Life feels a little heavy this week. I'm not sure how else to describe it. The school year is coming swiftly to an end, which means tons of work and stress for both Carrie and me. Emotions are running high throughout the district due to budget cuts and pink slips, and I can't tell if I'm exhausted, frustrated, disenchanted, or just coming down with some late spring allergies. It all feels like an altered state of funkiness and I'm now just as guilty as my students of counting down the hours to June 18th.
I know - sounds more like the storm before the calm, and yet less than a month ago I was raving about how much I love my job because it's rewarding, unpredictable, and so fast-paced that I'm back at home with Amari in no time. Lately, however, counseling in the school setting has left me feeling both unappreciated and ineffective, like a band-aid on a cancer who gets concerned comments from both the doctors (teachers) or the cancer itself (parents) saying, "Umm, Jimmy still has that cancer thing going on in class. Do you think you talk to him about it?" Turns out the cancer is totally contextual and is completely in remission in my office. Go figure.
I'm just venting. If there are any teacher/friends of mine reading this, please know that I'm speaking very specifically about someone very much in particular whom I know isn't reading this. Please know that I have an infinite amount of respect for the oncology work that you perform on our students. You guys are more like large guaze bandages. See what mean about an altered state of funkiness?
And now for something completely different...
Ahhhh, nothing like Monte Python quotes to change the tone from cynicism to utter futility. When I wrote the title of this entry, I was sitting on my couch - much like I am now - watching the post-game interviews after an exciting, game-winning shot by Ron Artest sent the Lakers-Suns series back to Phoenix with L.A. up 3-2. As life-long Laker fan, I should have been elated, maybe even giddy. It was the type of shot every championship run has - that little bit of luck that favors the prepared (All-Star loaded) team. Instead I was distracted by the giant shelf of videos to the right of the television, the sharpened hatchet lazily resting by the burning hot wooden stove, the sewing kit full of needles and buttons and scissors, and the countless other lethal objects scattered around the living room. "Jesus," I thought, "This place is an infant death trap."
Last week, two things happened to inspire this thought. First, as Amari slipped into a light, post-feeding nap, I slipped her onto the couch and nestled her gently into the confining rim of the Boppy that had served to protect her in just such instances for over six months. I paused for a moment before leaving her, remembering the many cautions that there would come a day when Amari could not be left alone like this. "She's sleeping," I thought, "today won't be that day." Half way back from the kitchen, I heard Amari's instantaneous, escalating cries. There were no warning fusses of her waking and wriggling, no thud as she hit the floor below, there was just an empty Boppy where moments before my daughter had been resting peacefully in a safe, pain-free world. Lesson learned. No more unsupervised, elevated, naps.
The second thing was less frightening, but also less predictable. Although Amari is getting much more proficient at getting her knees beneath her and rocking back and forth in preparation for crawling, she still can't move forward. Instead, much to her chagrin, she continues to scoot backwards. There have been times, however, driven by sheer necessity towards a pacifier or a large, pink, musical bunny, that Amari has been able to swivel herself in a circle. Nonetheless, with her limited mobility, I felt comfortable leaving her in her favorite play area with a wall behind her and colorful, distracting incentives to her left and right. Moments after I turned my back, she pulled out a new move I now call "The Crab," and managed to move herself sideways towards new, unanticipated hazards. When I returned to the scene, Amari, firmly planted on three limbs, had grasped the lip of the trash can nearby and was seconds away from putting back on several used diapers.
Although I've seen friends' houses evolve as their children have grown, books climbing shelves, sockets being sealed, cupboards growing barren and locked, I hadn't accepted this reality as just around the corner. Carrie has been complaining since Amari's birth that time is going by too quickly, that she's growing up too fast, that she's always going to be moving farther way from us. "First she came out of me," she's said, "then she'll crawl way, walk away, go to some east coast college, become a travel writer in the farthest country away from us..." and so on. Although Carrie has a poetic flair for the dramatic at times, she's absolutely right this time. Meanwhile, I've been taking Amari's wonderful nature and even temperament for granted, assuming that once she can crawl, she'll probably still just want to just hang out in one place - play her keyboard, hang with Creepy Bear, watch sports, etc.
I love my comforting delusions.
Today, when I dropped Amari off at Susan's house, she took her first crawl forward. Propped in the classic lion yoga pose, rocking her body to and fro like a track star prepping for a race, she propelled a single hand forward, kept her balance, then rocked some more. That was it, a single move - subtle. If I'd blinked I would have missed it and I would have been sitting on my couch relishing the most recent step in yet another Laker's championship run. Instead, I'm mentally rearranging the entire house, cursing myself for not putting more energy into my dream of Nerf furniture.
Tonight - sleep. Tomorrow - "redecorating" our future.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Half a Year Later...
Life is a trip, and being a new father often compels me to revisit - by association more often than choice - distant memories triggered predictably by songs and photographs or unexpectedly by the smell of Eucalyptus trees and ocean.
Although like many my childhood was a bumpy ride, the wonderfully protective filters of reminiscence help me feel okay with the way things unfolded, grateful that my parents loved me enough to become a good person, a caring husband, and an adoring father. With all of life's challenges came a certain depth of understanding that has allowed me to join the common thread of humanity, a balance I desperately needed with my genetically transmitted ambivalence.
Amari turned six months old on Cinqo de Mayo, and once again I let the day pass by without mention. She continues to grow in both size and spirit, and every day she does something that takes my breath away. Usually it's a stare and a smile, or new animated expression, but there's something so genuinely sweet and contagious in her enthusiasm that it feels novel every time. It doesn't matter how much time has passed, she greets me with the same joy. I can go to the bathroom or the kitchen or duck behind the couch for two seconds and when I return she smiles as though I've been gone for days. Now I duck behind the couch a lot just for that look.
These days Amari spends most of her time on her tummy, pushing her little butt into the air in an attempt to propel forward towards a toy or a pacifier or our cat. Much to her dismay, her arms are much stronger than her legs are coordinated and she invariably pushes herself farther away from her goal. I sometimes think about getting two of everything, so I can put one in front of her and one behind her. That way if she scoots back far enough she'll reach her goal. Instead, I sometimes take my foot or my hand and give her legs a little help.
Amari's communication skills are growing louder and cuter, albeit less predictable. Sometimes she'll wake up at two in the morning and be ready to talk. This drives me nuts, but a useful parental defense mechanism known as sleep-deprived psychosis has me hearing things like "Dada" or "Mama" or "Go Giants" that keep me interested enough not to stay too grumpy.
Other than that, Amari is also eating solid foods now. Mostly corn chips and whole cherries, but sometimes we go with the old fashioned blended stuff. Actually, Carrie did a lot of reading about introducing foods, so we've gone from the extremely bland and uninteresting rice cereal to the tastier blended fruits and veggies. So far she seems to enjoy everything. The challenging part now is eating grown-up food in front of her and trying to make it look like its no fun at all.
"Mmmmmmm...mushy stuff."
So that's about it as far as Amari's recent developmental milestones. She continues to progress much like any child her age. Oh yeah - except that she recently started playing guitar.
"Why don't you just make ten louder and make ten be
the top number and make that a little louder?"
And doing a little bit of keyboarding.
"Ugh. This Red sounds like it's Green Flat"
Plus she has taken up amateur cat taming - mostly just as a hobby.
Amari with Wild House Cat
Other than that, however, totally normal kid.
Lastly, I discovered the joys of the video this week. It was a rainy Monday morning in our coastal hamlet when I was struck with the inspiration that can only come with too much time alone with six month old muse.
http://www.pixorial.com/sr/d5041a6473f2d819f41407ffceb95a11
Enjoy
Although like many my childhood was a bumpy ride, the wonderfully protective filters of reminiscence help me feel okay with the way things unfolded, grateful that my parents loved me enough to become a good person, a caring husband, and an adoring father. With all of life's challenges came a certain depth of understanding that has allowed me to join the common thread of humanity, a balance I desperately needed with my genetically transmitted ambivalence.
Amari turned six months old on Cinqo de Mayo, and once again I let the day pass by without mention. She continues to grow in both size and spirit, and every day she does something that takes my breath away. Usually it's a stare and a smile, or new animated expression, but there's something so genuinely sweet and contagious in her enthusiasm that it feels novel every time. It doesn't matter how much time has passed, she greets me with the same joy. I can go to the bathroom or the kitchen or duck behind the couch for two seconds and when I return she smiles as though I've been gone for days. Now I duck behind the couch a lot just for that look.
These days Amari spends most of her time on her tummy, pushing her little butt into the air in an attempt to propel forward towards a toy or a pacifier or our cat. Much to her dismay, her arms are much stronger than her legs are coordinated and she invariably pushes herself farther away from her goal. I sometimes think about getting two of everything, so I can put one in front of her and one behind her. That way if she scoots back far enough she'll reach her goal. Instead, I sometimes take my foot or my hand and give her legs a little help.
Amari's communication skills are growing louder and cuter, albeit less predictable. Sometimes she'll wake up at two in the morning and be ready to talk. This drives me nuts, but a useful parental defense mechanism known as sleep-deprived psychosis has me hearing things like "Dada" or "Mama" or "Go Giants" that keep me interested enough not to stay too grumpy.
Other than that, Amari is also eating solid foods now. Mostly corn chips and whole cherries, but sometimes we go with the old fashioned blended stuff. Actually, Carrie did a lot of reading about introducing foods, so we've gone from the extremely bland and uninteresting rice cereal to the tastier blended fruits and veggies. So far she seems to enjoy everything. The challenging part now is eating grown-up food in front of her and trying to make it look like its no fun at all.
So that's about it as far as Amari's recent developmental milestones. She continues to progress much like any child her age. Oh yeah - except that she recently started playing guitar.
the top number and make that a little louder?"
And doing a little bit of keyboarding.
Plus she has taken up amateur cat taming - mostly just as a hobby.
Other than that, however, totally normal kid.
Lastly, I discovered the joys of the video this week. It was a rainy Monday morning in our coastal hamlet when I was struck with the inspiration that can only come with too much time alone with six month old muse.
http://www.pixorial.com/sr/d5041a6473f2d819f41407ffceb95a11
Enjoy
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mom's Day
Since my mother passed away a few years ago, I've jokingly scoffed at friends scampering about for last minute Mother's Day gifts. "Yup," I'll say, "Don't have celebrate that one anymore." I've been saying the same thing about Grandfather's Day since I was five and First Puppy Run Over by a Dog Day since before kindergarten, so I'm pretty used to it. Generally, my dark humor is met with an envy-filled uncomfortable silence. This year, however, no sooner had the words left my lips, than I realized the uncomfortable silence was not with regards to my dead mother, but rather the very much alive daughter in my arms and the furrowed brow of the woman who mothers her daily.
Oh yeah. Never mind. I love Mother's Day.
I actually did put together a little collage for Carrie last year with pictures of our cats, Penny and Odie, along with the twenty week sonogram picture of Amari. On the top of the page it said "First Annual Future Mother of the Year Award." Yes - the occasional romantic gesture still manages to surface from beneath my suffocating, eye-rolling cynicism at Hallmark holidays. Fortunately, Carrie's on the same page. In fact, had it not been for Mexican take out and an extra episode of Mad Men, today would have passed much like any other.
Nonetheless, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge this day because Carrie is a new mother. Not only that, but she is a first year teacher, a fourth year wife, a ninth year committed partner, and a thirty-one year-old superstar. She was recently walking with a friend who was admiring her ability to balance these various parts of her life, and when she came home she confessed to me that she didn't feel like she was being a very good wife.
I hadn't once felt that way. I've never once compartmentalized her roles and kept score. She is an exceptional partner in my life - historically a girlfriend, a fiancee, a wife, but now a mother, and a damn good one. I'm pretty sure she's much better at this than she thought she would be, that her fears have turned out to be completely soluble in moment-to-moment demands of parenting.
Carrie, you deserve to be acknowledged every day. I probably won't do that, but please know that I love and appreciate you all the time. Happy Mom's Day.
On a side note, two things happened recently which, although entirely independent in time, may actually combine to make this blog much more interesting.
1. When I recently asked Carrie if I could post certain pictures she said, "Whatever," which I translated as somewhere between "Go ahead" and "I'm tired of arguing about this."
2. While Carrie was catching up on this blog recently she said, "Uhg. There's a lot of text," which I interpreted as somewhere between "I've been so selfish for not reading your thoughts about parenting religiously" and "I wish there were more pictures...or even VIDEOS."
I'm a pretty good translator of subtext - mostly because of the huge amount of text I apparently write about raising our child, so I'm going to err on the side of more photos...or even VIDEOS. I hope this works. This was a one minute clip of what a loving relationship Carrie has formed with our daughter.
Enjoy. More pictures soon.
http://www.pixorial.com/ecard/db57f50cdd1779215ab378de6e0f4069
Happy Mother's Day everyone.
Oh yeah. Never mind. I love Mother's Day.
I actually did put together a little collage for Carrie last year with pictures of our cats, Penny and Odie, along with the twenty week sonogram picture of Amari. On the top of the page it said "First Annual Future Mother of the Year Award." Yes - the occasional romantic gesture still manages to surface from beneath my suffocating, eye-rolling cynicism at Hallmark holidays. Fortunately, Carrie's on the same page. In fact, had it not been for Mexican take out and an extra episode of Mad Men, today would have passed much like any other.
Nonetheless, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge this day because Carrie is a new mother. Not only that, but she is a first year teacher, a fourth year wife, a ninth year committed partner, and a thirty-one year-old superstar. She was recently walking with a friend who was admiring her ability to balance these various parts of her life, and when she came home she confessed to me that she didn't feel like she was being a very good wife.
I hadn't once felt that way. I've never once compartmentalized her roles and kept score. She is an exceptional partner in my life - historically a girlfriend, a fiancee, a wife, but now a mother, and a damn good one. I'm pretty sure she's much better at this than she thought she would be, that her fears have turned out to be completely soluble in moment-to-moment demands of parenting.
Carrie, you deserve to be acknowledged every day. I probably won't do that, but please know that I love and appreciate you all the time. Happy Mom's Day.
On a side note, two things happened recently which, although entirely independent in time, may actually combine to make this blog much more interesting.
1. When I recently asked Carrie if I could post certain pictures she said, "Whatever," which I translated as somewhere between "Go ahead" and "I'm tired of arguing about this."
2. While Carrie was catching up on this blog recently she said, "Uhg. There's a lot of text," which I interpreted as somewhere between "I've been so selfish for not reading your thoughts about parenting religiously" and "I wish there were more pictures...or even VIDEOS."
I'm a pretty good translator of subtext - mostly because of the huge amount of text I apparently write about raising our child, so I'm going to err on the side of more photos...or even VIDEOS. I hope this works. This was a one minute clip of what a loving relationship Carrie has formed with our daughter.
Enjoy. More pictures soon.
http://www.pixorial.com/ecard/db57f50cdd1779215ab378de6e0f4069
Happy Mother's Day everyone.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Spring Break Part III: Homeward Bound
Could I drag this out any longer? Have I mentioned that it's nearly impossible to finish things now that I'm a parent? It's 9:30 on a Sunday night, I'm exhausted, and yet I'm determined finish this Lonesome Dove-like saga lest it end up on "The Pile" with everything else I've started in the past six months.
When I was a kid, I remember a certain box of Tuna Helper sitting in my dad's kitchen cupboard for three relationships and more than seven years. It became a running joke with my friends and until this moment I always thought it was an indication of my dad's domestic indolence. Now I'm convinced that the Tuna Helper was around since my birth, that my dad fully intended to dispose of it, but eventually resigned to including it in the price when he sold his house.
Onward and upward and downward and homeward...bound.
A few weeks ago, as I was driving around with Amari and listening to the soothing sounds of Simon and Garfunkle, I was swept into that dichotomous feeling of nostalgia - heavy and heart-wrenching yet wonderfully warm and safe.
"Tonight I'll sing my songs again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me,
in shades of mediocrity,
like emptiness in harmony,
I need someone to comfort me."
Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs_YQ6JuNpA&feature=related
I wondered why I was having such a strong reaction to these words. I remember loving that song during my college days, leaving the album in my CD changer along with Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks,"for weeks, but it felt like more than that. I remember my mother playing another S & G song "Sound of Silence" on her guitar and I wondered if she played this one, too - before the childhood amnesia wiped it from my memory. I couldn't explain it, nor did I need to, but it got me thinking about the songs I've been playing for Amari on our drives, the curious impact they may have on her years from now as she's making sense of her world - perhaps driving with her own child.
One song in particular - "Lucky" by Jason Mraz and Colby Caillat - has become an excellent sedative for Amari on car rides. While I was learning to play it on the guitar, Amari got more than her share of both the song and of me trying to sing. Eventually, she seemed to enjoy the recognition, the vocal connection to the dad/driver she couldn't see. On one drive over the hill, she started fussing every time the song ended, but as soon as I played it again, she was quiet. I ended up listening to it about fifteen times before reaching my destination. Fortunately, it's a really good song. And yes, I do the girl's parts, too. Only when Carrie's not in the car.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acvIVA9-FMQ
When I shared this with Carrie on the way back from Tahoe, she said "Lucky" was one of the songs she played while Amari was in utero and during the birth. Good thing I was paying attention. She then pulled out the birthing CD and we tried playing the songs that Carrie listened to most often while she was pregnant with Amari. The results were both positive and consistent - more than just lucky, wink, wink - and we made it from South Shore to Davis without having to sit in the back.
Our stop in Davis was much too brief. We visited a friend of mine with whom I share many of my college memories. Although she began as a friend of a friend, Diana ended up feeling like family, and the visit felt no different. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her - maybe five or six years agoe - but she welcomed us into her home, entertained us with animated stories of the times in between, introduced us to her beautiful family, and sent us packing with a car full of toys and clothes for Amari. Thank you, Diana. Let's keep the stories animated but the times in between much shorter. Here's the Berti family sans daddy Lorenzo who was in San Francisco for a conference.
Diana, Dylan, and Daphne
Unfortunately, when we woke up in Tahoe Thursday morning our car looked like this
which meant that we had to delay our departure until the roads cleared. Ultimately, this meant a shorter visit with Diana, while Matt of "Almost Perfect" fame had to be cut out of the itinerary all together. On the plus side, it meant that once I got over not seeing Matt again, I had time for a quick photo shoot with Amari. Turns out she's a freakin' rock star, but without the alcohol, drugs, vomiting, and incarceration. Well, sometimes the vomiting.
Looks like your run-of-the-mill guitar case...
but on the inside...
See ya later, Babaji
In the spirit of pictures being worth way more words than I feel like writing, I would like to add that, even though we didn't stop to see Matt, when we drove by his exit in Fairfield I was able to capture a "mind picture" of just how much fun Amari would have had with him.
Matt is very happy if not a little creepy in my mind pictures
It's good to be home...
When I was a kid, I remember a certain box of Tuna Helper sitting in my dad's kitchen cupboard for three relationships and more than seven years. It became a running joke with my friends and until this moment I always thought it was an indication of my dad's domestic indolence. Now I'm convinced that the Tuna Helper was around since my birth, that my dad fully intended to dispose of it, but eventually resigned to including it in the price when he sold his house.
Onward and upward and downward and homeward...bound.
A few weeks ago, as I was driving around with Amari and listening to the soothing sounds of Simon and Garfunkle, I was swept into that dichotomous feeling of nostalgia - heavy and heart-wrenching yet wonderfully warm and safe.
"Tonight I'll sing my songs again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me,
in shades of mediocrity,
like emptiness in harmony,
I need someone to comfort me."
Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs_YQ6JuNpA&feature=related
I wondered why I was having such a strong reaction to these words. I remember loving that song during my college days, leaving the album in my CD changer along with Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks,"for weeks, but it felt like more than that. I remember my mother playing another S & G song "Sound of Silence" on her guitar and I wondered if she played this one, too - before the childhood amnesia wiped it from my memory. I couldn't explain it, nor did I need to, but it got me thinking about the songs I've been playing for Amari on our drives, the curious impact they may have on her years from now as she's making sense of her world - perhaps driving with her own child.
One song in particular - "Lucky" by Jason Mraz and Colby Caillat - has become an excellent sedative for Amari on car rides. While I was learning to play it on the guitar, Amari got more than her share of both the song and of me trying to sing. Eventually, she seemed to enjoy the recognition, the vocal connection to the dad/driver she couldn't see. On one drive over the hill, she started fussing every time the song ended, but as soon as I played it again, she was quiet. I ended up listening to it about fifteen times before reaching my destination. Fortunately, it's a really good song. And yes, I do the girl's parts, too. Only when Carrie's not in the car.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acvIVA9-FMQ
When I shared this with Carrie on the way back from Tahoe, she said "Lucky" was one of the songs she played while Amari was in utero and during the birth. Good thing I was paying attention. She then pulled out the birthing CD and we tried playing the songs that Carrie listened to most often while she was pregnant with Amari. The results were both positive and consistent - more than just lucky, wink, wink - and we made it from South Shore to Davis without having to sit in the back.
Our stop in Davis was much too brief. We visited a friend of mine with whom I share many of my college memories. Although she began as a friend of a friend, Diana ended up feeling like family, and the visit felt no different. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her - maybe five or six years agoe - but she welcomed us into her home, entertained us with animated stories of the times in between, introduced us to her beautiful family, and sent us packing with a car full of toys and clothes for Amari. Thank you, Diana. Let's keep the stories animated but the times in between much shorter. Here's the Berti family sans daddy Lorenzo who was in San Francisco for a conference.
Unfortunately, when we woke up in Tahoe Thursday morning our car looked like this
which meant that we had to delay our departure until the roads cleared. Ultimately, this meant a shorter visit with Diana, while Matt of "Almost Perfect" fame had to be cut out of the itinerary all together. On the plus side, it meant that once I got over not seeing Matt again, I had time for a quick photo shoot with Amari. Turns out she's a freakin' rock star, but without the alcohol, drugs, vomiting, and incarceration. Well, sometimes the vomiting.
a future album cover
In the spirit of pictures being worth way more words than I feel like writing, I would like to add that, even though we didn't stop to see Matt, when we drove by his exit in Fairfield I was able to capture a "mind picture" of just how much fun Amari would have had with him.
It's good to be home...
Friday, April 30, 2010
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 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.
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
Sunday, April 25, 2010
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
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.
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.
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
Sunday, April 11, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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