What color are your roots?

There is a lot going on with Jake right now, however, the brain power that it takes to process and then write about it, I do not have right now. So, instead I will discuss a topic much more light hearted and we will come back to Jake tomorrow.

I have a friend, Jess. You remember Jess: the baby shaking, blog taking over Jess. Speaking of which the massage and lunch on Saturday was FABULOUS!!

Now, my friend Jess, I'm not sure if her roots are truly blond or not but if ever there was a woman who fit the stereotypes it would be her. (Don't worry... she's been warned I'm making fun with full permission).

Since Jake has been gone her and her husband have been really great with helping me around the house. Our most recent project has been a large bonfire that we have been gathering items for but have yet to be able to light because of weather.

Last week I called her to ask her if Shane was good with a chain saw because I have some dead trees that I would like to add to the burn pile before we light it ablaze. Our conversation went something like this:

"So, how does your husband feel about chain saws?"

"Fine, why?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking of things we could add to this bonfire."

"You want to throw the chainsaw in the bonfire?"

As Bill Engvall would say... here's your sign....

Then last night I asked her to come over and watch Zack for me so I could mow the lawn. I know... I've become one of THOSE mothers I always SWORE I would never be. The kind that gets a baby sitter to do household items and go to the grocery store. But seriously, he's so little and the mower is SOO loud I just didn't want him riding it with me or in the play yard and if I left him in the play yard or inside I would have to stop every 10 minutes to check on him. So anyhow...

Jess came over and Zack and her went on a walk. Then they sat on the swing on our front porch until Zack decided, with some gusto, that it was time to eat. Now remember I'm on the mower, 50 feet away and could have been asked ANY questions, but instead she just heads inside to feed him.

She knows that we put cereal in his bottles so she opens up the fridge, sees a bottle with milk in it and begins looking for the cereal. On the counter, in plain sight is a box of baby cereal. Yes, over there, the one with the giant Gerber baby on the front.

I come in from mowing the lawn and they are sitting in the rocking chair.

"How many scoops of cereal do you normally put in his bottle?"

"Scoops? I usually put one to two Tablespoons per four ounces. What scoops?"

"The scoops that are in the can. I put in two but I had to open a new can."

"Can of what? The cereal is in a box!"

"Well I don't know. But he seems to like it."

I begin frantically looking through the kitchen trying to figure out what exactly it is that she is feeding my son and whether I need to call poison control. As it turns out she had opened a can of formula (which Zack has never had before) and dumped two scoops in the three ounce bottle. He ate it but he then proceeded to spit it all back up again. When she came in the kitchen and looked at the can again her only comment was "I guess it does say formula on the can doesn't it? I'm sorry I panicked. He was crying..."

No harm done. I gave him a washcloth bath and fed him another bottle this time with cereal and he quickly fell asleep. No worse for the wear.

Next time when dealing with Jess we speak in slow clear sentences and leave easy to follow directions!! Must remember blond roots run deep.