Casa Robmaliam

MZisms

2009-06-23T21:50:00.000-07:00

A few choice blurbs from MZ that have made it to Facebook and deserve to be remembered:

06/19: In an awed hush tone upon discovering an American Girl catalog for the first time: This is a very cool book.

06/19: Upon hearing Lady Gaga's latest, MZ announced that she too would like to ride on a disco stick. Grrreeaat.

06/16: MZ is obsessed with cemeteries after Great Grandma's funeral. Today she insisted that Mana and Papa take her to the cemetery to visit Great Grandma. She had them read all the gravestones, she wanted to know who Grandma's neighbors are and how old they were when they died. The next morning, Daddy asked her if she had brought flowers. Disappointment clouded her face for just a moment, and then she announced: We didn't have any flowers at preschool. We'll bring them next time.

06/14: Fabulous trip to Brentwood to pick cherries with neighborhood friends. I picked a ton, in a completely obsessive compulsive way. MZ picked a ton, too, and G insisted on putting all his cherries in MZ's bucket. We came home with 18 lbs. of cherries!! That's a nice little store of cherry jam.

06/11
Mama: Happy birthday, Great Grandma!
MZ: We can't have a cake for her because she's dead.

Yarzheit Five

2008-10-10T22:14:00.000-07:00

Hello Avi and Ximena. Five years, that seems like such a landmark. I had a hard time today, I found more rage than sadness beneath the surface. Whether this a stage of grief or a state of being I have no idea.

This year we explained you to your sister. She wants a sibling badly, and is particularly taken with the idea of brothers, and it occurred to me how strange it is that we are now explaining you to your younger sister, but you are the babies. "Ximena is a girl's name," she said. "That's a longer story," said your dad quietly. "Sometimes boys and girls have the same name," I said, loud enough to hear.

We lit the candles, and I visited with them and my memories of you a few times today. But nothing compared to hearing your names read aloud tonight at services. Avraham Freedman. Ximena Freedman. We never hear your names aloud unless we say them, and I was reminded how powerful it is to hear your names spoken by others. Tears sprung instantly, we held each other and your sister, grateful for her miraculous presence in our lives, missing the opportunity to know you.

There, in the same sanctuary where your sister was named, with the large crowd an impending bar and bat mitzvah bring, I thought of the life passages that we will not share with you. I remembered the magnitude of our loss. I remembered that I am the mom of three.

I love you both, Avi and Ximena, as fiercely as the day I held you.

First Day of School

2008-10-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

Me: Miriam, did you get to play with D today?
MZ: No, she wasn't there
Me: Oh, well, did you have fun with C?
MZ: No, she wasn't there
Me: When I left you were playing with C
MZ: She had to go
Me: Oh, well, did you like your new teachers?
MZ: They had to leave, too. Everyone left, it was just me and Felix.
Me: Oh, well what did you do?
MZ: We watched the school

Forty-two Months: All things Sparkly!

2008-07-22T21:59:00.000-07:00

Helping Hands

2008-07-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

I *love* this phase! Miriam wants to help with everything. She has for a long while, but she's also lacked the coordination for some tasks, so I've waited patiently while she "helps," then tried to surreptitiously re-do or do whatever needed getting done.

But she's rounded a bend. Tonight, for the third or fourth time, she helped me fold sheets. She takes the ends, folds them, walks her end to me and dances back, until the sheets are perfectly folded. An exhausted Robert never had to get off the sofa. She enjoyed this so much that we folded napkins together next -- a task I hate -- and since she couldn't quite manage it standing, she laid the napkins on an ottoman to match up the ends. Perfectly folded napkins, which she insisted we use tonight for dinner, and of course we did.

On Tuesday I came home from the gym to find her making pancakes with her dad. Not just cracking eggs and stirring, but making pancakes. She sets the table, picks up dropped items, fetches things, wow, she's earning her keep! And she's so quietly proud of herself and enthusiastic, I hope this isn't one of those two-week phases...

Tenacious MZ, Round II

2008-06-05T20:30:00.000-07:00

MZ has been wanting to climb up the outside of the tube slide at Library Playground for over a year now. Today she did it, the first time to a round of parental applause, the next five times to prove it wasn't a fluke. The seventh time because Roasted Squid missed it the first six times. And she would have kept going if not for dinner time.

Forty Months: When I Get a Big Girl

2008-05-31T16:15:00.001-07:00

I'm doing a bit of backtracking here, because I've actually made little notes about what's going on each month, even if I haven't blogged them.

May was all about what you will do when you get to be a big girl: cross the street by yourself, decide whether to wear a jacket or not, wear earrings. We would tell you you couldn't do something, and you would answer When I get a big girl, I will. Overall, this has been much preferred over temper tantrums about what you can't do, we appreciate you taking the long view.

You also started talking about friends at preschool this month. For months you've been talking about your teachers, and when we sing our preschool song, you always pipe up with other children's names. But this month you started reporting on their activities, and your communal play, in a way that has us all very excited to get to school. I think you'll really enjoy going more days this summer, although I'm sad about giving up my Fridays with you. My work is ramping up, which is no doubt the cause for such statements as I can't come to dinner right now, I have a meeting and I can't go to the playground with you, I have to go to work.

You started a drop-off swim class last month. You've been taking swim class with your Dad for a year now, and when you turned three, none of us were quite ready for you to head into the class on your own. But by the time an opening popped up, you were more than ready. You're now reliably wearing goggles, swimming from the float to the wall or the steps, getting yourself in and out of the pool easily using elbow-elbow-tummy-knee-knee, and in general behaving like you love to swim, as opposed to loving hanging out in the water chatting with your Dad. All this progress culminated in your first ribbon this month. At your swim school, the ring the bell at the end of the session and announce all the ribbon awards. I didn't think you even noticed this was going on, but when they said your name and gave you your Rainbow Ribbon, you did a hilariously infectious little hip-twisting dance that perfectly communicated your excitement.

You also love to be in the kitchen, removing fava beans from their pods, stirring pancake batter, measuring ingredients and helping Mana make pudding desserts. You love chocolate pudding and tapioca, and asked to make chocolate tapioca -- your first recipe innovation!

And in the verbal gymnastics category, you can recite The Banana Song all by yourself! You asked me to banana-fana-fo-fana everyone in your class during drives to preschool, till the other day we started driving and you announced:

Puppy Puppy bo buppy
Banana fana fo fuppy
Me my mo muppy
Puppy!

Thirty-nine Months: Hee Heady-hetz Heady Yahtz

2008-05-30T16:11:00.000-07:00

The above constitutes my only note for April. But it's worth a post, because it's your very favorite song right now. Hee Heady-hetz Heady Yahtz is actually Aaj Mera Jee Kardaa (Today My Heart Desires) a bhangra-inspired tune from the Monsoon Wedding score. It appears on one of our song lists, and you've taken a liking to it, so it's now on yours, too. We know exactly where to find it on the iTunes lineup, and it's the first thing we listen to when we get in the car.

Other current favorites in your eclectic Top 100 include:
o Mambo Italiano by Rosemary Clooney
o Wonton Tomato, a variation on your Dad's One Ton Tomato, is actually Guantan Amera (the Celia Cruz version)
o This Little Light of Mine, the fabulous version by Sam Cooke
o She'll Be Comin' 'round the Mountain by local favorites Orange Sherbet
o Mahna Mahna as done by Cake
o Hello Dolly by Bobby Darin
o Alphabet of Nations by They Might be Giants
o Chitty Chitty Bang Bang -- especially with video on You Tube
o I Wanna Be Like You by Louie Prima (from the Jungle Book soundtrack)
o Anything from The Wizard of Oz
o Ease on Down the Road from The Wiz (which you excitedly tell us is "the Aunt Jen")
o Your are My Sunshine as sung by Elizabeth Mitchell. This one took a lot of conversation, about who is her sunshine, and who would take her sunshine away, and would her sunshine come back, and why she doesn't want to lose her sunshine. But you seem to have worked out the anxiety around this one and now even occasionally ask me (Me! who can't carry a tune in a bag!) to sing it to you

You've seriously bonded to Jewish music, with a Chanukah-heavy mix on your Top 20 list
o Dreidel Dreidel, a surf rock version by Meshugga Beach Party that knows no season
o Ocho Kandelikas by Flory Jagoda grabbed your attention in December and hasn't let go
o David Melech Yisrael as sung by your first music teacher, Teacher Elana
o Heveinu Shalom Aleichem -- you seem to recognize and like every version of this song, but your clear favorite is the ska klezmer stylings of King Django

And some old favorites that still command attention:
o Little Peter Rabbit, the Susie Tallman version
o Cripple Creek, the Enzo Garcia version, to which you still love to two-step with your Dad.

Thirty-eight Months: I have a conversation!

2008-05-30T16:01:00.000-07:00

In March, you would pop up with "I have a conversation!" whenever you felt left out...

We love this, you don't act up or run away, you actually join in with your own topic. Many of these conversations are about Puppy and what he was doing, or what you were doing together. You seem to work through a lot of stuff with Puppy, what to do when Puppy hits you, or when he doesn't want to play with you, or when he goes away.

Monsters are also a frequent topic of conversation. There's a small, friendly monster that lives between the refrigerator and the wall. There's a monster that lives behind doors and who you sometimes visit. There are monsters in the back seat of the car, in the living room, everywhere, and they all seem to be your friends.
When we're driving in the car, talking about something (usually work) in the front seat, the conversation goes something like this:
A or R: blah blah blah
MZ: I want to talk about fishes.
Us: Okay, what fishes?
MZ: The purple fishes
Us: Where do they live?
MZ: In San Mateo, near Bubbe's house
Us: Oh! Are they big or small?
MZ: The purple fishes are big
Us: Are there other fishes?
MZ: The yellow fishes are small. They live in Florida near Grandma Little.

You also helped me blow out the candles on my 40th birthday cake. R. threw an ironic little party for me with a Princess theme, which of course you dug. You were quite a hostess, welcoming people at the door and dividing your time among big people and small.

Ready... Set... Go

2008-05-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

Blogging has evolved into something like an organizng project for me, so much stuff in the past needing attention, but in the end I've just got to start from where we are right now... and I can't think of any better way. Here, a completely current photo of MZ with her best friend Pugawug (taken on the stairs of our newly painted houe, btw).

Thirty-six Months by the Numbers

2008-02-16T14:50:00.000-08:00

Due to a ludicrous insurance rule, we couldn't schedule Miriam's 3-year Wellness Appointment until 365 days after her Two-year Appointment, which had been delayed due to a cold. Given our pediatrician's newly limited schedule (she's a new mom, yay!), we'll be attending her 5-Year Appointment sometime in June (2010) at best.

The appointment went well! We picked her up early from preschool and raced across town. Miriam was so animated in the waiting room we wondered if perhaps someone had replaced our child. She ran around, tried to get a little boy to play with her, and generally acted like she hangs out there every day.

We were all a little bowled over to be seen in the doctor's office on a chaise lounge rather than the exam room of previous appointments. Dr. G chatted with Miriam, encouraged to take her own clothes off, asked which of Puppy's ears to look into before she looked into Miriam's and seemed please with her speech and coordination. Worries about her breech-baby hips are a thing of the past!

Miriam is 31 lbs and 37.5 inches of lithe preschooler energy. She's 50th percentile for weight *and* height despite a growth spurt that brought her face to face with most of her taller friends. She's a happy healthy little weasel, for which we are eternally grateful.

Puppy Days

2008-02-16T14:46:00.000-08:00

Puppy has four siblings, Pammy, Cammy, Steve and Tom. Puppy lives in the purple house on Aztec near Coso. His parents frequently come to visit, but somehow we always miss them. He goes to a preschool called Big Puppy Preschool.

Puppy used to play tetherball when he was a baby. He's too young to eat food and still drinks from his mother's breast.

Puppy speaks very quietly, MZ often has to ask him a few times before she understands his response, even when she holds him close to her ear.

We'll keep you updated as we learn more...

Three Years Old: What's your name?

2008-01-29T15:30:00.001-08:00

Puddintane, ask me again and I'll tell you the same! "What's your name?" is your favorite game right now. The correct answer is Pim to your Pom, at which point we bargain for each other's names and make up increasingly unpronounceable multi-syllabic sounds to call ourselves and each other.

The game started at the dinner table, but has moved to a broader stage. I still find it slightly awkward to play in public, it's strange to hear you ask me my name, but usually we jump right in. Although in the early days you played with your Daddy, too, this has become a game for you and me alone. I must admit sometimes I'm not quite in the headspace to make up name after name after name, but it's such an intimate Mama/Miriam thing that I play on whenever the fancy strikes you.

You also love to have me sing to/with you whenever we're in the car. We've moved from the "We're going to preschool..." song to The Grand Old Duke of York to Apples and Bananas, which you listen to intently, and I'm sure will be singing on your own in no time.

You love wordplay. You ask us to repeat phrases and immediately adopt those that entertain you. You continue to be a very verbal kid, although we seriously wonder if they know this in preschool. Your teachers are working with you on "the Puppy thing." Concerned that you use Puppy as a barrier against joining into the group, they're encouraging you to bring Puppy to circle time, then put him in your cubbie till nap time, then into the box again until it's time to go home.

You've commented on this: Jan doesn't let Puppy go to the playground. And we remind you that Puppy doesn't go to the playground at home, either. It's a hard transition, but it seems like the right hting. And the way you joyfully greet Puppy when it's time to go home is pretty adorable.

Thirty-six Months: That's Three in Weasel Years! and other Birthday Musings

2008-01-29T15:29:00.001-08:00

Miriam had three parties this year:
o Her Bernal Babies party shared with Lila
o Her "friends" party replete with fave songstress Teacher Elana and purple-frosted cupcakes!
o A more adult family affair with all her local family, including her favorite dinner: grilled flank steak, whole wheat couscous and string beans

... technically she also had a preschool party, which she shared with another classmate. They each got to make crowns and wear them all day, and we brought in the gorgeous sugared MZ butter cookies Mana made.

Pretty good for a 3 year old.

She received both a train table and a "dream box" filled with fabulous (and un-branded) princess costumes and fairy wings, covering all the 3-year-old bases.

Thirty-five Months: Glinda is a Gateway Drug

2007-12-23T13:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Miriam,

Here you are a month short of your third birthday and you've discovered princesses. It all started with Wizard of Oz, your first movie. We were thinking of introducing you to movies (six months ago, you were completely unimpressed with Sesame Street), but Mana and Papa beat us to the point when you stayed with them one weekend. Bubbe got wind of your passion for Dorothy and before we knew it you were asking to see the witch melt every time we passed a TV set.

Soon we were combing the DVD aisle for Wizard of Oz. It seemed like a pretty good starting place, as a friend pointed out to me, the music is great and what's so wrong about a movie that teaches about Good Witches and Bad Witches? As we approached the aisle, you pointed straight at Cinderella and announced, I want that one. Really? I asked as I peeled my eyebrows from the ceiling. Yes, she looks like Glenda. And so it begins.

The next time we stopped to get you a cell phone charm (a perfect distraction while we wait for our pizza), after talking about buses and trucks and Hello Kitty the whole way there, you headed straight for the Princess display. You seemed a little disappointed that you got the mermaid, and kept asking why she has a fish tail.

Clearly we're raising a cultural illiterate. When the lady pilot on our most recent flight gave you a Disney plane card, your face read, Huh? And this month when we made our first visit to Fairyland for our beloved Pugawug's third birthday, you were nonplussed. Turns out you can recite 10 Mice for Tet from memory but you have no idea who Goldilocks is. Elena's Serenade is a nightly favorite, but the Queen of Hearts might as well be the local raving schizophrenic.

I feel a little like I'm in a Grimm fairy tale myself, as we begin to navigate the Princess waters. I've been heard to say (over and over) that once you found princesses and faeries, I wouldn't stand in your way, believing that blocking this phase would cement it for sure. But I didn't want Princess Miriam to be a foregone conclusion, and strictly forbade the introduction of princesses until you asked for it yourself. I not-so-secretely applauded whenever you picked a digger over a doll, a fireman's hat over a tutu. Now I feel a little like Sleeping Beauty's mom, thinking I could clear my kingdom of temptation and thereby save you from the witch's curse. Alas, I expect to be fully engulfed in tiaras by next month.

There's a debate 'round these parts as to whether fairies are better than princesses, being more empowered and all that, but frankly fairies skeeve me out, as does anything remotely related to the Renaissance Fair scene (carnies, small hands...), so I just plan to ride this one out.

Another phase that has us reeling is your new-found separation anxiety. You didn't go through much of this at 9 months or 18 months. I wondered if it was because you've always had so many caregivers, but you also seemed healthily attached so we figured we got a by on that one. But in the last few weeks, you seem genuinely scared that we're going to leave you somewhere, whether it's in the car, in the house or the supermarket. You have no issues with being left at preschool, but let one of us go downstairs to get something (a fairly frequent occurance in a 3-story rowhouse) and you're terrified. I don't know exactly what this phase is about, but we try to swallow our frustration (sweetheart, it's not always practical to go up one floor and back together) and reassure you that we will *never* leave you alone anywhere. I just hope we're doing this right, your fear breaks my heart.

In other news, I was lucky enough to share a truly extraordinary experience with you this month. In between holidays and surgical procedures, I converted to Judaism, and after my immersion, you and your dad joined me in the mikvah. To be together so closely in such a beautiful, calming environment is something I hope never to forget. And your reaction was suitably awestruck. I don't know if it was the gorgeous tile of the bath (Those are Stars of David!), the warm enveloping rain waters, or something more spiritual, but you were open and happy and simply laid back in our arms to let the waters wash over you. You were a champ about being dunked, and entertained the mikvah lady and the rabbis to no end with your commentary.

Since then, you frequently call me by my Hebrew name and ask, So are you Jewish now, Mama? Am I Jewish? Is Henry Jewish? We go through all the people we know (but almost always starting with Henry), we talk about how there are lots of different religions in the world, and I note that this is your first awareness of the differences among people.

L'chaim, my love, it's been another wonderful month,
Your Mama

Viva Sayulita!!

2007-10-28T08:15:00.001-07:00

Fabulous trip, but stumbled into Puerto Vallarta with:

1 ear infection
1 case of heat exhaustion
1 potential case of strep or staff requiring cipro
A fever
Several infected custs and scrapes requiring antibiotics
...and a bee sting on the tongue (mine)

Fortunately the kiddos came through without any notable tummy troubles, as did the adults.

Things I'll never forget:
o Miriam riding a horse for the first time (in front of me, of course) and getting her first henna tattoo, of sea turtles on her ankle
o Leisurely time spend with my husband, daughter, parents, sisters and their boyfriends, usually involving cocktails (week 1)
o Poolside Parental Beer Hour(s) during naptime (week 2)
o Our pack of Bernal families descending on the best taco place in town, and singing along with the addled street performer who was channeling Bruce Springsteen
o Six toddlers playing with baby sea turtles at a pizza place in San Pancho, just before they were released into the ocean at sunset

Another fantastic trip. Viva Sayulita!

Thirty-three Months: Super-cala-fragi-lipstick-expiali-docious!

2007-10-22T07:58:00.000-07:00

Here you are just shy of three years old and you have a song for everything. You're singing songs all the time -- frequently songs we've actually heard before, in order rather than a montage -- especially as you ride on our shoulders which is quite helpful. I love your take on lyrics, too...

Happy Fall

2007-10-12T14:34:00.001-07:00

While it's pouring outside now, we enjoyed the lovely weather last weekend on our foray to the Pumpkin Patch. Farmer John's is old school, no jumpy houses nor giant slides, just a lot o' pumpkins in every shape and color, and the requisite teepee, tractor, scarecrow and pumpkin fields for marvelous photos.

No matter, turns out almost-three-year-olds have little desire to be posed. All the best shots are candids, requests for smiles were greeted with near-derision from our little ghouls.

Yet MZ clearly enjoyed the field trip with her friends, this is the 3rd annual with Pugawug and her second year with most of her other playmates. A fabulous tradition...

Yarzheit IV

2007-10-10T11:32:00.000-07:00

Avi and Ximena, you'd be four today. You're now older than I can imagine. You'd be preschoolers like your sister, but you'd have crossed the magic 36 month developmental threshold. Would you play soccer? Love martial arts? Dinosaurs or diggers or dress up? I can only imagine the conversations we'd have if you were here now.

We miss you with a more cutting ache these days, we're not far from where we were last year, still unendingly grateful to parent Miriam, and wondering if and how we will bring another sibling into our world. If anything the loss in not being able to raise you is amplified. Some days I want to scream "We had three!" to those who ask if we want another, if we've considered the range of options they assume is open to us.

But even without that irony, we miss you so. It amazes me how easily I can shift myself to that hospital room, to the hours before and after your birth and the minutes we had with you.

And so we take this moment each year to honor you and to grieve you. To light two candles with one match, to recite the Mourner's Kaddish, whose rhythm provides comfort in a place beyond reason. As long as those candles burn, you are with us.

This year Miriam will join us at the service in which your names are spoken. She's just started to ask questions about those missing from our circle, her second grandfather, her Papa's papa. By next year I'm sure she'll know that she had two beautiful brothers. We'll tell her how loved you are, and how much missed.

Your Mommy

Verbal Gymnastics

2007-10-02T21:48:00.001-07:00

At the playground, as a pack of rabid 8-year-old girls descend on the toddlers playing on the slide:

Round 1
MZ: Hey guys, you have to watch out for the little kids
R8YOGs: [Whoosh!]

Round 2
MZ: Hey guys! You have to watch out for the little kids!
8YOG1: Who are the little kids?
MZ: Well, her (pointing to friend I. at the bottom), and me!

At dinner:
Well the problem is, Henry wants me to go over there and play with him, but I can't go over there because I'm coloring...

Thirty-two Months: The House of Why

2007-09-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

You're becoming a 3-year old faster than I can believe. You ask why why why... and why again? You did that continuously for two weeks, but it's eased up a bit lately. I waver between being grateful and worrying that our answers shut down your exploratory impulses. Of course I do.

Starting preschool is the most significant development of late. The second week of school, when I talked about going to preschool and you explained I already went, but now you genuinely seem to look forward to going, you talk about your teachers and have started to talk about classmates, too.

Preschool shook your schedule up, though, and we're only beginning to emerge from those changes. While we bought books and talked it up, in retrospect we should have explained the coming changes to your week, that Mana and Papa and Bubbie would come on different days. With the Labor Day holiday you missed your Mana/Papa day, and you cried inconsolably, head down on the bathroom counter, for ten minutes before you were able to explain that you didn't want to go to preschool, you wanted to see Mana & Papa. When I explained that you would still have your day with them, you were fine, and happily picked out a dress and hairbands and off you went.

Yet the changes clearly had your mind racing. For weeks you'd awake screaming in the night, and throughout the day you'd ask if we were leaving you. There was the landmark night when you insisted that we sit in the chair with two nightlights and a lamp full-on as you fell asleep.

To see you so anxious broke our hearts: Daddy, Mana, Bubbie and Papa and I all worried over you, our good sleeper. Finally you moved back to a place where our presence was a distraction to your sleep, and we've backed down to just two nightlights. We are all so happy to have you sleeping again.

I make your lunch for preschool, something I dread and enjoy in equal parts. I'm not much of a DIYer, certainly not like your clever hooded-towel-and-Halloween-costume-making Mana. But cooking is my creative outlet and I've thought carefully about how to pack a visually pleasing, nutritious and delicious lunch for you. I seem to forget you're still practically a toddler, I can pack your favorites and they come back half-eaten, you subsist on cheese sticks and fruit, and novel for us, chilled milk in your thermos. Your second week of school, I struck out twice, once with homemade salmon onigiri, which you *love* at Ferry Plaza, and the second time with what I thought was a sure-fire hit: orange balls. You gobble up ikura like it's going out of style at restaurants. And soba noodles are a natural accompaniment, right? Some neatly diced melon, a little fork, I'm practically Lunch in a Box here!

But no, the whole thing came back uneaten. I asked you why and you replied, Because I don't like to every day, which is your standard strong response. But a few moments later, as we tooled towards the playground, you piped, The noodles were cold and I don't like them. I don't think anyone with a child older than four can understand how monumental is that sentence. You crossed the chasm from the world of No to the world of Why and you don't seem to be looking back.

The other day on the playground, you and I~ were playing happily when a pack of rabid 8-year-old girls descended on the toddlers on the slide:
MZ: Hey guys, you have to watch out for the little kids
R8YOGs: [Whoosh!]
Round 2
MZ: Hey guys! You have to watch out for the little kids!
8YOG1: Who are the little kids?
MZ: Well, her (pointing to I~ at the bottom), and me!
The girl looked at you for a bit, consideringly, and the group moved off to play elsewhere.

We had a suprise visit from cousin Deborah Freeman (no "d") for Yom Kippur. We told you she would join us for dinner and for services, and as we were getting dressed you announced, I think The Deborahs will like my dress.

These are such leaps in language that we spend a lot of our time looking at each other and nodding in wonder. You are blooming before our eyes, I must admit you are quite a little girl.

And we love you more than we can say,
Mama

Ah zen...

2007-09-04T21:12:00.000-07:00

When Miriam is telling us a story, or what she wants to do, or reporting on her day, she tells it in bit parts, separated by ah zen... She means and then but like so many of her verbal quirks, we can't stand to correct this one. Ah zen sort of fits her, while she can dig in her heels with the best of us, she's a pretty mellow kid. And she approached her first day of schol with a somewhat unsettling dose of zen.

She didn't shed a tear. She had her Daddy carry her into school, but she walked into her classroom. She seemed nervous for sure, but was willing to be led to a few activities till she found one -- coloring near her old friend Ms. M -- that appealed to her. She seemed most nervous about the other kids who were crying, there were a few of them and they were all on a teacher's lap. I got her settled with paper (pink) and crayons (Just one, Mama, I don't want a yot) while Daddy snapped some photos. At one point, she grabbed my wrist firmly and said quietly, I want you to stay, and my heart broke into a million pieces as I explained in a carefully managed tone that school is for kids and I would see her after lunch. I love you all day long, sweetheart, I said as we stood to exit.

I crammed a lot into those four hours, or at least it seemed like I did because every time I looked at the clock, there was still plenty of time left. I arrived a full quarter of an hour early for pick up. I wasn't the only one, we newbie parents huddled just beyond their windows till we were allowed to go to the classrooms, where we were greeted by kids just as confused as we were about the pick up protocol. MZ was up front, ready to go. She did not smile broadly and run into my arms as she did at Ana's. When they told her to sit down while they got organized, she did so wordlessly and I worried that we had chosen a school that would crush her very spirit. Agh.

The first thing she said to me is These are my new friends, as she waved her hand around the circle, and my heart shattered for the millionth time as I picked her up to go home.

Moving On

2007-08-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

MZ had her first graduation! Her fabulous daycare provider gave a graduation party on Monday for her five departing preschoolers. She had hats and leis and gifts for them, and lined them up for photos and hugs.

As is my practice with anything new, I've been talking to her about leaving Ana's, and she's been okay with it till yesterday, when she announced, "When I'm done with preschool I'll go see Ana." I promised her we'd visit.

I also got her two books about going to preschool and somewhere new where her parents don't come along. It was so long ago, developmentally speaking, that she started at Ana's that a reminder that we always come back and always love her even when we're not together seemed almost as necessary as talking about the activities of preschool. She asks for these books all the time and talks a lot about how we love her all day long. She seems genuinely pleased when I remind her of this at random moments.

Today Miriam went to camp. My Gym offers two weeks of camp at the end of the summer, and we had hoped to send her there on consecutive Wednesdays so she wouldn't have to miss her favorite activity of the week, or her days with her various caregivers. We got one day and decided to go for it, it would be practice for leaving her somewhere she wasn't used to, for both of us. Since I've only left her a few places in the last 2.5 years, the thought of doing the transition again is putting me into something close to a severe state of distraction.

In the days immediately before her camp day, she seemed breezy about being left, but yesterday she started asking me to stay with her, so I wasn't sure how this was going to go. She clung tightly until I asked if she wanted to go play or to wait for her friend Suzu, and she chose to go play. When I returned with Suzu, she was playing by herself, looking a little uneasy, but they held each others' hands and walked into the gym as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

Get back on the horse, dammit!

2007-08-28T22:36:00.000-07:00

It's time to climb back on and start writing. Whatever malodorous dirges run through my mind, it's time to just chat about MZ. Forgive me my rusty prose... Who'm I kidding? My five readers simply crave the MZ update, so here you go...

The thing I find most challenging about raising a girl is how to let her just be, not withholding princess-dom and not proffering it either. This is a girl who loves purple, pink, fire trucks, diggers and cars (preferably comportables), in that order. She's still talking about the fire woman at Station 7.

For months she's been commenting on my toenail colors. Mommy's toes are orange with pink underneath, Miriam's toes are pink with orange underneath. How's that for a concept? On Saturday, her good friend Gabriel had blue-painted toes. I think this was the first time it occured to her that she might also have colored toenails, so the next night we painted them pink. And lo, she did not don a crown and a ruffly skirt and speak volumes about the House of Princess. It might still happen, but it didn't just then.

30 Months: 2.5 in Weasel Years

2007-07-21T15:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

I'm so sorry I missed the opportunity to report on this month. You've been absolutely delightful and a breath of fresh air in a tough time. You are also exhausting.

Downtime is nonexistant now, every minute is about interaction and conversation. You can play by yourself, but then there's something you want to know or understand and the dialogue begins. And the downtime comes crashing to a hault.

My favorite development this month? Your new song:
Hi Hi how do you do
Welcome to My Gym
Hyeah hyeah Have some Cake
Now it's time to begin

I'm pretty sure the My Gym welcome song doesn't mention cake, but there you go, filling in the words as necessary, singing along.

You've also decide to call me Mama. It's still Mommy when things get desperate, but by and large you've decided Mama's the word. Funny girl.

This month we also discovered the cool slide. The Esmeralda Slide is just around the corner from home, yet we haven't made it there since before you were paying attention. One morning we said, let's go see a cool slide, and you fell in love. Whenever we drive by, you exclaim, Is that the cool slide?! You go down with us, and next to us, but it's still a bit big to tackle on your own.

You're also hugging now. Big tight hugs that we can't get enough of. I think you learned to hug a long time ago, but for a while hugs were beyond oppressive. Mana would admonish you, lightly, after a while you would announce I'm stingy with my hugs as you refused us. But now you dish them out, and sometimes they're even long ones, and we relish every millisecond.

You also enjoyed your big adventure to Boston this month, on which your Dad so lovingly reported. A week after your return, your cousins came here to visit and we enjoyed a day at the Exploratorium. I'm not sure which you loved more, seeing the floating ball from your Goodnight, San Francisco book or seeing your beloved cousin Daniel.

Miriam, thank you for the light you bring to us every day.

Love you,
Your Mama

Terminated for Lack of Progress

2007-07-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

This is the thing I debated when we decided to tell anyone outside our immediate family, much less blog about it. But alas, we are now 1:5 in the pregnancy game: according to today's ultrasound, this one stopped progressing about a week ago.

I have a lot more to say on this and I'm sure the sadness and rage will come, but right now I'm perversely feeling that at least this didn't go to 10-12 weeks again, or longer. I'm also feeling that going through anything like this in a city of any size is a lot easier because one is reminded early and often that one cannot choose one's tragedy. We are more lucky than even we, who count our blessings in relation to many types of hardship, can imagine.

People ask us why we would want to go any further in this process, and I think about this, too. But to know someone as intimately as we know MZ is such a rare joy, how can we not want to try for that again?

Trot Trot to Boston (by Daddy R)

2007-07-11T13:23:00.001-07:00

So the flight to Boston was, to be totally truthful, uneventful. I’d like to bitch, moan and complain about my daughter who turned into devil-spawn above 35000 feet, but it didn’t happen. She tells me when she’s hungry, she tells me when she has to go potty and she’s fun to “have a conversation” with. I taught her that turn of phrase during the trip and we had lots of “conversations” (smile). We had a great flight, but I did count the hours.

On past flights, A would announce every hour that we had one hour less to our destination. I thought that was odd. On this flight, I totally got it. By the way, if I sound like a dilettante, I was when I started this trip. I’m not anymore: I lost several pounds because I didn’t eat a full meal the whole week, I limited alcohol to maybe a drink despite the constant party atmosphere of a family reunion-week and I was on call all the time for basically eight days straight. Even when relatives were there to give me a break, I was in a constant state of heightened awareness. A couple times I wasn’t sure who had MZ and ran around frantically looking for her. A big bald guy looking for his daughter gets attention quick and her whereabouts were usually determined in one minute or less. I’m not complaining in any way, but I’ve got a new appreciation for what SAHMs do every day and even more for what single parents do. Wow. And I really had it easy: as I said, MZ is an easy kid. I also have a new sense of pride that has nothing on succeeding in work or other non-child-related adventures: I can take care of my kid! WOW!

So anyway I counted the hours on the flight:
- Hour 1 we played games in our seats and had various parts of our meal from Peets. I learned along the course of the week that MZ will most likely eat most things that she has personally requested in due time. If she asked for it, she’ll want it sooner or later. She’s kind of like a cat to my dog-ness. If it’s there, I eat it. If I’m done or I’ve stopped eating, take it away dammit. Not so with MZ. If she wanted it and it disappears before she’s said so, there’s hell to pay. I’m a chucker, so I paid some hell this week. Not sure where she got that particular trait, but anyway, MZ got around to the muffin and fruit from Peets here and there over the course of the flight and finally rejected only a few pieces of honey dew (I would have too, the stuff was flavor-less).
- Hour 2 we went potty and then walked around the plane. She had 0 accidents this entire trip (all eight days!!), because she is…a camel. Her mother is a camel. I have a bladder only slightly larger than our good friend V’s, Henry’s dad. I’ve seen thimbles that hold more than V’s bladder. My bladder is more like a shot glass. MZ’s bladder is more like one of those extra large beer glasses you get at bars with a “Mc” in the name (“Shooter McNally’s”, “Likker McFallingDownDrunker’s”, you get the idea). Anyway, she’s got at least a 40-ounce bladder so she goes potty like three times a day verses what used to be hourly diaper changes. Which makes for lots of flexibility in the day, further enabled by the folding port-a-potty that A found and we pack in the diaper bag. Really, it’s the only thing in the rather full diaper bag that actually gets used these days, and it could fit in my backpocket (well, almost). But back to touring the plane: we met some sisters a few rows back and colored with them, we chatted with many grandmas that had aisle seats and we bugged some first class passengers right by the silly curtain (I personally enjoyed that).
- Hours 3, 4 and 5 are a blur, but there was a long nap for both of us, some reading of the very little Chicken Soup with Rice collection, playing with her baby and associated accoutrements (daddy packed well for baby), and doing odd things to puppy with a seat belt (2 year olds are S&M freaks). There was NOT any Sesame Street on the DVD player on my Macbook. Or double earphones in my iPod. She didn’t want the electronic gear, which was good. She doesn’t know what a TV is really, other than for watching baseball with Papa, and the iPod is fun plugged into speakers, but earphones are not interesting to her.

So we arrived to find that our baggage hadn’t and would be on the next flight, coming in a couple hours. We thought about having it delivered, but when we got to the rental car place, the car we were assigned had a hub cap that was clearly going to spin off on the freeway at speed. After being assigned a new (and better!) car, we had less than an hour before our baggage arrived. She went potty in her port-a-potty in the parking lot of the car rental place (she’s potty trained, but with a limited “hold-it” window). Then we went into the airport, had a little snack (clam chowder from Legal Seafood is the best) and waited for the bags.

I go into this trudging detail to make the point that she was a trooper throughout. She entertained the crowd running puppy around the baggage carousel (again with the puppy S&M) and just generally enjoyed all aspects of being somewhere traveling.

And that was my first solo travel day with my daughter. I’ll do an update on the rest of the week with a bit less detail, but hopefully I’m giving the vibe that she’s a great travel companion and, though we missed Mama a LOT, we made the best of it, in no small part due to her willingness to make the best of it and rise to the occasion. Some folks would argue with me that a 2.5 year old doesn’t have that much conscious volition, but I saw numerous times over the course of the week that MZ consciously held it together or pulled it together when I would have expected a major melt down. I think it took tremendous energy and effort from her, but there are some subtle as well as not-so-subtle changes I can see in her now that we’re back: she’s got more confidence in trying some new things and she’s even more verbal in some areas than she was already.

Countdown to Leap Year

2007-07-06T21:40:00.001-07:00

The appointment went well! Sistah J and I waited in the exam room for 35 minutes, an eternity by this doctor's standards, which gave me lots of time to work up to a humming, electric stress level. SJ was an ocean of calm, thinking up tangent upon tangent to keep me occupied until he arrived. But everything looks as it should, no ectopic pregnancies (I hadn't even thought about that flavor of sideways), and my doc was clearly happy about what he saw, he graduated me out of the fertility clinic.

Due date? February 28/March 1st. Except 2008 is a Leap Year.

To Boston Together Alone (by Daddy R)

2007-07-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

So at the last minute Daddy and MZ went on our annual July 4th trip back East WITHOUT Mama (as she is currently called -- occasional Mom and Mommy here and there, but mostly Mama). To go without Mama was a fearsome thing to consider, especially with only two days’ notice. I haven’t spent more than 12 hours alone with MZ in my life as far as I can calculate. Mama has spent exactly one night away from her daughter in close to 2.5 years. But, there we were. The point of the trip back East to visit my (our) family was to make sure we went back East to visit MZ’s multitudes of cousins every year until she could take up that ball for herself and run with it (to use a sports analogy). My sister and I continue to be amazed at the range of family we have back East. Since we didn’t really grow up with our father, we missed out on his wonderful family, but we’re making up for it now and we’re going to make sure MZ knows these folks as far back as she can remember.

So MZ and I embarked on our journey alone. And it’s very accurate to say that despite being together, we both felt very alone. Mama kinda holds things together when it comes to family. When it’s A and I, we’re equals, and, in fact, she’s the heavy duty planner, and I’m the uber-hyper on-the-ground guy, but Mama has definitely been the one to set the norms for our three-ness, and that’s ok – we’re all three comfortable with that. Until that goes away, on a moments’ notice. Sure we had Aunt D and Uncle S coming on Tuesday, and Bubbe and Uncle J coming on Wednesday, but it was Saturday at 5AM and my first extended playdate with my very own daughter was a trans-continental flight and we were, simply put, alone.

We walked into security and down the jetway after what I can only describe as one of the most heart-wrenching things I have personally ever witnessed (I’m normally sarcastic, even when serious, but, in all seriousness, no sarcasm here): a mother saying goodbye to her daughter, really, for the first time ever, and, further, that woman being my wife and love, and further, my having to not show emotion in order keep my daughter under control, despite the gravity of the reason for our having to be apart for the next week. It was awful.

So we walked on down to our gate and the nearby Peets and got us a muffin, some fruit a coffee-milk for MZ and a double capp for me (I’m being this detailed on the food for a reason -- more on that later). There was some drama prior to getting to the gate about our seating arrangement: apparently 2 year olds with their own seats can sit fifteen rows back from their daddy when daddy is Premier Exec and daughter is not. Just to show United the insanity of this, I considered leaving her back in steerage with her seatmates while I enjoyed four inches of extra leg room, but decided after all that we probably ought to sit together. The gate agent had the magical powers that the 800-number agent and the check-in agent lacked and we got two seats together in Economy Plus. I explained to MZ that this was a huge bonus for us, and she clearly got it, because I swear I saw her do one of those little eyeball-nyah-nyahs that we Economy Plussers do to the folks who are really sitting in steerage behind us without the four inches of extra legroom. I think she did it to a three year old and her mommy as they walked past our seat.

Anyway, we had the window and the middle, and we had MZ’s lightweight new car seat from Bubbe’s car rather than the pack-and-stroll, or whatever that odd airport-only seat-with-wheels is called. She was much more comfortable than on past flights and enjoyed a totally unobstructed view of EVERYTHING out the window (we don’t have to deal with the wing in Economy Plus either -- nyah nyah.). But I felt for our third seatmate on the aisle who asked incredulously at least twice where our third companion was as he clearly started to do the mental calculation on which was worse: third party to a DAD and baby or switch seats with the mommy, even if she’s in the middle seat in a row next to the bathroom. Brief aside: I noticed two things being a single parent dad and baby: (1) a mom and baby automatically strikes compassion into the hearts of fellow passengers while a dad and baby strikes abject fear: “Can this MAN really take care of a BABY??” and (2) since expectations are so low, most people will help at any time and I could really leave her anywhere and know that she would be by my side within seconds thanks to any helpful mom, dad, grandma or grandpa. So, as I dumped the stroller by the gate-check door and moved her carseat, two backpacks, a large carry-on and a tray full of Coffee-Fruit-Milk-Muffin back a few rows to our seat I just told her to stand at the front of the plane and I’d be back for her. And she developed a crowd of helpers within seconds. Which was great.

Good news about MZ having her own seat: two more carry-ons for her; bad news for me: one person cannot manage four carry-ons and a baby, and a tray full of hot food.

But anyway, our third seatmate finally seemed to accept that he was in it for the long haul with us and, on the plus side he was not going to have to move to a bad seat in steerage, so it sort of seemed that his mental math worked out to a positive number, and he was really very genial the whole flight. He was single and childless, but said he was a doting uncle to his 2-year old nephew, so I figured he was willing to give us the benefit of the doubt at that point. MZ settled into her chair and immediately started pointing out or asking about EVERYTHING she could see out the window and since most everything out there was either new to her or larger than she ever expected (she’s flown many times, but she’s more cognizant of the world now than she’s ever been) most everything she said, even statements of fact, ended in a question mark and required my feedback.

At this point, the whole single parent traveling with a toddler thingy became a shocking blast of cold air in the ass as if you lived in Minnesota in the winter and had just locked yourself outside the house in nothing but your bathrobe on a below freezing day in the snow while getting the paper from the porch. To explain: usually, when we’ve gotten on airplanes in the past, I’ve busied myself with manly on-the-ground-guy things like stowing the baggage in the overheads, securing extra blankets and pillows and figuring out which bags should go under which seat for ease of access in case someone shits themselves on takeoff – general busy-work that looks important but really takes up minimal brain power, while the Mama takes care of settling MZ in and making sure the flight starts on a positive note. I’ve always known it was busy work, but someone had to do it. Now I realize just how great I had it. I love organizing stuff. It’s second nature to me. So to get to do that while A deals with MZ is really a bonus. Sometimes I even wear my iPod doing it, while A glares at me.

Anyway, back to MZ, our resident breaking-news reporter: everything she saw needed to be commented upon, and there’s a lot to see when they’re loading up three planes in a row and doing work on the airport itself: trucks, baggage loaders and conveyors, several planes, all of which have WINGS! and TAILS! and those little extra wing THINGYS! that they’re putting on the ends of wings these days, and a DIGGER! or two, an occasional FIRE TRUCK! and even TINY PLANES!!, etc. Some of her observations were downright funny and made our seat mate laugh despite the earphones from his immediate application of his iPod while I looked jealously at him (I even made small talk about his iPod, like anyone makes small talk about an iPod anymore – “hey nice iPod Mini, they don’t make those anymore, huh? Real old school iPod.”) Stupid shit like that while we both laughed at MZ’s running commentary all the way through takeoff until we went into the fog and everything went white and she went SILENT….

….And then we broke through and it was 7AM on a beautiful sunny Saturday and we had five hours ahead of us, and she looked out the window and said “Clouds” and I said, “Yes, my love, but if you notice, we are ABOVE the clouds, not below. You’re seeing the tops of the clouds not the bottoms.” And she positively beamed at such an amazing concept and I realized that I was about to enjoy the incredibly rare gift of eight full days of seeing the world through the eyes of a toddler -- my toddler. And MZ and I both knew at that moment that, despite being alone, we’d be ok. And then we both relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

All On My Own

2007-06-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

I'm home. R and MZ are in Boston. I am simultaneously relieved, excited and utterly heartbrokenly lonesome to be on my own. A weekend is a gift, a week is more of a trial. MZ awoke at 3:45 a.m. last night (about 30 minutes before we needed to wake her for the flight) because in our packing frenzy, I forgot to leave on the nightlight. It broke my heart a little that she wanted no comforting, she just kept instructing me through her tears to use the shoe to prop the door on my way out. Missing them is like a physical ache, at least I can have a conversation with R. but MZ has a mercurial relationship with the phone. I'm pretty sure I'll be reduced to sleeping with the Puppy she left behind.

Since there's only about five people who read this blog, it seems reasonable to say why I'm here and not in Boston: a positive pregnancy test! Finally! and just before we were to go the IVF route. Neither my acupuncturist nor the high-risk OBGYN want me to fly in this shaky first trimester, so here I am.

I just learned that my progesterone levels are low and the full emotional enormity of being here solo hit me. Since I'm nearly to week six, I'm nervous that the prescribed prometrium may be too little too late, but just enough to contribute to another D&C if all does not go well. The fear is real, but also, my typical coping method involves nailing a worst case scenario, then moving forward, so... if all *does* go well, I can look forward to introducing a happy, healthy new Freedman to the Boston fold next July 4th.

That's still a big "if," but I'm trying to stay focused on how incredible it is that I'm pregnant. Baby steps, so to speak.

Twenty-Nine Months: Just Playin' Around

2007-06-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

You've discovered playmantes! More and more, you've transitioned from parallel to togethr play with your friends. You've been moving in this direction for months, asking for Pugawug, Henry LG and others, and truly interacting with them when they're around. But now you really play together, whether it's a screaming contest or a game of chase or showing each other whatever you're playing with and willingly passing it back and forth, the interaction has increased by leaps and bounds and it's a pleasure to watch.

I'm sure that's why our trip to Monterey was such a blast for you, you had a whole weekend of LG and Henry to play with and every morning as soon as you woke up you asked to go play. Contrast this with Mexico, when you were all about Go see ocean, and the difference is clear. When LG and his dad joined us for dinner while Roasted Squid was on a business trip, LG set out a picnic in the back yard and you two sat at the table chatting about who knows what-all. And you and Pugawug never miss an opportunity to go to the potty together. And you meet kids on the playground nearly every trip.

You also seem to have discovered fear this month. This development is probably title-worthy, but I don't want to make too big a deal out of it. Suddenly, you don't want to sleep with the door closed or the light off any longer. This after over a year of insisting on both. Those first few nights, we didn't really understand what was going on, and we'd close the door when we went to sleep, resulting in terrified screams at three in the morning. So now we have a nightlight and a whole ritual around propping the door open with a shoe and we tiptoe around while you're asleep. It's not a big deal at night, although you get up earlier, but it's a challenge to get anything done during your naps these days. I hope this is a phase but I hear it's typically a very long one so we're just trying to adjust.

Per my earlier post, this is also the month you taught yourself to do a somersault. You are just as proud of it now as you were that first day, but now you're cagey about who you will show and when. You get that this trick has some value and you're not wasting it on just any moment.

You definitely have a sense of the moment. You're starting to test when you should ask me or ask your Dad for something, or if you should go straight to your grandparents. If you don't like the answer you receive, you act as though you aren't hearing anything at all, turning your head slightly in someone else's direction to repeat the question in a tone that belies whether it's been asked before at all. This is another behavior (like being called Mom, which you have now changed to Mama) that I didn't expect for years, to be completely ignored by a toddler is kind of shocking. Particularly when you are not to be ignored when you want something. Miriam, you will ask the same question over and over until we acknowledge appropriately, I haven't tested it but I think you might be willing to go on forever.

"Acknowledge appropriately" is not an altogether clear concept. You ask questions repeatedly, even after we tell you the answer. I don't know what this represents developmentally, this asking of questions to which you know the answer. But it makes me a little crazy to answer the same question a dozen times, so I started asking you the answer after the third or fourth round.

Is that a convertible? That car doesn't have a top, is that a convertible?
Yes, that's a convertible.
Is that a convertible?
Yes, that's a convertible.
Is that a convertible?
I don't know Miriam, is that a convertible?
That's a convertible!
Is that fire engine red? (and so on)

This worked for a few days, you'd tell me the answer and then go on to the next thing. But I guess you felt somewhat foiled because now you're willing to go in rounds with the two of us asking the same question like some horrible Marx Brothers sketch. I have no idea.

But it's been another captivating month, Miriam. I am so proud of you in every way,

Your Mama

Somersault!

2007-06-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

This is our not-yet 2.5 year old doing a somersault! I am blown away by her determination. The kids did somersaults as a "practice skill" at My Gym a month or so ago and since then she's been interested -- she loves being upside down and flipped around, so the idea of flipping on her own had to be irresistable. At a graduation party a week ago, the only other kid in the place, a 5-year old, showed her how and she's been practicing ever since. Her first was in the sand pit at the playground a few days ago, and since then she will try it on any serface, regardless of what's around her. We're trying to teach her to look for a big space in front of her (rather than behind her), but I guess she'll learn that one in any event.

Potty Talk

2007-06-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

Overheard from the potty while working from home...

MZ: Mommy has a bra like that. What is your shirt?
Bubbie: That's a camisole
MZ: I like your camisole
Bubbie: Thank you
MZ: (pause) Do you love me so much and always and always?
Bubbie: Yes, I love you so much and always and always... [long pause] Now, should we go get a snack and go to the playground?
MZ: I'm about all done

What we're reading #6

2007-06-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

It's been quite since the last reading list. These days, MZ's preferences are about split between board and picture books. She's shown a renewed affection for Goodnight Moon, but there are a number of newcomers worth noting.

Good Night, San Francisco: This board book is our newest addition, and we're visiting some of the locations more frequently these days. MZ barks with the sea lions and says hi to the bat ray. The illustrator, Santiago Cohen, also did two of MZ's favorite Jewish holiday books.

The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly: This Simms Taback edition is totally engaging for all of us. At the end, MZ announces the moral (Never Swallow a Horse), then explains that the old lady is sleeping.

What Emily Saw: This was a gift to MZ before she was born, and now she loves it. She enjoys the black and white drawings, and tells as all about Mrs. Dino and Kingdom Mommy and Kingdom Daddy.

Hop on Pop: She didn't like this when we brought it out a few months ago, but lately it's a favorite. While she can recite familiar nursery rhymes from a book we've been reading since birth (sadly out of print), this is the first book where she seems to get the concept of reading. She'll point to specific words and ask what they say, and loves to ask about and repeat Constantinople and Timbuktu. She also asks what the gobbledeegook on the last page says whenever I try to skip over it.

Put me in the Zoo: Another Seussian favorite. When she first started asking for this one, R and I would roll our eyes at how fickle the spotted creature seemed to be. Now I realize that he's a perfect 2 year old.

Not a Box: AuntieD gave this one to MZ for her birthday and she's asked for it ever since. She only recently started doing this kind of imaginary play herself. I wonder if this book reminds her of her friend LG, who has the most vivid imagination of any toddler I know.

How to Be: Another favorite from Auntie D, as with Hush Little Baby, I'm impressed that she responds to this gentle moralizing, and I'm always happy when she picks this one right before bed.

Twenty-eight Months: She's The Decider

2007-05-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

Your dictatorial leanings are expanding these days, although you wear velvet gloves for the most part. Would you like to clean my nose? is the latest subtle direction, due to your current cold. But the big news is you deciding to wear panties and use the toilet.

Back in February, Mimi encouraged me to buy panties that you would want to wear, and I dutifuly ordered some super-soft floral-patterned numbers from Hana Andersson. They left you fairly unmoved, and you insisted on diapers. So when I fished a pair of $2 panda-printed panties out of a sale bin at Gymboree, I was thinking that they'd be useful "someday." You seized on them the moment you saw them. We had a talk about how you could wear them when you were ready to use the toilet all the time, and when you went a few days without an accident. Lo and behold, the training pants came back out of the drawer, and they're all you'll wear right now. We visit the panda panties occasionally, and it's been two weeks since you've had a full-on accident. You don't always catch yourself in time, but you've learned to hold on till we get to the toilet. And you'll even sit on an adult seat, sometimes preferring it to your folding portable seat. You're doing great! And it's suddenly way less stressful than it used to be.

So you're The Decider. You fly through decisions with jet-like speed. You will say Strawberries, Strawberries, Strawberries over and over again until we bring them to you, only to burst into frustrated tears, shrieking No Strawberries! Clearly half the disorders in the DSM originate at the toddler stage of development, and you are fully capable of demonstrating several per hour. But your unhappiness in these moments is so palpable, I ache for you even while I'm counting to ten to try to keep from running screaming from the room.

You're also continuing to demonstrate a physicality that surprises us. You will climb anything (except your crib, so far...), you love being upside down, tossed and flipped. You've added the occasional backflip to the nightly Want to jump on you sessions, you continue to discover new climbs at the playground, and you love to slide down the poles when your dad is there to help.

Yet there are things you absolutely refuse to do. You will not wear goggles at swim class. You wear flippers and kick solo in a floaty tube, but goggles are out. You will never go down a slide first, waiting till another playmate takes the first plunge. And you are totally disinterested in being a Big Girl. If any of us try this compliment, you're quick to tell us that you're still a baby, and you love to crawl into our arms for a cuddle.

Yet you're experimenting with calling us Mom and Dad, something I'm completely unready for. It sounds so strange coming from you, making the times you call my My Mommy (as in, Uppy up, my Mommy) all the more sweet.

And you've discovered your baby doll. Where you used to carry her by her neck, mostly, now you frequently put her to bed before retiring yourself, and want to go see her first thing in the morning. You feed her, change her clothes, rock and shhh her with a technique straight out of Happiest Baby on the Block, and put her in your toy shopping cart, announcing Okay, see you, I'm going to the grocery store.

Many of your sentences require a complex diagram these days. When Mana and Papa told you they would be gone when you awoke from your nap, you told them You have to play with me one more time before you leave. And you still swear in context, exclaiming Oh shit when you hear something drop. On the way home from swim class one day, you were trying to tell me about the balloons on the cars at the used car lot while I negotiated a tricky bit of driving. Perceiving you were being ignored, you exclaimed, I want balloons on our fucking car. We spent the next ten miles adding more acceptable modifiers to car: blue car, big car, Mommy's car, MZ's car, etc. You were satisfied with the game, returning me as it did to my position of playmate.

And the singing! You continue to string songs together in fabulous medleys, including snippets of the Shabbat blessings. It's not at all unusual to hear you sing Borei pri hagafen I'm a little teapot short and stout or A - B - C... next time won't you sing with me l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat.

All in all, it's been a hilarious, maddening, and very sweet month. We're so proud of your growing independance, even as we cherish these last moments of babyness.

All my love,
Your Mommy

Hangin' Around

2007-05-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

LG and MZ sitting in a tree...

Adventure Travel

2007-05-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

Whenever I really feel like smiling, I check in to Where the Hell is Matt and watch the dance video again. I love that thing, from the music that echoes MZ's worldbeat dance list to the fabulous array of places he's been.

I love travel and I miss travel. But nothing has prepared me for parenting like travel. Much like travel, parenting is a crapshoot, a series of guessing games that you never get to stop playing. And like travel, it's damned uncomfortable at times, whether because your daughter just pushed a spoon down your throat to see what would happen, or because your heart is breaking as you listen to her sob with a fever, or a fall, or the frustration of being on earth, or because you really have no freakin' idea how to respond to the latest developmental or socialization mystery.

I also love that video because he's always dancing. Despite the inevitable pain and discomfort he's endured -- come on, you think he never met a bedbug? an overstuffed bus on a bumpy unpaved road? the runs? -- he's dancing. He's smiling and he's dancing, because what is greater than this sense of personal discovery that feels like salvation? Turns out, being a parent, that's what.

Tenacious MZ

2007-05-09T22:48:00.000-07:00

MZ and I have taken a lot of classes together over the last 1.5 years. We didn't do classes pre-6 mos because we did coffee dates and museums and a moms group that called itself a playgroup then, mostly for me. But as soon as she was allowed in a pool, we signed up for swimming, adding music and art and the fabulous free CCSF child observation classes along the way.

She seems to have enjoyed the full array, and we've all enjoyed watching her master new skills or just plain have fun. But nothing matches our current My Gym experience. MZ goes in there every week and devises some sort of circuit training course for herself, which she does over and over again, until she's doing it all by herself, not reaching for my hand. Until she's mastered it.

This is amazing for a kid who walked at 17 mos. and has seemed pretty significantly non-physical through most of her life. At this place, she runs, jumps, climbs, crawls, skootches and rolls her way through. Whenever I decide there's some area of the room she just doesn't care for, that's where she spends her time. After having avoided clusters of toddlers for the eight weeks, last week she charged under the parachute to grab a puppet. This week she approached the trampoline, backed off when three girls beat her to it, then tried it out for real when she could get it alone, she jumped on her feet, then dropped to her knees and finally did a full-on drop to the bum, where she dissolved into giggles and did it all again. The next time, when there were kids there already, she jumped on, although she stuck close to the edge, and when she decided to roll down an adjoining ramp and a girl followed her lead, she was clearly delighted.

But the part I don't want to forget is this week's circuit, where she scaled a (short) wall, balanced across a foam pipe she's been avoiding for weeks, crept like a tightrope walker along the edge of a ball pit, charged up a slide, then skootched down and did it all over again... and again... and again. Tenacious MZ indeed.

Twenty-seven months: I Make Stuff Up

2007-04-22T23:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

You are now officially conversational, except that much of what you say is only tangentially related to the truth. We ask you questions, and you respond with answers. It's up to us to figure out if the answer is a) correct and in context; b) correct but something that happened two weeks ago; or c) completely made up, although a correct English sentence.

I suspect that this is because you've caught on to the interplay of conversation, but don't yet have a firm sense of chronology or context, thus you have no reference point for a "correct" answer. However, I'm still slayed when you tell us you went swimming with Mana and Papa when we ask how you liked daycare. Or when you tell us you had a yot of shrimp for dinner when we watched you eat nothing at all.

However, you are trying things again, which is great. After last month's clam shocker, you've been pretty willing to try one bite of most anything, resulting in the discovery that you love grilled meat, siu mai and mosakhan, but are not so much on Ikea meatballs. Also, anything you don't want to eat is a punion. Punions include parsley on noodles, mashed potatoes on grilled meat, and the zucchini in your favorite tamales. Punion is an excellent word.

Unfortunately, your profligate use of words has not prevented our least favorite verbal (or nonverbal) development to date: loud, highpitched shrieking whenever you are bored. You started on the flight out to Florida, and I looked at your Auntie D with real fear in my eyes. Her look told me that she didn't the hell know what to do, either, and I'd better get a grip since you are in fact my daughter. It took us a day and a half to figure out that you do this when you're bored or want attention, and although it is superhumanly difficult to grab your attention when you are screaming the scream of the undead in our faces, this has helped the redirection a lot.

The trip to Florida was delightful, other than the screaming. You were so sweet with your Grandma Little, clearly concerned at her lack of mobility, intrigued by her wheelchair and oxygen tube, and irresistably gracious about the enormous baby doll she gifted you. You cuddled the doll that is almost half your size, and whenever we visited, you told her where the doll was and how you'd bring Baby to see her next time -- without prompting. Nice sense of occasion, kiddo.

You're still singing your way through our days, and we're kicking ourselves that we haven't made a video of you singing The Smile Song. Your Dad asks you to sing it all the time, and sometimes you dignify us with a recital. I want never to forget the way you wag your finger on the "I bet you'd never guess it," or the amazing smile you don for the big finish.

I already posted about Passover, but Easter was memorable this year, too. After my pan-religious-experience epiphany, I welcomed Easter this year as another fun holiday to visit. Your favorite potty reading for the last six weeks has been the Williams-Sonoma Easter catalog -- the one with all the candy. You ask me to read about the rabbits (which never fails to remind me of Of Mice and Men, for which I am truly sorry), and we gaze upon the chocolate bunnies, bunny cookies, candy chicks and decorated baskets. At some point I told you that Mana and Papa would buy you a chocolate bunny and that became a key archetype of our Easter ponderings.

On Easter morning, we went to a small Easter egg hunt in our local park, where you and your playmates looked quizzically at us as we pointed out eggs on the ground, eventually catching on that you should pick them up and find more. In retrospect, this had to be incredibly confusing, since we usually spend a lot of time trying to keep you from picking up stuff from the ground. But by the time you got to your private Easter egg hunt at Mana and Papa's, you were an expert. You knew the plastic eggs from the real, and understood that the fake ones contain chocolate. You surreptitiously scraped off the foil wrapper and ate more candy than you've ever had in a single day. And yes, there was a chocolate bunny for dessert, and you ate the ears, head and neck in one sitting on your Papa's ever-indulgent lap.

Last week we celebrate Auntie S's birthday, and she made cupcakes for you at your request. When she arrived at the restaurant, you marched up to her, said happy birthday, and grabbed the pink bakery box out of her hands and carried it into the restaurant. We were all pretty convinced you would drop it, but you were super careful and they arrived safely. You devoured three mini cupcakes after dinner, and I strongly suspect that the count was actually four but your Papa didn't want to give me a heart attack so he lied.

This wouldn't be a proper report without a potty update. In the last weeks, you've decided diapers are your friend. The trip to Florida, where diapers were a necessity, probably didn't help, but you haven't volunteered to wear panties outside the house for weeks, and often abjectly refuse to use the potty, so we've backed way off. We're in no rush, and the last thing we want is a negative association with the toilet, but I'm clearly in denial because we're almost out of diapers and I can't seem to bring myself to log on to 1-800-diapers these days.

Miriam, it's been another delightful month. We can't wait to see what's ahead.

All my love,
Your Mommy

Chag Pesach Sameach!

2007-04-03T22:08:00.000-07:00

We learned from Chanukah that MZ will really get into something with enough advanced prep, so we signed up for a preschooler Passover event a week or two ago, where she learned Dayenu and Go Down Moses and The Frog Song, which involves frogs in the bed, frogs on the head, frogs on the nose and the toes -- she loves this one. We made the matzoh cover depicted here, and an Elijah's cup that she's been carrying around for two weeks. All in all, we figured she was ready for a seder, so we planned to do 1st night with some friends, four toddlers all told.

Until about 3 PM that day, I had seriously envisioned them following it a bit and everyone sharing memories of Passovers past, and traditions from their own seders. Then it hit me: four toddlers. Our toddler can barely sit through a one-course meal without wanting to get down. Needless to say, it was highly abridged, but we read of the exodus and the toddlers lounged and all in all we had a fun if absolutely crazed evening.

Tonight we had 2nd night at our synagogue. It was a family seder, and thus was also somewhat abridged, but MZ asked for matzah and matzah ball soup and tried the chopped liver if not the gefilte fish, colored in her "activity haggadah" and loved running around with the other kids. I'm sure she would have liked the charoses, had it not been made with walnuts. We're going to do a Sephardic version for the family seder this weekend, something with almonds and coconut that one of our guests brought on Monday and that I think I'd love on a crumpet, if we were eating crumpets right now.

Chag pesach sameach, happy Easter, happy Spring.

Twenty-six Months: The Princess of Everything

2007-03-26T22:06:00.001-07:00

Dear Miriam,

The title is not to imply that you have discovered princesses, thankfully. More that you are coming into your own power with an enthusiasm that alternately charms and amazes us.

You're getting downright conversational, responding to questions and volunteering information on the phone and in person. If we ask enough questions, we seem to get a picture of your day or your feelings, and we like to think this is cutting out some potential Terrible Two-ness, since you're able to ask for what you want most of the time.

Right now, you mostly ask to watch lion dancers on the computer (thanks, You Tube). We took you to two different Lunar New Year events, and although you were plainly scared of the racket at first, by the end of the first performance you were begging for more, and the second time you cheered them on, laughing uproariously at their antics, especially the flinging of lettuce. Since then, whenever one of us is on the computer, you ask specifically for lion dancers, and you and your dad developed a routine before bed where he puts on the sleeves of your footy pajamas and sleep sack, and you run around waving the loose legs behind you, bowing down and blinking like a lion.

A lion by night, and a monkey by day. When you're done with dinner, you announce Want to jump on Mommy, and you proceed to climb up my body from my lap to my shoulders, where you laugh maniacally from your perch at the top of the world. At My Gym you run around every week to see what new structures are there for you to scale. You still balk at speed, sometimes you have to remind yourself you like the big kid slides, but you have legs of steel, and given the opportunity you climb, climb, climb.

You also have a fabulous sense of ceremony. You insisted on carrying the bag containing Aunt J's gift, and presented it to her with a flourish. And you clearly love the Shabbat blessings, covering your eyes for the blessing over the candles, waiting patiently before sipping your juice, and uncovering the Challah as though it were part of some fabulous magic trick. Sometimes, you sit down at your table and recite borei p’riy ha-gafen to yourself, which charms us to no end.

You're also breaking out of your refusenik toddler eating habits. At a dinner for my birthday, you plucked a clam from a passing bowl and popped it right in your mouth. You didn't eat another one, but you didn't spit it out, and that's been more the norm than not in the last few weeks.

There's so much I want to remember about these days, yet at the end of another busy month, I know I'm leaving out a lot. Know that we consider ourselves very, very lucky to be spending this time with you, and look forward to each morning when you holler Mommy or Daddy from your crib. You're very specific about who you want to come get you, and we waver between excitement and relief nomatter who you choose -- as irresistable as we might find the extra sleep, we also can't wait to see what the new day holds with you.

All my love,
Mommy

Conversation

2007-03-20T22:08:00.000-07:00

R: Let's go get our jammies on.
MZ: No, I'm going to sit on the counter for a little bit.

She dropped that line like a 4 year old. Casually, while she was fiddling with a toothbrush cover. She's fully conversational now.

She's even getting comfortable with phone talk. On Sunday, while talking to her Bubbie, she answered questions about how what she was doing (playing with Lego) and how she slept (I slept well). But when she was done, she handed me the phone and walked away. No goodbye, no nothing. And yesterday, when she wanted to talk to Tante J on the way to daycare -- asked and asked and asked -- when I handed her the phone, she said Hello, I miss you then snapped the phone shut and handed it back to me.

So we're working on the phone skills.

Of Shadows and Genders

2007-03-11T22:16:00.000-07:00

This week MZ discovered her shadow. I wasn't there when it happened, but evidently she wondered what that moving thing was and Bubbie explained that it was her shadow. We've had lovely weather this week and every time we're outside and her shadow emerges, she positively squeals There's my shadow! We've taught her to wave at it, and watch it wave back.

This morning on the changing table she began to tell me which of her friends are boys and which are girls: H is a boy, J is a girl, E is a boy, I is a girl. This is the first time I can recall her making this distinction.

Today we finally took that ride on our bikes with the trailer. The weather was perfect for a ride out the Embarcadero, through Fort Mason to Crissy Field. She enjoyed her ride at first, stocked as it was with cereal and toys and Puppy, but was bored and trying to climb out by the time we arrived. The gorgeous weather and small beach made up for her boredom, her smile as she ran in and out of the uncomfortably cold water made my heart burst. This kid loves the water.

During our picnic lunch, she approached two other toddlers and chatted them up. It's fascinating to watch this social aspect of her personality emerge, and to see her engage so completely with her world. I would love to blog more eloquently on all of this, but I'm exhausted and undone by the long absence. So this is a matter-of-fact attempt to keep track of all the changes.

It must be noted that today's ride was shorter and slower than any ride we've taken in years. As R. said, we took cannons to a gun fight with our shock-and-clipless-pedals-equipped mountain bikes. Yet it was as much fun as any we've ever taken together, MZ's enthusiasm was infectious and the feel for the bike came flooding back. We can't wait to do it again.

Twenty-five Months: Sing a Song!

2007-02-22T21:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Miriam,

While we've been catering to you for over two years now, lately it's taken a new turn. Your verbal acuity and basic two-ness combine to create a true dictator. Stand up, Sit down here, Take your shoes off, Put on soft pants, Get Puppy -- you have the words for everything and we're at your bidding, apparently. We indulge you, ask you to say please, tell you no, but mostly we just marvel at what a little person you've become, and how large your opinions are in contrast to that little body.

Your opinions stood you well in Tahoe this past weekend, where you discovered snow. We explained that snow would be cold, since all your books make it look fluffy as chenile, but we also explained that you might think it was phenomenal (your new word), and sure enough, you observed both aspects of snow. On the first day, it was bright and sunny and you walked along the road, pulling chunks off the snowplow pile along the road and hucking them ahead of you gleefully. Sledding found you more cautious, willing to go down once or twice, but not really that into it.

But while you don't seem to feel the need for speed, this month saw the emergence of the running, climbing MZ. You've gone from being a fairly still child to something of an acrobat, and you really seem to enjoy activities that test your balance -- you love walking on bleachers, berms and stoops, and have taken a liking to the various ladders and climbing walls at the playgrounds we visit. It seems as though you've stopped working so hard at language acquisition, and have more energy to devote to moving your body.

With Pugawug along, you also discovered the joys of a potty party. In Tahoe, you two spent a good third of your time in the loo, watching and coaching and offering to flush. There were accidents, but also some grand successes. I'm not prepared to push this, we're just going to see where it takes us, but I won't be sorry to say bye-bye to diapers and our vigilance against diaper rash.

And finally, the world is a song. You sing everything, from songs you know to made up songs. You sing about putting clothes on and seeing your grandparents and eating lunch. You sing the ABCs, This Old Man, and the perennial favorite, I've been working on the rainbow. We can't get enough of your singing, we find it endearing and lovely and the way you string your medleys together confirms your utter brilliance in our eyes.

Miriam, you put a song in our hearts always,
Love,
Your Mommy

Pee Me a River

2007-02-15T22:25:00.000-08:00

We got MZ a potty several months ago, and at first she was interested, but fairly quickly she stopped wanting to sit on it and we assumed she wasn’t ready for toilet training. But at her two year appointment, her pediatrician told us that two is the average age for American girls to potty train, so we went home and started trying again. Again she balked.

That same week we visited Pugawug, who had just picked out her new toilet seat adapter and step stool, and MZ asked to try it out. She showed more interest and patience than she had previously, if not more pee. So we went out and got her a set of her own, and lo, she’s interested!

The toilet trainer is super-light and has handles, same with the new stool. And she loves to put them in place and put them away. She’s Charles in Charge on the toilet, and she’ll sit for much longer than I would have expected.

After a few days of pre-nap poop-and-pee success, I let her go bottomless before we left the house. Who knew a toddler could pee so much? The puddle on the carpet was deep and wide, and confirmed everything I suspected about my ability to handle a rampantly evacuating child while penned up at home. I just don’t have the disposition for an encampment, and find it a bit hard to great each accident with equanimity when they’re a mere twenty minutes apart. Assuming that my frustration would do more harm than good, I’m resolved that potty training may be a longer process for us than it is for the Potty Party set.

I bought her some cotton training panties. Our friends and neighbors offered mixed reports, some said it was too confusing for the kiddos while others said they saved their sanity. After an accident in her trainers resulted in wet pants but no puddle, I know I fall in the latter camp. These are soft cotton and fairly thin, and MZ seems clear on the difference between these and diapers. And I’m not pulling my hair out trying to manage puddles, piles and the ubiquitous cat barf.

This morning she peed in her training pants, and I told her calmly that she could tell me when she has to pee and we’ll put her on the toilet. Thirty minutes later she told us she was peeing and we said we could go to the potty – she held it and completed the job on the toilet! Thirty minutes later, as I was leaving for work, I heard her telling Bubbie that she had to pee and off they went to the toilet again. Clear progress.

I like the idea of letting her pick out her own undies, but I think we’ll wait on that until she holds it a little longer between trips to the potty. Baby steps…

I've been working on the rainbow!

2007-02-04T20:42:00.000-08:00

...One of my favorites among MZ's made up lyrics. She walks around the house singing I've been working on the rainbow all the time, in a medley with Pop goes the Weasel and P5 N-G-O! (the social service arm of Voice of America, maybe?).

Alas, the singing was light this weekend as she had her first case of flu. We thought she seemed low last week, but there were no specific symptoms so we just took it easy. We decided to stay in Friday night as we had a big weekend planned: two birthday parties (one with Enzo!) and a Superbowl Party no one wanted to miss.

But late Friday evening, MZ threw up everything she'd eaten heartily at dinner. She had no idea what had happened (nor did we when we heard her yelps and gasps over the monitor), we scooped her up and R. bathed her gently while I remade the bed and put the grubbies in the wash. I knew there was a good chance we'd need them again soon. She woke up retching on Saturday, but has been relatively fine since, eating a bit of challah and banana, drinking broth and juice -- enough that we knew she wasn't dehydrating.

But she's been feverish, and has slept fitfully on us through every morning, roused herself to sip some soup, then told us it was time for bed. She's nibbled dinner, and here and there we've seen 10 minute bursts of personality and verve before she falls, exhausted again.

Having a sick baby requires some mind adjustment. I found myself having to settle into the reality of our slow-motion weekend, and while I loved the feeling of her in my arms again as she slept -- not since she had roseola has she slept in my arms -- such inactivity proved exhausting. Yet once she was in her own bed, I found myself tearing around the house, trying to catch up on a few of the tasks I'd set for myself on Friday.

I could tell she was feeling better tonight when she said she was going to a birthday party for her friends H. and T. We were sad to have to tell her we'd missed it.

Have a glass of wine and STFU

2007-01-30T00:23:00.000-08:00

Somehow I completely missed the chatter, nay the outrage, the overblown sanctimomminess on this issue over the last few days. A glass of wine on a playdate is a sign of overstressed women who need healthier outlets? Are you out of your freaking minds? A three-cosmo playdate is a problem, yes, but heck, medicated playdates have been going on for generations. Didn't it used to be doctor-proscribed (some more valium, Mrs. Stepford)? But a glass of wine? Methinks that Melissa and Alice and Liz and the rest of blogland are right, this is about how much we as a culture distrust women, and especially moms, in a perfect storm with Americans' notorious Puritanical fear of alcohol. And my how the Europeans must be laughing again.

Two Years by the Numbers

2007-01-29T22:43:00.000-08:00

MZ handled her two-year appointment like a champ, from the waiting room, where she watched television, captivated, for about two minutes before picking up a book and asking us to read it, to the shot, which she saw coming, and cried sharply for a minute, then stopped to direct the application of a bandaid to Puppy's paw, and announced, I'm okay. I'm not crying. My heart melted all over the floor.

She talked up a storm, so her pediatrician finally believes that she can. She asked questions and made pronouncements and thoroughly enjoyed instructing her regarding who should receive the stethoscope to the chest next, Mommy or Daddy.

And the numbers? About the same as ever, percentile-wise, although it's a bit of a surprise that she's still just 25 lbs. (just over 25th percentile) to her 34 inches (solid 50th), with an 80th percentile head.

P.S. I finally added the photos to the Twenty-four Months letter to MZ.

Relief: Postscript

2007-01-26T21:44:00.000-08:00

Many, many people, upon hearing our Not a place for touching story, have asked urgently, But what about the part about "You broke your word." I understand their concern, on a matter this grave you want to be sure. So this should provide a little perspective:

When MZ and Bubbie came back from the park yesterday, I was at home. Our conversation went like this:
Me: Did you have fun at the park?
MZ: I had fun at the park.
Me: Did you go down the big slide?
MZ: I went down the big slide.
Me: Did you go down the tunnel slide?
MZ: I went down the tunnel slide.
Me: Did you climb the ladder?
MZ: I climb the yadder.
Bubbie, sotto voce: She didn't actually do any of those things.

Uh-huh. Two year-olds are fantastic mimics. Confirmed by her ped this afternoon.

So that doesn't answer the question of how to deal with suspected molestation if there were other contributing factors. But it might help explain why we can sleep at night right now.

Twenty-four Months: That's Two in Weasel Years!

2007-01-23T23:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Miriam,

I'm having a hard time writing through my surprise that you've been in our lives for two years. Nothing beats the first year for crazy, mind-blowing change on an unheard-of scale, but the last year has been dramatic by any other measure. You've gone from a crawling baby who called everything that moves Cat! to a conversing, phone-talking, running, jumping, hollering, direction-giving, food-not-eating person.

In the last month, you've started answering questions more accurately and with less confusion, and verbally working through your experiences with a memory for detail that amazes us. The other day I asked Mana if she needed anything from the grocery store and you popped up with Cucumbers. This is your new favorite food and we had run out the day before, but this was the first time you made such a connection about shopping and the things you want. Your other new favorite food, by the way, is Ikura, which you call orange balls. Your face lights up if anyone so much as mentions sushi, and your Sushi board book is your new favorite.

Ikura was an accidental discovery. You were dining along side your buddy Prince H at our local sushi place. Prince H was eating happily, while you were talking nonstop about what you weren't eating, per usual. We'd ordered a roll that had ikura sprinkled across the top and you exclaimed "orange balls," so I gave you one. You demanded more, Prince H tried some, and we ended up ordering nigiri for you both, which you demolished. Given your love for smoked salmon, this shouldn't be so surprising, but I am impressed.

You say things you know are funny, like Ye-ah boy-ee when you fold your arms (with the head cocked), or Amaya! when you want me to join you from whatever I'm doing, and you seem to have consciously decided not to add our salty dialogue to your vocabulary. The other morning, after I dropped something and it broke, you walked around saying F$%&en f$%&en f$%&en for a while, till I said, No, I think you mean "Truckin'!" You looked at me knowingly, decided that was hilarious, and exclaimed Truckin'! between gales of laughter for a good five minutes.

You're getting more physical, too, conquering the big-kid slides and attempting the ladders at Library Park, and you mastered jumping! You've been working on it for weeks, one day you just decided it was time to jump and you've attacked it with an admirable single-mindedness. You were satisfied to jump holding our hands or to make the jump motion without your feet leaving the ground for the longest time. But the first few times both your feet left the floor, your smile was radiant enough to light the neighborhood, if only we'd known to hook you up.

You're all about helping these days, too, and your Daddy is much better than I about enlisting your assistance. In those touchy moments before dinner is served, he occupies you by having you place the forks and napkins on the table, or helping him unload the dishwasher. Mana has folded laundry with you (you do very well with the washcloths) and Bubbie has you putting your toys away regularly. I always seem to be in a rush to get out of the house and have to restrain myself from doing everything myself, but one task we do together is feeding the cats: You open the container, we scoop the kibble, and you carefully pour the food into their bowl, tell them to eat and then replace the scoop and close the container. You’re so proud of yourself when you accomplish these tasks, and we are blown away that we have come to this point so quickly.

On the other side of the coin, you are MZ the Destroyer. If I tarry a moment too long in my attention to household details, your fury is a thing to behold: you unpack drawers, dump blocks, unfold dishtowels and extract a full box of tissues before I can turn around. And when I do, you are stolid in your refusal to help pick up. Clearly I am to pay for my neglect.

It's not really your fault, though, because these days you're all about telling us what to do, and had I only been listening you never would have needed to tear apart the dining room. You are capable of giving the same direction over and over and over and over again, with mind-numbing consistency of tone: Read the book, Mommy, Get Puppy, Daddy, Move over, Bubbie, Stop talking to Daddy, please, Papa. You are full of directions.

Your birthday was a celebration of all your favorite things: bagels, smoked salmon and lox, sliced cucumbers, red peppers and cherry tomatoes, tuna salad, pork buns and the most amazingly delicious chocolate cake made by your AuntieS. She also made dozens of tiny cupcakes, which you proceeded to grab and lick the frosting from, one after another till we stopped you.

We had Enzo join us, too. You don’t seem to like surprises, and we told you he was coming for your birthday a week in advance, so you were convinced he was coming home with you after music class one day. But when he arrived, you took it in stride, telling Papa knowingly, He’s going to do another one, whenever a song ended. You laughed with glee to have him here, and asked for him for a few days afterwards.

These big celebrations must be so surreal for you, with all the to-do and ta-da, and then it’s over for another year. But you were such a sport through all of it, and it was such fun to make the day special for you. We worried about overkill, but realized that whether you remember it next year or not, we will never forget your unmitigated joy, which was truly a mirror on our own happiness at having you in our lives. Welcome to your third year, MZ, let it be another healthy, happy one.

All my love,
Your Mommy

The relief is palpable

2007-01-22T20:59:00.000-08:00

Today when I picked MZ up from daycare, she volunteered, I cried. This is unusual because she often asks for P. between visits, and is pretty cheerful on drop-off and pick-up, plus they had a birthday party for her, so what could be better? I asked P. about it and she said she was a little weepy, classic two-year old stuff. Since she’s been a little sensitive with us lately, I didn’t think much about it.

We took our usual stroll before we got in the car, talking about the rest of the afternoon, and the one errand we needed to run. Then, on the way to the store, she said, That place is not for touching.

I caught myself from whirling around in my seat to stare at her, and tried to be as nonchalant as possible when I asked, What place is not for touching, MZ? She’s two, so I think the next thing she said was something about Puppy, and I asked once more, as gently as I could, and let the conversation go.

Then, in the store while we were waiting in line, she wandered away from me a bit, turned around and looked at me and said what sounded like, You broke your word. Wha-at?! Trying not to completely freak out, I walked over, picked her up, hugged her and kissed her and asked her who broke their word? What word was broken? How did it break? … hoping to land on something that would kick her esoteric thought process into something recognizable.

All the while I’m thanking everything I can for this verbal child, because what would she do without words, and wouldn’t we be able to puzzle through this eventually? I tried to think of all the various contexts in which this could be said, and who might speak this way. Her daycare speaks primarily Spanish, so that’s probably not it, right? Right?

I brought it up a couple times before R. got home, during a diaper change and while we sat on the sofa reading a book. Is your body not for touching? Is there something not for touching? A place? I told her that she could always tell me anything, that I would always believe her first, that no one could tell her not to tell me something – it was up to her to decide. Does she understand any of this? I have no idea but it seemed worth saying.

When R. got home, I related all this, and watching him control his rising panic was like looking in a mirror. We were both jittery, trying to be calm as we worked with her to open the last of her birthday presents, occasionally pitching what we hoped was a softball question that would lead us where we needed to go.

She had what for her is a tantrum as we tried to get to the dinner table, refusing to help set the table, refusing to sit at the table, insisting on going downdairs, and ultimately dissolving into tears. When I tried to talk to her, she said clearly, Go away, Mommy, and I left her to her father.

Finally, she asked for blueberries and we got her to sit at the table and eat them. And R asked, What place is not for touching, MZ? And she said, clearly, The store.

And then she proceeded to devour everything in sight, scooping up enormous spoonfuls of hummus and Greek salad and pita.

Of course! That oddly formal phrase is from me! I said that last Friday as I prepped her for an errand to a wine shop – something that had to be done kid in tow, despite my better judgment, in preparation for her birthday party.

MZ internalizes all these directional phrases, I already know this. And she seems to background process everything, so of course when I said we had to go to a store, she processed through our last visit and relayed everything she could remember about going to a store: This place is not for touching. Of course.

R and I were practically giddy as we finished our meal, so extreme was our relief. I don’t think either of us truly believed that someone was molesting our daughter, but it was the first thing that occurred to both of us, and our fear had to be part of what triggered her tantrum. MZ has always sensed and reacted to tension. That, and that she was clearly hungry.

That still doesn't explain the You broke your word, but I think the I cried was simply an effort to verbalize her day, and really, I’m just so freaking grateful that there’s nothing more to say. Except thank you.

Art class!

2007-01-10T21:29:00.000-08:00

MZ and I started taking an art class, and it occurs to me that it's the first organized class we've ever taken together out of a swimming pool. I take her to playgroups and places where she can do various activities all the time, but my preference has been for unstructured activities, since her grandparents are usually enrolled in art and music with her. But I am not crafty, and MZ seems to like to color and paint and such, and I thought an art class might help me figure out how to do some of these activities with her at home.

So here we are in class and I am blown away by my daughter. She's not shy! She may not be roll-you-over social, but in this small group setting, she piped up with answers, asserted opinions, interacted with the other kids and generally demonstrated total confidence. In a sea of primary colors, she asked for pink, and lo if the teacher didn't go mix up some for her with red and white. And she said Thank you with just a little coaching.

We've decided not to enroll MZ in preschool next year. We looked at the available programs for a 2.5 yr old versus what's open to an older child, and then looked at her week, and the time she spends with her grandparents, and decided there's no rush to get started. And then I considered how much she's come to love her daycare provider, and how sad it would be to yank her away after only one year, and well, the cost of preschool, and it felt like a good decision.

But of course I've second-guessed this, because I am the queen of analysis paralysis. Am I shortchanging her? Am I stifling her development? Will this exacerbate her shyness?

Our art class experience as well as her foray into imaginary play, and recent visits to the park, where she's conquering the Big Kids slide and clambering up ladders, is reinforcing my original decision, but also reminding me that it's much too soon to try to define who MZ is -- or what we should be looking for in a preschool. Much too soon for labels like "shy" or "literal" or "not very physical." I realize she's got a lot more to show us about who she is, and her personality is only beginning to unfold. And wow! I am so totally enamored of this kid! I can't wait to see what else she has in store for us.

Blogger sucks

2007-01-09T17:02:00.000-08:00

How is it possible that the new version of Blogger sucks so much? How could they have switched this over to prime time before they worked out the bugs for people who have two gmail addresses? Not like it's unusual to blog under a pseudonym. $^&()()*%$$$##

So many changes, fast and furious

2007-01-04T22:44:00.000-08:00

MZ is on a tear. It started a few weeks ago, and she's still screaming along developmentally. She answers questions now, not just What sound does a cow make, but also, How did you sleep? I slept well. and What are you doing? I'm drinking coffee (frothed milk out of an espresso cup while we sip our morning capuccinos). These are fairly ephemeral questions for a child who demonstrated a clear confusion with such conversations just two weeks ago.

She jumps now, too. After weeks of hard work, she can jump and both feet dependably leave the floor. No more holding on to stabilizing objects, she's jumping on her own!

Evidently she and her Bubbie were reading her Red is a Dragon book today when she decided that they should snack on the lychees and watermelon pictured. Tonight she ran around the table feeding everyone lychees! watermelon! Imaginary play, your time is nigh.

Yesterday morning, when we weren't paying much attention, busy as we were getting breakfast on the table, she went over to Baby (her new doll) and said, Hi Baby. Then she reached into her sparkly purple "diaper bag" and handed Baby her bottles, explaining that one is juice and the other milk. She set them at Baby's side in case she needed them. I suppose nurturing is truly learned and we should teach MZ not to pick up Baby by her neck.

...

P.S. Read down, I finally got that holiday post up...

Augh!

2007-01-03T21:07:00.000-08:00

I wrote a wonderful post last night about MZ's explosive growth and the amazingness of experiencing the holidays through her eyes. I composed it using the Blog This icon in Picasa because I wanted to include an edited photo. I do this all the time. I pressed Publish and it looked like everything went along as usual, but the post never appeared here. Where the hell did it go? How about the other three I tried to post as placeholders?

I'm assuming this has to do with Blogger's new version and the fact that I have two gmail accounts, but damned if I can find the admin options that will allow me to sync everything up. I'll make time for this at some point, but there's no time right now.

$%*&#@

Come on in, 2007!

2007-01-02T23:04:00.001-08:00

2006 had its share of ups and downs, but really, it was a fantastic year and I'm sorry to see it go. However, the best way to send it out was to witness MZ's captivation with the holidays -- all of them.

First she discovered her Chanukah books and started singing the Dreidel song well before the first night. She was all about the menorahs and the dreidels until she discovered the nutcrackers. Nutcrackers are da bomb. Snowmen are cool, Santas are kinda creepy, but Nutcrackers rock her world. Ironically, the only shop in the area that had a 5' tall lighted Menorah also had 9' tall Nutcrackers, flanking an equally large Mouse King. No contest.

At first that freaked me out a little bit. Did she think Christmas was better than Chanukah? How would we deal with that? Would it break her heart that Santa doesn't visit the Jewish kids? I had gone into the holiday season so blaise, she would get to "visit" Christmas with her maternal grandparents, it was part of her cultural heritage if not her religious tradition. What could be better? And then she got all Christmas-y on me, and I doubted. I feared.

Really, though, I've got to admit that nothing competes with the 10' inflatable Santa that jumps out of a chimney just down the street. What could appeal to a toddler more than a tree with sparkly things all over it? Chanukah is downright reserved in comparison, and it's not even a major holiday.

Over the course of the weeks I began to enjoy Christmas more than I ever had in my life. What a cool tradition our neighbors bring into our lives! How we admire the lights and trees and train sets and tiny towns that zip underneath! After years of agnostic ambivalence, I finally came to feel about Christmas the way I feel about Chinese New Year and Diwali: it's so cool that we live in a multicultural society and I want my daughter to be exposed to all of it. I want her to fully enjoy the traditions practiced by our family and friends and neighbors, and someday when she understands their meaning, to respect their beliefs.

But for now it was just a great time taking her to see those giant Nutcrackers a few times a week, to hang blue and white lights in our windows and witness her anticipation at dusk when they were about to come on, to light candles together each of the eight nights and hear her chant Nun Gimel Hay Shin and the lines from her books (Do you know the reason why? It's Hanukkah tonight!), and then to wake up on Christmas morning to her very own stocking, a blue and white number hand-knitted by her Mana.

And I learned that the best way to raise a Jewish kid is to raise her Jewish. This month she began to shade her eyes during the prayer over the Shabbat candles. It warmed me, possibly no less than it did her Daddy and her Bubbie, because I am the one who has religiously (is there any better term?) taken her to the Shabbat playgroup every Friday. She says L'Chaim and raises her glass when we say our prayer over the wine, and anytime we do cheers. She asks for candles and challah on any given night, she already knows Shabbat is a celebration and she looks forward to it. She asks for her dreidel books even today, a week after Chanukah, and still sings that dreidel song (although I'm not sure how I feel about her Daddy and her Papa putting her dreidels in her new toy oven so that they'll be "dry and ready").

2006 has been an adventure, culminating in my favorite holiday season to date. We keep saying this is her best phase, and then it just gets better, so come on in, 2007! We're glad to see you.

Wonder Twin Powers Activate

2006-12-29T15:08:00.000-08:00

This is the first post from MZ's dad.

We had a Chanukah party the other night, where at least eight toddlers were in attendance (plus a toddler's baby brother who slept through most of it -- ahhh, remember those days) and maybe another toddler or two snuck in -- I couldn't keep track.

First of all, it was sheer pandemonium: toys flying in one room, stickers sticking in another, dreidels spinning, stair climbing on both sets of stairs, occasional cat pettings with the brave Moki who seems to enjoy more toddlers rather than fewer, light switches going "On" and "Off", balls rolling down hallways, cookies-cake-gelt being devoured for instant sugar highs, running-climbing-jumping-falling and announcements of all the above at the top of the lungs in barely discernible 2-year-old-speak; dads and moms catching up and chatting in snippets of conversation, having a plate of latkes or a glass of wine, putting down a plate of latkes or glass of wine on any flat surface to catch a falling toddler or to help foster "sharing," etc.

In a word: pandemonium. Hats off to parents with lots of kids. I don't know how they do it – they must have a zen place they go to...a lot. But, anyway, in the total chaos, something popped out very clearly to me: toddlers have Super Powers. Last I really noticed with this group of kids who have known each other for all of their lives, they pretty much did the same thing. We parents have been getting together as a group at least once a month for the past two years, and, more or less, the get-togethers go the same way: arrive, drop the potluck offering on the communal table, settle the kid into the communal play area, grab some food, nosh, chat.

Through six months of age the kids were laying on the floor, maybe rolling over. Through twelve months some standing, a step or two, basic playing. Through fifteen months lots of toddling around, exploring, devoting a minute to a given toy and moving on to the next one with minimal "playing together."

But, all of a sudden, we're here at 24 months give or take, and they're all different.

We're all different of course -- everyone is beautiful in their own way blah blah blah -- but it's truly amazing how different they are. One kid is jumping off a stack of phone books and sticking the landing, another is explaining what she would like to eat now and what was wrong with what she just ate (or didn’t), a third is busy taking apart and putting back together toys that no parent can figure out. Some are playing together since they know each other from day care, others are playing together for the first time and enjoying it. Still others are doing art -- playing with crayons or stickers, or making the wind-up toy go, crushing the wind-up toy, swaddling the baby doll, swaddling the teddy bear, swaddling Moki.

They all have their own unique capabilities, but what it looks like, since it's all so new and so very evolved from the past two years as our blobs have progressed into human beings is that they all have new and special Super Powers.

It's the Hall of Justice right here in our living room. Just like Superman or Wonder Woman, each of our little ones possesses the power to change the world in their own very unique way, and it has just become totally clear to me how special that really is.

We're getting to observe a lot of things about human development as these little folks grow, but it's amazing to see the things that are most magical about ourselves emerge. It's as if the magician is letting us in on the mechanics of the trick the whole time he's doing it, but we still don't completely get it, and therefore the magic is preserved. How does Superman fly? I don't know. How can MZ speak so well? How can Pugawug take that apart and put it back together again so effortlessly? I don't know. Must be their Super Powers.

Happy as a kid in confetti

2006-12-13T14:55:00.000-08:00

Containers full of confetti. Open and unmoderated. There for her to toss, spread and mash as she sees fit. It's entirely possible that this is MZ's happiest moment to date. Happy birthday, Pugawug, thanks for sharing it with us!

A Moment of Silence

2006-12-06T21:20:00.000-08:00

The Bay Area (and so many other places) have been watching, praying, hoping for the Kim Family as their ordeal unfolded. We don't know them, although we love their nearby store, so somehow feel a connection, in that and in the comman experience of parenthood, in the spirit of adventure that takes a family on a winter roadtrip through beautiful country. We've been gripped by their story, so horrifying did it seem that a family could just disappear.

When Kati and her two daughters were found, it seemed like a miracle, but the latest chapter has brought us back to earth. We asked ourselves and each other constantly, How? Why? Where? and every answer confirmed James Kim's intelligence, bravery and persistence. At some level it paid off, his family is safe again, but we mourn the loss of this wise and dedicated father. Our deepest sympathies to the Kim family and all who knew him.

What we're reading #5

2006-12-02T22:03:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've updated the list, mainly because MZ has stayed faithful to so many in her collection. But there's a few new additions worth noting, in particular the entrance of the picture book into her array of favorite night-time reading. In the morning, we pile into bed and read from the selection of board books we keep on the night tables. But at bedtime, she's looking for story, and pictures, she picks details out to talk about and she has favorite pages she returns to. Reading has become more interactive, and even more enjoyable.

She's also become familiar with her first licensed character: Winnie the Pooh. We don't know how she established this preference, but she often asks for her various Pooh board books. This hasn't noticeably increased her affection for -- or even her awareness of -- her enormous stuffed Pooh, but she does seem taken again with her tiny Piglet, who was her first lovey.

Wynken, Blynken & Nod: Gorgeously illustrated, I'm so glad she loves this as much as I do. Could she possibly remember it from early days?

Wow City: The protaganist looks a bit like MZ and the dramatic, colorful illustrations grab us all. She loves pointing out all her favorites, from the streetcar (our local version of the subway) to the BIG SHIP in the bay.

Pond and Forest: These colorful, simply drawn pages have captured her imagination. She looks for the animals, she repeats the brief rhyming text. And frequently, she asks for the one that is sitting a staircase away.

Time for Bed: We've had this larger-format board book for a while, but now that she's interested in picture books, she seems to enjoy this one more. She also relates more to the sleep rituals, as evidenced by the talk of brushing teeth-teeth and putting on pajamas. But why do they exercise right before they go to bed, after their ablutions?

Secret Seahorse: This has become a bonafide favorite recently. She loves the crabs and BIG FISH, and has recently decided that in her sleepsack she is in fact a mermaid.

Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? She makes all the sounds, but returns again and again to dibble dibble dop dop dibble dibble dop.

Accessorize Yourself

2006-12-02T21:00:00.000-08:00

MZ has been picking out her own clothes for about four months now. Not every clothing change, we've managed to avoid pajama choice, but mornings are fraught with partialities. I put her on the changing table, and quickly pull out two shirts or pants, while she's facing away from the drawer. I present them to her for her to choose, and swiftly pull out two matching items of the other persuasion while she admires the first, and again, she chooses. If I'm slow and she turns over and sees the open drawer, add another 10 minutes to the getting dressed process. At least.

She has a strong preference for raspberry pink and orange, although not together, and lately, for overalls. She rarely asks for a dress, but seems taken with tights. Tonight, for instance, while R. was putting up our holiday lights, she ran around in tights and a white onesie of her choosing, looking like a little elf (although when she tangled said lights for the xth time, R. could be heard mumbling something else).

And recently, she's into accessories. In Puerto Vallarta, we strolled the Isla Cuale in search of the "perfect purse," which turned out to be small, orange and made of beads. She wore it proudly throughout our stay, it replaced her small pink market bag, which she'd previously used to store rocks and her Tevas when we walked down the beach.

When I wear a scarf, she wants a scarf. She's worn one to daycare, and made sure it comes home with her. She has strong opinions about hats and socks. She dictates pigtails, headband or barette, and if we have time, we accommodate her. She fusses minimally while I adjust her pigtails although she's taken to hollering -- not screaming or crying -- but wordless, distracting hollering the entire time I cut her fingernails. She cares a great deal about shoes.

I can't tell if this is toddler control cycles or a budding clotheshorse. Either way, I am completely taken by her strong opinions, by her total engagement. She's opinionated, but she's no diva. This I can appreciate.

Twenty-two Months: Yeah, Baby!

2006-11-24T17:21:00.000-08:00

Dearest Miriam,

This is the month you decided to say Yes. Or Yeah, usually. Do you want tangerines? Yeah. Do you want to go to the zoo, Vigorous head nod yes. For many, many months, the closest you got to the affirmative was to repeat whatever you wanted when we asked you, so that Do you want to go to the park? met with Park, park, park. As you can imagine, this development has been met with great joy.

You're also increasingly likely to chime in to any conversation. I'll ask your dad if he wants his coffee, and we'll hear I'm good from the third member of our party. You'll hear us trying to puzzle something out in the front of the car, and respond with I just don't get it. And you're becoming a goof-off: you'll work through one of your animal books sing-songing all of the animal noises in the same tone, or run around the dinner table passing off a magic invisible bean (we guess), or holler for our attention, and we find Puppy sitting on your head in the carseat.

We learned in Mexico that you're ready to be more flexible in your sleeping. You've always been a good sleeper (ptew, ptew, ptew) and as a result we've been very hesitant to push your limits. While friends complain that their kids are still waking in the night, you've been sleeping through since well before your first birthday. You take a 3-hour afternoon nap, and can handle staying up till 8 or later, which means we can have dinner together nearly every night, even after your dad's long commute home. And after a few tough months of early waking, you regularly sleep till 7 AM, which seems absolutely civilized. So we've tried to be respectful of your sleep needs.

But with nine people to move, we didn't always make the deadlines, and lo and behold, you were fine. Yes, there were a couple evenings of total, ice-cream covered meltdown in the middle of Sayulita's zócalo, and one day when you awoke sobbing after a forty-minute nap, but by and large you slept whenever we finally put you down and awoke happy. Since then we've been playing hard and fast with your sleep, so look for a whining, sleep-deprived apology in Month Twenty-three.

We also learned that you're ready for more time with kids. Sob, we're no longer enough for you. Two days in to our time in Puerto Vallarta, you were asking for your various playmates, and when you found a 4-year-old who was equally bored with the company of his Dad, you glombed on to him like he was water in your desert. You two invented a game called No touchy! which amused our grandfatherly host to no end.

Once we arrived in Sayulita and you had your built-in playgroup, you surprised us with your total willingness to live commune-style. You never seemed to need alone time, you shared your toys, for the most part, and didn't even shriek too loudly when said toys were inevitably snatched from your too-mild hands. We root for you to snatch and grab, but realize that at least this isn't something you will have to unlearn later.

Your penchant for breaking in to song continues, lyrical episodes now include Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the ever-popular Lovely Day, which is accompanied by some crazy foot-hand flip you and your Daddy came up with. Scares me to death, can't say too much about it. But in this regard you remind us of your song-filled Great Grandma Lil (who you refer to as Grandma Little).

In looks you still remind us most of AuntieS, but also, increasingly, Bubbie. We still don't know where we got such a fair-haired lass, but since you look like the extended family, we're fairly certain we grabbed the right kid. And girl, did we get lucky.

Love,
Your Mommy

Stranger Danger?

2006-11-14T01:12:00.000-08:00

So the new thing that keeps me up at night is wondering how to deal with MZ's newfound stranger shyness -- not necessarily anxiety, but head buried in my knees or shoulder, I'm-not-saying-hi shyness. I have a tendancy to encourage her to say hello to people who speak to her, but I realize that we're on the edge of the Stranger Danger thing now that she's a toddler capable of wandering away.

Since she was a wee baby, people have stopped to talk to her or touch her and for the most part, R. and I have been open to the attention. We believe that a city is a distant but not cold place, and that our daughter can have interesting, unique and warm experiences with its inhabitants. We've never felt the need to tell someone not to touch her (although we have asked children to touch feet and not hands and faces). That's not to say we never would, we just find ourselves more likely to run into the grandmotherly Latina head stroker than the hepatitis-ridden junkie cheek-grabber.

Well, there was that time a pretty hard-bitten woman went for a cheek-grab face before I had a chance to stop her on the bus, and I did worry about that for several solid hours, okay, days, but she was just months old at the time and everything made me worry that hard.

But MZ is now at an age where it's quite conceivable that someone could walk off with her in the blink of an eye. Can it be entirely accidental that we're seeing her first strong hesitation with strangers? It seems developmentally appropriate, the way it coincides so perfectly with the independance and boundary pushing and the literal ability to run that comes with toddlerhood.

I realize I need to consciously overcome my tendancy towards openness 1) to respect where she is, 2) to make her feel confident that we/I am taking care of her; and 3) to help her learn to trust her gut -- the absolute last thing I want to do is teach her to override her gut. She can learn openness again once she's learned that her initial response to things is worth listening to and trusting.

But this sounds so much easier than I suspect it's going to be. How to respect her space and feelings while encouraging healthy cautiousness without introducing terror or closing her off from friendly people entirely? As with so many other things related to parenting, I feel like I'm going to have to wing it and hope things go alright.

We interrupt this blog to hidehidehidehi

2006-11-09T00:34:00.000-08:00

Wow. We took the House. And now it has its first female Speaker. Wow. And then Rumsfeld -- do you know that on Wednesday morning in my crunchy corner of the world, people on Cortland Avenue were actually coming out of their houses and places of businesses to talk about Rumsfeld's imminent departure? Wow! And then we took the Senate. Wow-dee-wow.

In the midst of play groups and meal planning and how the hell am I behind on the laundry again? angst, I must insert some joyful commemoration. I was a staffer in '94, when it went the other way, and let me tell you those were some dark days. I can recall the hungover, tired feeling of losing that badly like it was yesterday. I'm not as close to it today, but I hope this memory will stay just as vibrant, this day when I was a mama of an almost-2-year old and the nation restored some small bit of my faith, and it was good.

Trick or Treat

2006-10-31T22:08:00.000-08:00

Hey there, sweet cheeks, wanna share your lollipop?

Bunny hop

A veritable menagerie...

Need I mention that the lollipop is MZ's first piece of candy ever? She woke up the next morning and announced that she wanted candy for breakfast. Honey, we all do. She caught on to the trick or treating very quickly, and if a stop wasn't too mobbed, she'd march up with her bag outstretched, announce Trick or Treat and wait expectantly for her booty. I realized that in these days where every new event seems pregnant with social meaning, Halloween is a lesson in exactly nothing. The expectation that people will dress crazy and give her gifts is absolutely useless until next year. However, watching her fascination, mingling with the crowd and our friends' tots, we had more fun than we've had on Halloween since we were children ourselves. San Francisco is a Halloween town. It's our Mardi Gras and Times Square New Year rolled into one. People get dressed up for the whole week in San Francisco. But neither R. nor I have ever been much into it. We go the the parties, we even bother ourselves to dress up in whatever we can come up with 48 hours prior to leaving the house. But Halloween with MZ? We can't wait till next year.

Oh, and the costume? Handmade by my mom, many decades ago when I was a wee toddler, before velcro and polarfleece. Yep, I wore that costume when I was small, as did my two sisters. It's super, super cute now, huh?

Home again

2006-10-31T09:16:00.000-08:00

First boat ride...

... first street food...

... and a 14-day long playdate in Mexico.

Twenty-one Months: That's not so bad...

2006-10-24T19:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

I started this letter while we were in Mexico (you've accomplished the North American Passport Trifecta!), and am now struggling to complete it. It's always so difficult when looking back even a few weeks to keep straight what was then versus now.

The theme for this month is the simultaneous flowering and defeat of fear. You are suddenly afraid of actual things, like the ocean or big snuffling dogs, but not so much that you won't investigate further given enough time and space. You spent the first few days in Mexico watching the ocean from the safety of your Daddy's arms. Each day you were willing to go closer, enjoying the experience of having the waves wash up on our legs before you were willing to subject your own. With each step towards ocean immersion, your Daddy would say, That's not so bad, see? and when you finally went in on your own, we could hear you murmuring That's not so bad fervently to yourself. This quickly changed to Go see ocean, Daddy every waking moment, you were positively addicted.

You are also focused on making sentences. You seem driven to put more and more words together, to put two thoughts or actions together. You repeat our instructions and observations, as if internalizing them for future use, and in the mornings, when you're super-talkative, we wait as you struggle to find the words you want: pillow, hop, spider. Go downstairs, make bottle, Daddy still astounds us with its shear length and multiple instructions.

Your new habit of singing songs to yourself seems to be part of this effort. You remember lines of lyrics and repeat them in tune, as though practicing for conversation. You sing Monkeys jumping on the bed with a curious predilection for the number four, and Rockabye baby, which surprises us since the rhyme fills us with horror and we're not sure where you picked it up. You've mostly mastered the ABCs, occasionally leaving out O-P and always ending with the endearing Y-M-Z. You count to 10, although not always in order, and you are a commanding presence at all times, instructing us to sit down, stand up, put shoes on, take pants off.

Mexico served as a two-week playdate, and that seemed to suit you fine. You asked for Pugawug and H. each morning, and regularly hollered out the names of every person in our party, usually as we centipeded up the beach or down the dusty streets. You remained fairly adult-centered, and sometimes seemed perplexed that our comrades had children of their own to occupy them. However, you remained ready to climb into any empty lap, and dinners frequently found you making the rounds.
Doing things with you for the second time - like visiting the pumpkin patch - remains an amazing opportunity for reflection. Last year, you were happy to sit in the wagon and watch, this year, you were an active participant, charging around the patch and selecting pumpkins. While you remain shy with your peers, you are assertive and direct with us, and we feel lucky for it. You get frustrated with your physical and verbal limitations, but overall you're pretty even-keel, and seem focused on getting out of any temper ruts.

I'll keep this brief, after-the-fact as it is, and simply say that it's been another great month, MZ. Thank you.

All my love,
Mommy

Viva Mexico!

2006-10-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

First off there will be no photos, not only because we didn't bring our laptops, but because we left our camera in the taxi within 30 minutes of arriving in PV. Rookie mistake, we're kicking ourselves.

We're finding that all our travel strategies need to be relearned with a full-on toddler. The whole you watch the bags while I check the car/room/table thing is a lot harder when the third member of our party seems strangely drawn to cobblestone streets and stairways. But it's all coming back quickly and we're loving the feel and smells of another hot, humid climate. PV is lush and in full flower, and MZ is so taken with everything around her. We walk out the door and she hollers ocean! During breakfast on the beach this morning, she exclaimed There's a boat right there! Hi boat, hi boat!

Experiencing this place through her eyes turns it into an entirely new country for us. The heat is strange to her, the tile floors a constant hazard, but the proximity to water is her paradise, too. The place we're staying has two puppies in residence, which we thought she'd love, but she's much more interestd in picking the finest tropical flowers that have dropped to the ground and presenting them to her Daddy. The pool outside our patio is the promised land, the small holes in the clay wall a perfect racetrack for her toy cars, the stones laid in the patio a textural fiesta. A jacuzzi? Magic bubbles! Heaven again.

When we said where we were going, a friend replied that they wanted to go to Mongolia, but wondered who would watch their baby for three weeks. Perhaps because we saw so many places before we met her, our new List is quite different. There are so many places in the world to visit anew with MZ, or to visit differently so that she can enjoy, too. Do we regret the dive trips and crowded taco stands (clearly too much for her young tummy)? Sure, but we can't wait to see the sculpture-lined Malecon through her eyes later this evening.

So much more to tell already, but there's someone waiting for the computer and no doubt she'll be awake from her nap any minute, so ciao, amigos, I'm off to the pool... did I mention there's a waterfall? and cold beer? Heaven.

Vote No on Prop. 85 and other thoughts

2006-10-12T21:16:00.000-07:00

A couple of opportunities to do some good in the world with very little effort have presented themselves recently. Sadly, this suits me right now, sabbaticalled activist that I've become. Perhaps these will appeal to you as well?

Vote no on Prop. 85: Parental Notification
A fellow neighborhood parent had the fabulous idea of holding a virtual bakesale to help defeat Prop. 85. Many of you Californians will remember this parental notification proposition from last year. It's back, and while some of the anti-abortion language has changed, it remains at best a naive attempt to force communication in scenarios some people can't even begin to imagine, and at worst, it's part of a strategy to eliminate a woman's right to choose. I agree with the No on 85 folks: When laws make teenagers choose between talking with parents or having illegal and unsafe abortions, some will turn to self-induced or illegal back-alley abortions, or even consider suicide. The real answer to teen pregnancy is prevention and strong, caring families – not new laws that endanger vulnerable young women. From Jenn's bakesale site:

Proposition 85 would amend the California Constitution to require parental notification for minors seeking an abortion. As a parent, I don't want the state legislating communication between my child and me. As an attorney and mother, I don't have the time to walk young women through the judicial system to obtain an abortion (but I will if I have to).

I hope you will consider making a contribution (bumperstickers count -- let your voice be heard!) and voting No on 85 on November 7th.

Send your used stuffed animals and toys to children in Iraq
This one has been in the blogosphere for a few weeks now, but the power of this simple gesture has not left me. Anyone who's thrown a child's birthday party recently knows how easy it is to round up a collection of wonderful toys that your child will learn more from by giving away than by keeping.
http://www.parenthacks.com/2006/09/spread_the_word.html

Be a Partner in Preservation
This one is super-easy and super-local. Vote for your favorite Bay Area landmark, and the National Trust for Historic Preservation, the World Monuments Fund and American Express will work for its protection through the Partners in Preservation initiative. The hardest thing about this one is choosing between all these great landmarks: the Roxie Theater, the Tilden Park Carousel, the Pigeon Point Lighthouse or the Spreckels Temple of Music, to name a few.

Yarzheit III

2006-10-10T22:33:00.000-07:00

Avi and Ximena, this is our third year without you. We understand better now the mechanics of the Yarzheit, and I am comforted by this opportunity to formally bring you to mind, to hold you close in our hearts and remember what it was like to hold you close in our arms. With time, the pain is not so cutting, does not require the sharp intake of breath that was so much a part of the months following your birth. It’s a dull pain now, a chronic injury that we’ve learned to live with, for the most part.

But the pain is there, the sadness that comes with wondering who you’d be at three. I watched 2.5 year-old twin boys the other day, fascinated by the way they antagonized each other yet never left each other’s sides.

It’s been a busy few months, I haven’t posted as much as I’d like. Our struggles to build our family continue, and I tire of trying to put those thoughts into words and broadcast them over the internet. These days with your sister are so happy, aware as we are of the difference between Zero and One, yet charged with uncertainty and worry.

But in the midst of all of this we come back to your shared birthday. No matter how busy our lives, how distracting our concerns, we light these two candles and devote uninterrupted time to honoring you. Avi and Ximena, your mommy misses you.

MZ discovers pumpkins, and her pockets...

2006-10-07T22:49:00.000-07:00

Here's Farmer MZ doing her rounds at the pumpkin patch...

Found out

2006-10-05T22:55:00.000-07:00

As has been mentioned in these pages, we have several Puppies. We bought them so that Puppy could be laundered in a crisis-free environment, and to stave off a complete breakdown in the event of loss. Puppy is available on eBay, and five seemed like a good number.

There have been a few Double Puppy sightings in the past months. Once MZ was playing with Puppy as I walked downstairs with an armful of laundry poorly concealing Puppy. That's Puppy! she exclaimed. No, sweetie, that's not Puppy, that's a sweater I lied pathetically as I darted down the stairs. Another time she spotted one in the dryer, and I said pretty much the same thing as I practically knocked her down to close the door.

But the other day, somehow there was Puppy on the dining room floor when she came downstairs with Puppy in her hand to make a bottle with her Dad (no, she hasn't suddenly converted, that's what she calls a sippy of warm milk, ironically enough). There was really nothing to be done but tell the truth, although that didn't stop us from hedging through a few terribly executed lies on our way.

Turns out MZ doesn't give a fig if there's one Puppy or 101. She cuddles whatever Puppy she has, and when that Puppy is bofouled in her estimation, she drops him like a bad habit and moves on to the next. When it's time to exchange Puppies, I irrationally encourage her to kiss the dirty Puppy goodbye while R. stages an auction for Top Puppy honors.

The whole thing is an exercise in cognitive dissonance.

This one's for Papa

2006-09-26T14:41:00.000-07:00

Neither R. nor I are sports afficionados in the least. We both played sports as kids and young adults, and I would love to find a way to fit Masters Swimming back in my life. But to say we are detached from the local teams is an understatement, as I realize everytime I get stuck in Giants traffic. This despite a childhood spent cheering on the Golden State Warriors and an adolescence steeped in my high school's Big Three (football, basketball and baseball).

I enjoy watching sports when someone I know is playing, or if it's a celebratory type of game, but R. and I both dislike the hype of professional sports and lack the interest in fitting a team's stats and win:loss records into our heads. We're only half-joking when we wonder who will teach MZ to throw, given that we may never think of it on our own.

Fortunately her three grandparents are all huge fans, so someone will make sure she learns to dribble, throw, and catch. And she learned how TV works by watching Giants baseball with Papa and Mana. Imagine my surprise when she pointed to it and said On, given that we use the television mainly as a conduit for movies and Tivo'd stuff after she's fast asleep

So this pic, in Eli's borrowed hat, was taken expressly to please her grandparents. And especially Mana and Papa, we hope this makes you feel a little better. MZ misses you fiercely.

Twenty Months: How you doin'?

2006-09-25T23:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

Have I mentioned your Jersey accent? People have asked where it comes from, and frankly we have no idea. But now that you're chatting away in 4-word sentences, it's even more apparent.

In the morning, you say Sleepsack off, Daddy, or Downstairs make bottle, Mommy, and it goes from there. You still jibber-jabber, but usually you're commenting on the world around you: two dogs, motorcycle!, bus for kids (school bus), funny Moki. You tell us exactly what you want: Shoes off inside, Runny nose (which you proffer to be wiped), iPod on, Enzo music.

Lately you're obsessed with Enzo music; when his songs are on you tell us, when they're not you announce Not like this in a bid for change. We bought a few more CDs, because as much as I like Cripple Creek, everything gets boring the thousandth time.

You've been dancing to your favorite songs for months, but now you anticipate the verses for some, like Wheels on the Bus and Side of a Mountain Top, and request others, like Moomaway (The Lion Sleeps Tonight) and Dee-do-dah (Song of the South).

Your verbal acuity seems to be helping you transition at daycare. You actually ask for Ana if you haven't seen her for a few days (although you also tell me No Ana on occasion). I accept that there will be days when you cry when I drop you off, but you're always participating when I arrive, and I can often hear you requesting songs through the garden wall. We've also noticed a change in the way you play. Up to now your only interest in blocks has been in knocking down our towers, but now you want to build things. You regularly ask to Play blocks, you spend tons of time building towers off your fire engine, and this morning you pulled out and assembled your wooden train, something you've largely ignored for months. The change is so sudden, we think it must be the way you see other kids play at daycare.

You ask for Enzo and a few choice playmates, but when they're before you, you don't yet know what to do with them. You show signs of wanting to play with kids, but right now the interactions are brief: holding out a hand, saying Hey'o, or perhaps proffering a toy. Then you stare or wander away, on to the next thing.

You've become shy with strangers and when seeing people after an absence. You warm up quickly, but in those first few minutes, you cling tightly and go quiet, which still surprises me a bit. I have to remember not to push you.

This new stranger shyness comes with increasing familiarity with your Tribe. You have such a rich life in that regard, as your Daddy observed, nearly every day someone you love comes by to take you out to do something fun, and when they're not here, you ask for each of them by name. At night, when I tell you what we have planned for the next day, you say Again to whatever includes your favorite people (your grandparents and Aunties especially), wanting to hear it twice or three times.

It seems to us that you've rounded a cognitive bend and you hold your tribe close. With Mana and Papa down with your cold, you ask for them frequently, and parrot back the explanations you've been given as though working it through for yourself: Mana sick, Papa sleeping, Papa's head hurts. When I give you kisses from them at night, you smile sweetly and lean in. All the while asking for Bubbie and your Aunties and anyone else who has made a good impression in recent weeks.

Overall you continue to be a happy kid, and we continue to be completely besotted. Thank you for another delightful month.

All my love,
Your Mommy

She stoops to conquer

2006-09-20T21:41:00.000-07:00

MZ is in love with stoops. She can't pass one by without wanting to rest a bit, or if there are multiple steps, she wants to scale and descend on her own. Stoops are a bit shorter than regular stairs, and she's definitely noticed.

That's how she dinged her nose (no, we didn't pierce it, as one mama asked). Last week, walking up Folsom to pick up our veggies, MZ saw a stoop she couldn't resist. She walked up the three stairs, then down, and demanded Again when I tried to move us along. On the second attempt, she bit it, and I heard a nasty clunk as I lunged for her. I'm mystified that she has a skinned nose and no bump on the head. She cried a bit, and then demanded Again. She was adamant that she would do it on her own, and she did, very carefully and very successfully. Good on her! She's ready for bitterbiking, our mountain biking group of days past, where the general rule is Try three times.

Worlds collide, her timing is perfect. We've been missing the trails these days, and her fascination with bicycles caused us to seek out a bike trailer. R. tuned our bikes and I've scrubbed the hand-me-down trailer into usable condition. We're ready to go!

For the longest time, we didn't miss mountain biking that much. I hadn't been able to mountain bike for a few years, what with multiple consecutive pregnancies and the emotional loading of any activity I could do Not Pregnant. Where those who arrive at parenthood on the Express might be understandably wistful for past "adult" activities, I venture that for those of us who take the Local, we've spent enough time being wistful, as well as angry and frustrated with the the seemingly endless line of can/can't and What's next. For me it was easier to say Fuck it, I'll mountain bike when I'm done with this bus.

And then we had MZ. We were so tickled by her that the idea of leaving her behind so we could ride for three hours on a weekend just didn't hold that much appeal. R. and I have been so aware of the fleeting nature of every stage of this experience. Soon she would be bored of us and we would rearrange our weekends to accommodate separate activities, but until that time, we were happy to centipede along, trying to wring every minute we could out of her infancy.

Now here we are with a kid who loves the idea of bicycles, leans yearningly toward her new tricycle whenever she sees it. We think she'll enjoy riding behind us in a trailer. Granted, we won't be doing any single track with MZ attached, but we'll be back on our bikes, and she'll be with us. Same same but different. And that's pretty damn fine.

I wanna be sedated

2006-09-14T22:40:00.000-07:00

The Illness Amplification System is working fine. We fell into a lull but are finding the old rule applies: whatever she gets, we get worse, about five days later, and wonder how she made it. She was grumpus unlimited for most of the weekend, including a memorable inconsolable hour just before friends arrived for dinner. We didn't know if it was daycare blues, teething or what.

Now I know it was a cold, accompanied by sinus headaches the likes I have never seen before, and a sort of shallow wheezing that produces a deep smoker's cough.

I feel like crap and I'm going to bed.

Daycare Blues, or Analysis Paralysis Again

2006-09-11T14:53:00.000-07:00

I am completely thrown by this situation, more so than anything that's come down the pike. Every day I revisit the current situation, and I'm sure I've considered every angle a dozen times. I'm coming closer to a decision, but I've also set a new record for spreadsheets, charts, pre-dawn reviews and pow-wows.

Miriam's first two weeks were a bit rough, we had her there for half-days and she was already crying when I arrived to pick her up every day. Three hours was about her max, then she'd start asking for me, which would devolve into crying on a caregiver's lap. Fortunately the daycare has a great caregiver ratio and she's always in someone's arms when I arrive.

She didn't -- and doesn't -- seem to hate it there, she even seems sorry to say goodbye. But lately on random days she's been saying No Ana, no kids, and on Monday when I pulled up to drop her off, she started crying hard immediately, even though we'd talked about going to Ana's the night before and that morning. She kept saying No Ana as I handed her over to, well, Ana. After which I called R. in tears, convinced that the decision to put her in daycare for socialization was the stupidest thing I had yet come up with. In life. But when I arrived she was playing in a circle with all the kids, had slept for two hours, which seemed great for a first nap there, and was in good spirits as she toddled over to me. No tears, just a bright smile and Uppy-up.

And we already see changes in her behavior, she says hi to every kid she sees as thought they are bound to be friends, and she's playing with hers toys differently, suddenly she's interested in blocks, Mega-blocks, Quartos, soft blocks, whatever, she wants to stack them, not just knock them over. Is she learning this at daycare, as Mana suspects?

The more complicated factor is that I am realizing I want more than one weekday/week with MZ. I went to the market on Monday, and it was Toddler Foods, everyone had one. And I realized that I could easily get errands done with her, and that she actually really likes being with me even if I don't have a carefully planned kid-oriented outing for her.

Our situation is complicated because MZ is cared for by grandparents two days/week. I wouldn't change this, I think it's great that she gets this opportunity to bond with them. However, I find myself resenting any time I don't get with her, perhaps overly aware of how much she's changing and what a truly great age this is, this mobile, verbal Land Before Two.

So for a minute there I decided I should put her in sharecare one day/week and keep her with me 2 days/week. Then I awoke in the predawn hours wondering if I was crazy to give up a daycare I looked long and hard for and have such a good feeling about. Her daycare seems to provide such a range of activities and opportunities for friendships, which seem more plausible with each passing day.

The thing is, I know it's hard for a child to get used to one day/week of something. If it were 4-5 days, I would know I'd chosen precisely the right provider. But maybe sharecare is easier on her for one day/week than adjusting to a group situation? ie, less different from being cared for by family? And then there's Auntie S who would really like a day with her, too.

I've come to realize, in the predawn hours, that it boils down to a selfish decision about how many days I want to be with her rather than a work imperative or which environment is truly best for her. She's going to be off to school in no time, and that will be good for both of us. So I'll work another year longer on the other end... we'll figure that part out. And we know kids in a range of care provider environments and they're all thriving. Big daycares, small places, nannies, grandparents, SAHMs, and all incredibly happy little toddlers. I'm even getting my head around the idea that MZ could get used to one day/week of daycare, if we start with these two days for a while and she gets accustomed to Ana's.

Now I just have to see if the daycare will go for it...

Vacation booked

2006-08-26T14:39:00.000-07:00

We've booked a vacation! Out of the country! With friends! Countdown begins, so excited, a lovely thing to think about instead of daycare transitions and home repairs and relearning to balance work.

And joy of joys, United airlines and their fleet of changing table-free planes will not figure into the itinerary. Which brings me around to this letter, and the truly fabulous graphic reference linked at the end.

I getchew!

2006-08-25T01:15:00.000-07:00

I getchew!, or I Get You!, is MZ's favorite game. She runs a bit ahead of us, looks back, says I getchew! and starts hauling, shrieking with laughter the closer we get.

Here, MZ in action with Pugawug, who may be playing a different game altogether...

[Cute little video taken down while I figure out why youtube f*s up my layout...]

Nineteen Months Old: Paydat

2006-08-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

I wonder if when we look back, we'll think of this as the month when you began to confound us again. Not since you were a newborn have you presented so much surprise and confusion. You want up, except you want down, you want acqua (oh, yes, you're quite the international), but then you don't. You have found your scream and you use it liberally. And you are talking so far ahead of us that we can't possibly keep up. Paydat? We have no idea, but you say it a lot, especially about toys. We thought perhaps it was a conjunction of Play with this, but you say those words, too, so really, we have no idea.

You can also tell us how old you are, or were, until a day or two ago. Dragging you around from daycare to daycare, you must have heard me say it a bajillion times. So I shouldn't have been surprised when you beat me to the punch with Teacher Paula: 18 months... old, you said, with that delicious pause mid-way through. And you've been saying it since, although now we're trying to bend your ahead around the concept of nineteen months.

I think the day care search went well, but we'll know better next month. Each day I would tell you that we were going to play with kids and who we were going to meet. During the trip to each spot, you would sit in your seat and recite Meet X, play with kids. Then we'd go in, you would investigate with healthy curiousity for about 15 minutes, and without fail you'd spend the rest of the visit on my hip, holding tighter than a koala. But as we left, you would say Thank you and Bye-bye X and if a place made an impression, you might say Meet X again the next day.

We looked at several places, from co-ops to chi chi pre-preschools, and finally arrived at a Spanish immersion in-home care provider whose warmth felt like a snuggly blanket after so many Eh reactions. A week after we visited the place, I found myself telling people I'd decided, before I'd made my de rigeur pro/con table, while Daddy was still away in India. So it seemed the decision was made, I was trusting my gut. Yet I've spent the last three mornings awake and obsessing from 5 AM. MZ, I know this will be good for you, two days with kids in a small, free-form, play-focused environment with loving care providers. I know it's the perfect antidote to all the 1:1 adult attention you receive from your large and loving tribe. But don't ever think I made this decision lightly, it makes me cry to think of how much I will miss you, of the confusion you will experience as you grow used to this new place, of the moments I won't get with you at this delightful age.

Because while you are capricious in the extreme, you are also delightful in every way. You are exploring language and your physical capacity and the world around you. You are teaching yourself to run and jump and throw. You have opinions about everything from what to eat to what to wear to how you want to be held (This way you insist as you shift yourself in our arms) and you are beginning to assert yourself even with other children (you stared a boundary-pressing 3-year old down the other day, without even glancing at me for support, much to my delight).

You scream when you're excited or bored, a high-pitched girly scream that I often cannot resist repeating back to you. You speak full sentences with a curious Jersey accent then fall into jabber. You ask for help when you need it, at the top of stairs or when filling your own spoon with yogurt or soup becomes tiresomely slow. You holler Hey, Mommy from across the room and smile widely when I respond in kind. You're a veritable greeting committee on the sidewalk and people actually stop to chat with you more often than not.

I can't believe someone else is going to enjoy these days with you, and that their relative emotional distance is a feature and not a bug. While I'm excited to begin Work again, the work of raising you has become my dream job.

Love,
Mommy

Enjoy your fiery pit of hell, be-yatch

2006-08-17T21:28:00.000-07:00

What is it about one parent's hell that brings out the smugness in others? And why would anyone mess with parenting karma anyway?

MZ, Auntie D and I tried to go out to dinner tonight. MZ had been asking for Auntie D, she had been missing MZ, and I have been relishing my trips out of the house. So after music class we trundled off to the local sushi joint, where MZ had had such brilliant success with miso soup only weeks ago.

Except that this time, after sharing a bench with us and asking for miso soup by name, when I tried to put a bib on her so she could eat said soup, she melted into a screaming mass of toddlerhood that was horrific and paralyzing to behold. When I tried to take her out of her chair she screamed to be left in. When I left her in, she continued to scream. So I rushed her outside, as the tray clattered to the floor, where she screamed to go back inside. Not just cried, but screamed, a piercing sound that I would do almost anything to stop. Especially on a cold, windy San Francisco evening.

Finally she calmed down and I brought her inside at her request, and she commenced screaming again when we got to our table. Out we rushed, and I was pretty much sure that they were going to need to box up dinner, wondering if they would give me my wine in her sippy cup to go.

There was another woman outside with her toddler, and they gave it their best to distract MZ. When their second adult came outside, I asked if they wouldn't mind going inside to summon Auntie D. They did, but before she could get outside, their third adult arrived, looked right at me and said, "You brought the wrong food." Um, what? I think I made some light reply about that changing every day, and she looked at me smugly and said, "Oh, well I have food I bring just to restaurants. He never melts down."

Okay, one, I have never heard that, and would be willing to try it out, but the Right food changes every freaking day for toddlers, it's like number 2 or 3 on the Toddler Code right after No! And two, how is your smug all-knowingness helping what is clearly a distressing situation for me and my kid? Did you notice that she is screaming? Are there not 150 better ways to offer assvice? Has your toddler really never melted down? Because mine hadn't before tonight, and I really have no freaking idea what to do right now, and when it happens to you, I'm betting you won't either. And it will happen to you, if not now then when they're a teenager. Because the First Rule of Kids is that they are their own people and they will not be controlled.

Coincidentally, I watched a preschooler melt down last night and wondered what I'd do if it were me. Evidently my usual nature was on vacation because tonight I had zero backup plan. I actually tried reasoning with her, because speaking calmly gave me something calm to do. But rationally discussing options doesn't work particularly well with a child who refuses to say the word Yes, so I was pretty much ass out.

Ultimately I went inside and got her some food, assuming that although it was 20 minutes before her normal dinner time, she was hungry. She wolfed it down and asked for more, so maybe that was it, but Auntie D also said she was farting up a storm while she held her, so maybe it was gas. Or maybe it's the five teeth I can feel poking through, or the accompanying diaper rash, or the fact that her Daddy is out of town. Or maybe it's just that she's a toddler and she was done and at that moment screaming was the only way she could remember effectively communicating her displeasure.

In the end, she recovered enough to pour enough yogurt and miso soup on her that I removed her shirt altogether and brought her home in her snapped-up denim jacket. Needless to say, she was not wearing a bib.

A Mother/Daughter Moment

2006-08-16T23:32:00.000-07:00

I don't have a lot of expectations that I will be best friends with my daughter. I didn't go into it that way. After all, I'm one of three daughters and you can't be best friends with all of them. We're close, but not Go Shopping All the Time close. Not We Call Each Other Every Day close.

I rarely think about our relationship past the next few weeks or so. I consider this whole thing such an inexact science, expectations seem fraught with well, expectations, and I know I'm making this up as I go along. I try never to think of adolescence at all except to wonder if I will be working solely to pay private school tuition in the city.

So I was delightfully surprised tonight when I came down the stairs, while MZ was having dinner with her Bubbie, and she pointed at my shirt and said Cute. Bubbie said, Doesn't mommy look pretty? and she said, clear as a bell, Cute.

I was going out to dinner with some mom friends. I was not wearing capri cargo pants and Keens. I was wearing makeup, and shoes with heels, and a new shirt that has sat in my drawer for several weeks while I decided if it was really me.

Suddenly a whole world opened up to me. Maybe some day we would be best friends! Maybe no day would be complete without a phone call, maybe we would shop and lunch and have pedicures.

I'm more of a banh mi girl than a tea-at-the-Ritz lady, I shop mainly under duress. And I hate the phone. But I do love me a good pedicure.

Choose life

2006-08-14T15:01:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy, busy couple of weeks, with life taking the place of blogging. Casa Robmaliam has experienced one too many life cycle events this summer, and I'm getting emotionally strung out, waking at 3-4 AM nightly in a whirlwind of panicky thoughts. I have an idea that blogging about it will help me organize these thoughts, but really, I have to organize my days because right now midnight blogging doesn't hold a lot of appeal. Unless I want to try just going to bed at 3-4 AM to see if that stops my night waking...

MZ is doing marvelously, she's speaking in phrases fairly often, and visibly concentrates on her pronunciation when we don't understand her. She repeats words for us, as often as it takes till we get it, finally raising her voice at us the way we grownups are known to do with people who don't speak our language. She's learning Please and You're welcome, and unfortunately, I'm sorry, a phrase Robert and I use too frequently.

On Saturday we visited the toddler farmers market, dubbed thusly for the high toddler ratio, the presence of street chalk and kid-friendly performers, and the isolation from the actual street. MZ is accustomed to being handed fruit as we stroll through a market, but she doesn't really get the difference between the sample containers we choose from and the gorgeous array of produce out for sale. Shortly after she bit into a not-sample tomato, she spied the grapes. She dove for them as I asked if she could try one, but she was faster than me, and seized one before the farmer could answer. I'm sorry, I told him. Not sorry! Not sorry! I heard her exclaim below me.

I'm looking for daycare for MZ, and that is also exhausting. I'm going to take on some paid work, and I would not, could not take away her days with her grandparents, so she only needs two days/week, but I think the socialization will do her good. Or at least I did, until I started looking. So many people said, "Trust your gut, you'll know when you find the right place." But for a week of visits, nothing moved me. Nothing was terrible, they were all just Eh. Do I really have to settle for eh?

But finally I've found two places I really love, and if they can accommodate us, I'll be very happy with either. And proving that gut has nothing to do with objective spreadsheet rankings (because yes, there are those), these two places are wildly different. More on that when I know where we're headed...

New Day Dawning

2006-08-02T22:36:00.000-07:00

We went out to dinner tonight, just the three of us. Restaurants aren't always relaxing these days, MZ will eat in her highchair but once the meal is over she wants to check the whole place out, and she's always angling for a tour of the kitchen. But tonight we needed a break from the cook-eat-clean routine, which is so much more time-sensitive now that there are three of us.

MZ occupied herself throughout the entire dinner with a bowl of miso soup and a Chinese soup spoon. She fed herself. Yes, she fed her bib and her highchair, too, but she fed herself soup for at least 15 continuous minutes. We were both startled -- physically startled -- when we realized that we'd completed a single, linear conversation in her presence-- the first since she became mobile, I'd guess. It was bliss, rejuvunating, a light at the end of a tunnel of fragmented conversations and fraught end-of-day nerves.

Yes, she had discarded the unwanted tofu cubes on the floor, but that seemed a small price to pay for a little adult conversation in the presence of our adored child.

In Memory of K

2006-08-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

I've known I was going to write this post for almost a week now. But it's been hard to get started, not for lack of time, but for fear of getting it wrong. My cousin K died last week. Unexpectedly, at age 47.

K had MS, she wasn't going to live to be 90, but this is much too soon, and much too unexpected. She leaves a devoted husband, two beautiful, confident, poised, smart young daughters, two parents, a brother and the rest of us. It was not her turn.

As last week progressed to her service, different reasons for grief emerged. Through my own shock, my conviction that someone would call to say there had been a mistake, I grieved for her daughters first. They are roughly college-aged, just the age when we girls emerge from adolescent- and college-induced tension with our moms into a sort of friendship built on respect that is the stuff of legend.

Then I grieved for her husband. K was an avid decorator, it's hard to imagine living one second in their home without being viscerally reminded of his loss. She was a collector and a costumer and a person who entered a room with verve and life and a smile that could truly light a small city. How to learn to live without that sparkling energy?

And of course I grieve for her parents. No one should have to bury their child. We spend their whole lives protecting them, keeping them safe from harm. Who among us wouldn't go first, given the choice? To lose a child you have raised and loved into adulthood, I cannot imagine the grief.

I grieve for all of us who won't enjoy K's smile any longer, or her sharp inherited-from-Nana edges (we all have 'em). We were supposed to become the Dingbat Cousins together, proudly wearing our mothers' zaniness. She was my model for raising daughters: her own are so remarkably centered, surely she'd be my go-to girl for the challenges ahead. I'd taken this all for granted till I saw the photo collages her daughters had created for her memorial. Somehow those brought our loss home to me.

Her memorial was a sight to behold. As we drove up to the church, we could see a trail of cars behind us as if for a concert. There were easily 500 people there, a true celebration of a life. I met people she knew in high school, college, from her kids' activities and her own. And all too frequently on this lovely afternoon, I found myself looking around for K, wondering what bright bold hat she was wearing.

K, there's a big ol' hole at the table now. We miss you.

What we're reading #4

2006-07-27T15:26:00.000-07:00

Fourth in a series... MZ still loves books. If we're sitting down, she'll toddle over, book in hand, and announce "Read it to me." If I'm sitting on the floor, she'll crawl into my lap, to sit cross-legged within my crossed legs -- irresistable! Now that she's talking a storm, she's extremely interested in books that allow her to name what's in the pictures. She's also developed an interest in true story books, which are more entertaining for us, too, except that she wants to hear them over and over. We've introduced a "Three times" rule, telling her last time as we go into Round 3, and she seems satisfied.

And there's lots of new books on her favorites list these days... amazingly, she can ask for each by name, even if by the abbreviated MZ-ism only we recognize.

Zoo Clues Animal Alphabet: This wide-format board book features vibrant, Eric Carle-esque illustrations that start on one page and continue on the flip. MZ loves this one, often announcing the animal just by looking at the hint on the leading page.

Sam's First Words Book: At first this book confused her, with its pictures of rabbits that she was supposed to recognize as people. But now she knows so many of the 125+ words, it clearly gives her a little rush to do this book again and again.

Bus: The wood block illustrations are captivating, the text is spare and rhythmic, and this book fulfills MZ's fascination with buses. Its sister in the series, Plane, became another favorite after our recent flight to Boston. Sadly, these books are out of print, but AuntS found Bus used and we loved it so much we ordered Plane via Amazon Marketplace.

Giraffes Can't Dance: A full-on picture book with lovely illustrations and a sweet story... and lots of animals to name along the way. I forgive the author the occasional atrocious rhyme (barely).

Goodnight, Gorilla: MZ loves this book, announcing minute details on every page. Each of us have our own way of telling this sparely written story, yet she seems to choose it with all of us. I'm curious how R and her grandparents fill in the details.

Time for Bed: This has been a long-time favorite that somehow escaped notice. Now she loves to name the animals and the sounds they make. It's just the right length to get in a good cuddle before putting her down in her crib.

A Color of One's Own: I'm not sure what MZ loves so much about this book -- she doesn't know colors yet and there can't be much she understands in the story. But this is a consistent favorite during her morning sippy of milk, and I enjoy it, too. I love Leo Leonni's illustrations and the sweet story of finding a way to belong.

The Snarky Community

2006-07-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

The Snarky Community is actually an In joke between Tante Judy and me, it started over CSA produce splitting. But I think this is a fair term for the syndrome Meg describes: Why do otherwise rational women become unbearably snarky moms?

I am certainly guilty of thinking (and even declaring, to a choice few) I would never do that! This usually happens about six weeks before I do exactly That. But perhaps MZ is in too young a cohort for the soul-crippling judgements that Meg describes. There's not much you can tell about an 18-month old's personality, they're newly emerged from cocoons, after all.

Yet I hear this story often enough, and one only needs to peruse the comments of your favorite über-blogger to know that Snarky Mommy Syndrome (SMS, not to be confused with the messaging protocol) is a sad reality.

I do believe that SMS is closely related to another syndrome, one I'll call Scolding Stranger Syndrome (SSS), that I've personally experienced and that is wonderfully (if discouragingly) enumerated by Katy Read in the most recent issue of Brain, Child. In this syndrome, complete strangers reveal hisses and fangs at every perceived parental failing, whether it's a child in the back seat who's worked himself out of a seatbelt, or, as in our experience, a parent who chooses to wear their infant in a Bjorn rather than something more in line with the AP faithful.

In Boston last year over the 4th of July, we were taking an early morning stroll when a woman accosted Robert, who had MZ tucked into the Bjorn carrier, snarling that she would never develop properly if she couldn't hear his heartbeat. Never mind that MZ was grinning ear to ear, or that I own four different slings, or that MZ was hardly a newborn anymore, this woman was going to stage an intervention right then and there, and diplomacy was not part of her agenda. She was loaded for bear.

So what makes people go starkers over other people's children? Meg acknowledges that "the stakes of child-rearing are so much higher than anything else we do," and I agree. I also think that the lack of immediate results makes parents a little nutty. By the time most of us are parents, we're used to controlling our world. We're used to developing a plan, executing on the plan, and seeing results. Parenting doesn't work that way (and for some of us, neither does conception, but that's a story for a different post). With parenting, you can do everything right while you're pregnant, and still end up with a disorder diagnosable at birth. You can forego vaccinations, co-sleep and wear your infant and still have an autistic child. You can talk to your preschooler, read to them, teach them Synthetic Phonics, and still have them diagnosed as dyslexic once they hit school. You can eschew time outs, banish Bad from your vocabulary, and refuse to judge their friends and they can still turn into adults who are unable to maintain intimate relationships. You get the idea, there's a damn lot of uncertainty in parenting and in most cases the dreaded diagnoses come years after you've cemented your parenting philosphy. No matter that in most cases the philosophy has no causal relationship to the diagnosis, we're used to being agents of our own destiny and we'll find causality where we need to.

So that goes a bit towards SMS. What about SSS? Why can complete strangers get so worked up about our decisions as parents? I don't have the data points to be certain, but I suspect it's linked to same, these are parents who still live in fear that their decisions were the wrong ones, that there's still time for them to be proved wanting, or that they hate themselves so much for their own failings that they've got to hate you, too.

But I also think that the whole It takes a village thing has conned us into thinking we live in a community, when most patently lack community, and are damned pissed off about it, too. A recent study found that Americans have even fewer intimates than they did 20 years ago. If this is so, then people have fewer people to talk to, but it also stands that we are getting worse and worse at social niceties. There may be a causal relationship in either direction, either we alienate people because we're all a bunch of asshats, or we have fewer opportunities to practice kindness. Either way, alienated people can be insecure people, and we all know that there's nothing meaner than an insecure person. A mama bear protecting her cubs has nothin' on an insecure human. Lashing out with only words for weapons, a human can wreck havoc.

And so we do, on a stratum that can't easily respond, because we're tired and lacking in practice and we don't know jack about what's really going to happen with these kids anyway. We parents, and especially moms, are easy targets. We're raising your future neighbors, and more: if we're falling on the eating disorder/autism/ADHD grenade, then perhaps your kids will be protected. So blame we do.

That's my guess, anyway.

Eighteen Months: Toddler Highway

2006-07-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

Where has my baby gone? In the past month you've morphed into a full-fledged kid, you play with Moki, you pick out clothes, you give us orders, and you toddle away when we call you, laughing maniacally at your forced game of chase. You remind me of Moki when he nips Yudi's tail, then chases him when he runs away: We're playing! I had no idea how quickly you would go from newborn-in-arms to this independent little person, if you didn't still like to cuddle so much, I'd be utterly lost.

You still cuddle, tucking your head into our shoulders, sometimes tapping us gently, other times holding on tight. In the mornings, you still snuggle in for a sippy of milk and a few books, but in no time, you're wandering the floor, bringing us found objects, sometimes dropping others along the way, which results in involved searches for a missing shoe or the surprise of a set of iPod headphones in the garbage can. We've taken to closing the gate at the top of the stairs on our way back with your bottle, so that when you announce Get down we can enjoy another 15-20 minutes of lounging.

We haven't quite seen a temper tantrum yet, but we've seen temper, and frustration. We're learning to help you transition out of activities instead of simply picking you up and carrying you off the way we used to. We say goodbye a lot: Bye bye zoo, Bye bye toys, Bye bye park, and it works remarkably well -- you've picked it up too, saying Bye bye helicopter or Bye bye ocean as we drive. You've been known to say Again to helicopters, and while we did a double-take when a 'copter turned and came back the other day, you looked as though everything was right with the world.

You also like word play. You love your Quiet LOUD book, so when you seemed to be confusing bicycles and motorcycles on a recent hike, we told you that Bicycles are quiet, motorcycles are LOUD. You giggled Again until we were completely tired of the distinction and resorted to singing songs with you instead (you particularly love Do You Know the Muffin Man and Wheels on the Bus).You're speaking in phrases now: Up/Down we go, Get down, All bored, Read it to me, Other hand and the borderline Stop it! which comes out as snop eet (often accompanied by The Heisman) and which we find so irresistible despite ourselves that your Daddy nudges you constantly in the hopes you'll say it. Tonight, as often happens when it's just you and me during dinner prep, you declared Uppy-up as I was chopping vegetables. I hugged you and told you I was cooking dinner and you wandered away mumbling oo-ing dinner. You will repeat almost any phrase when the mood hits you, and sing Ashes Ashes All fall down to admiring audiences everywhere.

Of course, your pediatrician doesn't necessarily believe your verbal skills. She paused her examination to look indulgently at me when I said you were starting to put together sentences. You were so undone by the promise of shots that you barely said a word, so I'm sure she thinks I'm one of those moms who hears Latin or algebra in every ga-ga-goo.

If it weren't for the shots, your 18-month appointment would have been downright mellow. Usually I start my list of questions six weeks out and have filled half a page by the time we get there. This time I had just two: when to start using toothpaste and what's the new dosage of Benadryl, you know, just in case. You had already overcome The Worst Case of Diaper Rash Ever, and by all objective measures you seem to be doing marvelously. You're holding firm at 25th percentile for weight at 22 lbs 11 oz, 35th for height at 31 inches, with a strong showing in the head category: 95th percentile. Since we know your Daddy has a 98th percentile head, no one's alarmed by this.

Of course this doesn't stop me from occasionally obsessing on obscure conditions affecting early-talking, late-walking babies with ginormous heads and anemone feet, but I've finally accepted this as an affliction of parenthood.

We can't control the future, but right now you're a healthy happy toddler and we wouldn't change a thing.

All my love,
Mommy

Girl fight!

2006-07-20T22:17:00.000-07:00

Bet that grabbed your attention, it always does. And sadly there seems to be a never-ending pipeline of women ready and willing to engage in the battle. Witness Amy Sohn (and yes, I think if you're going to hit her articles or blogs you should get there via Mr. Nice Guy's rejoinder), a writer for New York Magazine and the latest to bag on SAHMs, with more vitriole than most.

I am so tired of journalists with flexible schedules tirading against the evil of unfulfilled SAHMs. These are women who evidently chose well for parenthood, because there's a model for working at home, for working part-time, for having some balance in work and the rest of life. I'm not saying journalism is an easy field, or that any mom can work part-time and advance, but at least it's not bleeding edge to work from home, to create a scenario in which one needs just two days of childcare each week. Ms. Sohn has her foot in both camps, and as a result she can't really pretend to understand the pressures of either.

Yet she's inspired to rake SAHMS and their (our) children over the coals with so much hostility that she's either in need of the meds she so derides, or she's angling for a book deal with a naked desperation that is uncomfortable to watch.

Babies/children [of SAHMs] pick up on all of this neurotic energy and grow up to be really disturbed individuals, totally incapable of making decisions on their own. They don't play with other kids; they just play with Mom. They don't learn how to solve problems on their own or fall on their ass or all the things they're supposed to learn because Mom is constantly shielding them from danger.

Really disturbed individuals? And you are?

This Mommy Wars crap continues to get published for two reasons: our society has an unquenchable thirst for chick fights, and mainstream America is totally devoid of class consciousness. How else to explain a journalist who makes such shallow observations about total strangers she hears for minutes (or seconds, because her reactions are so worrisomely visceral), and sweeping statements about their psyches and their children's psyches? How else to explain her talk about the ethnic and social identity of her nanny as if all women could breazily hire a highly qualified care provider, and then add a day or two whenever their child becomes an inconvenience?

Of course there's some truth to her observations, being a SAHM can be isolating and being a high-performing professional in a slower-moving world can lead to an obsession with meaningless details, but I believe the vast majority of us are capable of mid-course corrections, and that there are just as many traps on the other side among exhausted, working-too-hard-at-everything moms. Not that I would presume to guess at those, since my brief days of 50-hour work weeks plus being a mom are a bit too distant for reasonable observations.

Look, moan all you want about your own reality. But Amy Sohn, you hardly read like someone who's got it all figured out. And really, where our childrens' psyches are concerned, it seems karmically unsound in the extreme to cast stones so freely.

Dinky Hocker shoots her iPod

2006-07-17T22:50:00.000-07:00

I admit that Casa Robmaliam routinely shows up unfashionably late to the technology party, especially for two people who work(ed) in technology. So the whole evangelical iPodism that's taken over our house? Smile indulgently. But now that I have my own, it seems I must stay up late adding all our CDs to the library, chop chop.

And so I get to catch up on blogs I haven't read in weeks, and some new ones I've never read but that were linked from blogs I love, and if you've ever spent anytime reading blogs, you'll understand me when I say that now that I'm off the smack (being several weeks behind on my favorite blogs) what's gonna get me off the methadone (the iPod, for those of you who are still shaking your heads about the smack)?

Anyway, I found this, and think it's utterly worth sharing. Freakin' brilliant, actually.

But she looks like such a girly-girl!

2006-07-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

Today MZ picked out her own outfit. No, really, she toddled over to the pile of clothes I was folding and picked out this dress (notice the pinkness of this dress), pulled it out of the pile and said On. So that's what she wore to the rec center, where she ran Bubbie ragged pushing her around the basketball court in a large plastic wagon.

Yes, this is an adorable milestone and I'm proud that she's demonstrating preference, an aesthetic sense and will. But I'm not much of a shopper myself, so the fact that my not-yet-18-month old daughter picked out her clothes, and they were super-pink and, well, a dress, kind of freaks me out.

And yes she needs a haircut, I know that, but no, we're not cutting those curls anytime soon. We prefer to pretend that she's learning to appreciate barrettes, funky, cool and often sweet barrettes lovingly made by her Ma'na, as she flings them hither and yon. Clearly this photo was taken on a yon day.

Speaking of Ma'na and haircuts, she's pretty impressive in her refusal to listen when I tell her not to bring them up, no trims, no scissors, no nothing to do with cutting MZ's hair. I grew up with the imposition of the Dorothy Hamill, and the character it built? Not so much. Inevitably our girl will experience the lifelong pain of cyclically growing out her hair, why not start now? Anyway, my admonishments have graduated from subtle to straight-out Shut up to no avail.

Tante Judy recently scolded me, We don't say shut up in our house, but here at Casa Robmaliam, when we're tired and grumpy, we do. We evidently say a lot of other things, too, because when MZ woke up this morning mumbling in her crib, Robert and I looked at each other, eyes wide, and said Is she saying Oh, shit? We're pretty sure the answer is yes, because she said it again this morning when she dropped something. She's using phrases in context! Oooh, but they'e not socially acceptable phrases. I'm doing my absolute best to ignore this like it never happened. I will myself to keep my head straight, my breathing even, to continue what I was doing as though I didn't just see years of playground ostricization in our future. She gets big hurrahs for every new word and phrase, and this one is falling on deaf ears, so help me.

You're thinking, Dolts, didn't you learn from the eff-bomb? Well, yes, I hardly ever say it in front of her anymore. But oh, shit, that's my personal little temper tantrum right there, and they didn't used to call me Amy Angry for nothing.

Clearly we have a lot to learn about living with a mimic.

PS If you want to read someone who really knows how to write about their kid swearing.

Home again

2006-07-05T21:57:00.000-07:00

I had an idea that this was going to become a nice long post about a wonderful trip East to visit cousins, hang on the beach, explore Boston and enjoy each others' company. But like journal-keeping, I find blogging about anything but the most immediate past almost impossible. If it didn't make the blog in the moment, skip it cuz it ain't gonna happen, at least not in any compelling way.

It was a great trip, if not altogether relaxing. We learned that MZ is a trooper when it comes to travel, even when she's exhausted she's up for the adventure. We learned that naps matter less now that she's so engaged in her world. She still needs sleep, but an hour here or there doesn't matter the way it used to, when a missed nap could kick off three nights of recovery. We learned that she loves water of any kind, waterfalls, waves, puddles, but that she does not love being knocked down by waves. No again for that. We learned that language seems to prevent many a temper tantrum; when she seemed at the end of her rope, she'd whimper home and we could talk about when we were going home and what fun things we had in store till then. We could give her the choice between two menu items and she would choose. She wowed us by mastering ocean, harbor, boats and airplane in a matter of hours, and repeating them at every opportunity. We learned that she adores her Deb and that she appreciates a good canoli.

Seventeen Months: Another country heard from

2006-06-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

Dear MZ:

Why, yes, that is a backwards baseball cap. You put it there yourself. In the last month, your independence and sense of style seem to be going hand in hand. You walk, you dance, you practice running in place. You touch fabric and jewelry and declare them pretty. You love to wear my baseball caps – backwards – and try on my shoes. In fact, you regularly lug our shoes from one room to another. I don't know if this has anything to do with style, if you are selecting or rejecting our wardrobes, but it is adorable, especially when they’re your Dad’s Size 12s in either hand.

You are also gracious, yet insistent. When the manager at TJs gave you a balloon, you said thank you and added a wee as we wheeled off into the aisles, and you bowled over the impossibly Goth checker by thanking him every time he dropped a bag into our cart. You occasionally attempt You’re welcome, and when you really, really want something, we hear a Please, or MoreAgain, a fusion of More and Again that expresses your urgency perfectly. And today at the park, you picked up a colorful ball that belonged to another toddler, and I told you it was Not ours. Ours you said with conviction, thrusting it at me to hold while you explored the slide.

Now that you’re more mobile, you demonstrate that you know how to work a room: when we have people over, especially family, you go from one to the other, offering your cheek for kisses, your forehead for bumps, throwing your arms around knees before moving to the next conquest. While you’re still shy with your peers, I’m learning that the turtle wins the race. At the park, the children’s zoo, the playgroup, there is inevitably a toy that everyone wants, and you will not be among those who march up and take it. But frequently, in the mêlée that is a playground, you emerge with the toy after all, and are getting smart about not giving it up. You spent a good 20 minutes on this tractor after stepping nimbly in to capture it from squabbling sibs. And you’re more and more interested in other children, toddling up to say Hi or announcing Emmett or Henry at likely suspects.

Your verbal skills have catapulted you from the baby of the family to a voting member, albeit with some constraints. When I give you a choice between egg and cheese toast, turkey and tofu, you make your call. I no longer throw away sippies of milk, because you tell me when you want one and when you don’t. You ask for the park, and when you’re done, you say Home. And every morning you ask for coffee, every evening you ask for wine, with an optimism that confounds us but does little to lessen our resolve. Some day you’ll understand...

You still take in everything around you, sometimes to your detriment, it seems. While there've been no more night terrors, you show clear signs of overstimulation when we thrust you into too many new situations consecutively. I've learned that you will enjoy almost anything if we do just one major activity between naps and sleep, and as a result I enjoy our time together tremendously. I am learning to move more slowly, to take in more of each moment, to accept that life is not my To Do list, finally. You are continuing to teach me what is important rather than what is urgent. And while at first I was utterly exhausted by your energy and short attention span, I am now beguiled by your urge to move, and by your sometimes incomprehensible agenda as you arrange your world with utter seriousness.

Miriam, thank you for the laughter and warmth you bring into our lives. We love you more than we can say.

Your Mom

Summer in the City

2006-06-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

I have no idea how to dress myself for this weather, much less how to dress a child who might decide to switch back to crawling at any moment. Damn, it's hot here in SF, and you know it's hot when it's hot out at the Zoo.

But MZ kept her hat on and was utterly tickled by the prairie dogs, meer cats and the Mouse House in the Children's Zoo. We didn't go to the petting zoo, since R. made me promise he'd be there for her first face-to-face with a goat. And she still thinks the neighborhood dogs are way more entertaining than a rhino's butt (we've only ever seen him from the rear, what's that about?) or even a lion pacing his enclosure.

However, the choo choo? I need only to recall her smile as we rolled through the zoo on that train to banish any doubts about my good fortune to be home with a toddler.

My Baby Left Me Walking

2006-06-12T21:10:00.000-07:00

MZ is all about walking these days and it doesn't freak her out anymore. She's cautious, thankfully given where we live, and she doesn't walk straight into traffic but walk she does, and walking she tells whoever will listen.

I'm reminded that when young children learn a new skill, they may leave others for a while. Her word acquisition has slowed down (although bathroom, good (referring to food)and cat water are new favorites), and she seems to forget or confuse her words these days. She'll say open for close, or just Again when she wants something, instead of saying agua or Read it.

Her gait is a wonder to behold. She's the spitting image of Grandpa Dave with her hunched shoulders, leading belly, stiff knees and skinny legs. If you didn't have the good fortune to meet Grandpa Dave, think Fred Sanford or even Vito Spatafore.

Straus-shmaus, let's talk about the cherries

2006-06-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

Well before I became a parent, a dear girlfriend once confessed that when there was just a little of some particularly good sweet in the house, she would eat it herself and give her son a handfull of chocolate chips. "He doesn't know the difference," she rationalized.

As someone with a picky palate and fierce cravings, I admired this attitude. Despite the Straus/Benoît obsession, I always planned to follow it myself. So now that cherries are finally looking good, I'm getting a chance to practice this philosophy in earnest.

For those who forget easily, we had a horribly rainy Spring. This did no favors to farmers, and apparently the California cherry crop was not spared. It's coming in late, small and spendy; $7 per pound for farmers market cherries is not unusual. To my mind, this is dear fruit indeed. But cherries are something I will happily eat till I have a stomach ache more than once each season. So a few times in recent weeks, I've carefully picked a pound of the darkest, plumpest Bings and brought them home to hoard. I dutifully slice MZ a bowl of organic grapes while I chow down on my luxurious cherries.

I've offered her cherries once or twice. She likes them fine. But as my friend opined, she really doesn't know the difference.

Them old walking blues

2006-06-04T21:35:00.000-07:00

MZ is walking, she's walking up a storm. But it's messing with her head.

Friday night we went to early family services. This is a new service, grown out of the single-ish late services we enjoyed in our pre-MZ days. There's lots of singing, musical instruments and stories to bring it home to the younger audience, and the keg has been replaced by cheese sticks and Cheerios. MZ loved it, she spent the whole time roaming the room and dancing her little hip-waggling, knee bopping dance. I couldn't wait to blog on how heart-swelling it was to watch her, how happy she looked to be on her own across the room, how it felt to be connected in joy to a place we found in grief.

That night, less than two hours after she went to sleep, she woke up screaming. She was inconsolable for 20 minutes, didn't even want Puppy. She was able to tell us that nothing hurt, and as she calmed down she just said "Hug, hug, hug" over and over again. She didn't want to go back to her crib, she just wanted to lie prone on my body, and then spoon with me, so for the first time in a while we had a family bed.

She had a HUGE day on Friday, we fit in two activities before noon. On our way to a music circle I thought about heading home for lunch, but I really wanted to see the other moms I planned to meet there. I figured she'd get a good nap before services, which would be a moderately familiar environment. She woke up after a not-quite-long-enough nap, but we pushed onward. She seemed genuinely proud of herself and happy all evening.

However, a little research makes me think her waking was an episode of night terrors, which can be attributed to periods of stress. So we took it easy over the weekend, trying to do mostly familiar, low-key activities. We figured Sunday was a shoe-in, a playgroup with her fellow Bernal tots. But lo, she was a delicate flower that morning. Anxious and easily frustrated, she spent a lot of time looking for me and asking for hugs. She kept up the walking, but it was clear that this new vantage point is not yet comfortable for her. She craves the freedom of a stroll down the hall, but isn't sure that's where she wants to be when she gets there. Less steady on her feet than the rest of her gang, she yields space and toys quickly to her more sure-footed peers.

While we were there, a friend and fellow parent asked what about our daughter we are most proud of. It was a good question, generating a pleasant buzz of conversation in the room, but we were a bit nonplussed. Her verbal skills seemed like the obvious answer, but neither of us take much credit for that. And when we talked about it later, we agreed that we don't feel a lot of ownership over MZ's development. She's funny and outgoing with adults, less sure with her peers. She's very deliberate, and a keen observer, she takes in everything and now that she's verbal, she's confirming that the wheels truly have been turning. Today when she asked for my water bottle, she surprised us by being able to drink out of it fairly well, although it had no spout and flowed more quickly than her sippies. When I commended her on being a big girl, she announced "Coffee" as though she were ready to go all the way. The child's no dummy, and I venture to guess she'll be quite a negotiator in the coming years.

But right now, I feel like everything we see is a window into her personality, which we don't quite know yet. We're taking copious notes to learn how to support her, to learn how to reinforce her strengths and enable her to love herself as much as we love her.

It's a little daunting to realize that she may be more shy than either of us, and more intense. R. and I talk about how we'll parent her, how we outgoing, opinionated people will learn to give her time and space for her thoughts to be heard, for her to make her own decisions. It would be easiest to push her into the ring, but who would that serve?

In a few short weeks, we've already backed off the ever-ready hug-on-demand. If we're just hanging out, it's hers for the asking, and ask she does, when anxious or happy. But if it's a clear bid for attention, we'll let her know she has to wait a minute, or that she can come to us, or that she's doing fine on her own. And she seems to get it (or she's just below the temper tantrum milestone). But in these challenging moments of transition, we hope that keeping the hugs coming will give her the confidence to take the next step on her own.

Speaking of Puppy Gone Missing

2006-06-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

Seeing the picture of Puppy on the blog has given me pause everytime I've looked at it. It started off as general trepidation, and gradually emerged as a full-blown fear: what if someone -- the wrong someone -- read this blog and saw Puppy and went on eBay and got one (like I did for Backup Puppies #1 and #2) and used it to tempt my beloved daughter? Would she really resist that someone, particularly at this age when she's too young for talk of Stranger Danger and will say Hi to anyone, whether they're looking her way or not?

Unlikely, but it could happen. Seemed like the wrong chance to take, so instead you now have a pic of Clifford, a character from PBS to whom we've not yet been introduced. But you get the idea.

Isn't she worth it?

2006-06-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

Attracted to the local, artisan, high-culture and low-sugar benefits of Saint Benoît yogurt, I've been buying it for MZ, along with Hodo Soy Beanery's tofu omelette and Prather's no-nitrate free-range beef hotdogs. These are all good sources of protein, given that's the one food group she disdains, but they're also pretty spendy. The yogurt, which comes in lovely little ceramic tubs (aesthetics are everything, really), seems rather excessively dear for a toddler. We've been going round on whether we should really buy this for her or return to the Straus Organic yogurt, which is also local, plus it's organic. But objectively, it's not as tasty, and don't we want to encourage discriminating tastes in our daughter? And given the opportunity, don't we want to support a local, sustainable small business?

The thing is, I have this idea in my head that the Saint Benoît yogurt is somehow better for her. So last night, as she polished off the last container, I asked R. what he thought, should I buy more or go back to the Straus? And he replied, "Will it make her smarter? Will it make her more social? Put her at the top of the class?"

He was joking, of course, but there it was, my secret fear in almost any decision I make, all day long. Should I go to the gym or take MZ to playgroup? Should I get the plastic-lined mattress pad or a pricey, unwieldy battened organic cotton one? Should I buy organic, hormone free cheesesticks or Stella Mozzarella? Get home to nap her on time or run one more errand? Feed her (more) crackers or make a whole-grain pilaf? Run the sippy cups through the dishwasher? All wooden toys? Home-made diaper wipes? A second rinse cycle? Go back to work? I could go on and on...

When I take a step back, I know that none of these decisions is that urgent, and that it may be other decisions I make much more blithely that cause real harm. But in the moment, it can be paralyzing. I've never had such total responsibility for another human being, plus a baby challenges my environmental and consumer behavior like nothing else.

And let's face it, I'm a results-driven Type A who's used to fairly rapid validation that I've made the right decision. Parenthood is so not like that. Parenthood is trial and error, and doing the best you can, and hoping that a ready hug makes up for the other stuff. From a distance I know that.

But the inner dialogue, full of doubts, second-guesses and indecision, damn, sometimes it can take all day.

Sixteen Months: Walking! Really Walking!

2006-05-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Miriam,

In the last week, you started walking! Perhaps it was your pediatrician’s threat to send you to a physical therapist (you seem well on your way to a pathological fear of doctors), whatever it was, you did not start with two, nor twelve. You started with 38 baby steps, counted and duly reported by your Bubbie. And you’ve been doing a lot of walking ever since, although mostly while holding a hand. You wake in the morning, have your milk in bed with us, then announce Walking, making a distinction between this new enterprise and that outdated, holding-on-to-two-fingers Bawking thing. Throughout the day, Walking is declared, and it’s time to go. When you stumble, you order Hug, and we do, and then onward. You are freakin’ irresistible. And your dad and I are anxious to get one last video of your crazy skootch before you leave it behind forever.

Even without the walking, this would be an eventful month. Two more teeth are finally breaking through; they started exactly 1.5 weeks after you were perilously grumpy at your dad’s reunion. You’re on your way to six teeth and we finally have the signs down cold: slight fever, drippy nose, grumpiness as though we are literally standing on your last nerve, and a telltale diaper rash, and a week and a half later: teeth.

Speaking of cold, you comprehend extremes of temperature, declaring anything that’s not room temp hot. You also know On and Off, Open and Close, and you can distinguish between I and you in conversation, as in when I say You got it as I hand you a ball on the swing, you reply I got it. And you finally say Cheers!, clanking your sippy against our glasses with new vigor.

You’re all about vigor these days, actually. You slam pots, you wham your sippy on your table, you bang books and knock down towers of blocks with exclamations of Oh no! that are clearly for our benefit, since we love the way you say oh no and you demonstrate not one iota of regret. You have healthy fear, I watch other toddlers charging over the edges of the play structures at the park and am amazed that you show such care. But you like to bang things. And you love cars and balls. You’re learning the finer distinctions of trucks, buses, fire engines and street cars, but mostly you just like things that move, and wheels move. So do balls, and you’re teaching yourself to throw.

We’ve purposely not given this lesson because 1) as you're bound to know by now, neither of us do so well with the ball sports, but more importantly 2) we’ve seen what happens when creatures with no sense of consequences learn to throw and we love our cats and want the sliding glass door to remain intact and in general are no fans of the pandemonium created when virtually anything can be launched. But there you are, teaching yourself to throw, occasionally releasing when the ball is still behind your ear, reminding me so much of myself that I wonder what possessed me to reproduce. All I can say is, I’m sorry.

Just when I think you’re on your way to being the planet’s most disillusioned tomboy, you call for Puppy and I’m reminded of what a girl you are. Puppy, a gift from your Great Grandma Lil, is your favorite single toy, you hug him and kiss him and when I hear you wake in the night mumbling Puppy I can picture you finding him and hugging him before you go back to sleep. You will carry him anywhere we let you and while he’s not allowed to the park, to meals or in the pool, he may be what got you through the rough two weeks before you stopped crying at the daycare center at our gym. You’re clutching him when I leave, and you still have him when I return, and it’s time you knew that we actually have three Puppies because none of us wanted to contemplate the disaster that would be Puppy Gone Missing.

And you’re an artist to boot! We signed you up for an art class with your Nana and Papa, and you've produced some lovely works. You hate getting your hands dirty (when your hand is covered with sand at the park you hold it out to whoever’s closest, with a preemptive Thank you to indicate you’d like it brushed off), so finger painting is out. But you've created collages and water colors and even some sponge art and we are cataloguing each piece for the transformation of Casa Robmaliam into the Gallery of MZ.

In closing, this month has been an adjustment, but we’ve made it back to our happy place. I’m so proud of all your recent accomplishments that sometimes I think my heart will explode. I love you, sweet pea.

Your Mom