You know you're an adult when you suddenly care about death and money

With our newfound tax refund riches, and the impending sliver of cash I'm getting from turning in the manuscript to my second book, we have suddenly morphed into responsible adults. It's one level of grownupness to buy your own house, but now we've:

*opened college investment portfolios for both fellers
*got paperwork in the mail to write our wills
*talked to our insurance guy about life insurance for the irreplaceable me

Planning for the future is so lame, but look! We're doing it! Our babies don't have to be wards of the state in the unlikely event of our deaths!

Mommy's helper

Blogging will be light and fluffy while all three fellers are infected with evil snot diseases and I have a deadline fast on my heels. For now I give you...more scenes from a busy purple kitchen.

Jacob shows a seriously unhealthy interest in the dishwasher. Not my genes.



(Oh, and that's me reaching to snatch the butterknife out of his hand. Stellar parenting, that, and bless you, Meemaw, for catching it on film.)

Our own little insomniac party

What's more fun than a house full of boys whose chests and noses rattle with snot?

I know!

A fledgling toddler who's cutting three molars simultaneously.

I'm running only on Americanos right now, praying that I can continue to mysteriously dodge the snot.

Naps, then and now

Much has changed, but Poppop's belly remains a preferred napping venue.

Jacob napping at 1 week old:


Jacob napping at 1 year old:

Reeling in the year

I guess I stopped to blink away a whole year somehow, because today ...



It was a year ago today when my baby cannon pushed this enormous, squooshy creature into the world. It's times like this when I love this blog, because it is the only reason I remember most things about Jacob's infancy. I sat last night in the rocking chair in his room, rocking His Royal Phlegm-Ball-ness to sleep and cried. I cried because, as much as I want to remember him this way --

the way his hair is so soft and fine
how his rolls and rolls of thigh fat feel like warm, velvety jello between my fingers
how he laughs deep and snorting like a drunken frat boy
how he snores ever so softly as he's passed out in bed next to me, his legs propped up against mine
how he could spend his entire life perched atop my right hip, left arm slung around my arm

-- I know that I really won't remember it the way it is now. I'll have the words I write here, and the pictures that show what we did and how he smiled. Like this.



But just as he is the one creating these feelings in me, he is also taking them away almost as quick as they come. He sleeps so badly, worse, perhaps, than even his brother before him, that my short-term memory is noticeably handicapped. While I don't really mind that so much, especially since Isaac proved to me that sleeplessness too shall pass, I do mind that Jacob has moved from goo-ball to independently mobile toddler in no time flat. Already there are plans to move him out of his crib in the fall, just like his brother before him. He doesn't even look like a baby anymore, with his gigantic rows of incisors and his ability to answer the phone. ("Hello?")



It won't be long before neither of them let me rock them to sleep in the night anymore.

A proper birthday post to follow later. For now, let me be both elated that Dada and I have successfully raised two boys through infancy, but also sad that the corollary to that is that I have no more babies.

His butt runneth over

Jacob after a bath:

Our relationship scoffs at another gender stereotype

Dada does the interior decorating and is the (much) better dressed of the two of us.

What did he get me for Valentine's Day, because he knows I'm a 65-year-old man at heart?



Although, to his credit, Dada can't be considered completely metrosexual because he prefers domestic beer to white wine spritzers.

Helper monkeys

Today we had no Dada nor Ryan. They've flown the coop to do some geologizing in Virginia until tomorrow. We busied ourselves with several exciting activities. First there was playgroup today, with a seriously sparse turnout. But lucky for us the turnout at the Gymboree class that meets at the same spot was also sparse, and the instructor invited all us cheapskates to play on her squishy fun equipment for free. No sense in letting it go unused, she said.

After naps and dinner, I set the fellers to work. Somebody has to do those dirty dishes.



Then I packed everyone in the car, braving the icy veneer left on the roads by Winter Storm '07!, because I no longer possess jeans with intact knees. We went to Old Navy and picked up a new pair of britches for the mama. But the real find were the bouncy balls, of which we now own three more. Our Old Navy has an oversized gumball-type machine that dispenses bouncy balls for a quarter, and wouldn't you know but I had two of them? Eagle-eye Isaac found a third one hiding under a display near the front and we called Keepers and took it home.

Isaac was in rare word-diarrhea form tonight. As we stood in line at Old Navy to check out, it was "Mommy, what does that say? Is that a 'four'? I'm going to ask the lady if she knows where the rocket is. Can I have this big red ball? Is that a blinking star? What's that lady doing? Look, is that my friend, the boy with the other ball? I want to bounce mine just like that! Can I have Jacob's ball? Do you think it's light outside? Can I ride in the cart? Me hold your money!" Imagine Motor Mouth running on and on, nonstop, but with each comment followed by a response of some kind from me. There was a lady in front of us who was a bit older and had been shopping in the little people's section with us (yes! I did! It's a sickness, I know.). After about 5 minutes of Isaac yapping his trap and barely stopping for a breath, the lady turned coyly around towards me and, with a knowing look, smiled and chuckled to herself. I was happy to banter with my toddler, but I still wanted to joke with her about the situation. "It's like this all day!" I said. She only smiled and reminded me, "It's just wonderful."

After Old Navy I took the boys to Starbucks for a sit-down coffee. I bought Jacob his first-ever Starbucks beverage, a whole milk steamer with a shot of chocolate. He drank about three sips before lurching for Isaac's vanilla cow milky, the turkey. Then it was home, bath, and bed. They are so pooped.

And all this without a single second of TV today. It was fun.

Bedtime rituals

Each night before bed Isaac participates in the same parent-directed routine. At 9:00, it's time to head to the bedroom to read some stories. Almost always this means reading the same book, no matter how long, two or (if time permits) three times. If I am the reader, his pillow will be curled up vertically against his headboard so I can l lay against it and he, then, can lay against me, his big bony bean bag. After stories, we're off to the bathroom to potty and brush our teeth, followed by an elaborate rinse-and-spit song. Then we walk back to his room, he crawls into bed, and I pull up the covers and turn out the lights.

That's when the parent-directed routine gives way to a short dialog, the Isaac-directed routine. It's the same thing every night, always whispered, with his head down on the pillow looking away from me.

Isaac: Mommy, I can't see.
Mommy: Wait a second. [his nightlight changes colors and always starts at a very dim red. The next color, green, is as bright as a night light should be]
Isaac: Mommy, you say payers.
Mommy: [says prayers]
Isaac: Mommy, you sleep with me?
Mommy: Isaac, I would love to sleep with you, but I have to go do the laundry now. Sleep tight, buddy.
Isaac: Wait, Mommy! You forgot your big hug and kiss!

[exchange of big hug and kiss]

Mommy: Good night, buddy. I love you.
Isaac: Good night, mommy. Sweet dreams.

Snow day

Yesterday we had the AnthonyCarlos gang, as well as Jacob's future wife Molly, over for a playdate. Isaac found a new teddy bear, AnthonyCarlos's baby sister, Anna.


After we stuffed everyone with pancakes, the snowfall had accumulated enough that we were required to play outside.





The previous day the fellers insisted we stay outside long past the point of kiester freezing, so I came up with the brilliant idea of a chilly walk around the block in the wagon. I insulated the fellers with a fleece blanket stolen from George the Green Car, but gave my own hands a near case of frostbite because I am a ditz and left my own gloves inside. Well, snow be darned, said we, and I set my mind on a repeat wagon trip. When Jakey got too snow-encrusted for us to play any longer, we plowed the sidewalks around the block with our trusty wagon. We had to stop every 50 feet to dislodge the snow from the wheels so they would turn, but it was worth it. We felt like adventurers in a winter wonderland. And Jacob fell asleep. You've heard of Brokeback Mountain? I give you... Brokeneck Wagon.

Attack of the Purple Kitchen!

While Dada busied himself installing track lighting and priming baseboard, we ventured outside into the coooooooold cold cold, mainly because there is nothing left for us to do in this house without killing each other. It was not warm (surprise!), but the babies had fun burying each other in leaves.


Also a plus, you get to see Jacob trying out his new skill with hard-soled shoes.

We got friends in cold places

Another sub-zero day here in the spectacular Mid-Atlantic. We spent it indoors at the AnthonyCarlos estates, playing with Buzz and Woody, play-doh, trains, cars, airplanes, balls, play food, and their baby sister Anna, who has suddenly sprouted eyelashes and dimples.

Speaking of playdates, we hooked up with Isaac's future wife, Ella, on Monday to celebrate her second birthday. Wasn't it just yesterday we were crawling around on her floor at her first birthday party? How many times can I wonder aloud where the time goes before people quit reading?


Also, to make up for the negligent parenting of Tuesday, we made a racetrack together. Only minor amounts of tape were consumed by the Jake.

While this looks like a wonderful idea, it was not. Hey, I used to be a blond and am allowed such moments. Turns out the blue painting tape costs $7 a roll and, when left on through the course of a 3-hour nap, deposited residue on some of the floor. Rock!

In other news, Jacob is now walking more than crawling. Video to come soon.

Snow, if only for a second

Late last night it snowed enough to be enchanting, though not enough to last through the day. We drove Dada and Ryan to work because it was witch's-teat cold again, and this time George the Green Car's oil light stayed on. We drove poor, sick George straight home and there he sat as we thought about what to do with his ungrateful broken self. Doesn't he know I have groceries to buy?

I decided, despite the serious awfulness of the cold, that the people in this house needed some fresh air. Of course, the toddler prancing around the front yard in his snow boots helped convince me some. So I packed everybody up in their Ralphie-esque layers and out we went, though I was a bit chicken and stayed only in our yard for the sake of the Jake. It was his first snow experience and, given that this was his first time wearing non-Robeez shoes, I guessed that he would probably be more interested in crawling through the fluffy cold stuff than anything else. And I was right. But they had fun anyway. Little boys are apparently impervious to the cold.







Meanwhile, Dada asked around and found us a reputable auto repair shop, which not only arranged for George to be picked up at our house, but also did not charge me $80 to tell me what was wrong, as the dealership wished to do. In the end, George required some sort of oil regulator switch and not a new oil pump, so instead of $1100 to the dealer, we paid $232 to these respectable people, who also changed our oil and did us the favor of driving George there and back. That was good.

Also good -- Isaac is in at our beloved preschool. He starts in the fall, and I think it will take me that long to get used to the idea that he is no longer my precious sheltered baby.

El dia de los crapos

Today was one of those horrible, stupid days for many reasons.

Firstly -- the house is a sty. This weekend included such routine-disrupting activities as painting the kitchen and welcoming a new houseguest. While both of these things are seriously positive, because who doesn't want a purple kitchen and because our longtime friend Ryan, who has come from Seattle to pursue a Masters' degree under Dada's tutelage and is staying with us for a little while he finds a place to live, is an excellent houseguest. Dude does my dishes. Nuff said.

But these things meant that there were many days were my path to the laundry room was impeded, and so I spent the entire day doing laundry. Like seven loads, washed, dried, and folded. There was much TV watching and neglegent parenting, which of course makes anybody feel like a totally super person. On the plus side, the God of Baby Preservation was watching the Jakester today more than I was. Not only did Jacob not fall down the stairs or off Big Brother's bed, but he has absolutely no new bruises to report whatsoever. This is basically a miracle.

Secondly -- we have no money, none, and it's not our fault and there's nothing we can do about it. You see, we have overspent only very slightly awaiting for a gigantic tax return to deposit ANY DAY NOW ALREADY. This wouldn't normally be a problem except that Dada maxed out my credit card on his most recent trip to Seattle, all on reimburseable expenses THAT HAVE NOT YET BEEN REIMBURSED. There is no respite from the poverty. There is only waiting for The Man, who in this case has two faces, to get his stinking act together. I love waiting in the same way that I love telemarketers.

Thirdly -- and this comes in combination with Secondly -- George the Green Car is sick. His oil pressure light came on this morning on our drive home. He has been whining so loudly when he wakes up in the morning ever since Newark turned into Alaska, and our secret hope is that perhaps he needs an oil change and some less viscous oil. It is also possible that his oil pump will need replaced, which the dealer is suggesting will cost $1100. Awesome. Even more awesome is that we can't really drive him, at all, unless we are going straight to the dealership, for fear of destroying the engine. Dada seems to think that it's not that bad as long as we let George warm up a bit. Let's hope.

Let's also hope that tomorrow is another day, one that brings babies who don't wake up at 4:30 am, phonecalls from preschools telling us we got in, and perhaps even a gigantic tax return deposited in the correct account. Please, something.

Go Colts!

Today was a significant day in the O'Neal household.

1) Our hometown football team, which has strung us along on oh so many playoff berths with its prize quarterback famous for his choking reflex, finally won a Superbowl. And after dedicatedly watching every regular season game possible for as many years as I can remember, we watched the game and had nary a jersey on our persons to show for it. What crappy fans we are. Though Isaac does own a Colts Touchdown Monkey, which perhaps counts for something. But we are so proud of our Colts, who among having the top offense in the NFL, are also the epitome of class, lacking any publicized drama or touchdown antics. It makes me proud that I can indoctrinate my sons to root for them.

2) The kitchen walls are, as of this afternoon, completely purple. Isaac helped.



3) Tonight I checked the weather forecast, and it dictates that I will require several layers of clothing, including long underwear, to trudge out in the 8-degree (not Celcius) sunshine early tomorrow morning to wait in line to register Isaac for preschool. The preschool I visited in November was fantastic, but I am not risking frostbite for them. The boys and I visited another, smaller preschool a month ago, one that is within (healthy) walking distance from our house and on the way to Dada's office. This is our preschool of choice, for several reasons.

This preschool has one class of 3-year-olds taught by two teachers in a two-room building, which pleases Dada because security is a non-issue. The same teachers teach the 3- and 4-year-olds. They stick a little godliness in every so often, having the kids memorize prayers to say before they eat their snacks. They take a few field trips. They have awesome toys in their playroom, which Isaac still talks about. He tells me most mornings that he needs to go to school, this particular school.

What really sold me on this preschool was the head teacher. She invited us to visit at 9:30, talked with me for 5 minutes, and then ditched me for circle time in the classroom, which I was invited to watch. I did as my fellers played in the room with all the toys. Her 3-year-olds all sat in a circle, occasionally fidgeting or talking out of turn as the teacher read a story, but never once got up in the fifteen to twenty minutes the teacher spent reading them a story and describing their responsibilities for the day. At first I was a little shocked, thinking this woman was a total Nazi as she gently called out and corrected kids who turned around or spoke out of turn. But as time wore on, my shock turned into amazement. "Your students are so well-behaved! And at three!" I gushed at her when she rejoined me after circle time, when the kids had all dispersed to play throughout the two rooms. To my relief, she said with complete understanding, "It's taken all year for us to get to this point. They don't come that way, trust me!" We talked for a long time, and I came to understand that at her preschool, free play is of serious importance, but the most important aspect is that, gradually over the course of two years, the kids learn how to behave properly in a school environment in preparation for kindergarten. Over the past month, the more I've thought about it, the more I've agreed with her.

Now, this lady is not a Nazi. She was totally caring and involved with the kids. But I think my first impression rang a little true -- she did cultivate a mildly stern sort of demeanor to help the kids understand that she is an authority figure. This is of course completely foreign to me, Mommy Doormat. Her attitude seemed to me to help the kids understand that there are expectations of them and that there is a proper way to behave at school (sitting in your spot in the circle, waiting your turn to be called on, etc). And really, what better place for your kid to learn these kinds of skills than at preschool?