Blankey Boy

Our little baby J is changing every day. He wakes up with bright eyes and a happy heart, pointing his little chubby finger at everything--ready to show us his new tricks. If I only had a dollar for every time the husband says, "That little Jdog is such a good baby," then we could pay off our student loans. Almost.

Little J has always been a texture guy. He loves to feel things--scratching walls, furniture, carpet, my face (ouch), and he loves to try to pick apart anything that is crocheted. Since birth whenever he eats he's so interested in scratching me that it is rather painful, so I always tried to keep a blanket nearby to keep his hand occupied. And, he's developed an attachment. And it's adorable.

He doesn't show a preference for any particular blanket yet. He has a few favorites--the soft ones. He grabs a wad of the furry fabric with both hands and stuffs it into his mouth and smiles. The other day at the grocery store I had him in a frenzy of giggles as I let him stuff his blanket into my mouth. This kid is too cute.

Today when he awoke I heard him jabbering in his playpen. I sat there listening his his amazing little noises for a few minutes before I went in to get him. It's still sort of crazy to me that his favorite sound is "sssss." It's just so effortless. When I opened the door he crawled over to the crib side, stood up and reached for me. Then, I asked him, "Where's you're blankey baby?" He immediately dropped down, crawled over to his fuzzy green comfort cloth, and clenched onto it with both hands. I picked him and the blanket up and he was as happy as a baby could be.

That is, until, Atrain began experimenting with Jdog's tolerance. Atrain grabbed the blanket from him and then gave it back, and then repeated the teasing until baby J had had enough. He crawled right over to big brother and lunged for the blankey. I was like watching a a baby seal belly flop onto a slab of ice. Atrain was a little surprised by Jdog's sudden surge of confidence. So was I. We all laughed a little before I parted the two boys and congratulated Jdog on winning moves. He smiled as he snuggled his face right into his blanket. It's so sweet to have a little blankey boy.

Being a Butt Head

When in high school, everyone becomes the butt of a joke at one point or another. It’s no fun; being the butt downright stinks. But, it’s high school—if you’re not the butt head, you’re the butt. And everyone alternates roles.

When I was a sophomore, I became the butt of an ongoing joke that still haunts me today. It’s the “15 minute rule”—a regulated time period that signifies when I am not allowed to revisit past conversations. I break the rule all of the time, which is (I guess) why the institution of the rule was funny in the first place. But I don’t really care. I can’t really help it. My mind often muddles in rewind, especially when I’ve been a butt head.

Today I had lunch with a few of my high school friends. I adore these women. I love the variety of memories we have together. I’m grateful for how much I have learned and how much I’m still learning from and with each of them. I love teasing the husband about how he (most likely) kissed every one of them in his youth at one point or another. Aren’t I a sweet wife?

One of my friends, I’ll call her Veronica, is practically perfect in every way. She’s also been dealt a set of seriously imperfect circumstances of late. But, she’s the kind of woman who won’t let a hurricane of hurt blow out her candle. Even though I’m sure there are moments when her flame flickers, she maintains a warm, steady stream of light that amazes and inspires me. I need to be more like Veronica. But instead, I say dumb things that could make my nicest friend feel badly.

You see, we were discussing everyone’s summer plans when Shaloha asked if I was going to Texas with the husband. “Only for a couple of weeks,” I said. “What will you do for the rest of the time he is there?” she asked. And then, without even thinking I stupidly said, “I’ll just be a single mom, I guess,” as if there were even a comparison to be made. There’s not. It’s just one of those phrases that I used to say without really thinking. That is, until Veronica became a single mom. Now I think about it all of the time: how I can’t understand and hope I never have to understand what it would feel like to be in her shoes. As soon as those words, that empty comparison, came so casually out of my mouth, I felt like a slob—like an inconsiderate, ungrateful butt head.

Veronica wasn’t even listening, but after the phrase marinated in my mind for much longer than 15 minutes, I knew that I had to call her and apologize. Not because I think she was offended—she’s not the kind of girl who easily takes offense. She always gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. But I wanted to express my regret for being so ignorant for the past 26 years of my life. I don’t’ know how many times I’ve thoughtlessly used the phrase “single mom.” I hope not too many. After I got off the phone with Veronica I felt renewed. Even if you’re calling to apologize for being a butt head, she has a talent for making you feel like the most beautiful person in the world—a trait that runs in her family.

I shouldn’t say things when I don’t really know what they mean. You think that I would have learned that the first time I said a swear word in front of my parents. But, I guess I’m still learning. I’m glad that I’m still growing up with such good friends. And, I'll probably always be breaking the 15 minute rule. It keeps my muddling mind in check.