"It's in the vault"

For those who don't know, that phrase is a Seinfeld-ism. Don't be ashamed if you didn't know that. I used to be just like you - I used to be one of those people who could count on one hand the number of Seinfeld episodes I had seen. But since my husband owns all 9 seasons on DVD, and since I spend a lot of time nursing on the couch in front of the TV, (not to mention the fact that I bought him the Seinfeld Scene-it game for Christmas and my pride requires that I be able to compete with him), I have taken to watching the sitcom starting with the very first episode. I am now half-way through Season 9. I don't know whether to be proud or ashamed of myself. But either way, at least now I understand such classic lines as: "These pretzels are making me thirsty," "No soup for you!" and "It's in the vault".

For those who are as I once was, according to Seinfeld, what you keep in the vault are secrets. However, despite all the episodes Jason has been subjected to watching with me, he doesn't seem to understand that. Maybe it's because his back is to the TV. Maybe it's because he has a boob to distract him from paying attention. Maybe it's because he's not even 2 months old yet and doesn't understand the English language. Who knows. But for whatever reason, Jason seems to think that vaults are not for keeping secrets, but rather something else far more valuable and precious -- Vaults are for lint.

Jason has cleverly converted his two fists into the strongests vaults I have ever encountered. But once, when his defenses were down, I caught a glimpse inside. Hoards of colored lint were balled up in there. In the wrinkles of his palm, in the crevices between his fingers -- he had stashed the stuff everywhere. Since my discovery, I have done what any good mother would do; I've tried to rob my son when he wasn't paying attention.

I say "tried" because as embarrassing as it is to admit, this almost 8 week old creature continues to outwit his almost 25 year old mother. While he's nursing, I do my best to pry his fingers open, but as soon I move my finger to his palm to try and rub the lint away, he closes his fingers around mine, and I'm trapped. I spend the next minute just trying to free my appendage from being locked inside the vault forever. And to add insult to injury, once I've freed myself from my failed attempt, he mocks my failure by slobbering all over his fists and then extending them to the burp cloth, the sofa, my t-shirt, anywhere he might ambush some more unsuspecting lint and add it to his collection.

So there you have it. Mother vs. Baby and Baby is showing her who's boss. But we'll see. After all, there's always bath time. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!