Posts Tagged ‘ Smurfs ’

The Lazy Smurf Version of Mother’s Day

Monday, May 14th, 2012

17 months.

Earlier last week I heard Jaci Valasquez say on her morning radio show on The Fish that what she wished for most on Mother’s Day was to take it easy while she and her husband watched their kids play.

I figured that sounded like a pretty good idea. So sure enough, I made sure we had the laziest Mother’s Day ever at our house.

There’s something anyway about waking up wearing a Smurfs t-shirt that says “Spaced Out” on it that leads to not taking to a shower, which somehow leads to us not leaving for church on time.

We were so slothful we not only were too late for the 9:30 and 11:00 services, but we barely made it on time for the 11:11 service.

It’s evidently designed for anyone who is just late enough that they need to watch the 11:00 service on an 11 minute delay on a giant movie screen in the big slacker room down the hall while coffee is being served.

That would be us: the slackers.

Not normally, though. Usually we’re okay to confirm to the strict and necessary weekend schedule it takes to socialize, buy groceries and run errands, go to church, and still clean the house, all with a toddler in tow, while living in a big enough town like Nashville.

But not this Mother’s Day. We chose to be as deliberately unmotivated as we could: Starbucks Frappucinos for brunch (where we pushed Jack around in one of their R2D2-looking kid stroller seats) and then had leftover pasta back at the house for a 3:00 lunch.

Jack took a 2 hour grace nap which led to us catching up on some Netlix. (We’re too cheap to ever pay for cable or satellite.)

“Hey, they have the show I Shouldn’t Be Alive now on the instant streaming…”.

Forty-three minutes later:

“That episode reminded me a lot of Lost. Umm… you want to watch Lost now?”

It was pushing Jack’s dinner time and we still had the house to clean.

In the likeness of one of those fast-forward montages in an Eighties sitcom where the characters clean up the mess real quick thanks to speed-dubbing, while zany music plays, Jill managed to get our place feng shui enough to feel comfortable while I entertained/annoyed Jack. (Pictured right.)

I took all the pillows from our couch and made a giant mountain that kept enclosing Jack as soon as he climbed to the top of it. Next I let him continually walk across our unnecessarily long couch until he got beyond giddy and delirious.

Then he discovered some forgotten (and dreadfully stale) fruit snacks in a travel-size container in the closet. I liked them better than he did.

At some point, Jack and I gave Jill her Mother’s Day care package which consisted of a card from Jack, a box of black licorice that were shaped like little hearts, and a gift certificate for a pedicure.

For us, it was a very lazy Sunday and what I have written is all I remember of it. But I already know Jill will look back on it as a good Mother’s Day; one worth repeating.

The moral of this story is to be lazy and then good things will happen.

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My Son Renamed My Dad As “Papa”

Wednesday, April 18th, 2012

17 months.

Gone are the days when grandparents are cool with being called Grandma and Grandpa. That’s like calling your administrative assistant a secretary. After all, this is the age of hipster toddlers.

It’s common knowledge that any grandmother going by the name of Nana or Nonna is going to be the hippest on the block. As for grandfathers, my own dad chose to be called “Pappy.”

He has been “Pappy” for Jack’s entire life… until Easter weekend. That was the first time since Jack started talking that he saw his Pappy.

When he saw my dad, he immediately called for him, saying “Papa, Papa,” reaching out his arms to be held. In fact, Jack called him “Papa” the whole weekend.

So I guess that’s it. Jack has a Nonna and a Papa. Not a Nonna and a Pappy.

Since Jack is the oldest grandchild of my parents, Papa is probably the name that is going to stick.

I think that’s a really cool name for the modern grandfather. As a child of the Eighties, I associate the word with Papa Smurf. Being that my dad has a goatee, it fits him.

It’s as if Jack said, “So listen, I totally respect the whole ‘Pappy” thing; how you wanted to be called that and all. But you see, you’re gonna be Papa instead.”

I’m pretty sure my dad doesn’t mind.

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Lamaze Classes Have Begun

Thursday, September 16th, 2010

Thirty-two weeks.

Until this week, I didn’t even know how to spell “Lamaze”, or even more importantly, what exactly it meant.  All I knew is that it involved breathing techniques for women in labor.  Monday night we had our first Lamaze class (out of six) and now I have a better understanding of what this is all about: Lamaze (named after a French doctor) classes help expecting parents to prepare for the birth of their child ideally without the use of medical intervention (AKA: going natural).

I think our take on “going natural” with this birth is currently along the lines of “let’s just see if we can do it”.  Ideally, we won’t use pain medication, and a C-section won’t be necessary.  But we obviously recognize it may not happen that way.  We half-way joke with each other that if we can do this without an epidural, we’ll spend that saved money on a trip to Maine.  I’m seriously planning on printing off a picture of us on our honeymoon at Kennebunkport to take when we go to the hospital, as inspiration.  But we’ll see how it turns out in reality.  I’m starting to care less either way.

With us starting Lamaze classes, it takes us to a whole new level of “Wow, this is really happening!”  We’re both having weird, off-the-wall dreams, evidently fueled by our subconscious anxieties.  I recently dreamt that Jack was born with light blonde hair and blue eyes, which I think is near impossible given our particular genes, though Uncle Jesse and Aunt Rebecca from Full House had blonde twins (and I could never get past that).

We both have sore backs these days, as it’s hard to sleep comfortably for either of us because my wife has to sleep sideways now with about five pillows, meaning I’m limited to a smaller sleeping space.  But hey, I’m not complaining.  I just want to do anything necessary to help her feel a little more comfortable during the pregnancy.  And we are starting to feel this sense of unsettledness as we count down these final eight weeks or so.  It’s getting to the point where we are both thinking, “Enough of this pregnancy stuff, I’m just ready for him to be born already!”

All pictures with the “JHP” logo were taken by Joe Hendricks Photography:



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