3 posts tagged “jamesyn”

Not to steal my husband's introspective thunder. (BTW: I am perfectly content NOT to look for suffering. I know it will find us, but I hope we can hide a tad longer. Is that shallow? Yes. No prob, I can do shallow. ) But, I just really must share this latest nugget of Jonah's wisdom.

 

Me: Jamesyn can you please go wake up your Ate's? (Tagalog for big sister's)

Jamesyn: Yes Ma. (I have such obedient children, it amazes even me. Or, it could be that I have stepped up my discipline in the last week from minimal to Don't mess with me, sucker. But, that is the subject of another post.)

Me: (Knowing that the girls don't tend to be "morning people", which is why I sent Jamesyn in....just kidding) You should wake them up with a sweet kiss. I bet they would really like that.

Jamesyn runs off to bestow her good morning kisses.

Jonah: Ma, Boys are the one's who are supposed to kiss princesses.

Me: You know Jonah, that is so true.

Jonah: Princesses don't kiss princesses.

And really, it doesn't get simpler than that. If only our culture could heed the wisdom that is innate enough for a four year old to get.

 

 

 

~Tash

 

 

Yes, I do plan on posting monthly about this baby. Some moms do mom things like take a picture of their baby once a month and put it in a special frame meant to showcase the child's 1st 12 months. If you are one of these moms, I admire you. Me, well I am more like the type who would buy the frame, because it is a great idea, and never develop the pictures and put them in the frame. That's just me, it is a short-coming, but I have recognized it and accepted it. Moving on.

That is why you must either ignore these monthly posts or just look at the pictures and tell me how cute she is. Indulge me, I am doing a mom thing, in my own way. It must suffice because it is progress for me. My poor kids, except Jordyn, have no baby books. And, unfortunately for Jordyn, her's was written by a 19 year old idiot who actually wrote that her favorite tv shows were 90210 and Melrose Place. So, you see my kids have been neglected and I have guilt, so on with the show.

Jessica is "all of our's baby". (Is that even grammatically correct? My editor is currently sleeping, I am sure he will correct it later.) Well, at least that is what I have to tell Jamesyn daily. She will say things like, "Mom, I will let you hold my princess if you want." This is usually while I am already holding her. And, this is the face that she makes when she gives me her permission:

 Or, she will say, "No, Jonah she is MY baby!" as she squeezes Jess for dear life when Jonah approaches. And, this is the face that she makes when she marks her territory:

 

 

 Which causes Jonah to look like this:

 

All the way around, it is safe to say that Jessica is loved fiercely and rightfully so.

Due to all of this love and attention, she has yet to crawl. In fact, she is still not sitting up completely unattended. Just the way Jamesyn and I like it. More princess holding to be had. She does roll all over the family room and zooms back and forth in her walker. She also has two teeth on the bottom. I have yet to buy a jar of baby food. I have been making it. She loves to eat. The only time she lacks patience is when you aren't getting that next bite into her mouth quick enough. She always wakes up around 6:30 am. James is up and he thankfully gets her and changes her. She sucks her pacifier through the whole process. But, as soon as he brings her to the bed for me to nurse and she sees me, she shoots the paci out of her mouth like a cork. She don't play.

She says Dada and has said Mama a few times, but only when I beg her and remind her that I gave birth to her in blow-up pool in my room and can she just throw me a bone already. I have taught her how to give kisses. So, if I say "kisses" she will lean into you with her lips. Ahhhh, nothing like baby lips.  Or, it could be the ten thousand kisses she gets daily that gave her a clue on how it is done. But, I prefer to take the credit.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taking a pair of pliers, he twists the wire together as he'd done over a decade before, fingers remembering the old dance around the rebar, under the supervision of the California sun.  This time, it isn't rebar or concrete forms he's dealing with, nor is he under a full layer of fire-retardant "Nomex" coveralls in the oldest oil refinery on the West Coast.  He's in his own backyard, tying not steel but bamboo together.  His aim: make the most cost-effective tomato trellis for his few dollars.  The sands of time have slowed down, stretching the minutes into hours.  He knew the project was taking longer than it should, but the garden had become his latest obsession.
 
Soon, he had tied together the first few supporting members.  It was taking shape!  The tic-tac-toe grid would help keep the tomatoes away from the cabbages, carrots and mesculine (salad greens mix).  He hears the piercing cry moments later:
 
"Daddy!"
 
A flash of copper glints in his periphery.  It was Jamesyn, the fighting-Irish redhead, breaking his reverie.  His heart beats a rapid tattoo in his chest.  His thoughts of years spent in the trenches at Avon refinery tying steel vanish in a moment, he can't help but grin: Jamesyn is a jealous child, and will not be ignored.  It's alright, though.  He doesn't want to ignore the chance at garden-time with one of his kids.
 
"Hey, beautiful!" he beams a smile at her.  She meets his stare with her steel blue eyes, purse in hand and her oversized Dora backpack, bursting with books and activities, clutches onto her back for dear life.  A Spiderman stuffed doll is clutched to her chest.

 

 
"I got my baby, Daddy.  This is my baby.  I got my pink pursie, Daddy," she shows off her accoutrements and takes off in a beeline for Daddy's arms.
 
Dropping his pliers and the tie wire, the gardener lifts up his daughter, squeezing her for all she's worth. 
 
"Oh, this is your baby?  Well, you're my baby, Jamie.  I love you."  Her response is inaudible as she's smothered in his kisses.  She gives up trying to talk and surrenders to the onslaught, kissing him back and looking at the first trellis.
 
"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"Building a trellis for the tomatoes."
 
"A t-r-e-ll-i-s?" she responds, cocking her head to one side as she turns over the word in her mind like a jewler fascinated with a new gemstone.  He knew what was coming next: "What's a 'trellis'?"
 
He explains, best he can, but she keeps asking, "What are you doing out here?" followed by "What's a trellis?"
 
He knows it's a game, more than a search for information, but plays along, answering same two questions for the next ten minutes.  All the while, she's picking up the various tools in the yard, digging holes in the ground and picking up bits of wire.  She spots her carrying case of sidewalk chalk and bends to pick it up, dropping Spiderman in the Idaho dust.
 
"Oh, no!  My baby, Daddy!" 
 
"What happened?  Is he dirty?"  he says, dusting him off.  "Jamie, you're carrying too much stuff—your books are falling out, your baby fell, and you want to carry the chalk, too?"
 
He's forgotten, for a moment, what it was like to be two.  Of course she wants to carry all her worldly possessions and follow her daddy around!  He gives up the inquisition and returns Spiderman to his daughter. 
 
Satisfied, and carrying the chalk as well, she somehow manages to stick her "sucky" in her mouth while precariously balancing her cargo in each arm.  Soon, books begin to fall out of the open backpack again, and she trips.  Not one to cry, she dusts herself off and decides she's done.  The sun's rays beating on her coppertop were too much.  Daddy-time was over for now.
 
"Love you, Jamie," he calls after her, as the door closes.  He shakes his head, smiling and savoring his simple joys.