Jake is going to be one of those adults that gets caught leading a double life.
In the time that Corey has been gone, Jake has been cycling through alter-egos. We've had "The Dead Cluefinder," the superhero he created, whose powers change as constantly as his outfit. The Dead Cluefinder will resurface on occasion, when something inspires his presence. Then we were "Jake Sully" from Avatar, during which we carried a backpack everywhere we went and refused to wear shorts, because "Marines only wear pants." We also answered to "Sergeant Marine Jake" during this time. Now, we're "Indiana Jones." He has an actual Indiana Jones hat he got for Christmas, which goes with a little plastic gun and holster, which he wears on a brown braided belt. There's another belt that goes across his chest like I would wear a pageant sash.
The bane of my existence best part is that that asshole Indiana (the real one, not the one who lives in my house) never closes his shirt, so that women all over could fawn over Harrison Ford's sweaty, tan chest. Mini-Indy who lives here is not so mature. Sometimes he looks like he's starving, but I swear we feed him. The adoption of this alter-ego coincided perfectly with my hitting a sale at Kohl's and bringing home three or four shortsleeve button shirts.
I can't bring myself to take a picture of this fashion statement for you. I will tell you that he is sitting here with me right now in yellow and orange Paul Frank monkey pajama pants and an unbuttoned blue and white shirt. He'll cooperate at bedtime and put the pajama shirt on, but when he comes downstairs in the morning, he'll have on the unbuttoned shirt, both belts, and the hat. Every time we leave the house, I have to explain that shirts will be buttoned and all belts, plastic guns and fedoras stay home.
Can someone please explain to me how you suddenly stop liking foods you enjoyed last week? Remember the brisket incident? The first time I made Mexican lasagna, Jake practically put his face in the plate and inhaled it. Last time I made it, he wrinkled his nose at the sight, gagged when I made him take a bite and opted for five clementines and a glass of whole milk for supper. This happens every weekend. One of them doesn't like something....you used to eat it.....not anymore. I never want to hear "not anymore" again.
Actually, "not anymore" began when I explained to them that you can't claim an allergy to EVERYTHING just because you don't care for it.
Tonight we had pizza for supper. Corey is very particular about his frozen pizza and he does like the Brick Oven pizzas, so that's what I buy, whether he's here or not. They're square. I personally love this quality because that means there are crustless pieces, but whatever. They're damn good. The boys asked me what kind of pizza were were having and I said the big square kind that Dad likes. They both said they hated square pizza, and when I said they've been eaten square pizza here for almost three years, they said they don't like it anymore.
I made it anyway, and then, THEN I used the very tiny bit of geometry I remembered from Mr. McCrory and cut the pizza so that there were triangle pieces that looked like the pieces they would be served from a round pizza, and they ate that shit up. That pizza was delicious. They told me so. Sometimes it bothers me that you can't treat little kids like you do adults. I would make my own little sister feel like a total dumbass if I was ever able to pull a trick like this on her. With children, you have to bite your tongue, because making them the butt of grownup jokes is not nice. But I'll tell you about it, and you can gloat with me.
A few observations:
Why does God create little boys with an instinct to find objects to put in holes, and to draw their hands to their pants like absentminded magnets when their brains are occupied?
Why do you have to take your shirt off to wrestle?
Who sets the example for little boys that it's okay to bite your toenails?
Who was the first person to send forth the "I don't have to wash my hands because I didn't get any pee on me" argument?
I tell them all the time how nasty they are. I just asked Landen what little boys are made of, and he said "snakes and snails and puppy dog tails" because every time they bite their toes, pick their nose, fart like old men or belch a word, I repeat that rhyme to them.
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