Sunday, June 15, 2008

No a-speaka the en-ga-laysh.

Again, my apologies for the posting delay. This every-weekend-posting-thing is harder to keep up on that I had originally thought when I made that vow. Plus, this mommy got some mommy time with her other mommy (and non-mommy) friends last weekend. Needless to say, I was DER-UNK! Holla! Anyway, moving along...

Though my little Moose (that's 16 month old Jericho, for those of you who are not up to date on the Blecha family lingity) was walking pretty early on (8 months), it has taken him more than a little while longer (the entire 16 months) to learn how to use that pie-hole on the front of his chubby little head. But never fear, that time is finally upon us.
Jericho now has a very limited vocabulary that is evolving everyday. Kind of. If you speak the language.
For weeks, I had been telling my husband that I thought that Jericho was talking, but that we just weren't understanding him. And my wonderful husband, who always looks at me like I'm crazy (seriously - always), would just nod and tell me how "nice" that was. This mommy is a big believer in the fact that no one will ever make you out to be a bigger liar than your own children. Every time your child(ren) does something noteworthy, rest assured they will never do it on command or within anyone else's line of site. This especially applies after you've told everyone you know about their latest feat.
For example, the other day I was playing with Moose in his room and I handed him a small ball. "Ball," I repeated several times to him. "Baw" he replied back. "Baw, baw" he said several more times. Yes, I know that the kid didn't say "ball", but I'm just damn sure he still knew what he was saying. He's 16 months after all, let's give the kid a break on his diction. But sure as sh*t, as soon as I yelled for Joel and repeated "Ball, Jericho - ball," back to him, he just stared at me blankly and my husband sighed as he slowly turned back around, surely wondering why he had just rushed to see whatever I thought had just happened. This is a fairly regular occurrence in our home. But as far as I can tell, here is a list of Jericho's vocab so far:
Baw = ball
Dadada = dad
Mom-mom = mom
Aw doe = all done
Up = tell me I don't seriously have to type that one out for you...
En too = which I say is 'thank you', but no one else seems to get
Eh (with hands out-stretched) = which means 'give me my damn binky'
Pew-poe = which is what his daycare lady swears he said in response to her repeating "purple" to the kids the other day. Oh-kaaaay, whatever you say, lady. (Just kidding, Isabel.)

No one else ever, EVER hears him say the majority of these (aside from Isabel and her crazy "purple" ranting) and many would swear by the fact that I'm justifiably crazy with all of the things that I "hear".
So the other morning I was trying to show Joel that Jericho knows what we're talking about, even if he doesn't say it (because he does - I might note - point all the time). So I'm holding Jericho, and Joel and Roxy, our dog, are sitting on the bed and I'm bound and determined that I'm going to get Jericho to point to that damn dog before I leave the room. So I'm repeating "Jericho, dog? Jericho, where's the dog?" I continue to repeat myself 3 or 4 more times and I'll be damned if Jericho doesn't look right at me, then at the dog, point and say "da dawg?" Sweet vindication! Stick that in your back pocket, haters! But of course, now that Joel and I have both seen it, he won't say if for another living soul. Figures.
I might also note that Jocelyn can now recite the Preamble to the Constitution. No. Of course she can't. But if I'm going to make up accomplishments, they're sure as hell gonna be good ones.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Nothing to see here. Just a small panic attack.

At the ripe old age of 25, I can't help but feel old. My oldest started summer school last week in order to prepare her for kindergarten in the fall. My youngest is no longer a baby and is already starting to defy me at 16 months. Where have my babies gone? They've grown. They're babies no more. And this mommy doesn't like it, not one bit.

I know that it's exciting when they do new things - Jocelyn can tie her shoes and has lost her first two teeth, not to mention she knows how to work the TV all by herself. Jericho has been walking for 8 whole months already and is talking and communicating with us, and although I always get a little misty-eyed when a new milestone happens, I have officially reached my breaking point with this whole "school" thing.

Last week I was getting Jocelyn all ready for her first day of summer school and was excitedly packing her bag and helping her pick out her outfit for the next day and I was so proud.(Honestly I was just excited that I had kept her alive for this long. I can kill a ficus in like 3 days.) But then came the moment that changed it all - I broke out the checkbook and began writing. "Smithville Elementary School, $36, lunch money..." and that was it. I freaking lost it. Joel heard a small whimper out of me and asked what was wrong. I slowly turned around, lump in my throat and eyes full of tears. "Lunch money," I said in a squeaky voice. He stared back at me with one of those puzzled/"are you serious?" looks, and kind of turned his head, like your dog does the first time you throw a stick and expect him to fetch it. "It's lunch money," I told him as I held up the check, preparing for my full-on ugly cry (you know the one). "Oh kaaaay..." he replied slowly, still obviously puzzled by my fragile emotional state. I, of course, became angry that he wasn't comforting me and stormed off. As if he had magically channeled Miss Cleo and knew why I was having mental breakdown for no apparent reason.

See, for me writing this check was huge. Writing her a check for lunch money was this awakening to the fact that she's not a baby anymore. She wouldn't be at daycare with someone cutting her PB&J into 4ths because she likes it better that way than in 1/2. And no one would be telling her that it was ok if she was full and making sure she wiped her face. She would now be at school. In a cafeteria. Where no one would care if her face was a mess and no one would care if she ate all of her lunch. What if she talked over the whole lunch period and didn't eat anything? WHAT IF SHE STARVED?! Ok, that last one may be a stretch, but you know what I mean. Now it's only a matter of time before she has a new best friend (I'm her BFF now), then I'm "totally not cool", then she hates me, then she leaves for college, then she gets married and it's all just happening too fast and I just can't handle it all right now.

So I had my little mental breakdown and then came back to this little place we call Earth and realized that there was a small chance that I was over exaggerating, like I do. She's growing, and that's ok. I've only known that this time was coming and had time to prepare for this moment for the last 5 years, but it's so different when it actually gets here.

So her first day came and went and although they boarded her on the wrong bus and nearly dropped her at our empty home instead of at daycare, she lived to tell about it. And so did I.