Jack's only 3 and a half, but he reminisces a lot.
"Remember when we went to the beach and we splashed in the water?" Yes, Jack, that was yesterday.
"Remember when we went and got chicken nuggets and french fries?" Yup, that was yesterday too.
"Remember when you told me the story about the monsters and the robots?" Last night? Or one of the last 10 nights, when that was also the story I told you?
(Side note: Jack likes made-up stories, which is really stretching the limits of my imagination these days. It started with him wanting stories based on books we read. So, we read "Escape of Marvin the Ape," in which Marvin the Ape escapes from the zoo (great book), and Jack wanted a story about that. And each time, the story got bigger, with (for example) a new activity and a new friend for Marvin. I'd go with, for example, Barry the Bear. And Jack took the idea and ran with it, each ensuing night. So, as I'd start to tell the story, Jack would say, "I thought of another friend for Marvin....Snakey the snake." Or, "Giraffy the giraffe." And so on. Until on the 10th night or so, it was "One day, Marvin the ape and his friends, Barry the bear, Giraffy the giraffe, Snakey the snake, Lion the lion, Fishy the fish....(etc.) decided to have a picnic."
I'm not sure how the superheroes stories started. Might have been after I gave him the Iron Man toys as a gift. Suddenly he wanted superheroes to go around fighting monsters. And then monsters and robots. And then monsters and robots and Power Rangers -- I have no idea where that came from, we don't watch them, somebody at school must have had a lunch box or T-shirt or somesuch. Anyway, the stories are the best I can come up with and they all involve the monsters or robots or Power Rangers doing something only mildly bad like stealing people's ice cream or something, and the heroes using their ray beams or webs or whatever on the monsters until they recognize the error of their ways and become good.)
"Remember when I wore Kate's hat?" Yes, it was too small for you and you stretched it out so she'll never be able to wear it again.
"Remember when you tickled me and made me laugh so much? That was so funny." Yes it was. "Let's do that again." OK, Jack.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Musical Kate
I don't know if all little kids and babies like music, but it appears we're 2 for 2. Kate, like Jack, can't get enough of that foot-stompin' musical beat.
Jack used to dance in his crib to musical Tigger from a very young age. (Picture at right.) Kate didn't do that, but she did start playing the little toy piano while just a few months old, and she now rocks back and forth on her haunches, or bounces up and down, to music. Jack plays this tune on one of his toys that he dances to, and I was watching him do this -- when all of a sudden Kate caught my eye, halfway across the room, bouncing up and down, head nodding to the music. She caught me looking at her and shot me a big grin, and went right on "dancing."
Yesterday she was standing at the play table, which also plays music when she hits certain buttons. At one point she was playing that music, AND she stepped on this little book the neighbors gave us that plays musical tunes. A veritable symphony (cacophony?) of music, and she looked at me, laughed, and rocked back and forth on her heels.
Sometimes she claps. Not always to music; sometimes just because she's happy, although the music is part of that. I missed it, but Emily told me she was clapping happily yesterday and accidentally caught her nose in a clap. Hee.
Today I took Kate to the gym (YMCA) for the first time. They have a babysitting service there for while you work out, with all kinds of toys. Kate, um, didn't do so well with it. I checked on her (without being seen) every five minutes. First time: crying. Second time: not crying. Third time: crying harder. Fourth time: not crying as I was first approaching; then, crying. I got there and I honestly worried she'd had an allergic reaction to something, her little eyelids and nose were so red. So yeah, the babysitting with strangers is something we've got some minor problems with.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Beach
We've made two trips to the beach now this summer. A few things can be said.
1. Jack's an impatient backseat driver. We're sitting in a line of traffic, and Jack says, "Let's just turn around." We're getting close to the beach, and Jack says, "Is THIS the beach?" "Is THIS the beach?" Every mile or so. At one point we were close; you could see a little private beach beyond a stone wall. Jack asked again, and I said, "Well, you could just get out here, and we'll meet you." Jack's also very literal. "What?" he said. "I can't get out HERE. I can't just jump over that WALL." It's really pretty funny.
2. I really envy those commercials for I believe Corona that show a couple walking to a spot in the sand and sitting down, carrying nothing but a bucket of beer. I believe the commercial contrasts that couple with a family that appears to be us. They stumble up to a spot with beach chairs, an umbrella under their arms, towels, toys, a cooler of snacks, suntan lotion, etc. And of course, two kids. We need to invest in one of these things that looks like a laundry hamper for toys and stuff, that you just roll onto the beach with you. That would be nice.
3. Jack has kind of a love-hate relationship with the ocean. I think he likes the beach, and had a blast splashing around in the waves last time, and then when we went yesterday he didn't want to go in the water -- didn't even want to take off his beach sandals. I think the only reason he agreed to go at all was me promising he could bury me in the sand. That was kind of funny, incidentally -- he'd cover part of me with sand, decide he needed water, and ask me to go get him some. "But Jack, I"m buried in the sand!" "Oh," he'd say. "Here, I'll help you get out...." Anyway, Jack thus far appears to like the sand a lot more than the water. I guess some older kid pointed out a horseshoe crab in the water the first time, telling him it would eat him or something. We assured him that was not the case. Then Saturday we were standing near the edge of the water and saw TWO of them, connected in some fashion, perhaps intimately. I'm not familiar enough with horseshoe crab anatomy, nor do I want to be, to be certain. Perhaps I'll raise the question at the Aquarium next time we're there. "Excuse me -- where are....?"
4. Jack did discover one of the new joys of the beach Saturday: beach food. I've never seen him eat so many chicken nuggets and french fries at a sitting.
5. Kate appears to have gotten over her nervousness on unusual surfaces. On Friday she crawled around on grass like it was no big deal, and then Saturday, she scuttled across the beach like a fiddler crab. And put a rock in her mouth, of course, but we got it out. Her hat keeps falling off (too big) and we fret about sunburn, not to mention her efforts to crawl through the sand castle I built with Jack, and her obvious desire to also eat french fries and chicken nuggets, but regardless, she had fun. We held her with her toes in the water, to which she seemed to react with curiosity more than anything else.
6. The art of sand castle building is really hurt by a three-year-old who cares more about pouring water over everything than actually building a castle. I think I really had something going yesterday, but then The Flood came and things looked a lot like Venice after a heavy rain. Maybe next time.
7. Both kids will fall asleep on the way home from the beach. Both adults will spend the afternoon wishing they had slept better the previous night. The beach takes a lot out of you.
1. Jack's an impatient backseat driver. We're sitting in a line of traffic, and Jack says, "Let's just turn around." We're getting close to the beach, and Jack says, "Is THIS the beach?" "Is THIS the beach?" Every mile or so. At one point we were close; you could see a little private beach beyond a stone wall. Jack asked again, and I said, "Well, you could just get out here, and we'll meet you." Jack's also very literal. "What?" he said. "I can't get out HERE. I can't just jump over that WALL." It's really pretty funny.
2. I really envy those commercials for I believe Corona that show a couple walking to a spot in the sand and sitting down, carrying nothing but a bucket of beer. I believe the commercial contrasts that couple with a family that appears to be us. They stumble up to a spot with beach chairs, an umbrella under their arms, towels, toys, a cooler of snacks, suntan lotion, etc. And of course, two kids. We need to invest in one of these things that looks like a laundry hamper for toys and stuff, that you just roll onto the beach with you. That would be nice.
3. Jack has kind of a love-hate relationship with the ocean. I think he likes the beach, and had a blast splashing around in the waves last time, and then when we went yesterday he didn't want to go in the water -- didn't even want to take off his beach sandals. I think the only reason he agreed to go at all was me promising he could bury me in the sand. That was kind of funny, incidentally -- he'd cover part of me with sand, decide he needed water, and ask me to go get him some. "But Jack, I"m buried in the sand!" "Oh," he'd say. "Here, I'll help you get out...." Anyway, Jack thus far appears to like the sand a lot more than the water. I guess some older kid pointed out a horseshoe crab in the water the first time, telling him it would eat him or something. We assured him that was not the case. Then Saturday we were standing near the edge of the water and saw TWO of them, connected in some fashion, perhaps intimately. I'm not familiar enough with horseshoe crab anatomy, nor do I want to be, to be certain. Perhaps I'll raise the question at the Aquarium next time we're there. "Excuse me -- where are....?"
4. Jack did discover one of the new joys of the beach Saturday: beach food. I've never seen him eat so many chicken nuggets and french fries at a sitting.
5. Kate appears to have gotten over her nervousness on unusual surfaces. On Friday she crawled around on grass like it was no big deal, and then Saturday, she scuttled across the beach like a fiddler crab. And put a rock in her mouth, of course, but we got it out. Her hat keeps falling off (too big) and we fret about sunburn, not to mention her efforts to crawl through the sand castle I built with Jack, and her obvious desire to also eat french fries and chicken nuggets, but regardless, she had fun. We held her with her toes in the water, to which she seemed to react with curiosity more than anything else.
6. The art of sand castle building is really hurt by a three-year-old who cares more about pouring water over everything than actually building a castle. I think I really had something going yesterday, but then The Flood came and things looked a lot like Venice after a heavy rain. Maybe next time.
7. Both kids will fall asleep on the way home from the beach. Both adults will spend the afternoon wishing they had slept better the previous night. The beach takes a lot out of you.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Brown Bear
I read different books to Jack each night, but usually certain old favorites creep back in. Like "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see?"
To keep my own interest, I tend to do different voices for the animals. The duck sounds like a duck, the dog rowfs like a dog, the frog gurgles like a frog, etc. Jack loves it.
Yesterday was a new one though, as after I'd finished reading it, HE decided to read it to me. He can't really read per se; he's just memorized it. So, he took the book and started in. With voices. Jack's voices were basically slow, low and deep, so "Brown bear, brown bear" became "brrowwnnbear, brrowwnnbear." And then his next voice for the duck was the same voice, but a little bit lower, and a little bit slowwwerrr, and a little bit deeeepppper. By the time he got to the cat his voice was almost inaudible. "Prpl cat, prpl cat, whaDyuSee...." Pretty funny.
Similarly amusing is that his memory of which animals comes next isn't perfect, so he had to fliip ahead. For example:
"Yllw duck, yllw duck, whuh Dyuh see? I see - Um (This is his normal voice, as he drops out of character and flips to the next page, checks the animal, then turns back, and drops his voice back into character) - I see a blue horse looking at me."
He did this for pretty much the entire book. He even kind of rasped out the teacher's voice, which I do in falsetto with a Southern accent for no apparent reason. Good stuff.
To keep my own interest, I tend to do different voices for the animals. The duck sounds like a duck, the dog rowfs like a dog, the frog gurgles like a frog, etc. Jack loves it.
Yesterday was a new one though, as after I'd finished reading it, HE decided to read it to me. He can't really read per se; he's just memorized it. So, he took the book and started in. With voices. Jack's voices were basically slow, low and deep, so "Brown bear, brown bear" became "brrowwnnbear, brrowwnnbear." And then his next voice for the duck was the same voice, but a little bit lower, and a little bit slowwwerrr, and a little bit deeeepppper. By the time he got to the cat his voice was almost inaudible. "Prpl cat, prpl cat, whaDyuSee...." Pretty funny.
Similarly amusing is that his memory of which animals comes next isn't perfect, so he had to fliip ahead. For example:
"Yllw duck, yllw duck, whuh Dyuh see? I see - Um (This is his normal voice, as he drops out of character and flips to the next page, checks the animal, then turns back, and drops his voice back into character) - I see a blue horse looking at me."
He did this for pretty much the entire book. He even kind of rasped out the teacher's voice, which I do in falsetto with a Southern accent for no apparent reason. Good stuff.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Old Books
Kate and I went to the library, in part because I wanted us to get out of the house and do something, and in part because I wanted to look for this book I'd read about in Entertainment Weekly. (All copies were out, naturally.) We ended up in the kids section, naturally, a pretty cool setup on the third floor with books that a small child can reach and stuffed toys for even smaller kids. Kate crawled around with surprising speed. We even tried doing a puzzle, which is to say, I tried to do the puzzle while she tried to put pieces in her mouth.
Anyway, I ended up taking two books out for Jack, one a recent one about How Do Dinosaurs Play with Their Friends (we both like that series of books), and one that caught my eye among the "Classic" kids books: "Herbert the Lion." That's one I immediately remembered from my own childhood, and I snapped it up without even looking at it. Jack and I would read it tonight.
To his credit, Jack pretty much likes any new books. (These days he also likes stories, so each night as I'm putting him to bed I'm making up stories, often on topics involving things like superheroes fighting with monsters, which he can't get enough of.) And even an old book like "Herbert the Lion" is new to him.
I'm reading it and I happen to check the publishing date. 1931! That's older than either of my parents. And I'm reading it thinking, did my parents read this book to me because THEY had had it read to them when they were kids? Did my grandparents read this book to my parents that I'm now reading to my son? And 35 years from now will JACK be in some huge futuristic library where he finds a tiny digital microchip which has a picture of a Lion on it and minuscule text that reads "Herbert the Lion," and he too will pick it up to read to his child? Maybe.
The third book we read tonight was "The Story of Ferdinand," another book I remembered from my childhood. That was written in 1936.
One aside: it's interesting the way different books could be seen as representatives of their times. In Herbert the Lion, Sally's parents move to the country so Sally can stay with her lion. In Ferdinand, it's OK if the bull wants to just sit quietly and smell the flowers.
In contrast, a while back my Mom gave us some other books we'd had as children. These were from the 1950s. In "Scuffy the Tugboat," a cute little tugboat ventures out into the big river and shipyard, finding it exciting at first but then dangerous and scary. At the end, he goes back to his safe, secure bathtub. In another (whose name I've forgotten), a little train keeps wanting to jump off the tracks and go exploring and adventuring. At the end, everyone else in the trainyard gets together to teach him how dangerous it is and to always stay on the tracks. Jack of course thought it was great; Emily and I were both troubled by its heavy-handed message of obedience and conformity. I won't claim to be a 20th-century historian or anything, but based on this admittedly small sample, I've got to say I like children's books of the 30s more than those of the 50s.
Jack likes all of them, however, which is I guess the most important thing.
Anyway, I ended up taking two books out for Jack, one a recent one about How Do Dinosaurs Play with Their Friends (we both like that series of books), and one that caught my eye among the "Classic" kids books: "Herbert the Lion." That's one I immediately remembered from my own childhood, and I snapped it up without even looking at it. Jack and I would read it tonight.
To his credit, Jack pretty much likes any new books. (These days he also likes stories, so each night as I'm putting him to bed I'm making up stories, often on topics involving things like superheroes fighting with monsters, which he can't get enough of.) And even an old book like "Herbert the Lion" is new to him.
I'm reading it and I happen to check the publishing date. 1931! That's older than either of my parents. And I'm reading it thinking, did my parents read this book to me because THEY had had it read to them when they were kids? Did my grandparents read this book to my parents that I'm now reading to my son? And 35 years from now will JACK be in some huge futuristic library where he finds a tiny digital microchip which has a picture of a Lion on it and minuscule text that reads "Herbert the Lion," and he too will pick it up to read to his child? Maybe.
The third book we read tonight was "The Story of Ferdinand," another book I remembered from my childhood. That was written in 1936.
One aside: it's interesting the way different books could be seen as representatives of their times. In Herbert the Lion, Sally's parents move to the country so Sally can stay with her lion. In Ferdinand, it's OK if the bull wants to just sit quietly and smell the flowers.
In contrast, a while back my Mom gave us some other books we'd had as children. These were from the 1950s. In "Scuffy the Tugboat," a cute little tugboat ventures out into the big river and shipyard, finding it exciting at first but then dangerous and scary. At the end, he goes back to his safe, secure bathtub. In another (whose name I've forgotten), a little train keeps wanting to jump off the tracks and go exploring and adventuring. At the end, everyone else in the trainyard gets together to teach him how dangerous it is and to always stay on the tracks. Jack of course thought it was great; Emily and I were both troubled by its heavy-handed message of obedience and conformity. I won't claim to be a 20th-century historian or anything, but based on this admittedly small sample, I've got to say I like children's books of the 30s more than those of the 50s.
Jack likes all of them, however, which is I guess the most important thing.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Alone with Jack and Kate, Day 1
This was my first-ever full day alone with both Jack and Kate. Emily went back to work a week ago, but her Dad was off last Friday morning (which is the day Jack isn't in daycare). Today it was all me. It's late and I'm beat, but I'm still going to -- quickly -- go hour by hour, more or less.
8:00 a.m. Emily leaves for work. Jack wants to watch TV, which he does while I give Kate breakfast. She's not overly into eating and seems cranky. I end up putting her down for a nap around 8:30, hopeful I'll get 90 minutes out of it. Sadly, while I'm putting her down, Jack has a potty accident. On the couch. It's extremely rare, enough so that we think it's an attention thing. He seems to have them when one of us is upstairs with Kate. I throw the slipcover and Jack's clothes in the wash.
9:30 a.m. Kate's awake. Not good. Ideally she gets about a 90-minute to two-hour nap in the mornings, I give her her first bottle at 11 a.m., and we're off to a decent day. Her being awake this early -- especially considering she woke up at 6 anyway -- will probably be bad later.
10:00 a.m. I'm encouraging her and Jack to play...basically stalling giving her that first bottle. At 10:30 though, it's clear I can't stall any longer -- she's not happy. I give her her bottle while Jack and I watch....I don't even remember now. Might have just been baseball highlights.
11 a.m. We pile into the car for Jack's haircut. Basically getting out of the house for an activity is essential. I push it by going to the post office to return a package, the bank to deposit a check, then haircut, then -- since we're out of the essentials, meaning bread for Jack's lunch and half and half for my coffee -- the supermarket. Jack wants to ride in the cart, so I stumble into the supermarket with half-asleep Kate's car seat on my arm pushing Jack in the shopping cart. I feel like a bad cliche of a Mr. Mom movie. I'm sure people are staring, especially as I stumble around with the both of them getting groceries. Yes, I'm one of those people who thinks they're going in for two things and end up with my arms full of 10 or so.
12:30 p.m. We go through the Wendy's drive-through. Going to the supermarket to get food for lunch makes it too late to consider going home to make lunch. Plus, I don't want a jelly sandwich.
1: 00 p.m. Jack eats his nuggets and fries. Kate eats her avocado and yogurt. I eat my chicken sandwich. I feel a sense of accomplishment.
2:00 p.m. We've had lunch and played a bit. Kate's getting cranky. I didn't bother trying to put Jack down for a nap. At some point he said he was going upstairs for a nap, went upstairs, then came down 2 minutes later. "I did have a nap!" he insists. OK, Jack.
2:30 p.m. I give Kate her second bottle and eventually get her down for a nap. Jack is watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on VHS. He's not exactly a slave to the seasons. Later he'll watch the Halloween special on DVD.
3:30 p.m. Kate's awake, as I'm reading stories to Jack. She's wailing and I tell him I have to go upstairs. "One more story!" he insists, with the hint of a whine that says, no, I haven't napped. I say, Jack, what if I left YOU upstairs wailing like the way Kate is wailing? He is unmoved, but I go anyway. Get Kate, change her, bring her downstairs. Jack wants to go outside and is at the door with his shoes on the wrong feet. You'd think he'd only do that 50 percent of the time, but it's much closer to three quarters.
4:00 p.m. We sit in the back yard. Kate doesn't know what to make of grass, which is to say she doesn't like it. I hold her a lot of the time, then bring out a blanket for her to sit on so I can toss a ball around with Jack. We do. She crawls to the edges of the blanket.
4:15 p.m. Jack wants a snack. We go in. He wants to come back out. I talk him out of it in favor of playing with the beach ball inside. I think Kate has had it with the grass.
4:45 p.m. I start dinner. Jack helps me open a can, which is a big thrill for him.
5:15 p.m. Mommy home. Day not so bad.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Tired Jack
We're kind of in an interesting place with Jack these days. At school, he naps for anywhere from 90 minutes to two hours, with the result being that putting him to bed is a hassle -- he's in and out of his room for up to an hour after we actually put him to bed. On weekends, he doesn't nap, which makes the last few hours before bed time a whirlwind of Jack being tired possibilities.
1. Meltdowns. So tired he gets upset at just about anything. "I WANTED TO CARRY MY MILK OVER TO THE TABLE!!!!!!" Motorcycle outside, which Emily refers to with annoyance. Jack, his face crumbling: "I DON'T LIKE MO............TOR.................CY....CLES....WAAAAHHHHHHH." (This was tonight, and it was quite spectacular. Totally out of nowhere, beyond, you know, he was really exhausted.) With these we just kind of deal with as calmly and abruptly as possible. "OK, let's go to bed!" He's under my arm and up the stairs in minutes. Pretty much anything can be forgiven when he's like this; he's not in control of himself.
2. Half asleep. These ones are fun. A couple of weeks back he was literally too tired to chew his food at the dinner table. He was sitting there in his chair, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, gazing at the windows. Food made it into his mouth, sometimes, but chewing looked like an effort. Sometimes I'd think it was him being difficult, but in this case he was just half-asleep.
3. Meltdowns AND half asleep. Friday we were outside and I was putting dinner on the grill, and our neighbor said hi, and he kind of clammed up, then threw his hat in her general direction. Shy and rude, a winning combination. I said something apologetic, but then after she'd gone spoke sharply to Jack. He gave some kind of reply that annoyed me (it was my first day alone with Jack and Kate, and it had been a day), so I said, "Inside." We went inside and his meltdown began, then he suddenly said, through anger and tears, "I'm going upstairs for my nap!" It was 5 in the evening. He went upstairs. It was quiet. I went up two minutes later, and there he was, in bed fully dressed, sound asleep.
4. Goofy. This is the fun one. It's sort of like he's been up all night and is punchy, which is kind of how I am when I'm really behind on sleep -- maybe most people are like this. A lot of people were in college, although granted some of them might have not been entirely sober. Anyhoo, at dinner tonight we talked about how tomorrow he was going to school and Mommy was going to work and Daddy was staying home with Kate, and somehow it got switched around that Jack would go to work and Daddy would go to school (which sounded OK - nap, afternoon snack, playing in the tumble room), and that was good for some laughs, and then Jack said, indicating his cup of milk, "Or maybe my MILK will go to school. And Miss Ruthie would tell it what to do." And this was all very amusing. Another recent incident was Jack in his bathtub, and he'd recently had some shall we say stomach issues, and there was noise from behind him, and Emily thought the worst as Jack reached behind him.....and pulled out his rubber ducky, which he'd sat on. A smile spreads over Jack's face. "It was my DUCK!" he said solemnly. He knew he'd been funny.
1. Meltdowns. So tired he gets upset at just about anything. "I WANTED TO CARRY MY MILK OVER TO THE TABLE!!!!!!" Motorcycle outside, which Emily refers to with annoyance. Jack, his face crumbling: "I DON'T LIKE MO............TOR.................CY....CLES....WAAAAHHHHHHH." (This was tonight, and it was quite spectacular. Totally out of nowhere, beyond, you know, he was really exhausted.) With these we just kind of deal with as calmly and abruptly as possible. "OK, let's go to bed!" He's under my arm and up the stairs in minutes. Pretty much anything can be forgiven when he's like this; he's not in control of himself.
2. Half asleep. These ones are fun. A couple of weeks back he was literally too tired to chew his food at the dinner table. He was sitting there in his chair, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, gazing at the windows. Food made it into his mouth, sometimes, but chewing looked like an effort. Sometimes I'd think it was him being difficult, but in this case he was just half-asleep.
3. Meltdowns AND half asleep. Friday we were outside and I was putting dinner on the grill, and our neighbor said hi, and he kind of clammed up, then threw his hat in her general direction. Shy and rude, a winning combination. I said something apologetic, but then after she'd gone spoke sharply to Jack. He gave some kind of reply that annoyed me (it was my first day alone with Jack and Kate, and it had been a day), so I said, "Inside." We went inside and his meltdown began, then he suddenly said, through anger and tears, "I'm going upstairs for my nap!" It was 5 in the evening. He went upstairs. It was quiet. I went up two minutes later, and there he was, in bed fully dressed, sound asleep.
4. Goofy. This is the fun one. It's sort of like he's been up all night and is punchy, which is kind of how I am when I'm really behind on sleep -- maybe most people are like this. A lot of people were in college, although granted some of them might have not been entirely sober. Anyhoo, at dinner tonight we talked about how tomorrow he was going to school and Mommy was going to work and Daddy was staying home with Kate, and somehow it got switched around that Jack would go to work and Daddy would go to school (which sounded OK - nap, afternoon snack, playing in the tumble room), and that was good for some laughs, and then Jack said, indicating his cup of milk, "Or maybe my MILK will go to school. And Miss Ruthie would tell it what to do." And this was all very amusing. Another recent incident was Jack in his bathtub, and he'd recently had some shall we say stomach issues, and there was noise from behind him, and Emily thought the worst as Jack reached behind him.....and pulled out his rubber ducky, which he'd sat on. A smile spreads over Jack's face. "It was my DUCK!" he said solemnly. He knew he'd been funny.
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