Been pondering doing a Dear Diary type thingy for a long time now, just to collect all my thoughts and memories and stuff with my little boy Jake. Then I thought: Hey! Online blog! Pics! Yes!
So here we are.
Woke up this morning to his big happy smile. We watched some cartoons, he had his toast and Coco Pops, then bath-time (always splashy and loud ha!), and now for the drum-roll: his new clothes. Mostly Penneys but really snug, I loved buying them and I loved showing them to him. Best of all, his Bob the Builder t-shirt. He actually went wide-eyed when I held it up for him, he sucked in a big breath and whispered, "Bobbb!" and ran over with a big grin to see it.
I popped some Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin on, knowing full well what it'll do to Jake, and I'm right. Instantly he's jumping up and down, headbanging and wailing along. It's legendary. My little rockstar, already cooler than me, and just as bonkers. I join in in the headbanging, swinging my head around like a mallet, and he adores this, kicking his little feet into the air to get every last chuckle out.
He got all excited as I helped him into his new garb. Check him out, all proud of himself (and rightly so).
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| Here we have Jake in his two-tone-grey ensemble. We've got the fleece with warm inner lining, and handy pocket detail. Chic darker grey cords, comfortable AND suave! Then we've the all-purpose runners, perfect for every occasion. And finally note the powerful yellow Bob t-shirt, a nice exclamation mark to the world of fashion. Swit-swoooo! |
I pop some music onto the radio and on comes Lola by the Kinks. I start doing some silly-billy dancing and he drops his toys and joins me. I take his little hands and we dance like crazed hillbillies, big toothy smiles on our faces, he starts giggling and so do I: we must've looked a right pair. Deadly.
Soon after, he's lying on the kitchen floor rearranging his army of trains on his train-tracks going Ahhhhhhhh-AAAAAHHHHHHH! I'm not worried. I know he's imitating The Immigrant Song.
Out to the shops for his favourite stuff: milk! (That's how he says it: Milk!) and within five minutes, it's raining. I'm thinking: Turn back? But he looks up at me with his big bright eyes and smiles and keeps plodding along.
What was I thinking? Jake's a top trooper.
We saw a big tough-as-nails dog along the way, its owner close-by (chopping at wayward branches, his own little one watching intently). Jake said loudly, "Woof woof," and grinned. And so did I.
That happens a lot. They say kids imitate us. I think it goes both ways.
On the way back he does his sly slow-down, stop, look at me out of the corner of his eye then RUN-thing. Which I find equal parts hilarious and terrifying. I think he knows this. It must be what makes him run so fast and laugh so loudly. He's a funny boy.
Hometime, back at the ranch, dinner's nearly here. He's back idly playing with his extensive set of trains on the Brio train-set. (I loved mine when I was a kid, and mine consisted of one circular track. Not that I'm ungrateful, it did me fine, but I smile when I think of how the simplest things can entertain kids.) The bell rings; he looks at me. "Pizza?"
How'd he know?
Dominos, a rare treat, mmm, me, Jake and his Nana all stuffing our faces around the dinner table. Afterwards, we're all a bit sleepy, but that doesn't stop Jake running into the living room to his Nana easily twenty times, arms out for a hug. He's way more confident and happy now. This is his second home, and he knows he's a loveable little man.
Time flies. Cartoons keep us occupied. It's bitter and rainy out there. We could have gone to the park, but I wanted a lazy day with him, and I'm glad. Because he's learning to tolerate me grabbing and squeezing him tight, smothering him in kisses. He's OK with that. Or he's resigned himself to it.
Either way, I win. Daddy 1 - Jake 0.
It gets late. Always feel a bit sad Saturday evenings. It's our only full day, Saturday. Friday's a glimpse and a snooze. Sunday's wake-up, dinner, long trip to Gorey. Saturday's our only Real Day Without Interruption. We made the most of it though. Many toy trains travelled. Lots of toys got attention. Winnie the Pooh and Thomas had their weekly run-through.
I bring him up for story-time. Lo and behold, he doesn't want Mr Grumpy. Nope, it's Mr Brave. I do the faces and the voices, while he nearly explodes with laughter. Little red-face, he's barely breathing with the laughs. I love him. Story finishes, and you can tell he was only getting started...
Jake's tired, but not tired enough. Trip to bed and back down again. Nana offers him a banana; he hesitates; and boom, a big smile, he stuffs his little belly.
I bring him upstairs to my bed this time; he doesn't seem keen on the cot anymore. He lies down when I start singing his favourite Pooh song. He starts to drift off. I tuck him in and watch as his lids fall and he drifts away asleep. I stay there for ages just watching him sleep, marveling at how much fun one little person can be.
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