I Forgot Little Jack!!

When I was writing the No Comprende post yesterday, I knew there was a Jack story to be told--I just couldn't remember it. I kept thinking that if I wrote long enough about Abby, the funny Jackism would come to me.

But clearly, my plan didn't work. I ended up typing an insanely long post with nary a Jack story to be found.

But no fear, Jack shared his little misunderstanding of the English language again this morning. I squealed with delight and ran to the computer to slip it in here before my overworked, under-rested brain lost it yet again. So here goes...

Between shipping print orders and adoption paperwork, we've had to be at the post office several times recently. Now going to the post office, in my world, falls somewhere along the lines of having a molar dug out of my mouth with a flathead screwdriver.

OK, that was nothing more than ridiculous drama...but it's true that a visit to the post office is tough for us. I'm usually wearing Isabel in the Ergo, holding Jack's hand on one side, holding Abby's hand on the other side, and carrying a box between my knees as I waddle towards the door (also not entirely true...but trust me, it's not always pretty).

So anyway, the post office staff must realize that standing in line for 20 minutes is no more fun for kids than it is for adults, because they've done a couple of things to try to make a visit to the post office a bit more enjoyable for them. We stood in line until it was our turn, and then Mommy Duck and the Ducklings all made our way to the counter. I chatted for a bit with the sweet man who was helping us, and when he was done shipping our package, he asked the kids if they would like a stamp on their hands.

Sure!! I had just seen him stamp "Priority Mail" all over our package, so we were gung ho to get a stamp like that, too. Everybody put their tiny hands up on the counter, he pulled out the stamp, and pushed it firmly onto the pudginess that waited there. He pulled the stamp away, and voila...

"SPOILED" was written in bright red ink across each of their hands.

Okie-dokie then..........

We told the man thank you, walked out to the car, and I promptly busted out the wet wipes as the kids got into their seats. Before I scrubbed their little hands clean, I explained that "spoiled" means that we think we deserve everything we have...and more. I told them that we should always be thankful for the things we have and reminded them of how important it is to give to others rather than hoarding for ourselves. Before I found myself in the land of Toddler Preaching, I stopped and gave them an explanation I knew everybody could get...

"It's just sassy, guys."

We cleaned the red ink off as best we could, finished up our errands, and headed home for lunch and naps. As I was putting Jack in his crib that afternoon, he squirmed away as I tried to pick him up. He normally leaps into his bed for naptime, so I asked...

"Buddy, what's wrong? Why don't you want to get in your crib?"

He said, "Need new sheep me." (Which translates into "I need a new sheet.")

"What's wrong with your sheet?" I asked.

"I not like it. My sheep is sassy!"