Easter baskets and the masculine ego

I guess guys develop that sense of masculinity at an early age--no I'm not going into a discussion of what our culture teaches boys vs. girls. Just a story about an Easter basket. A little after eight this morning, Jordan called in frantic mode. She'd forgotten to send Jacob's Easter basket with him. Did I have a stray one around the house (what grandmother doesn't?) and would I take it across the street to the school? I found it and called back. "It's pink. He isn't going to like that." (Actually it was kind of lilac.) She said it would have to do. In truth I didn't feel well this morning--I'd been awake since 2:30 with a deep, thick cough and I was mostly suffering from lack of sleep. But I got myself stirring and dutifully went across the street, Easter basket in hand, dreading handing it to Jacob. (I'd tried to pass the job off on Elizabeth when we met in the driveway but she declined.) In the school, I could see the kids all out in a courtyard two levels below me, and I had no idea how to get there. Fortunately a young mom came along--she turned out to be someone I'd known as a child, and she promised to deliver it, even with my warning about it being pink. Mission accomplished, I went on my way.
When I picked Jacob up at school, he had his Easter goodies in a plastic bag, looking like a poor, neglected kid whose parents didn't care. I asked the teacher if she got the basket, and she said it was still on her desk. Jacob said he'd never seen it, didn't know who it belonged to, wouldn't carry it. It was the pink that did it.
By then, I'd had a good two-hour nap and felt some better, but as soon as Jacob's mom picked him up, I was back in bed. Hoping to sleep soundsly tonight.

Frogs and snails, and puppydog tails

I've been trying to recall the mischief my boys got  into. They accuse me often of just not remembering their squabbles and tricks. I do still have the mental image of Colin who at about 18 mos. covered himself thoroughly with corn starch or baby powder or some similar white stuff--I can see him standing in the hall, a dusty white ghost. At about the same time he stuck one foot in the commode and flushed, watching intently--I did get a picture of that. And the time Jamie wrote on the wall--but what child doesn't do that? Jamie was always into something, from stepping in every puddle he could find to dragging home a stray cat by the tail. But in my mind they really weren't mischievous.
I had a lesson in inventive mischief this weekend, with three little boys, ages 5-7, running loose Sunday morning. When they were supposedly playing with the dogs in the backyard, they took Scooby, my big old Aussie who was muddy, into the guest house--forbidden and unfamiliar territory for him. They proceeded to freeze wet balls of toilet paper in the small fridge out there. Then they froze acorns and leaves and finally they filled an ice cube tray with mud and froze it. Megan defrosted and cleaned, bless her! Then she swept out the mud they'd tracked in.
If those boys went in and out the back door once, they did so a thousand times. My alarm system does a little jingle when a door is opened and closed--I find it nice for monitoring Jacob but yesterday the system seemed to sing all morning. Muddy dogs streaked into the house, Sophie once making right for her favorite chair in the living room, followed by my two screaming daughters. If someone let her in wherever Ford was, he began to scream because she jumped on him--well, of course she did: he was screaming. The boys climbed on tables, rode the ancient trike at breakneck speed, and chased each other. They had a wonderful time, punctuated of course by quarrels and spells of yelling at each other. The quietest thing they did was to pore over those advertising inserts that come in the Sunday paper, pointing out toys for their Christmas lists: "I want that . . . and that . . . and that" until each boy had a list of dozens of items. I never did find out who smashed rocks on the porch steps by the driveway, creating a white powdery dust I did not want tracked into the house. You've never seen such expressions of innocence. And Jacob opened the driveway gate and went out to talk to a neighbor--I didn't even know he knew how to open it, but now that he does, it's forbidden.
In retrospect they were adorable and wonderful and fun; at the time, maybe not so much:-)

May I exchange this day, please?

My day got off on the wrong foot. I got up early because I couldn't sleep and my thoughts were disturbing me. Probably I was grumpy, and my later troubles may have ensued from Sophie picking up on that. Morning routine--feed cat, take puppy out, feed big dog. All done. Fed the puppy in the kitchen, noticed she was sniffing suspiciously, and took her out. Big dog distracted her--no results. Brought her in and she immediately pooped in the kitchen. Finally made it, with puppy and coffee, to the office where I discovered the cat had left not puddles but lakes in "his" bathroom off the office. Closed the door and resolved to deal with it later. Then my email was down--TCU was having server problems. So I decided to put the puppy in her crate and do my chores, including cleaning that bathroom. I scrubbed it from top to bottom, emptied and scrubbed the litter box, and finally scrubbed me. By 9 a.m. when the internet came back up, I was ready to go back to bed.
No such luck--had to go to Petco for supplies and then to a doctor's appointment. Noon, and I was ready to go back to bed once again. Still no such luck. Emails to answer, a talk to prepare, this that and the other to get done. Note: no writing. Yikes! But I finally did put everyone down and get a nap. This is my last week of long afternoon naps. Next Monday I start picking Jacob up every day at three o'clock.
Tonight I'm watching Sophie like a hawk. Took her out for a long while after her supper but nada. I'm thinking the trick may be to put her in her crate--then when I take her out, she's used to going outside to pee. The other is another matter. She settled down for a while--after some scolding about going near wires--to play with her toys as if to say, "Look how good I can be." Now she's running around the office (not that large a space) like a crazy thing, working off all that energy she didn't run off outside tonight.
I've decided creativity is gone for the day. I'm going to read Susan Schreyer's An Error in Judgment.
Did have a nice dinner party last night--the family directly behind me has a 5-year-old boy, Sam, who will be going to kindergarten with Jacob, (and a three-year-old named Alex) so we invited them to supper so the boys could get acquainted, which they did after a few minutes shyness. I fixed crockpot barbecue for ten (including three little boys), baked beans (Bush's are soooo good, though next time I won't try those with maple syrup since they're a bit too sweet), and a potato chip and onion soup dip for appetizer. Susan brought a delicious salad with apples and raisins and spinach, and Sue joined us, so it was a bit like the old neighborhood group. Before I knew it, it was 8:30 and everyone was rushing off to get little ones to bed. Sue said later that she loved having the house so full of "boy energy." The girls--Jordan, Susan and Sue--did much of the basic kitchen clean-up for me, and Jordan took Sophie out. She has consistently been a huge help with Sophie.
A PS to the Sophie story: I decided after she ws so wild, it was a good time to take her out. She pooped, and I praised. Then I walked her around where she usually pees--forever. No result, so I left her alone in the office for two minutes while I got a glass of wine--and she peed. The appropriate end to this day.

Chronicles of Jacob--and a new idea for guacamole

I'm thinking of writing a book titled Chronicles of Jacob. Tonight we had another adventure. He arrived quite somber and declared he did not want to go out for dinner. We watched "Who Let the Dogs Out" for the  umpteenth time, and I saw that there is a parody called "Who Let the Frogs Out?" So I told him we could watch it after we came home from dinner. WE went to the Star, a North Side steak/hamburger/chicken fried place owned by my friends Betty and Don. Betty had put parking cones out in front to save us a place, which was really wonderful--and there she stood on the street waitingfor us. Jacob was quite solemn at first, but he livened up. He wanted to know why the men were wearing hats--North Side is full of cowboys, and Don even came in wearing a Stetson. I think maybe Jacob needs one for his birthday.
Betty and I visited, and Jacob toyed with his chicken tenders--they were not like the bland frozen chicken nuggets he's used to, but he ate a lot of fries. Then he played with stuffed toys from the display counter and became a bundle of energy. On the way home he chattered all the time and demanded, "Juju, why aren't you talking to me?" He had so much energy that I called Jay to come have a drink on the porch--which translates to help me watch Jacob. It was hot but pleasant, and Jacob ran and played but always where we had him in sight. So much in sight that we were well aware when he pulled down his pants and peed in the monkey grass. Jay shrugged and said, "He's a boy." But then he called out, "You're supposed to go behind a tree!"
Now he's talking to his toys, though for a minute I thought he'd gone right asleep. Wishful thinking on my part! But a plus: we haven't had the TV on since he got here, and he hasn't asked for it.
Me? I'm tired--and before Jacob arrived, I really didn't do much. Mostly I read The Girl Who Played with Fire-I'm hooked, I must admit. It's pretty intense, though, and I may take a break before reading the third Stieg Larsson book, though I read an interview with him today (made shortly before his sudden death) in which he indicated the story all comes together in the third book.
Found a recipe today on the Web site "Mystery Lovers Kitchen" that suggested mixing an avocado, lime juice, and about 2 oz. of feta for guacamole to spread on a toasted pita, top with cherry tomatoes halved and whatever else you want. I'm big into using pita toasts for dip these days (much better than chips) so I think it sounds good just as a dip. May try it soon. Credit for the recipe goes to Cleo Coyle, author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries and one of my favorite authors.