Jacob Street’s Blog

Nicholas has teeth rolling out of his mouth like dice at a craps game. He has lost three teeth in as many weeks. One night last week he said, “Mom, I have another loose tooth.” And I, of course, dismissed this revelation with a cursory, “Uh huh.”  Not a minute later, “Mom, it just came out.”

How do you go from the discovery it is loose to completely out of your head and into your hand in one minute!

This tooth fairy business has me frazzled because I never seem to have cash or change anymore and I am NOT going to an ATM to feed Nick’s tooth fairy belief. Luckily Nicholas was going to spend the night with DH. I sent him a text message that he needed to play tooth fairy that night. As I did this I couldn’t help but think how weird my world had become- I was sending a text message to my ex-husband to make sure he played tooth fairy for our ten year old son. Normal or weird- I couldn’t quite decide…yeah definitely weird.

Sooo…the next day…

“Mom, I think you and daddy have been playing tooth fairy.”

Oh crap. I can handle questions about masturbation, but I really didn’t want to deal with the conversation about tooth fairy being real or not.

“What makes you think that?” Mom asked so wide-eyed and innocent.

“I heard Daddy tell Heather he needed some change to put under my pillow.”

My first thought was what a freaking cheapskate. Change? I upped the ante on tooth fairy compensation a long time ago. It involved dollars, not change.

“Well, I don’t know anything about that sweetie” and we left it at that.

So he put the tooth under his pillow at my house.

Wait, isn’t this double-dipping?

I just played along and put two shiny silver dollars under his pillow. I have had these two coins forEVER because my mother insists on bestowing sentimentality on everything.

But then I really started thinking…is this the right thing to do?…is my son actually double-dipping the tooth fairy? Should I play into this deception? Should I bust him?

I did both.

He got the coins, but I called him out on his double-dipping. He just smiled his little charming smile at me. I think we both knew a whole lot with the looks and smiles we gave each other.

“Mom, I need your hairbrush…my cowlacks are back.

Today is a day of thanks. I am thankful for so many things, but most of all I am thankful for you. Little boy, my little Nickolodean, you are the light of my life and you bring me more joy than I could ever imagine.

I am thankful for the following things I love so dearly about you…

your giant brown eyes

that little dimple in your chin and on your cheek

the freckle on your knee

your completely easy smile

your giggles in your sleep

your cowlacks

the practical jokes you play on me

that you still talk to me about PeePaw

that you pinch the ends off of pointy french fries

that you sing in the shower

that you are so kind to animals

your belief in Santa Claus

your snuggability

that you can sleep wherever I plunk you down

that you always ask me how my day was

that you will play with kids of any age especially those younger than you

that you mess up and say chee-cane instead of keychain

that you ask for more broccoli

that you scratch my back when I have an emergency itch

that you ask me the hard questions and are cool with my answers

that you can identify just about every bug and snake

that you love The Clash

that you talk with your hands and make great faces

that you dance with me

that you love a beautiful sunset and a full moon

that you can do a spectacular cannonball

that you have little fear

that you always want to help an old person unload their groceries at Kroger

that you always ask me what words mean

that you have a kind heart, a sweet spirit, a mischievous sense of humor and a light in your eyes that carries me through every day.

I love you my precious little Nickolai, my little bear, my sweet boy.

the sweetest little boy in the whole world

my mom, the best mom ever

my totally smart and crazy brothers

the two Kathys whom I have known since we were little girls

snuggling with my niece and talking all night

the value of often finding things very funny

my education

my extreme tolerance of chocolate

Jen and Anne

having the best daddy in the whole wide world for forty years because a lot of people don’t even get close to that

Suzy

my health

Jess, Jen, Anne, Shab, Erin, Brigid, Leanne, Suzanne, my most wonderful writing mamas

books lining the walls of my house

Holly

not being hungry

Beth

all of our clients especially my kids and the elders

what Tiko taught me

tea and coffee

train whistles at night

sheepy blanket that my dad bought me in college

a change of seasons

always having hope

Sarwar, Asrar, Nejib, Abdishakur and Mahamud

living in a country where my loud mouth and honesty might not be well-received, but received it is because no one has the right to ever stop me from speaking the truth.

my photos

real film

a heart broken long ago and knowing that it always heals

for everyone that loves me and all those I love

An Ethiopian colleague said to me yesterday, “this holiday is geniusness.”

Yes it is my friend.

I just read a really funny article about badly behaving relatives during holiday meals and get-togethers. My holidays have been fairly drama-free since becoming single-meaning-no more in-law stories. But in my past…

My in-laws have never been known for having the tidiest house. I can’t even begin to tell you the depth and breadth of facetiousness and sarcasm in that previous statement. DH used to say if he didn’t hear the pop when opening a bottle or jar or see an actual seal being broken in his parents’  house he wasn’t going to eat it. I recall one Thanksgiving when upon entering their home my former MIL proclaimed in the hallway (before she greeted us), “I think all the ice has been contaminated by the meat juice.” Needless to say our drinks remained ice-free during the course of our meal.

Another Thanksgiving DH was the source of my holiday angst. Ten minutes from carving the turkey and sitting down to our meal with a table full of guests, DH decided that our garbage disposal was strong enough to handle pulverizing ALL the peelings from both kinds of potatoes. Yeah, not so much. I don’t think it could have been more clogged and stuck if he had poured a gallon of super glue down the drain.  So, as my beautiful dinner was about to be served DH was under the sink pulling apart pipes and shop-vac-ing the cascade of peels and water. Guess who actually cried real tears? Bless his sister for making him stop or I might have dropped down to fetal position amid the refuse.

My parents came for a visit on one Thanksgiving. I was a pro at the turkey roasting process. The night before I had already concocted the herb butter rub I was going to massage into the turkey flesh and the apricot glaze I was going to slather all over that knobby skin. A most important part of the turkey journey that I hadn’t mastered was the THAWING part. It was rock hard the night before. The flurry of “oh shits” and the imminent release of another bout of tearful hysteria didn’t bother the ‘rents a bit. Within minutes of the glacier-like discovery, the three of us were dunking and fondling this bird in a bathtub full of water. I mean this turkey was manhandled for HOURS. The best part was the enjoyment my dad was having at teasing me over this averted holiday fiasco. “Bathtub bird” he kept saying and laughing. “Please Daddy, I am begging you- don’t say anything to anyone tomorrow that this turkey has spent the better part of the night taking the bath that I desperately wanted and needed. “Oh no. I won’t say anything.” He was lying. He was totally lying. There was that squinty crinkle in his eyes. He was so going to bust me. And bust me he did, but no one seemed to mind as we were eating one of the most delicious turkeys I ever made.

Who wants a holiday where everything goes right and everyone behaves. Where would the stories come from??  Happy Thanksgiving dear ones!

I have no desire or need to expand beyond the title of this post.

Coffee, internet news, more coffee, CBS Sunday Morning, more coffee, check email, facebook, more coffee, read Postsecret…this is a typically very pleasant Sunday morning. I read on the news that Rep. Patrick Kennedy has been banned from receiving communion for his pro-choice views. This makes me sad. This says to me a lack of compassion and kindness. Then Sunday Morning did a piece on a priest/chef which prompted a lot of questions from Nicholas about priests getting married and what is Catholic.  He asked me if I am Catholic. I explained that I was raised Catholic, but I do not practice being Catholic. I ran down the list of folks in our lives who are Catholic: Bubby, the Aunt Kathys, Emily…

Nicholas asked my why I am not Catholic and I told him there are a lot of rules in the Catholic church that I don’t believe in so I can’t be Catholic. He thinks women should be allowed to be priests so this was an easy rule for both us upon which to agree. I also explained birth control. I absolutely love when a great opportunity presents itself. He needs to learn. He needs to learn from me where I can guarantee an unscrewed-up perspective and explanations based on facts. He takes it all in stride. But at least he knows.

Wednesday night was the pizza party for the end of Nick’s soccer season.  A huge long table was reserved and of course all the moms were huddled together and the kids were bouncing from one end of the arcade to the other. There was a smattering of dads, but I think they ended up in the arcade too. While other moms were eating salads I was taking delight in my cheesy spinachy calzone, because…this is my motto (well one of them that involves food)- cheese makes the world do round.

Ok so back to the kids- they were running back and forth, taking sips of their suicides (blech) and maybe scarfing a bite of pizza. There were several booths behind some of us moms. One booth directly behind a friend and myself was occupied by a scruffy old guy whose red face and half-closed eyes said he was indulging in something more than melted cheese. Whenever a child would run past his booth he would lunge out and grab and yell at the child. This happened a couple of times- I thought maybe some of the kids belonged to him- there were several soccer parties going on along with ours. I turned around in time to hear his wife (again blech, poor woman) tell him he was scaring the children. He brushed her off with a wave of his hand.

Now I was more than curious. I asked my friends if they knew him. No one did. And then another lunge and scream. He frightened my friend’s child. That was it. I was done. While the other moms had a deer in the headlights look (and where were the dads??) I turned to the man and asked him to stop what he was doing. He said he was just having fun, it was no big deal.

You can brush off your wife, but  dude, you are dealing with a diffeent animal here.

I am going to tell you politely for now to stop scaring the children and stop grabbing at them.

They’re not scared and I am just having fun.

Well they are MY kids and I am telling you to stop now.

I must have had my mean mommy face going on or maybe he just decided to stop, but stop he did.

But I was pissed. How dare he think that was ok to do to any one of those children. I am thankful it didn’t happen to Nicholas because first of all that would have really scared him. Second I think I would have gone Ukrainian apeshit ballistic on the old drunk. But mainly I felt really bad for his wife. How many did she have to hear words like I’m just having fun, I didn’t mean anything by it, you’re wrong…  

Don’t screw with a soccer mom. Or any mom.

Saturday was a day of one million things I had to do. I had to go to Target before the morning soccer game to buy cheap sunglasses because I lost my old crappy pair. I very rarely lose things because in my OCD/AT kind of way I know where all my stuff is at any given time.

So getting Nicholas out of the house earlier than the regular time was a little difficult, but he played nice and complied. We started walking up my Dr. Seuss driveway and he discovered a snake right smack in the middle. I NEVER worry about this kid’s eyesight. How can he spot a green and brown garter snake in a pile of green and brown leaves?

Mom, I think it’s hurt.

Ok, well let’s pick it up and move it to the side so it won’t get hurt anymore.

Really- how cool am I? This is one of my cocky, superior mom moments when I know either one of us could easily pick up this snake without any squeamishness. Nick picked it up so gently and was concerned about the blood ringing its mouth.  I probably ran over this snake the night before.

Mom, maybe I better make it a little bed in the leaves and wash the blood from its mouth.

Nick, the best thing you can do is just leave it in the leaves. We can’t do anything to fix it.

When we came home later in the afternoon after all the errands and soccer games Nicholas dashed to the spot where he had put the snake. He told me it was dead. Nick is very serious about proper burial issues and wanted to bury it basically where I put my feet everyday. I suggested a little spot under the ivy and he was happy with that. He was sad. He already loved that little snake. He wanted to help it. We had one of those circle of life kind of talks and we both felt a little better about the little snake.

A dear wise friend told me this weekend to get my panties out of a wad. Now I have told her in the past to get her own panties out of a wad so I genuinely appreciate the reciprocity. It is not easy to tell me what to do. I admire anyone who makes the attempt. If a stubborn gene is to be located one day from some curious scientist it will look like this:

Oh sure- all cute and cuddly, but don’t let those brown eyes fool you- the heart and head of a mule.

So, I took my dear friend’s advice and metaphorically plucked the panties out of my butt (hey I was at home- I go commando) and thought about my good day. I helped Nicholas with a book report and I sang at the top of my lungs. I folded and put away all my laundry except for the three socks that were still mocking me. I opened all the windows and doors and let the fresh autumn air swirl around my house.

Nicholas wanted to listen to Kate Rusby on the way to school this morning. I can comply easily since one of her albums is usually already in the cd player. “I want the song that talks about the bells.” I knew which one that was since it may be my all time favorite Kate Rusby song. It’s called Wandering Soul and for some crazy reason just seems to nestle in my heart and remind me of a few things I often need to hear. Go figure.

“Mom, this school is so right for me. I love it here. And I’m not afraid anymore.”

Sometimes I fancy myself the teacher. But so often it is everyone teaching me.

xo

Wandering Soul – Kate Rusby (Lyrics)

Source: www.youtube.com

Mom, has Daddy ever gotten a rabies shot?

Oh God. GiGi control the impulse…

Little Angel GiGi on GiGi’s  left shoulder, “Tell him the truth, don’t be mean.”

Little Devil GiGi on GiGi’s right shoulder, “Say it. You know you you want to. Yes Nicholas Daddy had to get a rabies shot when he married…”

STOP! I am now grinding my teeth and about to hyperventilate by suppressing a whopper of a joke.

No, Nick Daddy has never needed to get a rabies shot.

Ok, I did the right thing. Now I am going to flick that little devil away from me.

Mom, I think he has had a rabies shot.

Nick, Daddy has never needed a rabies shot because he has never been bitten by a rabid animal.

So many possible jokes and no one around to accept the punchlines.

Has he ever had a techno-shot?’

Ok now I can laugh.

It’s a tetanus shot honey, and yes he has had a tetanus shot (and I hope it hurt)

Have you had one?

Yes.

Does it hurt?

Yeah it hurts. They inject right into the muscle so your arm hurts a lot.

A lot? As much as a bee sting?

Oh more than that. Tetanus shots really smart.

Have I had one?

Yes, when you were a baby.

Will I need one again?

Yes- at some point.

Geez Mom, you’re really scaring me since they hurt that bad.

I’m just being honest with you Nick.

Mom, sometimes you are just a little too honest.

Nick, you are not the first person to accuse me of that. A change ain’t gonna happen.