A Big Bug

"Okay, Boy, take it easy.  You can still play with the cars.  You just have to move out of the middle of the circle because all the other children are enjoying Santa Claus doling out presents and you're kinda stealing the spotlight."

This morning The Boy described the breakfast set before him--

BOY:  Toast!

ME:  That's right, french toast.

BOY:  Orange!

ME:  That's right, Mama's orange.  Do you want to eat it?

BOY:  NO.

ME:  Okay, what else?

BOY:  Raisins!

ME:  Yep

BOY:  Mook!

ME:  Yes, you have milk.

BOY:  And a big bug!

ME:  Huh?

The Boy's FAVORITE phrase to say is "a big bug."  It gets thrown on the end of any basic conversation we're having.  Now I think I should buy him A Bug's Life.  Is it too late to get to Target?  This is how my brain works these days...    

Cords Uprising

Boy and Daddy playing with toys at Toddler school.  Once Santa left we could get back to fun!
(He had no interest in Santa whatsoever.  It might be genetic as I was exactly the same.)

I was just complaining about this to my friend Natasha (Natasha, stop reading now if you don't want a repeat rant)---

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CORDS???!

I can't take it.  I need a suitcase just to pack all the cords that accompany the small appliances I'm taking on my travels.  The portable DVD player, my cell phone, the camera to download to the computer, the computer, the white noise machine I can't live without...there's something else and I can't remember right now.

Now technically I don't need the camera/computer cord THAT badly but why not toss it into the mix if half a dozen others MUST tag along?

My friend was impressed that I loaned her a portable dvd player that was all packed up in it's box and included all necessary cords and instructions.  Well, I am not that anal and put together.  I simply lose these things CONSTANTLY and then lose my mind shortly thereafter!  It's called survival now.  If I don't keep it all together then I will lose my mind completely.

The last time I didn't put the DVD player cords back in the box I totally freaked out the charger was lost forever.  Then Mr. Jarcy found the charger on top of my dresser (a wasteland of other odds and ends that I can't even begin to address).  See what I mean?  I'd been sleeping less than 3 feet from the damn thing for months and STILL had no clue as to it's whereabouts!  I can't be trusted so into it's original packaging it goes!  Where it's safe and so is my sanity.

Now I'm worrying about how much I worry about cords.  I better have another glass of "Mad Housewife" chardonnay to dull the fear the cords will strangle me in my sleep.  (Too dark?  Sorry!  I'm a poor judge of what's appropriate sometimes.)

Giki Had An "Accident"

Boy at Toddler School

Part of parenting is becoming a really good liar.

The Boy LOVES his Giki.  What's a Giki, you ask?  A blankie that he's named Giki.  As he chews on it for security throughout the day (he sounds like a puppy doesn't he?) you can imagine how gross Giki becomes.  If you wash Giki, however, you run the risk of him either abandoning Giki all-together (I'm not ready for that to happen as we're flying across the country Wednesday) or having a major meltdown over Giki getting clean.

My inner liar took over today's operation--

Phase 1 of deception:  Today we washed Giki in the washer behind Boy's back but didn't dry him.  Then I tossed him into the dry bath tub when Boy wasn't looking as if Giki had slipped/fallen/been pushed in there without any of us knowing.  It was our little Giki crime scene, if you will.

Phase 2 of deception:  "Boy," I called out, "have you seen Giki lately?"

Boy called out, "Giki!  Giki!"  (He calls out as if Giki will come running.)

Phase 3 of deception:  We led Boy to the bathroom where he stumbled upon Giki in the tub and we gasped, "Oh look!  Giki took a bath!  How did that happen?"

Boy stood over the crime scene...er, bath tub.  "Giki bath," he said.

"Yes, Giki took a bath," we said.

"Giki wet," Boy said.

He is now playing with damp Giki and, cross your fingers, has accepted him back into his loving arms (and mouth).  I feel a little dirty for this deceit but better my soul be slightly soiled than that smelly blanket.  I couldn't take it's stench for another minute...

One Apt. Dweller's Trash Is A Toddler's Treasure

The Boy has shown himself to be a salvager.

This plastic drawer and mismatched lid--that doesn't fit, by the way-- was left out by the garbage shoot on our floor.  The Boy just HAD to have them.  He kept calling the drawer a "car" because it has wheels on the bottom so you can slide it under the bed.  It has yielded an hour of entertainment this afternoon.

Now I'm wondering whether I haul it back out to the trash or find a use for it.  My inner greenie says to keep it.  My inner clutterbug says to scrap it.  My inner procrastinator will probably win out, leaving it in the middle of the living room floor for the next week.

Embracing My Hermit Ways

I have had a pretty wonderful day with The Boy above.  Here's my recipe for a great day...

1. Get all the planets to align to ensure a well rested night of sleep for all parties involved.
2. Upon wakening, don't get dressed.  In fact, don't get dressed at all.  Stay in those jammies all day long.
3. Don't leave the house.  
4. Play, read, watch movies.  
5. Nap in the afternoon.
6. Play, read, watch movies more.
7. Yeah...that's about it.

OF COURSE I needed to go to the grocery store, holiday shop, get fresh air, blah blah blah...I put it all off and just played with my kid.  It was lovely.  I feel renewed.

Tomorrow we will get back to the errands, the activities outside of the home, the struggle to put pants on The Boy.  But for today it was nice not having to do any of that.  After all, you can't force a toddler to dress when you yourself do not.  :-)

* Edited note 10 minutes after posting:  If #1 on the list does NOT occur then the rest can-- or just organically will-- but won't be nearly as fun.

Baby It's Cold Outside...Sorta

"My mother thinks it's cold outside and I think I'm my best friend Cat.  We're an odd bunch."

I'm about to do something real annoying to many of you reading my blog...

I'm going to complain about the cold(ish) weather in Southern California.  

I can't believe it either!!!  Listen, a year ago I NEVER would have even considered a single complaint to come out of my mouth (Well, regarding cold weather at least.  We all know I can complain about other things with ease.).  I would see locals bundled up in puffy coats and Ugg boots when temperatures dropped to 50 degrees and think, Oh brother!  You don't know the meaning of cold, people!  Toughen up! 

Now I'm one of those people.

The temps have gone down to the high 30's at night and in the 50's during the day.  And I've been freezing!  I shouldn't even mention the night temp because rarely am I out at night.  Regardless, I have requested Ugg type boots for Christmas (although I said it was so sand wouldn't get into my shoes while at the park with Boy) and I'm on the hunt for a wool coat more suitable to fall weather.

Wow, I don't recognize this California Mrs. Jarcy one bit (especially since I have more "internal padding" than I did before leaving Chicago).

The drama of living in a barely heated Chicago apartment are but a distant memory, thank goodness.  I have a feeling I won't know what hit me when we head back to the Midwest in a few weeks.  

The Sweatshirt Must Be Lined With Spikes. That MUST Be It.

Not sure why Boy is naked.  Oh wait, yes I do.  Because he hates clothes.  The inspiration for this post was prompted by a tantrum over wearing a hooded sweatshirt to go play outdoors.  Sigh.

I fear the neighbors will rise up and revolt against our loud, temperamental ways.

It may be irrational or unnecessary to think this way.  However, if you've ever met my kid--The Most Amazing Boy To Ever Live--you might see my point.  The Boy is "passionate."  That's what one of my friends calls her boys and it's a description fitting for Boy as well.  I don't know if it's the moody age two fast approaching or his recent illness or simply his personality but he is one loud and emoting individual.

I can't imagine where he gets it?  (I look down sheepishly before pointing finger in the direction of his father.)  Alright fine, he gets his personality from BOTH of his parents.  I was hoping it would be like how two negatives make a positive in math but that's not been the case.  We're all positives.  Wildly charged positives.  Mr. Jarcy took The Boy to the doctor to get checked out from his recent bad cold and even the doctor was like, "Woah, this kid is strong."  He probably said it more like, "WOAH!  THIS KID IS STRONG!" because Boy was screaming at the top of his lungs.  I know kids don't love the doctor but when he's as strong and loud as he is it tends to get mighty stressful.  That's why I stayed home (and yet still stressed out you may notice).

He's ours for life (a life he's promised me will be until he's at least 110 years old) and I wouldn't trade him for the world but there are moments when his dramatic screams are enough to send me to the nut house.  Or a house.  I need a house with walls independent of other residences so he can be as loud as he wants and I won't worry as much about him bothering others.

Somehow this post has ended as a plea to the universe for us to secure the sufficient funds for a house in L.A.  Oh boy...