Posts tagged ‘NY Jets’

December 22, 2011

A Little Justification Goes a Long Way

Good news, blogger friends: a) I remembered what I was going to write about yesterday, and b) The Biggest Loser is over until January, so you have at least two weeks until I rave about it again.

A couple of weeks ago, we went to the aquarium with my parents. Jacob had a wonderful time—there were four people to chase him/carry him around/feed him rolls, plus all kinds of fish and whatnot to look at. We went to celebrate my mom’s birthday, but Jacob probably thought it was his.

 

When it was time for the walrus feeding, the trainer went through a routine with the I-forget-how-many-hundreds-of-pounds beast to show off all she could do. The best part was when she explained that what the animal was doing weren’t tricks, per se but “behaviors,” skills she would have naturally used every day in the wild, but that she was doing on command while in captivity in order to keep her mentally and physically fit. “Behaviors, not tricks?” I thought to myself. “I can use this.”

 

So, friends, today I share some of Jacob’s recently developed “behaviors”—things he does naturally (in the wild?), but will do on command to his parents’ delight. I wish I could have captured some of this in video, but whenever I pick up the camera, all I get is a video of the little man whining to hold it himself. Maybe letting him play with it that day wasn’t such a good idea.

Jacob’s skills run the gamut these days. He’s a bit of a Renaissance man, tackling a little of everything. If we ask him where his ear is, he’ll point to it. If we ask him what a cow says, he’ll say, “Mmmmmmm.” And perhaps the most exciting trick, I mean, behavior, is that when we say “J-E-T-S!” he answers, “Jets! Jets! Jets!” For serious.

The performance isn’t always flawless. Honestly, if you ask him where any body part is, he’ll point to his ear (although he did make one valiant attempt at “belly button” yesterday). The other day, I asked him the two verbalizing questions too close together, so he ended up telling me that a cow says, “Jets! Jets! Jets!”

I’d like to meet that cow, for sure.

 

January 10, 2011

J-E-T-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!

When I was pregnant, there were a couple of moments of prayer that just about convinced me that we had a little baby boy brewing.  When finally our doctor, with a pair of tiny, slightly purpled feet in hand, confirmed that our child was, indeed, male, I was delighted that this feeling I’d had all along, this connection I’d suspected was already in the works, was as real as I’d hoped it had been.

 

But if those moments of prayer hadn’t been enough to convince me, there was also the fact that, in the last months of my pregnancy, I become borderline obsessed with professional football.

 

Four years at Boston College will make anyone a football fan, but when we moved to New York and elected not to get cable, and thus ESPN, our Saturdays with the Eagles quickly came to an end.

 

While in undergrad, professional football didn’t appeal to me much.  I didn’t have anyone nearby with which to share a loyalty.  Even then, I knew being a Patriots fan was unacceptable.  Once John and I were married, I struggled to hang on to what is most of my family’s allegiance to the Giants.  By the end of the season, I suspected I had been defeated.  I’d cheered for more Jets games than Giants games, thanks to John, and as the 2010 season approached, I could feel my loyalty most certainly shifting.

 

Having a little testosterone-infused person live in me for nine months—and with a heck of a pair of shoulders to boot—was the final straw. Now that we’re in this season’s playoffs, it’s time for me to come clean.  I am, indeed, a Jets fan.

 

 

I pay attention to the schedule.  I know names and numbers.  I have a fan-crush on Mark Sanchez.  I don’t have any gear myself (that stuff is pricey!) but I dress our son in Jets-wear so consistently on Sundays that friends at church have questioned whether he has anything else to wear. Aren’t you supposed to wear your best clothes to church?

 

Most mothers fear their sons playing football, but I am looking forward to peewee leagues and whatever comes after, should he be interested.  His girth has already inspired us to joke about his becoming a linebacker (and it’s not really a joke).

 

I love sharing this exciting football season with the little guy—and my big guy, John. Part of what I appreciate about football is the consistent schedule.  There’s just enough to anticipate, just enough to commit to following.  Knowing we’re going to spend a couple of hours together on Sunday, watching something we all love, has been a great thing to look forward to every week.

 

Because we’re in the postseason now—although it’s definitely not over yet!—I’m already looking forward to next season, when I’ll call out, “J-E-T-S!” and Jacob will (hopefully) answer back, “JETS! JETS! JETS!”  We’re working on a fist pump, too.

 

This is the kind of tradition an American family is all about, and I couldn’t be happier to share it with mine.

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