All About Luke

________________________




Luke kissed his own boo-boo the other day.

What's next? An apartment in the city??!

My oldest child is only two years old and I'm already getting phased out. Rumor has it that he and Evie are considering layoffs this summer.

In preparation, I've made a list of the things that make me such a valuable asset.

• I kiss without prejudice -- no face is too filthy!

• I have the baby-booger-extracting skills of a gifted surgeon.

And that's pretty much all I have so far. It needs some work, I know, but I still have time. At the end of the day, I'm afraid that I need these kids WAY more than they need me.

Perhaps we can negotiate a lower salary.

Wait.....



**********************************



In an exciting turn of events, Luke finally said I love you for the first time (without any prompting).

Too bad he was talking to the humidifier in his closet.

Chris was putting some clothes away when it caught Luke's eye.

"That's a fan," Daddy simplified.

"A fan."

Chris went to close the door and Luke waved at it.

"Bye-bye, fan. I wuv ooh."

I'm sure he'll get around to telling his poor Mommy that he loves her. I the meantime, I'm just trying to be patient. I mean, I'm probably on the waiting list...between his tooth brush and the electric can opener, perhaps?


*****************************************


A couple of days ago, I was in the process of changing Evie's poopie diaper while talking on the phone...which is about as effective as typing this blog with my toes.

Itt juyst doosn''';t wrork./

Behind me, Luke had shut himself in the bathroom. Normally, he has no problem opening doors, but this one was giving him trouble for some reason. As I was chatting and wiping away, I slowly became aware of Luke banging on the door and yelling while jiggling the handle. He was starting to sound a little panicked so I hurriedly finished up Evie's diaper and turned to open the door.

I pulled the handle and had barely cracked it when Luke yanked it open suddenly, stuck his head out, and said with a big grin....

"Yes?"

Hmmm...I'd better start working on that list again.

Let's see...

• I'm the only one that can reach the DVD player....

_________________

All About Evie

My daughter has taken to walking around the house while holding our phone to her ear.

"Heyaaah!"

Hmmmm...(shoving my cell phone out of sight)...wherever did she pick that up?

I must not be too bad, though. At Evie's one-year-appointment, the pediatrician specifically asked if she was mimicking phone use.

I nodded proudly.

See? All babies pick that up! It's not a reflection on how much time Mommy spends talking on the phone.

I considered telling her that Evie points the remote at the TV as well, but you know how busy doctors are...


************************************************


Meal time with Evie is always an adventure.

I swear, that girl goes all day and night without touching her hair one time. But put her in a high chair and cover her hands with saliva, grease, and food particles...and wild horses couldn't keep those grimy digits below her ears.

The best part comes at the end of the meal.

You see, she's only twelve months old and can't possibly tell you in any verbal way that she's all done. So, I have to experimentally hold a piece of food up to her mouth and see what she does.

If she's still hungry, she'll open right up for it.

If she's full, this teeny-tiny, delicate little angel smacks the piece of food out of your hand so hard, it takes a small construction crew to excavate it from the wall.

Fortunately, she hasn't managed to hit anyone with her edible projectiles yet...but not for a lack of effort on her part.

One of these days, my luck is going to run out.

Could you imagine the medical report?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stephanie Chandler

Age: 26

Official cause of death: Skull fracture and massive brain trauma caused by what appears to be...a piece of cooked carrot?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Gusto!

...that's what my daughter has.

Or, at least, that's what we're all going to call it.





___________________________________

Anything you can do, I can do better.

________________________________________

screech \ˈskrēch\:
1.to utter or make a harsh, shrill cry or sound
________________________________________


I was online today and reading about Screech Owls. One site had an audio clip of an actual Screech Owl....screeching.

I don't know who decided to name these beautiful creatures but they clearly did not have children.

Luke has made screeching into an art form. It's a relatively new hobby, and one I'm hoping is short-lived as well. You know, one of those hobbies that come up out of nowhere and you spend way too much money getting into. Three weeks later, you have all these supplies and absolutely no more interest in them. So you box them all up and shove them upon an unsuspecting friend or family member who, in turn, sends them along to someone else. Years later, they get donated to a charity and some poor, homeless man on a cold city street is finally able to crochet himself a blanket.

Until then, I'm just trying to find a way to cope.

We were eating Sloppy Joe's for dinner and all Luke wanted was the potato chips. Now, nutritionally speaking, they're probably about equal (.0001% good stuff versus .00001% good stuff). But the masochist in me just loves any chance to battle with my son.

I wanted him to eat some of his sandwich before I would give him more chips.

"Luke, eat the sandwich and you can..."

SCREECH!

"Eat the sandwich and..."

SCREECH!

"Just eat the sandwich..."

SCREEEECH!

I sigh heavily, close my eyes and count to ten.

Go to a happy place. Go to a happy place.

Feeling a little calmer, I open my eyes and look over at the boy.

"Luke..."

SCREEEEEECH!

My happy place just burned to the ground.



*****************************************



Bath time has gotten out of hand.

Evie drinks from the faucet, which wouldn't be such a problem if it didn't involve a near death experience each time. Luke tries to stand up with a foot on either ledge of the tub, or sit on the very back ledge and slide down into it like he's at some kind of really cheap water park. Both maneuvers end up with some serious bumps and bruises...and enough water outside the tub to give Mommy a bath as well.

Neither one of them will hold still for a micro-second.

Which is odd, really. You'd think with their little bottoms all glistening and exposed, the kids would be more obedient.

Go figure.

The best part about bath time is when it's over....when two little children, all wrapped up in towels, are led into the bedroom by their daddy. Mommy trudges along after them, leaving a small river in her wake.

Once there, we tag-team the kids...getting them all "lubed up" and smelling sweet. Then we read to them, and sing with them, and love on them until it's time for bed.

This all went terribly wrong one night when we were getting the kids dressed in their pajamas. Actually, I was laying on my back recuperating while Chris did all the work.

Luke, who was completely naked at the time, walked up to me.

"I hut."

He had taken a minor tumble, but there weren't any visible wounds.

"Where do you hurt, baby?"

He turns around and carefully lowers a single buttock towards my mouth.

I laugh and kiss the boo-boo....he'd just had a bath, after all.

But, apparently, that wasn't good enough because the next thing I know the child is SITTING on my face. Cheek to cheek, in all the wrong ways.

I screeched so loud, the window cracked.

And Screech Owls everywhere hid their beaks in shame...




____________________________________

And now, for something completely different!

___________________________________________________



I was watching TV this evening and heard a reference to the Collyer brothers, a rather infamous pair of compulsive hoarders that were born in the late 1800's. They lived and died in a townhouse in Manhattan. When neighbors complained of the smell, police had to dig through over 100 TONS of junk in order to find the bodies.

Apparently, the technical term for a compulsive hoarder is: Disposophobia. I know what you're thinking...what does a fear of garbage disposals have to do with hoarding? The truth is, I have no idea, but you know how those stuffy, academic, Latin-speaking types can be.

Anyhow, I was reading about these two, ill-fated brothers and thinking to myself...

I bet they never accidentally threw out their Social Security cards.

...or the deed to their home.

...or any "final-notice" utility bills.

...or valuable, yet-to-be-deposited checks.

You see, my husband suffers from Hoardophobia...that's a fear of hoarding, for you lay-people.

I've begged him to seek counseling (and heavy medication) but he's in denial. He thinks it's normal to retrieve the mail from the box and deposit it directly into the trash can. Or, (even better) take out everything that looks important and shove it to the back of an obscure, junk-filled, kitchen drawer. Then, after letting it age and collect for a few months, throwing it all out in a fit of uncontrolled, obsessive-compulsive, clean-freak rage.

Okay, so it's not really a rage. It's more like this semi-conscious, zombie-like stupor. I could have sworn that I saw his eyes actually cloud over once, but I can't be certain.

He has no memory of it afterwards, which seriously impedes any recovery efforts on my part.

"Where did you put the mortgage bill?"

"Oh, it's uh...in the drawer next to the fridge."

"That drawer is empty."

"What? That's impossible. I remember putting it there."

"Well, it's empty. Maybe I'll check the trash."

"I did not throw it away!"

(sounds of rustling)

"Chris?"

"Yeah, Sweetie?"

"I looked in the trash can and found a mortgage bill, two vehicle titles, our marriage license, a package of clean diapers, $65 in cash, our 'last will and testament,' a set of fine china, the keys to the mailbox, and our two children."

"Wow! How did that get there??"

I wonder if the Collyer brothers have any single great-grandsons?




______________________________________

Faith Healing

Luke is obsessed with boo-boos.

Not long ago, he figured out that boo-boos got kisses and attention...and he's been a huge fan of them ever since. Naturally, when he runs out of real boo-boos, he'll start making them up.

He'll come up to me, holding or pointing to various parts of his body. His elbow, his shoulder...the arch of his foot.

"A boo-boo, Mommy!"

"Awww. You want me to kiss it?"

"Tiss it."

And then, quite miraculously, it's all better. I'm like Benny Hinn without all the forehead shoving!

The other day Luke came up to me and held out his index finger.

"A boo-boo."

"You want Mommy to kiss it?"

I remember he gave me a funny look then, which should have warned me, but I shrugged and kissed his fingertip anyway.

Turns out Luke's pronunciations of "boo-boo" and "booger" are nearly identical.



***************************************



Evie walked while drinking from her sippy cup yesterday. If that's not a milestone, then I don't know what is.

My little girl is so amazing.

Lately, when we've gone to take objects away from her that we don't want her to have (cell phones, wallets, butcher knives, etc.) she hasn't even made a fuss. Quite the opposite, in fact! Moments before you grab it out of her clammy little fist, she smiles and eagerly holds it out to you. As if to say...

"Oh, there you are! I've been looking all over for you. Here, this belongs to you. Go ahead...you may have it."

I find myself wanting to fall on my knees and thank her for her benevolence.

Oh, she's good.

The only one around here that doesn't fall for her charms is Luke. Every time the poor girl picks up a toy, her brother is there snatching it away from her. It's like he has some kind of elaborate surveillance system set up!

Evie can be sitting alone...in her bedroom...in the crib....with the door locked. She spies a toy next to her and glances around furtively.

No one there.

She takes a deep breath and holds it in before cautiously reaching for the prize. Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers inch towards the goal. Nervous sweat glistens on her brow. Her six teeth clench tightly together.

Closer...closer.........YES! She has it!!!

"No, Evie!"

And there's Luke, ripping it out of her hands.

Poor girl.

I bet she'd like to give him a boo-boo worth crying about.




__________________________________________________