floor. Alas, the clock is ticking, and I don't know if it's going to happen.
I suppose I'll have to rely on the old standby---beer-related jackassery.
5) I made Owen's day by letting him press the buttons on the food processor. I left him to navigate the heavy, bladed machinery to remove his brother from the kitchen table, where he was standing with a great sense of achievement.
It's a wonder any of us is still alive.