The Jake Chronicles

By Heather Fallon

"The Jake Chronicles" is a mother's retelling of her charismatic toddler's many escapades. This story will resonate with anyone who loves children and who can appreciate the sarcasm. Self-deprecating humor accompanies the hilarity of a young boy, reminiscent of Judy Blume's Fudge, Hank Ketchum's Dennis the Menace, and Bill Watterson's Calvin of Calvin and Hobbs.

After losing her high-powered, six-figure dream of a career in the 2008 recession, first time author Heather Fallon was immediately thrust into the role of stay-at-home-Mom to her uniquely challenging three-year-old son, Jake. Fallon channeled her depression into documenting the daily hijinks of a toddler like none other, a little boy with the charisma to light up a cavern, gifted with the skill to negotiate as if he were filibustering on the floor of the Senate, and an obsession with all things fecal. A child with more nicknames than boats in a marina, he became obsessed with pirates at the age of two, and thusly named himself Captain Jake Sparrow. You will laugh, you will snort, you will tell your friends, but more than anything else, you will fall in love with Jake, as seen through the lovingly sarcastic lens of his mother's words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667823232

Book preview

BALLS

As usual, this Thursday morning began like any other. Reilly woke up grumpy, toting her blanket as an homage to Linus. She struggled with getting dressed, argued about eating breakfast, balked at brushing her teeth. You get the drift. She is five. Mornings are tough for anybody; we all know that.

And then there is Jake. If there could be an eighth dwarf called Morning Midget, it would be him. He jumps out of bed every morning, as wide-eyed and bushytailed as when he went to sleep.

So, we’re about 15 minutes into our routine of one kid being typically ornery, and the other acting as if he has consumed three cappuccinos. Again, a very mundane morning.

And then I hear the following:

UGH! Mommy! I just want to cut my pee-pee off! UGH!

(Deep breath, Mommy…remember whatever you say will somehow come back to become your fault when he endures a bout of erectile dysfunction at some point later in his life).

Jake. You do not want to cut your pee-pee off.

UGH! Yes, I do! It’s bothering me.

Perhaps I should mention that lately Jake has, shall we say, ‘noticed’ his pee-pee. He does not play with it or derive pleasure from it, but he is aware of its presence. And, of course, this presence is more noticeable in the mornings. I believe it is casually referred to as Morning Wood?

So, I take another deep breath and tell Jake that if he leaves his pee-pee alone, it will go back to sleep.

He doesn’t like my answer and continues with his UGH!

I rubbed his forehead and told him to go potty, and get dressed, and then we could have breakfast. Off he trots to his room. I begin to switch gears by assisting my angst-ridden five-year-old with her my hair is a MESS problem.

Jake returns to the kitchen, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and his mini boxer briefs he has casually renamed Wonderwears. As an interesting sidenote, the t-shirt said ALL-STAR and had embossed pictures of all kinds of sports balls: soccer balls, basketballs, footballs, baseballs, tennis balls. BALLS, BALLS, BALLS - A most apropos attire for the day’s conversation, but quite coincidental, I assure you.

He walks over to me, and he is hunched over. His right hand is somewhere in his nether regions. He has the most inquisitive look on his face that I have ever seen. He is completely perplexed. It is as if he has made a monumental discovery in the world of genetic research and has just realized that he will be winning the Nobel Prize for how to cure stupid.

Finally, Jake said, What ARE these? LITTLE…. TINY……BALLS?

To which I responded in the only way that I knew how that would hopefully not damage his fragile three-year-old sexual psyche: Yes, Jake they are little, tiny balls, and your father will be talking to you about them this evening.

That appeased him enough to shut up and go away and get dressed.

After dropping Jake off at preschool, I called Big Bad Dad and told him it was necessary for him to have a little bit of show and tell with his son this evening. He rebutted with, I don’t know what to say! You’re the psychologist! I casually reminded him that not only was I not a psychologist, but I also did not have a Y chromosome nor a penis, no matter how badly I know that I should have, and this very well may have been the only mistake God has ever made.

Later that evening, the two guys in my life mowed the yard together. Afterward, they took a shower together. I do not know what transpired behind that shower curtain, nor do I want to know. But I can tell you this: After they finished showering, Big Bad Dad was shaving his head in front of the bathroom mirror, wearing his boxer briefs. I heard a little tiny voice on the floor of the bathroom.

The voice said, This, Dad? THIS is the gonads?

I nearly peed myself.

Big Bad Dad responded without even looking away from the mirror, Yes.

THIS, Dad? Or THESE? THIS or THESE is the gonads?

Yes.

Hey Dad? Can I see yours again?

To which Big Bad Dad replied, No.

After I had gone outside and laughed until I cried, I came back and asked Big Bad Dad, Gonads? Isn’t that the word you used? Gonads?

He replied, I was under a lot of pressure! It’s the only word I could think of!

I think that is why they don’t make t-shirts for little boys that have Gonads on them.

Balls seems to suffice in my opinion.

CLOVER

For whatever reason, my little man, Captain Jake Sparrow, loves to talk to me while I am, shall we say, ‘using the facilities.’ He continues to disrespect a closed bathroom door. He is attracted to it like a kid to a bakery that offers free cookies with sprinkles. Today was just another in our anthology of interesting talks while I am ‘taking care of business.’ So, I’m sitting there, minding my own business, with the bathroom door closed as always, when I hear the little munchkin scream, MOMMY!. I tried to ignore him. I did not think he was bleeding or drowning or on fire. Then I heard it again, this time accompanied with I NEED YOUR HELP! I still wasn’t biting. He was supposed to be putting his jammies on. I continued to attempt to ignore him. Then he opened the bathroom door and made his grand entrance. As seems to be customary around our house, Jake was wearing nothing but his Wonderwears. Almost naked as a jaybird.

I said, Yes? Can I help you?

I can’t find my Superman jammie shorts.

I told him that I would help him in a few minutes.

He asked me, Are you pooping?

Yes.

He said, Oh.

Can you leave now?

He said, Um, Mommy?

Yeah?

He said, Um, can we go to that Backyardigans show?

What Backyardigans show?

He said, That one. That one over there.

Jake, WHERE is the Backyardigans show?

He said, Across our lake.

Across our lake, WHERE?

He said, Across our lake, next to Dunkin Donuts.

NOTE TO READER: There are a thousand lakes where we live, but only one Dunkin Donuts. I assure you, the one Dunkin Donuts that we are privy to is nowhere near any lake, and it darn sure is not ACROSS our lake.

Next to Dunkin Donuts, WHERE?

And he recapped it for me as follows: The Backyardigans show is across OUR lake, next to Dunkin Donuts, in Clover. Can we go to it?

Jake, WHERE is Clover?

Across OUR lake, next to Dunkin Donuts at that Backyardigans show. Can we go there?

Again, I have absolutely no idea what he is talking about, and since I believe there is a very thin fine line between earning the title of the Greatest Mom in the History of the Universe and being legitimately locked up by the Department of Children and Families, I replied, Sure.

Later, I told this crazy jibber jabber of a story to my husband and daughter. As most people who encounter my retelling of Jake stories, they are quite skeptical. I was redeemed, however, several minutes later when Jake said, Actually Mommy, the Backyardigans show isn’t in Clover. It’s in New Jersey.

I asked Jake if he knew where New Jersey was.

Nope. Can I have another fruit snack?

25 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME, BY JAKE

1) I do not eat. I only snack. Cookies, crackers, fruit snacks. Anything in a wrapper. If they could figure out how to put pork chops and green beans in a wrapper, then I would eat them. I cannot get this through to my mom. It’s quite simple really. Just wrap the pork chop and put it in the dang snack drawer. How hard can that be?

2) I don’t like noise. Honestly. Fireworks scare me. But monster trucks don’t.

3) Pumpkins make me angry.

4) Bed is boring.

5) I have watched the original Power Rangers movie about 1,327 times. Yesterday, which would have been the 1,328th time, it scared me. Don’t know why. Just did.

6) I want to be an eyeball doctor when I grow up. Eyeballs make me laugh. A lot. Most kids say bad words or potty mouth words or tell stupid jokes about bad words or potty mouth words. I’m beyond that. Eyeball. HAHAHAHAHA. Eyeball. ROFLMEO. HAHAHA! Laughing my EYEBALL off! HAHAHAHAHA.

7) I am so darned cute, that girls want to touch me all the time. Ugh. Enough already! Stop touching me! When my Dad takes me to the Rolandoh Magic games, I always tell him, Dad, I don’t want THEM touching me. And then I walk in the door, and I am a total babe magnet, and there they are. Touching me. Enough already!

8) I love to play the Guess Who I Am game with my family. Each of us takes turns imitating a person that we know and everybody else must guess who they are pretending to be. I am really good at this game. Because most of the time, they are all pretending to be ME!

9) Okay, so I have a mess addiction. Big freaking deal. Get over it.

10) I am in love with my pediatrician. So madly, deeply, passionately in love, that when I get a paper cut, I INSIST that Mom takes me to see her. She does not. She is mean. Which just makes me love Dr. Jill that much more. Sigh.

11) I do not tolerate bullies. Even though I’m really little, I can take those big guys. Especially when they pick on my sister. If she complains to my Dad that somebody’s picking on her, I’m like, Dad, I’ll handle this. And I do. I’m awesome at it. Nobody messes with the Captain.

12) Chicks dig me. I’m like a puppy on a string.

13) I am my dad’s first mate. On the boat. Born to fish, I was.

14) I like to talk about doing stuff. Like swimming for instance. Everybody else will be swimming in the pool, and I just walk around the perimeter, for hours, saying, I’m coming in! I am! So my parents say I’m the Big Talker.