Ruh-roh. Jamie's leaving!

Jack has officially turned into Scooby Do, don't let this picture of him in a Buzz suit with a beer gut fool you.

Yesterday, he and Harry showed Jamie the hidden going-away present we got her, and when they told me that they spilled the beans, I was all, "Oh crap you guys. That's not cool," and Jack said "I rorry." Then I asked him if he knew what my name was besides Mommy, and he said "Rarah." Cracked. Me. Up.

I love this next picture because he is so bossy these days, telling us to follow him "Mommy here!" or "Daddy there!," or "Me up!" or most often "Me Harry too!" I also like how strawberry his hair looks and how messy it is in the back, a sign he needs another traumatic hair cut, I guess.

I helped Harry put this costume on beause it Velcros in the back, but sometimes he dons easier-to-fasten costumes by himself and I come into a room and happen upon him in super hero gear and a mask and am alarmed Today, I was ready.

Shortly after jack clambered onto the bed (his bed, mind you) Harry freaked out and tried to throw him to the ground for daring to trespass (on his own bed), and we were all done taking pictures.


Both boys have had a hard time keeping their shit together lately because Jamie is leaving for grad school, um, TODAY, and they are not sure how to handle it. I scoured the Internet and could not find a single freaking book about a kid whose beloved nanny moves away (which is dumber than dumb because surely this has happened a million times to a million other sad kids). Jack has been especially awful (and he can't tell us about his feelings as well as Harry can-- even if Harry is the kind of denial and will look up from whatever totally jerky thing he is doing to yell apropos of god knows what is going on in his little head "I am going to be FINE when Jamie leaves. Just FINE!), and I finally told him that Ben and I aren't going anywhere, that we're his mom and dad forever, and he stopped tearing the legs off of super heroes and hugged me and clapped his fat hands and said "Yay!"

It makes sense that he'd worry about us leaving, too, considering Jamie has been taking care of him like a third parent since he was born. Poor kid. Thank goodness for Skype. And winter break.

Really, we're all very sad, and I am dealing with it by being a bigger bitch than usual and buying shit. Like cupcakes. Did you know there's a cupcakery right by my office? Well, there is. Soon, I will have to buy other things. Like new pants to accommodate my cupcaked ass.

Zoinks.

Scat

A knock-knock joke Jack told my brother Ben:

J: Knock-knock
B: Who's there?
J: Poop
B: Poop who?
J: Pee pee

Tonight at tee-ball, one of the dads asked me about our trip to the Cubs game, and I told him about Jack getting his leg stuck in the chair and screaming "Doctor! Doctor!" for the next 2 batters. Jack was embarrassed to hear himself talked about and handled that emotion by screaming "Poopy! Poopy! Pee pee! Poopy!"

Trader Joe's has been out of Joe-Joes for 2 weeks now (Joe-Joes are TJ's HFCS-free Oreo knock offs that are actually way, way, way better than actual Oreos), and they FINALLY had some on MOnday, but only the ones with chocolate frosting in the middle. Jack had one at lunch, and when he opened it and saw brown frosting, he cackled and screamed (wait for it) "Poop cookie! Poop cookie yummy!"

So. Yeah. That's where he is lately.

Chicago!

This week we went to Chicago for a quick getaway to see a Cubs game-- Harry and Jack's first trip to Wrigley.
I think Ben has been waiting forever to get a picture like this:

Harry, though, was really bothered that he had no Cubs shirt to wear, even though we assured him he could buy one-- and a hat-- the minute we got to the stadium. Phew! He and Jack were joyfully Cubbed out



I took this picture to show you that we bought a seat for my diaper bag and to hold all the crap we were sure to buy at the game. It came in really handy, and we used our 5th seat as a buffer between us and OTHERS. The people sitting next to my bag should have been happy because a bag didn't have loud cell phone conversations, get drunk and spill its beer, or get up 50 bajillion times to use the bathroom. But they were super pissed off because they had friends at the game who had seats elsewhere and wanted to sit in my bag's seat. The woman in the group next to us even PUT HER HANDS on my bag and started to move it. "That's our seat!" I yelled at her a little too harshly. "Do you want to see the ticket?" They gave us dirty looks until we left after the 7th inning stretch-- leaving 5 vacant seats in the back row right by a beer cart. So we were actually the best stadium neighbors ever. Except for the snow cone incident. And the water bottle debacle. And a minor crayon problem.

Our seats were prefect. Ben picked the terrace reserve because it was close to the field (and in foul ball territory, which always excites him) and in the shade, which was great for our little pasties and ensured we'd stay cool despite the mid-90 temperatures. The back row was also ideal because we could just climb out of our seats the 50 million times we got up. Good seat picking, Ben! (My bag loved it especially. I mean, seriously, have you seen the floor of a baseball stadium? It's no place for a bag, that's for sure).

Family pics on the way out

We accidentally burned the shit out of Jack putting him on this Ernie Bans pic for a photo. So we settled for a pic in front of the statue.

A super nice Cubs employee offered to take one of all of us

Jack took a selfie on the way back from pizza with Ben's grandma

Who gave the boys a bag of dinosaurs and let them frolic in her yard.




Our hotel was a bone of contention. Ben wanted to stay in a Marriott suites hotel by the airport because we do better in a suite with our kids. I wanted to stay on Michigan Avenue because that's way more fun and festive and has an awesome view. We were not able to use our points (weird blackout) for a suite at a downtown hotel, so staying in the city meant we would all be in one room. We had never all stayed in one room before, but my desire for an awesome view won out over Ben's common sense.

The city looks pretty from the 26th floor, huh?

While it was cool to be in a pool 9 floors up, this particular pool was gross and cold and dim. And the hot tub was under construction, destroying any ambiance the room might have had.

After the WORST NIGHT OF SLEEP since our kids were newborns, we fought for a couple hours, drank some bunny crackers

and headed out to explore the city, which was really fun and lovely.




We met up with Amy and her two oldest kids to hit the Chicago Children's Museum at Navy Pier, which the kids all loved (even if they did all cry in the Block party exhibit, which featured an ice cream pushcart that was the most desired object in the room and the cause of our 4 tantrums and probably 8 more from other kids during the 20 minutes we played in there)

Harry and Amy's Jack fought some fires


Harry took his job very seriously

Notice the dirty look the kid in the orange shirt is giving Jack

Ha! Clearly he was jealous because by the next snap, he had donned a cone himself

Even when he is the only one in the pic, Jack chooses the supporting role.

The kids payed the most happily in the water room, but I was too busy sitting on a bench and talking to take any pictures except this one.

The dinosaur dig room was also a huge hit, and we made them all pose for some pics




Harry did not think this was a cool as I did, but he humored me.

Then we ate lunch (a lovely, well balanced organic picnic for Amy's kids and a giant fried bag of fried for ours) and jumped in the car.

Where both kids slept for 3 and a half hours (the traffic was terrible!), and we came home to tornado siren wailing, and both kids stayed up until almost midnight.



The end.

Tantrum Harry

Yesterday, the unthinkable happened.

We had a bad time at the pool.

Gasp.

All because of some toys.


The other day, the baby brother of one of Harry's pool friends was gumming a water squirter that his mom left by the side of the pool when she took her kids home-- it wasn't their water squirter, just one of the communal baby pool toys. Harry gleefully played with it in the big pool, and Jack and I retaliated when he squirted us. Jack kicked and splashed and I stashed Jack on the side of the pool so I could throw Harry across the shallow end (he loves to be tossed all over the pool). Then I'd race back to the wall, and Jack would leap to me and kick his little legs until we reached Harry across the pool and the whole thing would start again. Super fun.

Yesterday, we brought our own water squirters, a pair of Buzz Lightyear ones that Harry scored for his birthday.

The game, though, just wasn't any fun. For one thing, the pool was a lot more crowded, and many moms gave us dirty looks as we played our squirty game-- which didn't make any sense to me because we were in the big pool. It's not like we were blasting babies. Maybe it's because we were playing with laser gun shaped toys? Second, Jack refused to stay stashed on the side, so I couldn't leave him for a moment to toss Harry (Harr'ys favorite part of the game). Third, Harry would not-- no matter how many times I asked-- stop squirting me in the face. In theory, I have nothing against getting squirted in the face. In fact, I get kind of pissy at people who don't like to be splashed in the POOL (and HATE the moms who sit near the fountain feature in the baby pool and give toddlers dirty looks for splashing them. They rival the moms who get pissy when kids dump buckets of water on the edges of the baby pool deck as the most annoying moms at the pool. Where there's WATER. To PLAY IN). The problem was that our water squirters are a bit more forceful than the one we played with the other day, so when he sprayed my face, I couldn't see, and Jack kept hurling himself off the edge of the pool into the water, and I missed catching him a couple of times because I couldn't see.

So, I said we had to put the water squirters away and play with balls or diving sticks instead.

Harry lost his shit. Screaming, punching, slapping himself in the head, pulling his hair, hitting Jack, biting me. Needless to say, we went home (I carried a silent Jack and all of our shit and Harry's shoes which I hoped he'd put on before we hit the blacktop parking lot) and Harry galloped screaming behind me. I had to hold his hand on the way to the car, and I was afraid he was going to twist his arm off. He kept screaming, "I'll be a good boy!" and I kept saying, "You are a good boy, Harry, but we have to go home now." I was out of breath after I wrestled him into his car seat.

He shrieked at the top of his lungs the whole way home. I made it within 2 blocks of our house when I couldn't take it anymore and screamed "SHUT UP!!" as loud as I could. MOTY. Also, it was totally ineffective. Effective? A snack (him) and a shower (me).

Of course we'll try again. And agin. And again. Every sunny day between now and September. The water squirters, though, won't be coming with us.

Little boys

Sometimes I forget that my little boys are babies still.

Last weekend, they found a jack-in-the-box lurking on the top shelf of their closet and demanded that Ben get it down. He was skeptical at first, asking, "What do you guys want that old thing for?" "To play," Harry responded flatly. "Me, too!" chorused Jack. Ben set it in front of them, and they stayed, cross-legged on the floor, facing each other with their knees touching, winding the crank, bobbing their heads to the music, clapping in delight when the jack sprung out, and stuffing him back in the box to start the process again, for at least 20 minutes.



Just now, Harry and I watched El Tigre on Nick Toons while I washed the floor and Jack napped (in his actual bed-- score!). "Geez, Harry," I said. "Do you think Manny is going to save the day?"

He watched the screen intently, looking kind of nervous. "I don't know," he said. "There's a lot of bad guys."

But the hero always saves the day on kiddie TV, I wanted to tell him but didn't.

Babies.



Speaking of the big boy bed. Jack has been making himself a floor nest after tuck-in and sleeping there until Ben and I come to bed, laugh at him, post his picture on Facebook, and scoop him back onto his bed.



He sleeps great, though, so we can't complain. We have also discovered the secret to sleeping past 6:30 am. Harry, who has never once peed his bed (and now that I wrote that, he so totally will), was waking up before five screaming that he was wet. This, understandably, woke up his roomie and us, especially when both kids insisted on breakfasting at 5:15. And? Harry wasn't even wet-- he just really needed to pee. A couple of times, he woke up and ran to the toilet before 5, but the clanging of the lid woke the whole house, too. We cut out all liquids after dinner, and still, the pre-dawn pee-fears continued. Finally, Ben and I started taking him to the potty before we go to bed-- we carry him into the bathroom and sort of half-wake him; he pees, and we carry him back to bed. Easy peasy (also kind of funny). Long story short-- we're already stopping by the boys' room to take zombie Harry to the bathroom, so plopping Jack back in bed is convenient, really.

All right. Jack's up. Back to the pool we go.