Recently, Jude called me into the kitchen, where she was messing around with J.P. "Watch this," she said. "J.P., show Dada how you boogie."
J.P. turned around, looked at me, stuck his finger up his nose and dug around, then pulled it out, proudly, and said, "got it!" I was stunned. Silent. Then, I began laughing. Jude cast an accusatory glance my way. "Oh, no," I said. I didn't teach him that. And I didn't. If I had thought of it, I probably would have, but I didn't.
A couple of days later, I asked our nanny, Carley, if he learned it from her. Carley was mortified, then indignant. "No," she said. "We call them snuffies, not boogies." Okay.
For now at least, it will have to be an unsolved mystery. We're still investigating, though.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Survival in the City
After a bit of a rough patch Sunday afternoon and evening, J.P. has been great. Little or no "go find Mama's." Actually, after my longtime friend, Mike Matteson, had dinner with J.P. and I last night, then left, I heard a few "go find Mike's." A welcome change, actually.
J.P. seems to understand that Jude is in Chicago. When I ask him where Mama is, he says "Chicago." Not that clearly of course, but I can understand what he's saying. It helps, I think, when she calls before bedtime and he can talk to her on the telephone. He realizes that she's not here, but I think he understands she's not too far away and, more importantly, that she's coming back.
Tonight, I took J.P. to my softball game - game 1 of the 2010 Nashville Bar Association Softball Tournament, an annual late summer event. My mother, my sister (Tracy), and her 2 children, Kaitlyn and Matthew, came to the game, as well. It was great, because they were able to watch him while I played softball. Also, I was pleased that Tracy's kids got a chance to see their Uncle Phil in action on the pitcher's mound. We won, 15-9, although we didn't play particularly well.
After the game, J.P. and Tracy's kids ran the bases. Again, again and again. J.P. was so tired when we got home that he went right to sleep after I put him in his crib.
It was a good night and it's been a good couple of days. Still, I'll be glad when Jude gets home tomorrow. We make a pretty good team and it's a hell of a lot less stressful than flying solo.
J.P. seems to understand that Jude is in Chicago. When I ask him where Mama is, he says "Chicago." Not that clearly of course, but I can understand what he's saying. It helps, I think, when she calls before bedtime and he can talk to her on the telephone. He realizes that she's not here, but I think he understands she's not too far away and, more importantly, that she's coming back.
Tonight, I took J.P. to my softball game - game 1 of the 2010 Nashville Bar Association Softball Tournament, an annual late summer event. My mother, my sister (Tracy), and her 2 children, Kaitlyn and Matthew, came to the game, as well. It was great, because they were able to watch him while I played softball. Also, I was pleased that Tracy's kids got a chance to see their Uncle Phil in action on the pitcher's mound. We won, 15-9, although we didn't play particularly well.
After the game, J.P. and Tracy's kids ran the bases. Again, again and again. J.P. was so tired when we got home that he went right to sleep after I put him in his crib.
It was a good night and it's been a good couple of days. Still, I'll be glad when Jude gets home tomorrow. We make a pretty good team and it's a hell of a lot less stressful than flying solo.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Find Mama
This afternoon, after we put J.P. down for a nap, Jude left for the airport and her trip to Chicago for work. She's set to return on Wednesday afternoon, so I'll be flying solo until then.
As soon as he got up from his nap, around 4 p.m., J.P. started saying "find Mama." It's something he picked up from me, recently, when we returned home from running an errand or two. "Let's find Mama," I'd say, as we pulled up in front of our house. Well, all afternoon, and up until bedtime, J.P. continued to say, over and over again, "find Mama, find Mama."
I explained to him that "Mama is in Chicago." He repeated the word "Chicago," then immediately began saying "find Mama" again. I think I'm going to be hearing that a lot the next three days. In fact, I'm sure of it.
As soon as he got up from his nap, around 4 p.m., J.P. started saying "find Mama." It's something he picked up from me, recently, when we returned home from running an errand or two. "Let's find Mama," I'd say, as we pulled up in front of our house. Well, all afternoon, and up until bedtime, J.P. continued to say, over and over again, "find Mama, find Mama."
I explained to him that "Mama is in Chicago." He repeated the word "Chicago," then immediately began saying "find Mama" again. I think I'm going to be hearing that a lot the next three days. In fact, I'm sure of it.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Scared
Tonight, after dinner, Jude, J.P. and I walked down to our friends' house - Ann Marie, Rob and Ayden Elliott. A while back, Rob put together a swing set and slide combo behind their house. J.P. loves to play on it. We stop by in the evenings fairly often, so Ayden and J.P. can play together while the "grownups" talk.
Anyway, we stopped by tonight and when Rob saw us, he, Ann Marie and Ayden came outside. J.P. and Ayden took turns swinging and climbing up to the slide, then playing underneath it ("get in the box," J.P. kept saying, as he crawled underneath the slide). When we got ready to leave and were saying our goodbyes, Ayden walked over to a stunned J.P. and gave him a hug. As she squeezed him, he was startled and tried to back up. Before Rob or I (we were sitting on a rock wall, closest to the kids) could react, J.P. took a step or two backwards, then fell straight back, with Ayden still holding on to him. He hit his head on the ground (grass, thankfully), looked stunned, then immediately started crying. Ayden was no worse for the wear, as he cushioned her fall.
The really scary part is that when he hit his head on the ground, he about a foot from the rock wall. He was completely off balance when he fell and he fell pretty hard, because Ayden was holding on to him and her weight forced him to the ground. If his head would have hit the rock wall, it could have been disastrous. The bizarre thing, of course, is we had just been talking, minutes before, about occasions when the kids had fallen.
That's what frightens me the most about being a parent, I think. In an instant, through no fault of mine, Jude's or J.P.'s, something could happen and he could be injured, maybe seriously injured. I try to be vigilant at all times, but some things are out of my control. Sometimes I feel helpless, like it will be virtually impossible to get him to age 18 without a serious accident or injury. Nothing to do, I suppose, but strap myself in and be prepared for the wild ride of parenthood.
Anyway, we stopped by tonight and when Rob saw us, he, Ann Marie and Ayden came outside. J.P. and Ayden took turns swinging and climbing up to the slide, then playing underneath it ("get in the box," J.P. kept saying, as he crawled underneath the slide). When we got ready to leave and were saying our goodbyes, Ayden walked over to a stunned J.P. and gave him a hug. As she squeezed him, he was startled and tried to back up. Before Rob or I (we were sitting on a rock wall, closest to the kids) could react, J.P. took a step or two backwards, then fell straight back, with Ayden still holding on to him. He hit his head on the ground (grass, thankfully), looked stunned, then immediately started crying. Ayden was no worse for the wear, as he cushioned her fall.
The really scary part is that when he hit his head on the ground, he about a foot from the rock wall. He was completely off balance when he fell and he fell pretty hard, because Ayden was holding on to him and her weight forced him to the ground. If his head would have hit the rock wall, it could have been disastrous. The bizarre thing, of course, is we had just been talking, minutes before, about occasions when the kids had fallen.
That's what frightens me the most about being a parent, I think. In an instant, through no fault of mine, Jude's or J.P.'s, something could happen and he could be injured, maybe seriously injured. I try to be vigilant at all times, but some things are out of my control. Sometimes I feel helpless, like it will be virtually impossible to get him to age 18 without a serious accident or injury. Nothing to do, I suppose, but strap myself in and be prepared for the wild ride of parenthood.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Burger Up!
Tonight, Jude had book club after work, so I decided to take J.P. out to dinner. Our nanny and friend, Carley, and her husband, Jon, agreed to join us. Off we went to "Burger Up," a relatively new restaurant in 12South, near Sevier Park.
Although J.P. was a bit fussy, or "bossy" (as Carley says) today, he was surprisingly well behaved at dinner. We sat on the patio at the restaurant, which worked well, because it allowed J.P. to watch the traffic on 12th Avenue (trucks and buses are always big hits with him). He ate everything I'd brought for him, including green beans, grapes, ham and cheese. When our food arrived, he ate a few slices of apple from my salad, then gobbled down some french fries and sweet potato fries, all while drinking his milk. Good stuff.
After dinner, J.P. pointed next door and said, "popsicle." He wanted to go to "Las Paletas," our neighborhood popsicle shop. In the past, he's tasted popsicles there, licked them, but hasn't been interested in eating one himself. Tonight, as we walked inside and he looked in the coolers, I asked him what kind he wanted. He pointed and said, "red." He nodded his head when I asked, "strawberry?" We walked outside with our popsicles and much to my surprise, he grabbed his, held it by the stick, and ate almost the entire thing. Another first and the end of a really pleasant summer evening.
Although J.P. was a bit fussy, or "bossy" (as Carley says) today, he was surprisingly well behaved at dinner. We sat on the patio at the restaurant, which worked well, because it allowed J.P. to watch the traffic on 12th Avenue (trucks and buses are always big hits with him). He ate everything I'd brought for him, including green beans, grapes, ham and cheese. When our food arrived, he ate a few slices of apple from my salad, then gobbled down some french fries and sweet potato fries, all while drinking his milk. Good stuff.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Lost in Translation
For a while, I was a bit worried that J.P. wasn't talking a whole lot. I mean, I wasn't terribly concerned, because he knows his colors (i.e. picks out "the blue straw" when we ask him to, picks out crayons, etc.) and when we read to him, he points to objects in books on command. Still, he didn't have a very expansive vocabulary.
It didn't help matters that, at times, I fell into the trap of comparing J.P.'s ability to speak and his vocabulary to friends' children at or near his age (especially our friends' daughter, Ayden, the child he's probably around the most). That's a dangerous thing for a parent to do, since children develop at different rates and, really, at their own rate. I reminded myself I'd been worried when he wasn't really crawling at one year, then he crawled and almost immediately, started walking.
Well, the last couple of weeks, almost to the day he turned two years and 14 months old, my fears have been put to rest. He's really starting talking a lot, even speaking in phrases. Funnier still is the fact that he'll repeat virtually anything he hears. For instance, I've taught him to say, "Don't tase me, bro!" That's my personal favorite, although I'm also partial to "J.P. in the house!" Tonight, I taught him to say, "Good evening, Dada."
The down side, though, is that sometimes J.P. gets frustrated when he's trying to tell Jude and me something and we don't understand him. The more he repeats himself and the more we guess incorrectly at what he wants, the madder he gets. It's not unlike trying to understand someone speaking to you in a foreign language. Generally, we figure it out, but not always.
It didn't help matters that, at times, I fell into the trap of comparing J.P.'s ability to speak and his vocabulary to friends' children at or near his age (especially our friends' daughter, Ayden, the child he's probably around the most). That's a dangerous thing for a parent to do, since children develop at different rates and, really, at their own rate. I reminded myself I'd been worried when he wasn't really crawling at one year, then he crawled and almost immediately, started walking.
Well, the last couple of weeks, almost to the day he turned two years and 14 months old, my fears have been put to rest. He's really starting talking a lot, even speaking in phrases. Funnier still is the fact that he'll repeat virtually anything he hears. For instance, I've taught him to say, "Don't tase me, bro!" That's my personal favorite, although I'm also partial to "J.P. in the house!" Tonight, I taught him to say, "Good evening, Dada."
The down side, though, is that sometimes J.P. gets frustrated when he's trying to tell Jude and me something and we don't understand him. The more he repeats himself and the more we guess incorrectly at what he wants, the madder he gets. It's not unlike trying to understand someone speaking to you in a foreign language. Generally, we figure it out, but not always.
Monday, July 5, 2010
J.P.
Summit Meeting
Swimming Pool
Bongo, please!
As anyone who reads this blog regularly can attest, J.P. and I spend a lot of time at Bongo Java, Nashville's oldest, independent coffee shop. At least once a day, he says, "Bongo, please" - his way of suggesting it's time for us to stroll over to Belmont Boulevard to visit our favorite coffee shop. If this keeps up, he's going to develop a serious coffee habit before he's out of elementary school.
I'm not sure how Bongo Java became such a destination point for the two of us, but we've spend so much time there since he was born that it's a really special place to me. In the early days, we'd roll right inside the door, as he slept peacefully in his stroller while I placed my order. Now, as soon as we cross the street at Belmont Boulevard, he's ready to get out of his stroller, run up the stairs and open the door to go inside. Typically, he makes a beeline for the cooler, looks at me over his shoulder, and says, "open, open." When I nod my head, he slides open the door on the cooler and pull out a bottle of water, or "nanni," as he calls it.
J.P. has always been fascinated by the barristas, most of whom recognize us on sight by now. They always have a kind word from him and he waves to them while they work. I think he likes the constant sound and motion behind the counter, as they make lattes, mochas, etc. He loves to walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where we usually sit on Sunday mornings. Because he's so familiar with Bongo Java, J.P. feels emboldened enough to walk around the coffee shop and explore on his own, opening cabinets and climbing on chairs. Outside, on the front porch, he loves to make laps, climbing up the stairs, walking through the tables of people sipping coffee and talking, then running down the ramp and back to the stairs again.
J.P. loves the bacon at Bongo Java, a staple of our Sunday morning breakfasts. He had his first bagel there. He's eaten toast, yogurt, a popsicle, muffins and yogurt there. He's laughed, a lot, and cried, not too often, thankfully, on our many visits. It's our home away from home. Below is a link to Bongo Java Belmont's website.
http://www.bongojava.com/bongo_belmont.php
I'm not sure how Bongo Java became such a destination point for the two of us, but we've spend so much time there since he was born that it's a really special place to me. In the early days, we'd roll right inside the door, as he slept peacefully in his stroller while I placed my order. Now, as soon as we cross the street at Belmont Boulevard, he's ready to get out of his stroller, run up the stairs and open the door to go inside. Typically, he makes a beeline for the cooler, looks at me over his shoulder, and says, "open, open." When I nod my head, he slides open the door on the cooler and pull out a bottle of water, or "nanni," as he calls it.
J.P. has always been fascinated by the barristas, most of whom recognize us on sight by now. They always have a kind word from him and he waves to them while they work. I think he likes the constant sound and motion behind the counter, as they make lattes, mochas, etc. He loves to walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where we usually sit on Sunday mornings. Because he's so familiar with Bongo Java, J.P. feels emboldened enough to walk around the coffee shop and explore on his own, opening cabinets and climbing on chairs. Outside, on the front porch, he loves to make laps, climbing up the stairs, walking through the tables of people sipping coffee and talking, then running down the ramp and back to the stairs again.
J.P. loves the bacon at Bongo Java, a staple of our Sunday morning breakfasts. He had his first bagel there. He's eaten toast, yogurt, a popsicle, muffins and yogurt there. He's laughed, a lot, and cried, not too often, thankfully, on our many visits. It's our home away from home. Below is a link to Bongo Java Belmont's website.
http://www.bongojava.com/bongo_belmont.php
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