Dood

This evening Jack said a new word.

When his big brother flippantly hopped up onto the kitchen island’s counter top and started walking around, I barked, “Dood! What are you doing?” Jack laughed and immediately repeated, with perfect enunciation, “Dood!” He said it a few more times, just to feel how it sounded rolling off his tongue.

Jack has never been able to say Henry’s name, though in therapy we have tried to help him attempt it. I’m thinking that Dood is a perfectly reasonable replacement name. This means that because Jack is now capable of saying “momma,” “papa,” “baby,” and “dood,” he can almost name everyone in our family. Only Charlie remains. Maybe Chachismo needs a different, more easily pronounceable nickname. Hmmm.

Jack also took up spitting on people and things. He thinks it is hilarious. I think it is boorish. And also a major drag. But if I discourage this behavior too strongly, Jack finds my reaction totally funny and completely validating. Current approach: essentially ignore the spitting.

In other news, we ate crazy amounts of pie this week, which I don’t really regret.

We also saw a bunch of movies. This was part of my Survive Thanksgiving Break Master Plan. It worked. Watching “Lincoln” made me grateful I live in this fascinating land. Watching “Life of Pi” made me glad I am not in a lifeboat in the Pacific with a tiger. Watching “Breaking Dawn Part Two” made me realize that I am really really done with that series.

We spent silly time with cousins. We cut a fresh Christmas tree and adorned it with things that the baby likes to pull off and deposit elsewhere in the house.

I gave thanks for a warm house and my boys who fill it; for good food and books (both life-sustaining); for Jeff and for a messy, sprawling, seriously not-boring life.

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