Spring Break Part II: T - I - Single G Brrrrrrr

Nothing springy at all about Part II.

After a temperate weekend in Marin County where even the weather is richer than average, Carrie, Amari, and I headed north towards the Sierras and a visit with Babaji, which is both a term of respect my dad has adopted in place of grandpa and a not-so-hit single from Supertramp's 1977 album Even in the Quietest Moments. Much like the song, our visit to South Lake Tahoe was nice, even meaningful, but failed to chart in both the U.S. and the U.K., which is only because it was cloaked beneath a thick, powdery layer of April snow.

We drove north on Monday, April 19th - my 39th birthday - a day I now share with historic events such as the shoot out in Waco, Texas, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the matrimonial vows of two of my dearest friends. I think there's a joke in there somewhere, but I don't want to alienate any of my readers. I have a lot of Branch Davidian fans.

So we headed north despite the forecast of rain and snow, hoping that the old adage "If you don't like the weather in the mountains wait five minutes" would hold true. Monday was clear skies and the drive uneventful. Amari continues to be a happy traveler - especially with coddling parents who climb into the backseat at the slightest sounds of distress. Carrie, who packed a large collection of toys, spent the last leg between Placerville and Tahoe waving them in Amari's face, endlessly distracting her from distraction with distraction. We really are just grown up babies aren't we?

When we arrived at Casa de Babaji, everyone was anxiously awaiting our arrival - at the airport in Reno. I mistakenly thought my dad and Brandy were going to be home Sunday night, but we received a call from them as we pulled into their driveway saying they'd just flown in from Boston and would be home in a couple of hours. We settled in and waited, marveling at the amount of snow still on mountains across the lake, and watching a few innings of the Giants disastrous series sweep in San Diego.

When Babaji and Brandy arrived they took us out to Indian food for my birthday. I know I said in Part I that I don't really care about my birthday, but the truth is I do like to at least acknowledge it in some way - like with baseball and samosas. It seemed fitting having been born in India 39 years earlier. The food was excellent and the restaurant was wall-to-wall mirrors, which meant Amari was easily entertained with her own reflection - whom I've affectionately named "her best friend." It's my way of preparing her to be an only child, which I'm certain will be the subject of a future blog. Good thing she absolutely loves her new BFF. 

When we woke up Tuesday morning there was an inch of fresh snow on the porch. It also happened to be Granny C's birthday (which is why we sometimes lock horns), so I took a stick and a moment to send her our love just in case she was feeling the way I had the day before.

We spent the next two days watching the snow fall, gather, melt, and fall again. Much like their visits to see us earlier this year, being with my dad and his family was effortless. We all began our days differently, separately, then watched Amari-vision throughout the day, and spent evenings playing Apples to Apples and listening to the Giants suck. On Wednesday, the weather broke just long enough for us to get a walk in by the lake. Amari's warm weather gear was cute, fashionable, and practical in case we needed to be visible to rescue choppers. Even if it hadn't cleared up I had plans of dressing her up and sitting her in a chair made of snow for a fashion shoot. The walk, I think, was much more comfortable and far less traumatizing.

Much like Tiggers, the wonderful thing about Amari is she's the only one.

I have surprisingly long arms

South shore near The Keys

I haven't written enough about the experience of being with my dad now that I'm a father. It has been an authentic healing experience for me. I see how he adores Amari, volunteers to take her when she's hurting, tired, or hungry, and I imagine he must have been at least that committed to me when I was little. I've been told by many that he was a wonderful father to us when we were little, and I believe I would not have the natural parental instincts I have had it not been for the love of both my parents. Although their relationship began to fall apart when I was four years old, they gave me enough love in those early years to sustain a lifetime. Their separation and the years that followed had a profound impact on who I  became, who I am, but the foundation of love - to the best of their ability - was there all along, that part of my being that always believed, even in the darkest of moments, that I was going to be okay. 

I know that's easy to say now, but I recently received an e-mail from my friend, Diana, who shared a similar faith saying, "I have never flinched at any of your life stories, be them hard or easy, that you have shared with me. I have always had this steady intuition about you, it was kind of a.... "I know" that your world turns out okay." I do not believe that either one of us would feel that way had my fundamental needs for acceptance an love been met when it mattered. Thank you, Mom, and thank you, Babaji, for in the words of Supertramp, especially in the quietest of moments, you managed to "give a little bit of your love to me." Because of that, I have something to pass on to Amari, and that, I believe, will make all the difference. 

Tomorrow - Spring Break Part III: Homeward Bound or Old Friends and Jumparoo's

Spring Break Part I: Logizomechanophobia

Wow. English might be a difficult language to learn, but its attention to detail is flabbergasting (literally to flap around with surprise). If you ever find yourself unreasonably or excessively fearful of something - anything - just click on the link below to normalize your feelings with the knowledge that enough people share your worldview that there is a word for your experience. Sometimes just naming it makes you feel better...

http://www.phobia-fear-release.com/list-of-phobias-and-their-meanings.html

Here is an example of three phobias in a row taken just from the P's:

Pteronophobia - Fear of being tickled by feathers
Pupaphobia - Fear of puppets
Pyrexiophobia - Fear of fever (this last one doubles as "Fear of glass cookware popular in the 1920's")

In his first inaugural address in 1933, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt offered hope to a nation mired in economic depression by reminding us that "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror." Turns out that fear of fear, or Phobophobia (that's ridiculous), isn't nameless after all. Nonetheless, good quote, great speech, even better president - despite my handiphobia (fear of crippled people).

But enough about words - let's hear about the much anticipated, greatly deserved first official Fishman Family Vacation. Just like the Griswald's in 1983 (holy shit I'm old), our family piled into a station wagon and headed south (then east and north) with the hopes of some day making it to Wally World - or at least my dad's house in South Lake Tahoe. Last Saturday afternoon we packed and prepared as best we could and headed out on a six hundred eighty mile adventure. Although Carrie was a little nervous about Amari being in the car for such long periods of time (also known as infantoclaustrocarophobia (kidding)), I was confident that with our powers combined we could ensure a relatively smooth trip.

Our first stop was Marin County - my old stomping grounds, my childhood home - where we spent two nights with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Jessica. Although I've grown used to Amari taking center, left, and right stage to everything in our lives, I was a little surprised when Carrie asked, "So is it Jessica's birthday party tomorrow?" referring to the BBQ planned for Sunday afternoon.
"Actually, it's mine," I said.

"Oops," Carrie replied, "I got you a baby. Hope you like it." Fortunately for her, I love it - Amari is the prototypical gift that keeps on giving. See "Spring Break Part III" for our romantic wedding anniversary later that week.

Sunday morning Carrie, Amari, and I went to see my friend Sara's newest addition to her family. It had been nearly five years since I'd seen Sara and it took all of five minutes for me to remember why I've always treasured her friendship. She is the perfect balance of funny, thoughtful, intelligent, and down-to-earth. It was more than just picking up where we'd left off, it was this seamless integration of these monumentally new people in our lives - spouses and children - coupled with the effortlessness of being with a true friend. As we drove away from her house I turned to Carrie and said, "I'd forgotten how much I love Sara. She's definitely in my top ten favorite people of all time." I paused, then quickly corrected myself, "Actually, top five."

When we arrived at Sara's, her three month-old son, Aleksandr, was sleeping peacefully in a swing. He looked so handsome in his grown-up clothes and although his face was serene, his body was so straight - arms tucked neatly by his side - that he initially reminded me of a baby-shaped nutcracker - an image that quickly disappeared when he woke up and smiled. Papa Kiril returned from work shortly after we arrived and we spent the rest of the morning snacking on banana bread (that Sara fully intended to make from scratch) and catching up on birthing, parenting, and life in general. I hope we will not let five years pass again between visits, Sara. Here's a picture of the beautiful Roditi family.

Although the afternoon would be hard-pressed to top the morning, the Freedoms arrived with their children - Hero (age 5) and Poet (nearly 3) - whose boundless, free-spirits offered endless entertainment for us adults and a sweet contrast to the acrimony lingering between some of the guests. Hero, sometimes suffering from incurable buyer's remorse at having a little brother, developed a very strong, sororal affection for Amari. At one point, towards the end of the evening, she hugged Amari tightly and said, "I will take her home and make her my little sister." She didn't even recant when I reminded her that she would have to change her and feed her. "No - Mommy will change her and I will feed her," she said confidently.

As is often the case, the most memorable event of the day was also the most traumatic. Upon returning from a trip to the grocery store I found a very distressed Carrie holding a somewhat damaged Amari close to her bosom. Amari looked distressed, a fresh scratch on her nose and the imprint of something on the side of her forehead. Apparently, while looking at pictures on a laptop with Hero, Amari took a nosedive into the keyboard, then onto the ground. Carrie had only turned her back for a moment, assuming that Hero was clinging to Amari as she had been all day. Two seconds later, she turned to see the back of Amari's head followed by an onslaught of shrieks and wails.

Although Amari had calmed down completely by the time I returned, Carrie was clearly still traumatized by the whole ordeal. With the exception of a poke, a nail clipping accident, or a self-inflicted scratch, this was Amari's first injury. "I was worried you'd be mad at me," Carrie said. "No, of course not" I comforted, but if Amari develops logizomechanophobia (excessive fear of computers, not kidding) as a result this experience I'm definitely making her pay for therapy - plus the 5.6 million dollars Amari would have made had she not been terrified by the thought of a degree in computer science. 

These before and after pictures really say it all.

            Before: Happily air swimming without a care in the world

After: Afraid of both technology and becoming an indentured sibling

Poet tried to cheer Amari up, but instead just added herpetohallophobia (fear of reptilian Halloween costumes) to Amari's quickly growing list of phobias.

Stay tuned for Spring Break Part II - Snowbody's Business or The Wonderful Thing About Tigers

The Best Sports Day Ever

And Amari's birthday. If there's one thing that she may grow to resent, it's my passion for baseball...and basketball...and football when there's nothing else on. Who am kidding? Now that Tiger's back from his sex camp, I'll even watch the occasional round of golf. Here's how our week started.

The Butler Didn't Do It

I know I'm  almost a week late for this story, but such is life for a working, blogging, sports fanatical, stay-at-home dad. Have I mentioned that it's impossible to keep up with everything? The first time I ever saw my dad cry was when UCLA lost to Louisville in the 1980 basketball championship. This story is for him.

On Monday, April 5th, as the clock struck five months for Amari, it struck midnight on this year's March Madness Cinderella story - the Butler Bulldogs. In the best story college basketball has seen since Jim Valvano's NC State Wolfpack's magical run to the title in 1983, this small, mid-western university better-known for its academics than its athletics surprised everyone by marching through the madness to the championship game where it met one of the game's most storied franchises, the Duke Blue Devils. Unlike 1983, where a tip-in at the buzzer defeated the Goliath, Olajuwan-Drexler-led Houston team, this year's story ended with a half-court shot rimming out as horn sounded.

It was Amari's first championship game, and she and I watched every minute together. I explained the odds that Butler was facing - their first title game in school history against a team that routinely hangs championship banners - and like me she was immediately hooked by the human interest part of the sport. Amari sat on my lap and we cheered and booed loudly as Butler and Duke fought an amazing, albeit unattractive, defensive battle. Although I have nothing personal against the Mike Kryszewski (pronounced Natzi) led Blue Devils, I just don't like teams that win so often and so convincingly - unless of course it's the UCLA Bruins, the Lakers, the Giants, or the Niners. Sadly, our cheers and jeers were to no avail - except the undeniable bond that is forming between us.

Giants Begin World Series Run or Kids Storm Ravens Hollow

Monday was also baseball's Opening Day. The real opening day - not the made for TV/Money Sunday night bullshit between the Yankees-Red Sox. My buddy, Matt, always takes this day off - a tradition I have adopted since we met in grad school. Fortunately, I don't work Mondays this year. Instead, I stayed home and had a slew of visitors and their children take over the house for a few hours. In total, we had eight adults, four kids, and two infants. It was nice to have our home so full. It reminded me of good times before my parents went their separate ways.

In my opinion, baseball is the greatest sport of all. It may not have the athleticism or physicality of other sports, but it has a timeless beauty to it - an undeniable magic that brings generations together. I love the pacing, the strategy, the impact of single plays or single players. I have no doubt that many could argue circles around me about other sports, but this is the one I grew up loving. I used to wear my Dodgers hat incessantly, and although my mom made me take it off at the dinner table and when I went to bed, as soon as the lights were off, out came the hat from where it was hidden beneath my pillow.

I may have been brainwashed into loving all things L.A. as a child, but growing up in the Bay Area in the 1980's helped me choose my own teams to the tune of the Giants and the Niners. I'm still a Lakers fan, because there was no need to give up on a dynasty. Amari may choose her own teams later, but for now, since I still get to choose her outfits, she's stuck with the Giants. Fortunately, she makes orange and black look almost as good as I do.

She's a really good sport about all of this. At least for now.

The Giants won 5-2 and proceeded to win four of their next five games. I have a good feeling about this year.

Five Months and Counting

Literally. Although she can't talk yet, Amari is now using one of her toys as an abacus and has hung her shingle for tax season. Girl's earning her keep.

Rivaling both Opening Day and Championship Basketball was Amari's five month birthday. In past couple of weeks she has reached both significant milestones and daunting challenges. About three weeks ago, she managed to roll over from her back to her front. Although initially a struggle, generally paired with loud shrieks of frustration as she wiggled her second arm out from under her body, she now does it effortlessly and prefers to be on her stomach where she performs a variety of freestyle swimming moves, upward facing dogs, and most recently the two-handed grab of anything dangling in front of her. I wish I had her lower back strength.

She's also showing an interest in solid foods - watching us eat and opening her mouth as food enters ours. Unfortunately, with solid foods come these pesky little things called teeth, and I do believe we'll be seeing some very shortly. Two weeks ago, the predictability of Amari's mood began to change. Food, Diaper, Burp, Nap, Hug had been my mantra for nearly three months. My checklist, if you will. More recently it has become Food, Diaper, Burp, Nap, Hug, Tylenol, Hug, Hug, Wyman's Teething Tablets, Hug, Hug, Hug, Say Nice Things and Hope the Pain Goes Away for a While. Rinse and repeat.

Amari's a trooper. Even during inconsolable pain, she finds ways to be endearing. I love that she recognizes her name now and will turn her head when I call from across the room to let her know I'll be right there. I love that she reaches her arms towards me when I bend down to pick her up, then wraps them around my neck as I pull her towards my shoulder. She whimpers in pain and I say, "I'm sorry you're hurting." She cries and I hold her. It breaks my heart, but I'm grateful I can at least make her feel safe in these moments. Although I didn't cry when Butler lost to Duke, I sometimes do when Amari hurts so much.

Looks like I finally found something better than sports.

Happy Belated, Amari.

Culture Club

As we drove slowly down the driveway this morning, Carrie glanced over at me and said, "Wow. Last night was amazing."
"It really was," I agreed, smiling back at her and reminiscing. I felt relaxed, upbeat, and ready to take on the world and I knew Carrie felt the same way.
"Remember when we used to say that about sex?" she added.
"What's sex?" I joked, trying to remember if it really compared with the long and deep sleep we'd both enjoyed.

I remember a vacation in Greece when I was lying beneath a cloudless sky, staring out at the Mediterranean as a gentle breeze rippled across the calm afternoon sea. The day felt bright and colorful, surreal - almost psychedelic. I realized that I'd spent so much time that summer drinking and getting high on that summer that this crisp moment of sobriety felt like an altered state of consciousness. That is exactly what sleep feels like now - novel and intoxicating. I feel energized, capable, optimistic, and confident. I feel like I did five months ago.

It's remarkable how quickly a child has changed my pleasures, my priorities, my focus, my depth, and my tolerance. Chores that were once meditative and satisfying have become an exciting challenge, a relay race against wind-up toys, singing bears, and mobiles. I'm still waiting to find a toy that actually has settings like "Dishes, Laundry, Phone Call, Temporary Nervous Breakdown," and so on. Even if it had the seemingly compulsory seizure lights and annoying music, I would still buy it. While exercise used to be a part of my regular routine, I now have to incorporate it into play time. I dance around Amari doing Tae Bo-like moves and making the craziest faces my oxygen deprivation will allow. I'm now convinced Amari's first word will be "Jab-cross," or "Hook-uppercut."

In an attempt to retain some semblance of normalcy, Carrie suggested we take Amari to her first play last Sunday - the local high school drama club's rendition of "Little Shop of Horrors." We decided it would be our first attempt at infusing some culture into her life while raising her in this isolated, coastal hamlet. We invited everyone we knew who had kids, hoping that at least one of them would foolishly join us for the potential disaster. Not a single taker - I guess they knew better - but Carrie and I were determined to go and were convinced Amari would be fine. As it turns out, she was fine - and adorable - and if we'd stayed for the whole show I'm pretty sure she would have been up on stage singing with the Doo Whop Girls.

The show was long and a little bit out of Amari's perceptual range. The lights and singing entertained her through most of the first act, but at a few minutes after two she glanced at her watch, then up at me and said, "Dad, the Baylor-Duke game just started. You wanna get out of here?" She is so sensitive to my passion for college basketball and my novice gambling habits.
"Absolutely," I said, and she immediately started fidgeting and whining to the point where I said to Carrie, "I think Amari's had enough," and we escaped at the intermission.

Unfortunately, on this particular evening, I've had enough, too. My energy has faded, taking with it some of the optimism and confidence. If I go to sleep now while Amari's sleeping - as I've been told to do by every parent I've met - perhaps they will both return to me in the morning.Good night all.

Happy April, Amari.

The Madness Continues

March Madness that is - the greatest three weeks in all of sports (barring this year's SF Giants' World Series run). Tonight Amari attended her first Sweet Sixteen party, an eclectic gathering of teachers, administrators, lawyers, and some rabid, elderly college basketball fans. I'm pretty sure I saw one of them knitting a purple and gold sweater while simultaneously bidding hundreds of dollars on Northern Iowa. Go Panthers?

The gathering was centered around the sixteen teams remaining in this year's tournament. Beginning with the lowest seeds, teams were auctioned off to the highest bidders. When St. Mary's went first at $33, I had a feeling this party was going to be too rich for my blood. I had no interest in throwing good money at any Cinderella teams, but I did hope to get involved in at least one bidding war. I noticed Amari was wearing her Mama-made, mixed-green, hooded sweater, and decided that I would go after a Baylor team with solid senior leadership. I have them in the Final Four in another bracket and didn't want to confuse my loyalties too much. I considered the Spartan green of Michigan State, but I figured Noah might not forgive me for rooting hard against his beloved Buckeyes. When Baylor came on the block, the price quickly rose past my $40 cap. Sally Miller, who invited me, sensed my disappointment, offered to go halvesies, and together we captured the three-seeded Bears.

Amari and I stuck around just long enough to know that Baylor was a steal as Syracuse went for $130 and Kentucky went for over $200. Before we left, however, I decided to buy both of us into a much lower-impact draw pool where you pay $10 and pull a team out of a hat. As the youngest person there (by about thirty-eight and a half years behind me) Amari was allowed to draw first. She must have misunderstood and thought she was picking her future university because she grabbed Cornell. Now we really  need to win this pool. I, on the other hand, fortuitously drew Ohio State, so now Noah and I can finally root for the same team. And to think, all it took was money.

As for the parenting madness - that also continues. Consistent sleep continues to be as likely as a twelve seed making the Final Four, but the Big Red underdogs from Ithica give me hope that I will one day sleep through the night, and simultaneously win $24 for Amari's college fund. It feels like very little has happened since last I wrote and yet every day I marvel at how my little girl is growing, changing, gaining in strength and personality. Sometimes I feel guilty for writing so little, for not capturing all the beautiful moments and feelings, that perfection of lying on the couch last Sunday with Amari taking her longest nap ever right there on my chest while some asshole from Purdue made a game-winning lay-up to mess up the southern part of my bracket. Still, a very touching and meaningful.

Where I used to comment on each week that passed by, I'm now nearly three weeks late in celebrating Amari's fourth month. Nevertheless, the impossibility of doing it all and doing it well is a topic for another entry. Last week Amari had her four month check-up. She is now a robust thirteen pounds fourteen ounces, and twenty-six inches long. She's nearly forty percent of my height already, which is why I have her gambling on basketball at such a young age. The second round of vaccines went fairly smoothly, too. We had a bottle of formula prepared to pop into her mouth hoping to balance out the fact that she's older, more cognizant, and less forgiving than she was eight weeks ago. She screamed and cried, gave us a disappointed look through her tears, refused the bottle for a moment, then realized it was over and began eating. No negative effects that night or the next day. Some things are definitely getting easier.

In fact, I think most things are. Carrie and I have developed a natural rhythm to our co-parenting. With the exception of her sleeping habits, Amari is proving to be a very easy baby. She has a good temperament, endearing expressions, and I'm pretty sure we're getting the hang of what her cries mean. It's not rocket science when it's a list of five or six possibilities, but it still feels good when I respond to a need and get it right. I absolutely love being a dad - much more than I ever knew I would. I feel like I've finally figured out what I'm supposed to be when I grow up.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm actually growing up, too.

Almost Perfect

Road Trip!!

Last weekend I took Amari on her first overnight away from her Mom. My buddy Matt and I recently agreed to co-manage a fantasy baseball team this year and use the on-line draft as an excuse to get together for the first time in nearly a year. I was excited to see him, to see the life he's created for himself since graduate school, and to show off my own adorable little creation. I was a little nervous about the journey, because although Amari has been historically good both in and out of the car, this was about five times as long as she'd ever been car-seated and I didn't know what to expect. I'd cleared the trip weeks ago with Carrie who said she could use the time to catch up on grades and prep work, so Saturday morning Amari and I set out on our adventure.

The drive to Fairfield was smooth an uneventful. In fact, Amari probably would have slept the entire way had I not stopped in Cloverdale to pee and to make sure she was still alive. Not a peep for two hours had me a little worried. I fed her along with my caffeine addiction, then continued south towards Sonoma County. Traffic in Santa Rosa brought a few tears to Amari's cheeks, but to be honest I cried a little, too. It's very disconcerting when you live in a four traffic light town. After lunch with my friend Eric in Petaluma, we headed east and arrived at Matt's by mid-afternoon.

Matt was great with Amari. Although he is opting not to have kids, choosing instead to spend the quarter of a million dollars he will save on an indoor basketball court, I have no doubt that he would make an excellent father. He is an uncle to many and was incredibly comfortable holding, feeding, and soothing Amari. My hope is that he decides to go half court and have one small, uneducated child. Not everyone needs to go to college, Matt.

After catching up, Matt took me for a tour of his house and his neighborhood. His back yard looks out over a man-made lake and surrounding houses. As I descended into Fairfield I thought, "What a shit hole. Who would want to live here?" but an hour later I was looking out over a small lake saying, "Wow - this looks like Tahoe, or...Zurich." I decided then that Matt and I would take multiple pictures of different parts of his yard and tell Amari later that he and I had taken her to both the Sierras and Switzerland.

In touring Matt's neighborhood, he was able to point out a gated community where I could almost catch a glimpse of CC Sabathia's house. Amari was very impressed remembering how I'd almost cheered him on when she was in utero last October during the Yank's-Phill's Series. And by almost cheered, I mean boo-ed. I, on the other hand, remarked, "Wow. Almost being able to see a kind of famous person's house must really drive up the house values."  More interestingly, I was also able to see the location of Matt's on-line video debut, "No Cat," which I highly recommend. We walked right up to the bridge where you could almost see where they did some of the filming. This is now the adverb I use when I name and location drop. Check out the video.

http://vimeo.com/9633033

That night, Matt, Amari, and I stayed up trying to figure out the best approach for Sunday's draft. While Matt and I came up with at least eight different strategies that ranged from "Studs and Duds" to "80% Value" to "Systematically Attacking the Integrity of Every Other GM During the Auction," Amari reeled us in with cries of hunger or fatigue and the occasional vocalization that sounded an awful lot like "Draft Joey Votto." She knows her sleepers, and when she finally became one herself around ten, Matt and I continued our fruitless pursuit of last minute fantasy secrets into the wee hours. By the end of the night our sides hurt from laughing, we made it half way through a Bill Burr stand-up routine, and we'd targeted five guys that we had to have on our team. Amari woke up at midnight, four, and seven for a formula refill, but other than that she slept peacefully.

The next morning, we took photos of Zurich, Tahoe, and Matt's yard before casting all of our strategies into the lake in favor of the "We Need Joey Votto" approach. As it turns out, not only did we get Votto, but we also got almost everyone else we'd targeted. I think we might almost win this thing. Amari slept through much of the draft, which had me concerned about how she would fair on the drive home. As soon as the draft ended, I packed up and hit the road.

 

                           

                     Zurich

 

                     Tahoe

                 Matt's Yard

On a weekend full of "almost's" it makes perfect sense that Amari and I almost made it all the way home without a melt down. In fact, the first three hours she was awake, making sucking noises, and babbling incessantly. I stopped to feed her and she immediately picked up where she'd left off once we were back in the car. I called Carrie to let her know that we'd be home in forty-five minutes when Amari began to cry. Just a little at first, but enough to get me to stop and offer her more food. She took it and fell asleep an ounce in. We continued and she slept for another fifteen miles, but when she woke up she began shrieking. I stopped where I could to offer her more food, then again a few minutes later to change her diaper. Each time I began driving again, the shrieks grew louder. I tried the white noise on the radio trick. Louder shrieks. I tried singing. Even louder. This is not an uncommon response to my voice. I stopped and held her for a while, but it was getting dark - bedtime - and it felt sketchy to be sitting in my car in the middle of nowhere.

Finally, I put her in her seat and said, "Listen, Amari. I'll pay for the therapy later, but we need to get home now." I hoped that she would cry herself to sleep, but she outlasted the sixteen miles of winding road and carried her tears right up to the front door where Carrie greeted her with tears of her own. All the while I tried to remain calm, saying, "Daddy loves Amari. Almost home. Mommy's there" over and over while occasionally muttering, "Are you fucking kidding? It's been twenty minutes. Jesus." Even though Amari was nearly perfect for 350 of 370 miles, that last leg of the journey will make me think twice driving anywhere anytime soon.

Carrie will also make me think twice. Although she was on board with the road trip in theory, by the time we'd arrived in Fairfield on Saturday she was lonely, depressed, and missed Amari terribly. When I called to let her know we'd arrived safely, not only did she want to catch up on everything as though we were dating again, but she also said I wasn't allowed to do this again until Amari is older and more annoying.

Fair enough, Mom. I wouldn't want to be away from her either. I'm glad we're home.

Love is the Seventh Wave

When it comes to the common cold, however, the Second Wave turns out to be identical to the first wave only more depressing and less predictable. When Carrie and I started to feel better, Amari was at her worst, but by the time she cleared  up we had both relapsed. It's been like a sick game of disease volleyball and we're all down a couple sets. I'm afraid to say I'm feeling better now because I'm pretty sure I said that last Sunday.

Fortunately for you, there's no real glamorizing this sickness. They don't call it "common:" for nothing, and even though Amari is still adorable with snot running down her face, red circles beneath her eyes, and an insatiable taste for tears, I will not bore you with more details. On the plus side, she has really developed vocally with all her discomfort this week. Throughout the week, I had been using the aspirator bulb to "snork" out her nose, and unless she was asleep or there was a bottle in her mouth, this intervention was generally greeted with some neck Tae Kwon Do and loud screeches. Eventually, when she started to recognize the bulb, she would simply open her mouth, say, "Ahhhhhh," and more casually move her head away. I would withdraw the bulb, but when I approached again she repeated the , "Ahhhhh" and the movement. I tried several more times with the same result. I put the bulb aside and approached her nose with my finger. Nothing. Silence. I picked up the bulb again, and repeated her protest once again. Somehow this contingent learning felt like small breakthrough for my little genius. Tomorrow - geometry.

Aside from that Amari's neck is getting stronger and she enjoys lying on her side more often than not. She is increasingly engaged by her little play area and likes to grab everything and pull it towards her mouth. Her hands are like a Star Ship Enterprise tractor beam pulling everything within arm's length towards her testing dock. She loves music and can sit quietly for ages while Carrie or I play guitar. Sometimes she'll jump in on the chorus of "All My Loving," but I think that's just because she likes to put on an English accent. I think she's also developing song recognition - not only with the ones we play, but with ones she's heard me play repeatedly in the car. A few days back I watched her get really excited by a Jason Mraz son I was playing on the guitar, and then I remembered I'd been replaying it repeatedly in the car the day before in an attempt to learn all the words.

Even in sickness, Amari is a delight. I am increasingly grateful to have been blessed with the opportunity to be her father. As I paced back and forth in the kitchen last night, secretly worrying that Amari's might stop breathing, I realized this was only the beginning of my fears as a parent. Although I was afraid on the inside, I whispered calmly into her ear and took deep breaths to model them for her. With time, her breathing deepened, her eyes closed, and she slept peacefully on my shoulder as a walked.

Amari is my seventh wave.