Spelling Bee Gone Horribly Wrong

Jacob may not be saying a whole lot of words, but he certainly understands a lot of them. John and I are at the point where we have to spell anything that involves food, eating, or a trip to the park, unless Jacob is going to be involved with any of those things immediately. The little man knows the names of all three meals, most of his food, and “hungry” and “thirsty.” Can you say “one-track mind”?

 

This made for an interesting conversation over the weekend. We’d been out to a Christmas party on Saturday, and on Sunday there was still some f-o-o-d left in the stroller for Jacob’s afternoon s-n-a-c-k—crackers, to be specific.

 

As we prepared to go o-u-t, John wanted to be sure there was enough for our little food monster, but all the spelling can get kind of time-consuming. He shortened things and ended up asking me if there was “c-r-a-c-k” in the stroller. I confirmed, then doubled over in laughter so that I could hardly breathe.

 

Yes, dear, there’s crack in the stroller. Just the kind Jacob likes, too.

 

Baby vs. Butternut Squash: Round Two

Last year, I attempted to cook a couple of dinners that involved butternut squash. I learned that it is possible to cook a time-consuming meal like that with a baby around, but, unfortunately not possible to eat it when it’s prepared. Last year, both times, the baby won.

 

This year, I gave it another shot. I’ve been craving macaroni and cheese; I had a recipe for butternut squash macaroni and cheese; and I had a butternut squash that needed to be consumed soon. Plus a macaroni-and-cheese-loving friend was coming for a visit, if I needed something to put me over the top.

 

I upped the ante this time, considering how allergic to dairy Jacob is. Macaroni and cheese involves milk, cheese, and butter—the trifecta of Jacob poison. But did that stop me? No!

 

It was a battle to keep Jacob entertained and well fed while I cooked (essentially with one hand, mind you), but I did it. The key this time was that I didn’t intend to eat the meal right away. I was making dinner at lunchtime. Not only that, but I made two casseroles, so I really made two dinners (and a couple of lunches). Not only that, but I put bacon on top. Not only that, but I toasted panko crumbs for a topping in the bacon fat before I put it on the mac and cheese.

 

Was there a crying baby? Yes. Was there a crying daddy when he saw the mess in the kitchen? Yes. But was there a mama with a very happy belly and a strong sense of victory? Oh, yes.

 

Baby: one. Butternut squash: one.

 

Until next time . . .

Dear Jacob XVI

Dear Jacob,

 

Little by little you are figuring out your world. Sometimes it gets you in trouble. Most of your tantrums are precipitated by your trying to do something I do and landing yourself in a situation in which it’s likely that a) you’ll get hurt or b) you’ll break something. In those times, I try to see that you are only trying to figure it all out. Sometimes you are simply testing your limits, but even that is a natural part of growing up. And you really are growing up.

 

I admit I slacked off a little bit on the discipline the past few weeks, because I was having trouble figuring out what was making you lose your mind, and eventually I just wanted to avoid the tantrums. But since I’ve put my sheriff’s badge back on, you’ve responded very well to the boundaries I’ve set, so I think I dodged that messing-the-child-up bullet, which is good for everyone.

 

Now I see that when you do have tantrums—unless you’re really tired—they are with good reason. For the most part, you seem like a person who is able to laugh at himself, and I think that is a very good thing. You are still a pretty easygoing little guy, and the other day your dad and I kept saying to each other, “He’s such a good boy. . . . He’s just such a good boy.”

 

If your exploration doesn’t get you into trouble, it gives often gives me a great laugh. The other day, I cut your toenails in the morning (which you didn’t like at all). That evening, when I was putting you in your jammies, you found the clipper on the changing table and started to put it on your toes, like I had done. I’m not sure why you wanted to repeat what seemed to be an incredibly traumatizing experience, but it was funny all the same.

 

That day, too, you took another step toward properly using a spoon. You were holding the spoon in the right orientation, so I put a piece of chicken on it. You smiled, moved the spoon to your mouth, and ate the chicken. I celebrated! You put a blueberry on the spoon. Good job, I thought! Then you proceeded to take the blueberry off the spoon with your fingers and eat it. You moved to the next one: put blueberry on spoon, take blueberry off spoon, eat it, put blueberry on spoon, take blueberry off spoon, and so on. Essentially you were bouncing the blueberries off the spoon on the way to your mouth, which again was silly, but I see where you’re going. Who decided what the “proper” use of a spoon was anyway?

 

You also know that socks go on feet (though you haven’t figured out your socks don’t fit on my feet), you’ve figured out how to imitate a lot of what I do in the kitchen with your play kitchen (though it still frightens me when you come at me for a hug with your dull play knife in hand), and of course, you know how to give hugs and kisses/head butts.

 

It is so much fun to watch you figure out this silly world in your silly way, little man. And even if you never use a spoon “properly” (though I hope you do), I will love you forever and ever.

 

Love,
Mom

P.S. Sorry no pictures, Uncle Michael. More tomorrow, I hope!