I really hate when I'm working on the computer and I see on my internet tabs that my Gmail inbox has gone from empty to 1, only to find that the newest email I've received is not a friendly note nor a raving review on my last blog post (ahem...), but a message from old reliable Chase bank letting me know that my most recent bank statement is available.
I don't think I've EVER opened your notice, Chase bank. You are depressing me big time.
I think that I used to be funny. If I remember correctly, I also had a lot of time on my hands that I didn't hold dear and sacred because a baby would be waking up any second. So I spent it willy-nilly, typing away about interesting things that did not include, "Here is a picture of my baby. Isn't she cute?"
Sometimes I feel like there just isn't a soul in my office that understands me (or my sense of humor) and they are all waiting for my time here to be up. They're my late-night-cafe-audience, watching me pathetically struggle through some stand up bit. Clapping politely, sipping their drinks, wondering who is coming on next to save the show.
PROOF:
I call in sick to work. I hear the skepticism in my boss' voice as she confirms my request, "Okaaay."
I give the Continuing Education seminar held in-office a poor review. Oops. Everyone else liked it.
I quietly express some conservative view on our country's state of affairs. I can't see their faces (due to the cubicle environment) but I can sense their disapproval.
My "Cabbage Leaves in the Underwear and Witchhazel in the Bra" joke is met with confusion.
I just know that one of these days the gong will chime. I'll look around, know that it's meant for me, and be escorted out of the office to the sound of a deep-voiced announcer, "Whitney, thank you for playing! You will not be moving into the next round, but we'd like to send you off with this lovely consolation prize! A custom mouse pad! Retail value, $2.00."
I began to revisit old blog posts (the interesting ones from before I birthed the two greatest human beings ever created) and I found this one. Number 8 has come back to haunt me. Also, number 4 says a lot about how much money we had (or didn't have) while living in San Francisco.
As far as home videos posted to blogs go, this one is rather long. But it seems to capture the essence of life as a two-year-old. I was sorting and packing in Jones' room for a long time when I finally noticed him pounding away at the abandoned xylophone that generally receives no attention.
Do you mind if I throw in some recent Jones quotes? No? Great.
Me: Jones, you're my best boy. Did you know that?
J: Yeah. And I'm daddy's smart boy. And daddy is my best daddy.
(bounding out of his room at 7 AM)
J: Good morning! I'm awake! (to mom) I'm so glad you're awake.
Me: How did you sleep?
J: I slept well. I love you so much.
(to a sobbing friend on the playground)
J: Are you okay? Calm down. Calm down. You gotta calm down. Dat's enough crying.
J: I need a snaaaaaaaaack!!
Me: That's not a nice way to ask.
J: Mommy, can you please stop talking to me? You're always talking to me mean.
(I'm a mother now and I don't care if it's gross to write about my son's poop. Poop is a part of our lives.)
J: I went poo-poo!!!
Me: Yay!
J: (pointing to the potty) Dere's a snake! And dere's a scary monster sticking out his tongue. And a little one! It's a fish! His name is Nemo.
(bedtime prayer)
J: Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for dis day. Please help mommy and Jonesie and Lightning to be good boys...(pauses to think)...and be good boys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
(putting Jones to bed)
Me: (to Jones' toy car) Lightning, its time for you to go to bed and lie down and go to sleep.
J: Mommy, Lightning is not growed up. When he grows up to be a big boy he will have a nice mouth, just like I have a mouth. Like this (opens mouth wide), like my mouth.
Me: Jones, do you like my dress?
J: No, I don't.
(30 minutes later)
J: (walks into my room and looks me over) Mom, I do like your dress. What is it? Who gave it to you?
J: (while undressing to use the potty) Mommy, I could pee on your head (laughs out loud).
J: (at the dinner table) Mommy, I could spit milk right on your head (grins).
Despite our best efforts, it was pretty much impossible to get all of us to look at the camera simultaneously.
And then to have us all looking normal? No way.
So this is the best shot (thank you, Matt).
Happy (belated) Easter
Look at this stunning couple. We're thinking about moving them to Austin with us.
It is day 8 of Scott's 9 day absence and we really needed something to help the day go by faster. Lucky us, we got to have the Stock family over for almost the whole day. I practically forced them to eat dinner with us. Another evening with just the kids and I did not sound very appealing. So thank you, Jenn, for sticking around
several hours longer than you had planned to.
I couldn't help but photograph the lovely Eleanor while my kids napped and napped and napped. I love when they sleep for hours...
I hope Greta's hair continues to grow and looks as foxy as Eleanor's someday.
And one shot of Ms. Chubbs. She definitely has Scott's eyes. What a lady.
I know you've all been waiting for another installment of 'Jones talks' and I hope it was worth the wait.
(Talking to a friend)
Jones: When I grow up like a man I could kill you.
Don't be alarmed. This was during a conversation with his friend Jess about the plot of Beauty and the Beast. I think (hope) he was just imagining he was Gaston.
Jones: Can I eat M&Ms?
Me: No.
Jones: Can I eat jelly beans?
Me: No.
Jones: Can you say a prayer?
Me: Sure.
Jones: Can I say and prayer and then have jelly beans?
Me: ....
Me: (to Jones) There's a zit on your face...
Jones: No, zit! NO! That's a no-no to be on my cheek! Get off, zit!
Jones: Hi, Mommy. I'm so glad you're here.
Jones: (after losing his second little Buzz this year) Dear Heavenly Father, grateful dis day. Please help me find the other Buzz...(thinking)...not the other little Buzz, that little Buzz is lost. Please help me find the other little Buzz.
(while mom and dad are talking in the car)
Jones: Mom, stop talking to daddy.
Me: That's not a nice way to talk to me, Jones. I like talking to daddy.
Jones: Escuze me, mommy (in a syrupy sweet voice), can you pweeeeease stop talking to daddy?
Jones: I poo-pooed in the pooooootty!!!!
Me: Yaaaaay! Woo-hoo! Let's see...
Jones: It's a snake!
I love you, Jones. Thanks for always keeping us on our toes.
