He'll come home from the park with a bleeding gash on his knee and proudly exclaim, "I don't need a band-aid. I'm TOUGH!"
If Jacob had super powers, they would have to be his alluring charm, incredible memory, and super head strength. He was born with a whopping sized head (my dad affectionately nicknamed him Charlie Brown because he was all noggin as a baby). I can't tell you how many times he's fallen and landed square on to his round dome of a head (a little top-heavy, I guess). But he always gets right back up and brushes it off like it never happened.
Watch out villans, we got some killer head here!
His favorite super hero task is to bring in my mail every afternoon. Because, you know, sometimes this chore requires a cape. When I ask him if he needs a sweatshirt, Jacob puffs out his chest indignantly and exclaims, "I'm not cold. I'm just tough!"
Plus it would clash with his cape. And who am I to argue with a super hero?
Apparently being tough is a prerequisite to being able to push your own buttons on the microwave. At least that's what Super Jake tells me.
But even Super Jake has his kryptonite. Despite his tough-boy qualities, Jacob Palmer is terrified of.......insects. But not just any insects; mostly just the tiny ones.
Jacob was chasing his cousin around at the condo in Lake Chelan last week when he stopped dead in his tracks, turned pale, pointed frantically to the ceiling, and screamed, "LOOK! ANT! THERE'S AN ANT ON THE CEILING!!! DADDY KILL IT!"
His daddy looked up at the microscopic ant about 5 feet above Jacob's head, then looked back at his son. Jacob was prancing around the room hysterically, like a tweenie in the autograph line at a Justin Beiber concert. Daddy just said, "I can't reach it. Don't worry about the ant. He's so tiny. He won't hurt you."
Jacob replied to this logic calmly, "HE'S MOVING! HELP. AHHHHHH. GET HIM. KILL HIM NOW!" There was no reasoning with him. It was Jacob versus microscopic ant. Microscopic ant had to be crushed before the planet could resume spinning.
Then today, I sent Jacob outside to play in his sand box. After not too long, I heard a shriek. My first thought was that a child stealer had snuck into our yard and was thrusting Jacob into a creepy, unmarked van. But then Jacob flew through the front door crying hysterically.
"What?! What's wrong? Tell me what happened!"
Through his sobs, Jacob recounted the horrible, tragic turn of events. "I CAN'T EVEN PLAY IN MY SANDBOX!" Sob. "IT'S IN THERE! I CAN NEVER PLAY IN THE SAND AGAIN!"
"Jacob, what are you talking about?!" I followed him out the front door to his sand box.
With a trembling finger, Jacob pointed under a toy car. "THERE!" He sobbed and erupted into more tears.
I pulled back the toy car and saw a teeny tiny, squirming earwig burrowing into the sand.
"This?! You're crying over this little bug?"
"Mommy, get him!"
I guess no matter how tough or super you are, sometimes you still need to call on the powers of Super Mommy. I scooped the bug up into a little cup and tossed him over the railing. ... And now, there is an earwig vacationing somewhere in Jacob's red wagon (a story for tomorrow, perhaps?)
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