Hot Diggity

Yesterday I had a run-in with a hot dog. Or, rather, a flying hot dog attacked my face.

This is not the first time that I have been assaulted in this manner. Two of my three readers may remember a time in college when they conspired against me in the interest of a good laugh, leaving me to almost lose my dinner. I'll restate the story here, for the sake of posterity...

It was a typical evening in my college life. My threesome was getting ready to head to the cafe for an exciting dinner of everything that comprised "hot dog bar." Granted, the only night that was really worth heading to the cafe was Sunday night's delicacy, "chicken bar." Everything else fell short of that, without fail. But I digress. As we head out to dinner, one roommate decides that she is not up to the deliciousness that awaited, but could roommate #2 please sneak a hot dog out for her to eat later. I remember thinking to myself, "well, if you're not feeling well now, the last thing you're going to want is a nasty, three hours old hot dog." Being the type to keep my snarkiness to myself such that it only exists in my own head, I vowed to remind roommate #2 to get the hot dog, and we headed out the door.

Dinner. Evening Mass. Socializing. Studying.

Back in the room that night, I sat at my computer typing away. My roommate (#2) turns off her light, tucks herself in and offers her standard evening farewell, "goodnight. sleep well. Don't stay up too late."

I remember (VERY clearly) that I wrapped things up around midnight. I turned out the light. Climbed up into my bed and pulled away the sheets. As I did so I became INCREDIBLY aware of a rather unpleasant odor wafting up from my pillow.

"Ugh. Time to change the sheets," the innocent, sleepy co-ed thought to herself.

I climbed into my bed. I pulled my cozy blankets up over my shoulder. Ignoring the not-so-pleasant aroma I snuggled my tired head down into my pillow, when all of a sudden I could feel a cold, clammy object nuzzling my neck. Like they would in a Hollywood movie, the prior events of the evening flashed through my memory with the speed of a strobe light. Realizing what was caressing my neck I reached up with my right hand and discovered it.

THE. HOT. DOG.

Cold. Clammy. Rancid. And far more than three hours old.

You would think I'd found a dead animal in my bed or something, based on the ferocity with which I launched it across the room while at the same time forcing myself to not heave my own hot dog onto my sleeping roommate below me. It was horrible. Disgusting. Revolting....and it still has my roommates laughing nearly ten years later.

All that being said, it is clear that hot dogs and I do not have an amicable history. So, yesterday when Christopher chucked his hot dog at me while I was nursing Jake, and when said hot dog pelted me directly in the face, I was less than pleased.

Tossing his food off of his tray is something that he's been doing for a while now. Usually this delightful portion of our mealtime occurs when he's been sitting too long, doesn't like his food, or is just tired of sitting and would rather graze. (We have quite a grazer on our hands. It never fails that if we let him out of his chair, he'll eat at least half of what remains on his tray as he walks around the room supervising everyone else's mealtime.)

But yesterday was different. Yesterday we witnessed a turning point in Christopher's relationship with his little brother. He is still incredibly loving towards Jacob, giving him kisses, watching him sleep, sharing his toys/food/sippy/remote control/bowl of dried cranberries with him. That has not changed. But what has changed is his need for attention. Just like everyone said, he seems to have realized that this little friend who has come to play is not going home. Ever. This has upped the whiny-factor by at least 1000%. His passive aggressive attempts at letting us all know who's boss have remained the same - stealing Jacob's blanket. Pulling off his socks (although, if Christopher had it his way, NO ONE would ever wear socks. Don't ask. I don't know.) But he's also learned how to use his voice to let us know that just because Jacob is here doesn't mean that Christopher doesn't need us. Or want us.

Of course we know this. He just doesn't know we know this. Black spy, white spy.

Poor little guy. So yesterday's hot dog toss was not the result of being full, or bored, or wanting to graze. It was a statement. Letting me know that it is ridiculously unfair that Jacob gets to sit on my lap and eat his lunch while Christopher is banned to the chair. Right next to me. A distance of about 18 inches. MILES AND MILES in toddlerville.

I know that things could be a lot worse, and am positive that I'll realize the validity of that statement as we continue to settle into being a family of four. I'm just hoping that my years of being victimized by Oscar Mayer are in the past.