Back to life, back to reality….

In this case, the ‘reality’ referred to in the post title is definitely a good thing, a very good thing.  My aching back has improved markedly since my last post.  The low point was Wednesday, when my one and a half hour drive to work with a client onsite almost killed me.  The simple act of getting out of the car and standing up was particularly painful.  (Sitting down for long periods, and even short periods, exacerbated the situation, which is one of the reasons I haven’t posted since Tuesday.)

 

But I’m back (pun intended) and feeling significantly better.

 

So here’s a potpourri… a cornucopia… a mixed bag… a grab bag… of thoughts and developments from the week.

 

“Who dat?”

Luke has acquired a new expression, “Who’s that?”, which more often comes out as “Who dat?”  As with many of Luke’s expressions, it has multiple uses and meanings.  He says it in response to loud noises, seeing someone new, and when he’s unsure of what something is. 

 

For example, when someone stopped by the house earlier this week that he hadn’t met yet, Luke charged into the room, pointed to the person, looked at me, and demanded, “Who dat?”  Rude, but adorable.

 

We recently had some of the damage from the ice storm repaired, and in response to nearly every… single… bang, Luke would stop whatever he was doing to ask, “Who dat?”

 

We watched the Pixar movie Wall-E yesterday, and whenever one specific character (Eve) came on screen, Luke would point and ask, “Who dat?” (Every… single… time…)

 

 

Wake Up Calls

I’m glad to say that for the last two days, the kids have remained in bed until after 6:30am.  We’ve been able to sleep in (relatively speaking.)

 

This morning, Luke, who must have partially awakened before six, hummed for approximately a half an hour, until about six thirty, when Charlotte took her cue and we were treated to the following a capella  performance, almost a point/counterpoint…

 

Charlotte: Mmmmmmmmoooooooooooommmmmmmmmm….

Luke: Ddddaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddddddd…

Charlotte: Mom, mom, mom…

Luke: Dad, Dad, Dad…

Charlote: Mom!

Luke: Dad!

Charlotte: Mom! Mom! Mom!

Luke: Dad! Dad! Dad!

Charlotte: Mom…

Luke: Dad…

 

I think at that point, Karen went up to get them.

 

Tickle Time

Our kids absolutely loved to be tickled.  They often beg to be tickled.  Sometimes they run, turning it into a version of “Get Me!”, but it’s definitely just for show because if we don’t give chase, they’ll turn right around and run back to be tickled, practically grabbing our hands to initiate the laughter.

 

Luke will often get a random desire to be tickled, prompting him to lie down on his back wherever he is, point to his sides, and say “Tickle… tickle…” and, just in case we’re not sure whom he wants us to tickle, he’ll then point to his chest and say, “Luke.”

 

Charlotte will then join in the fun, excitedly saying, “Tickle me, tickle me!”

 

It’s nice to know we have an almost foolproof way to get our kids to laugh uncontrollably.

 

Update: Tails of Desperation

I’m sorry to report that we still have a mouse in our house (at least one and at least a mouse).  There have been several confirmed sightings in the past few days.  As Karen points out, “He’s getting bold.”  (Although I do believe the gender is unconfirmed)

 

Earlier this week, after a sighting in the basement, Karen decided that the best course of action was to try to trap the mouse by leaving out a nearly full jar of peanut butter lying on its side with the top off (she informed me that she’s more than willing to sacrifice the peanut butter if it means catching the mouse.  I agreed, largely because it was creamy peanut butter and I strongly prefer super chunk) 

 

She also brought down a large plastic container.  I calmly watched (from the couch in a standing position.)  Apparently, the plan was for the mouse to get ensnared in the peanut butter jar and for Karen to then place the plastic container over the jar and somehow get the plastic container, the jar, and the mouse out of the house.

 

It didn’t work.  So much for a better mousetrap.

 

And last night, when Karen was downstairs, I caught sight of the mouse scurrying from the hallway into our bedroom.  So I did what any self-respecting guy would do.  I called for my wife.

 

Peering into the bedroom, I pointed out the last place I saw the mouse.  The next thing I heard was the thud of an open jar of peanut butter landing on the  bedroom floor.  The peanut butter caper, take two.

 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, in some ways), the mouse did not get stuck in the jar.

 

Wild Thing

Speaking of wild animals, Luke has developed a new appreciation, bordering on obsession, for Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are.  We’ve read it to him many times before, but for some reason when we read it the other night, he was enthralled.  It’s pretty much one of the last things he thinks about before bed and the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up.  He also has a Wild Things growth chart in his room that he likes equally as much.

 

On every page, he points to each Wild Thing and asks, “Who dat?”  Sometimes he answers his own question, referring to one as “Mommy” and one as “Daddy.”  We’re not yet sure if he’s calling us Wild Things or if he’s determined that those specific ones are the Mom and Dad of the Wild Things.

 

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’