My mind has an ability to remember odd, random, mostly useless things.  For instance, do you remember a VW commercial from around 2000ish that had an old man get all dressed up, sneak out of his retirement home, and meet his grandson outside who pulled up in a VW (of course) for some grand adventure?  He opens the door and says, “Hey Boo Boo” in this great, low, raspy voice.  “Hey, Grandpa.”

Everytime I go to get JJ out of his carseat, I open the door, look at him, and say, “Hey Boo Boo.”  He doesn’t say, “Hey, Grandpa” because a) that would be incorrect, 2) stringing words together into a sentence is not part of his current features, and iii) he’s been raised better than that – he does have Southern grandparents after all (they’re the ones who would say he’s been raised better than that.  I would know after having heard it said to me . . . a few times).  But he does giggle hysterically and then throw himself into my arms so we can begin our grand adventure . . . like picking out marked down perennials (my herbs which were keeping my kitchen sink window sill occupied have moved on to bigger and better places, so I thought I’d try my hand at indoor house plants.  Some people buy a plant and then a cat to see how they are at taking care of living things, generally with the thought of adding a child to the mix – I do it backwards) and buying graduation cards (good LORD, I thought those days were behind me, but with three grad parties happening in the next 24 hours, me thinks I was wrong).

This week JJ has added to the list of Reasons Why His Self Is Named “Boo Boo”

(See, I had a friend who had a name for his self.  Sample story:  “You know how it was so hot last night?  Well, I got to thinkin how to stay cool.  I realized I could take a shower with my clothes *on*, and the clothes would stay damp most of the night.  So I jumped out of bed and said to my self, ‘Edna, we’re not sleepin hot tonight!’”  His self’s name was Edna.  He lived in Northern Idaho.  Those boys are crazy.)

• The eternal bout of dry skin on his chin which is either genetic or from sliding down carpeted stairs on his belly or from trying to squiggle away while getting tickled on the carpet

• The raspberry under his chin where he decided to bond with the brick step-type-thing . . . at the library . . . in the lobby . . . where it echoes the loudest (boy, they love us there)

• The interesting colored poo that is a result (I’m assuming) of injesting half a pack of gum – sugarfree goodness!

• The twelve slivers I removed from his hand and arm after a rousing time at the park:  I attacked him as he was distracted by Norah Jones singing “I don’t know why Y didn’t come” on Da Street – I’m sneaky like that

• The scratch marks on his nose resulting from his claw-like fingernails.  I swear I cut them in a nice half-moon shape, but somehow he files them into weapons – perhaps to better protect his goldfish crackers from hooligans in the nursery

• The lovely brown earwax that builds up at an insane rate – either because of the previous ear infections or lending itself to causing the ear infections

• The burn mark on his elbow from “helping” his Pappy with the grill, and because he won’t stand for band-aids (ooh, a toy to pick at and yell at when it does not remove on command!), the skin has broken, gathered fuzz, and become a scab – tasty treat

• Bruises.  From where?  Oy . . . who knows.  But they’re contagious, because I’ve got them too.  Not everything needs to be shared, you know:  keep your bruises to your self, boy!

• Pinched fingers from child-proofed (which apparently means booby-trapped) cupboards

• Stubbed toes from dropping full cups

• Food that is found to have an excessible amount of heat (he’s a weenie:  it wasn’t that hot)

• And then there’s his enjoyment of banging his head against the wall and looking at us to say, “Ow,” and stare blankly as though he can’t help himself:  I wonder if Boo Boo made him do it.

Another random useless thought:  Anthony Edward’s character in Northern Exposure lived in a bubble.  I wonder if it’s still around. . .  Not for JJ, but more for me:  I’d like a rest from Body Guard Special Agent Ma duty, and that sounds nice and quiet and non-pointy.

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings