Your first exhibit

"Untitled"
chalk on slate.
12.14.10 

"Bird walking under rainbow"
chalk on slate.
12.14.10

Wide Eyes

Dear Sweetie,

It’s not exaggeration to say that last night I experienced one of the most pure and profoundly joyous moments of my life. We were snuggling in your big girl bed—I was helping you settle down for sleep—and you looked up to the Christmas lights that hang in your room and began orating, welcoming me into the most intimate space.

“Lights. Qwismas lights. Blue. Wred. Blue. Lellow. Wred. Quistmas twee so big . . . tall.”

When you began talking about the Christmas tree your eyes widened and I realized you were lost in a dream space. When you talked about the candy canes your eyes were filled with such absolute wonder and fascination I could barely stand not squeezing you with all my strength.

“Qwismas lights twee (tree) sooo loud (bright?). Sooo loud qwismas lights qwismas twee. Qwismas oh-na-mints. Balls. Bird cage. Qwismas oh-na-mints. Cand’cane”—eyes widening—“ Cand’cane qwismas twee . . . cand’cane . . . cand’cane. Qwismas lights twee sooo loud park gwass gween gwass. Sky. Blue. Twees. Nico running so fast circle. Park. Qwismas twee. Cand’cane.”

“You like candy canes?”

“DO LIKE CAND' CANE!”

We continued to talk about a lot of things. I told you we were going to Mexico, to a place where everyone talked like Nana, the woman who runs your daycare. I told you grandma and grandpa were going to be there. You thought about this for a while and in a somewhat worried voice asked “jammies coming Mexico?” “Yes, sweetie. You pajamas are coming to Mexico.” You smiled, exhaled, and snuggled up to me as though this news was enough to send you to sleep.

When I got up to leave you began screaming “No. No. Don’t. No.” While getting out of the covers. “Daddy,” you said, “love you so much, Daddy.”

What a warm moment.

Love

Dad

The Meaning of Birds

by Charles Smith

Of the genesis of birds we know nothing,
save the legend they are descended
from reptiles: flying, snap-jawed lizards
that have somehow taken to air. Better the story
that they were crab-apple blossoms
or such, blown along by the wind; time after time
finding themselves tossed from perhaps a seaside tree,
floated or lifted over the thin blue lazarine waves
until something in the snatch of color
began to flutter and rise. But what does it matter
anyway how they got up high
in the trees or over the rusty shoulders
of some mountain? There they are,
little figments,
animated---soaring. And if occasionally a tern washes up
greased and stiff, and sometimes a cardinal
or a mockingbird slams against the windshield
and your soul goes oh God and shivers
at the quick and unexpected end
to beauty, it is not news that we live in a world
where beauty is unexplainable
and suddenly ruined
and has its own routines. We are often far
from home in a dark town, and our griefs
are difficult to translate into a language
understood by others. We sense the downswing of time
and learn, having come of age, that the reluctant
concessions made in youth
are not sufficient to heat the cold drawn breath
of age. Perhaps temperance
was not enough, foresight or even wisdom
fallacious, not only in conception
but in the thin acts
themselves. So our lives are difficult,
and perhaps unpardonable, and the fey gauds
of youth have, as the old men told us they would,
faded. But still, it is morning again, this day.
In the flowering trees
the birds take up their indifferent, elegant cries.
Look around. Perhaps it isn't too late
to make a fool of yourself again. Perhaps it isn't too late
to flap your arms and cry out, to give
one more cracked rendition of your singular, aspirant song.

Big Girl Bed

Dear Sweet little monkey,

You had a big day today. It started off with us having a breakfast picnic in your room while the freezing rains fell outside. Then you went off to church with Melanie where you played with the other kids and the baby you seem to love.

When you returned you wanted nothing to do with sleep. We tried everything, but you tore apart the new room I set up for you while you were gone. So we let you stay up! Your first day without a nap.

We thought we were in for trouble, but you were a dream. You went with mommy to a friend's house and baked cookies and played shark . . . for hours. When you returned home you were still in a good mood (unbelievable), and continued to laugh and play until bedtime.

Mommy read lots of books with you in bed and when she finished you remained in your big girl bed. This is a big step, but you decided it was time to make the shift. I don't know if it's going to last, but this is your first night sleeping in a real bed!

Oh, little sweet thing, we're so proud of you.

I can't wait to see you in the morning and ask about your experience.

Love,
Daddy

New This Week

Dear Sava

I just wanted to write you a note and let you know what is new to you this week.

-          You continuously recite your ABCs

-          You’ve stopped kissing me when you go to sleep, but you’ve started snuggling with us in the morning.

-          While playing alone in your room you counted to 13!

-          You taught yourself not only to get out of your own crib, but how to open the bedroom door!

You’re smart, you’re autonomous, and you’re mobile! With this new freedom you’ve also become less okay with boring old sleep. Getting you to stay in your room has become a real chore.

Yesterday your mother found that you were in your crib playing, playing, playing, but not sleeping. 12pm became 1 then 2 then 3 . . . Finally she went into the bedroom and told you she’d take away your baby if you didn’t try to sleep. 10 minutes later you were still playing, singing, and counting away in your room. Your mother took your baby then tucked you into bed. She closed the door and put the baby on a chair in the hallway.

A few minutes later she heard a thud, the door opening, little feet running across the hardwood, the door slammed. When she opened the door she found you with your baby climbing back into your crib!

Can’t wait to find out what comes next.

Love Dad

Dear Sava, 

You joined me for yoga (pronounced woga) today! 

We touched the sky and ground then moved into downward dog and child's pose (which I continue to believe is cheating on her part). Then you went into frog pose and settled her drishti on Nico (pronounced Teak-dough) and the pretend cup of tomato tea you had prepared for this morning's tea party.

Love, 

Daddy 

Dear Sava,

"Babies come from tummies, look," you said. You then stood up and slapped your little palms on your distended belly. "Baby in there!" 

"You have a baby in your stomach?" I asked. 

"Yeah! In there. Baby hiding." 

"Oh, there is a baby hiding in your stomach?" 

"Yeah! Baby sleeping now," you said in a very quiet voice so as not to wake it. 

Love, 

Daddy

Dear Sava,

You are so cute I could simply eat you and be done with it!

Just a quick recap. I've been really busy with work, bills, editing my dissertation, and taking care of you that I completely forgot to write. I picked you up from the babysitter tonight (you were there for 2 hours) and you were wild. It was you, another 2 year old, and a 4 year old named Lucian. You and the other 2 year old were laughing hysterically when I arrived. You were playing keep away with a big dog, and loving every minute of it. You were wild, had a crazy look in your eyes, you had a full diaper of peepee, and your face was completely dirty.

We drove away and you kept telling me, "Lucian is soo funny. Daddy silly. Sava silly. Doggy Silly. Lucian is so funny."

At one point there were three college girls crossing the road talking on cell phones and I asked, "What are they doing?" You said, "Those girls going to the store buy food dinner."

I was so excited. "Sava, did you just say 'those girls are going to the store to buy food for dinner?"
"Yes," you said.
"That's the most complex sentence I've ever heard you say."
"Yes," you said again. Then you casually looked out the window. I pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to look at you. You knew instantly that I was going to tickle you...and I did!

It was obvious you were overtired, but it was only 5:45 and I needed to buy you some dinner. We went to a Japanese takeout place and you suddenly began laughing and falling on the floor. I told the people in the restaurant you were overtired and about to explode. Everyone laughed. Then we walked next door to the video store and you instantly ran, and I mean RAN, to the video player you love to play with, but you tripped before you got there and as you fell you hit your head on the video machine.

It was bad. Your head looked instantly bruised, and you were crying intensely. Outside I held ice on your forehead while you cried. Then it was home to eat sushi, your first sushi, and then I put you in the bath, changed you into your jammies you call your "monkey suit" and then I put you into bed by 6:30. You were so tired that you didn't even finish your milk or stand up--typically you stay away playing with your babies (teddy bears, dolls, octopus, etc), but tonight there was none of that--you just closed your eyes and you were out.

I came in later and just watched you sleep and blew kisses to you for a few minutes, turned off your lights the way we do every night, turned on the heater and humidifier, and silently departed.

This week we've been working on new words and new concepts. This is what you know very well this week:

12345678910...11

ABCDE23HY4562PWXYZ

Heel, ball of foot, ankle, leg, knee, thigh, hip, tummy, belly button, ribs, chest, boobies (your mother), neck, throat, chin, ears, earlobes, face, head, cheeks, lips, teeth, tongue, inside mouth, nostrils, bridge of the nose, eye, eyelash, eyeball, eyebrow, forehead, hair, toes, baby toe, baby finger, back, butt, arms, elbow, wrists, palm of the hand, hand, fingers, thumbs, fingernails, toenails.

I don't know why, but I've felt compelled to teach you the names of your body parts. You sometimes love it, and sometimes you hate me quizzing you. It's all in fun, and it's helped out a lot when you have injuries. For instance, tonight you told me, "Hurt my forehead daddy, need two band-aids." You didn't need band aids, but you insisted.

Now you're sleeping, I'm watching The Last Days of Disco and writing a little something about you. Basically, you're incredible and amazing and we try to spend all of our waking hours with you. But you are also a whiny little thing. You cry, fall down on the floor screaming because, I don't know, you didn't want to wear white socks, and you throw things, break things, and run around causing problems, but we love you and do everything we can to make you happy and to stimulate you to use your language.

In the end, you're one talkative little 2 year old. It surprises everyone! "Get Sava a beer?" you ask at the market' "Tell big doggy sit down," you insist as we round a corner and there is a dog waiting to walk out into traffic; "Daddy give ice cream Sava bowl?" you say as I open the freezer door. It goes on and on and on.

You're incredible and lovely. And because of this I've taught you a little trick. At the hardware store the other day a woman heard you talking and came around the aisle to say hello.

"Hi," you said.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"I two," you said, holding up two fingers.
"Two!" she said. "We'll, you're very smart for a two year old," she said.
"Yeah," you said (and this is my 'trick'). "I'm smart and cute," you said.

She stood there floored.

"Did she just say smart and cute?" she asked me. "Indeed she did." "Whoa," said the woman. She then followed us around the store for a few minutes trying to investigate why someone so young would know so much.

You are a funny monkey baby and we love you like nothing else.

Love,
Dad

Oh tay!

Dear Sweetie,

As I've said many times before, it's hard to keep up with blogging when all we want to do is spend time with you. So this is a quick post while you shout my name from your bedroom ("Jamba" "Daddy" "Jamba Daddy" etc. etc.).

You've started saying "Oh-tay" for okay and "Huh?" for what or who. But your level of language has improved all around, and your coordination and excitement levels have also skyrocketed. Tonight you ran around and around the house screaming and squealing with delight because Nico was trying to give you kisses. After this you belly danced with mommy and me in the living room, ate a big dinner, and the moved upstairs to play with your trains.

When I arrived you let me play with the trains but then said condescendingly (and quite adorably), "Oh. Good daddy. Good job." I said thanks. "Oh tay Daddy?" you said and kissed me on the head several times. To keep from laughing I kept playing with the train on the floor. "Good job, daddy. Yea!"

After this you tried walking very carefully between two small wooden trees the train is meant to pass through. We kept moving them closer and closer, and each time you very carefully walked between them. Then I added more items so that you had a narrow gauntlet to pass through. It became quite incredible watching you slow down at the end. Then you began breathing deeply and putting your hands together the way you've seen me do it when I'm practicing yoga. You would breathe deeply and then carefully walk keeping your feet together and pass between two rows of about 5 trees and several train cars. Each time we'd shout with excitement and parade you around the room.

"Did it!" you'd say.
"Yes you did. You did it."
"Yeah. Did it. Again?"

It was so cute and amazing your mother and I kept looking at each other in amazement not only at your ability to walk the gauntlet, but also your dedication and concentration.

Now I'm in the bedroom watching Down By Law with your mother. You're in your crib drinking milk, saying our names, and basically still excited about your success.

I love you.

Dad.

Two Years Old

Happy Birthday Little Apple!!!!

First day of Fall today: each morning a little crisper- it feels good to snuggle down under covers. You are two years old and wearing your new hat from Rachel. Flaunting your new two-ness, although the concept is lost on you: when we ask you how old you are you say "months!" We sing happy birthday to you and you hide under my skirt.  I woke up this morning with intense cramps: a funny coincidence, to start my period on this morning. Two years ago I had just broke open and we were learning to breathe together, chest to chest. Now you call out to me from your crib and we snuggle together in bed with a bottle of milk and a present from grandma, to distract you from your tantrum... the past few mornings you have wanted milk from my boobs and NOT the bottle and have gotten quite mad when told that you were a big girl now: only milk in bottles. This new two-ness comes with some hard breaks, you are learning.

Now you are at daycare and I am hunkered at the computer, determined to write about the current state of Sava- but first I am going to perform one of your birthday rituals which is to bake a carrot cake: it will be the usual adventure in the kitchen with your mom making a wild lumpy mess of a cake and trying to fix it all with heaps of frosting. Later I will pick you up from daycare and we will swing out to the lavender farm to play with the giant white flemish bunny at the rabbitat, and then we are going to have a party at the playground this evening, with face paint and swings and slides, and you are excited about this. You may not understand "two" but you understand "party" and "playground".

Okay, just a few notes about some of my favorite things about you right now.

Spicy.
You went through a period where you were fascinated with spicy things. It started with our Russian dumpling dinners. You saw Dad and I swirl this cool red stuff into our cream and wanted some of the "sauce" for your own. You puckered your face and said "hot" and then stuck your spoon out for more. Then you wanted hot sauce on your eggs, and so on and so forth. Even as you were cringing your face and grabbing your glass of water, you always came back for more. We always talk about how PROUD your Papa is going to be of you. Another fledgling spice monster with whom to enjoy oyster shooters and jalapeno-infused margaritas....Then, the other day, I think Dad overloaded you a bit, and suddenly you are not so very much into spicy any more.

Sharks and Tea Parties: the development of the imagination.
You are not afraid of anything, as far as I can tell. Except, you are strangely fascinated with sharks. It started with Finding Nemo... your favorite part of the movie is the AA meeting held by Bruce and the other sharks. (Fish are friends, NOT food!) I am not sure if it is a genetic thing (I can be gripped by terror while swimming in a pool) or what, but you are hooked on the magnetism of that fear. Actually, I am not even sure if it is fear. I don't know what to call it really, since it seems to be mostly a game for you. For instance: the other day, we were walking in the woods with Nico- a nice long walk through a maze of paths in the thicket. We were ambling along and just being quiet together, when suddenly you stopped and pointed down. "Mama, ook!" as you pointed to a half-submerged tree root which was crossing our path. "Ook! ...........Shark!!!" And then your voice got really low "Bruucce!  Swim Away!"  and you gleefully leapt over it and went running. I just about died laughing. It was so great, to see you using your imagination like that. Translating a tree root into something symbolically cresting the surface of the ocean. We hopped dramatically over every single tree root that we crossed. So interesting..... It reminds me that you are really starting, in these last few weeks, to start using your imagination so much more. You are always now wanting to throw little tea parties from your little toy kitchen. Pouring the "water" into cups and bringing it to me to drink, over and over again. Serving me empty plates piled high with delicacies.

Chloe and Elliot
As I wrote before, it was wonderful to see you fall in love with Chloe up in Hayfork. The beginnings of the instincts of friendship. Now, when we are cuddling in bed in the morning, Daddy asks you "What did you dream about, Sava?" "Chloe dream." "You dreamed about Chloe?" "Yeah. Chloe park dream." "You dreamed about Chloe and the park?" "Yeaah, Chloe park dream." Every morning. 
But your current obsession, probably because he lives down the street and we have weekly playdates with him, is Elliot. Elliot is about four months younger than you and has inspired all kinds of big sister instincts in you. I think the fact that he is a boy, and that he is younger and thus doesn't present as much of a threat to you as some of your girl playmates, but with Elliot you are just unbelievably sweet. (Instead, of say, pushing Rihanna away from all your toys- shouting "Mine!" and grabbing her water bottle and running off with it - that sort of awesome stuff that always makes a parent feel so warm and fuzzy and proud). With Elliot, you are pretty good at sharing all your toys with him and showing him around the house and pushing the button on the rocking horse's ear when he wants to giddy-up on it. So anyway.... this is all leading up to the fact that now you are fixated on him. "What do you want to do, Sava?" I ask in the morning as we are cuddling. "See Elliot!"  Anytime I ask if you want to take a walk you respond "I want see Elliot!" and then you pull me eagerly by the hand to his house. I am not sure if he shares your passion.. Elliot is such a mellow kid that he often seems kind of stunned and awed by the world (and especially you), but I think you prefer it that way. 


Rihanna and the Green Beans
Probably the proudest moment I have had thus far, as a parent, was the afternoon that Rihanna and her mama came over to garden. The two of you were hopping on the trampoline together and you were doing your usual thing of stuffing cherry tomatoes in your mouth as you jumped. I was picking through some green beans off the vines and thought that you might like to try some, so I brought some over. "Hey Sava, you want some green beans?" Not really sure that you would like them. "Sure!" you said in that delightfully accomodating way of yours: "Yeah, sure!" So you both got a handful and gobbled them up and well, you just LOVED them! So all of a sudden we had two little girls bouncing wildly on the trampoline and clamouring for green beans. I mean, if they make awards for good mommies, I think Miriam and I deserved one that day. Like, Rihanna came over last week while you were gone to daycare and was jumping by herself, and she asked me for green beans. And just two nights ago you and I went out for a late afternoon jump and you got really mad when I said there was no more green beans (until I remembered I had bought some at the farmer's market and saved the day). It is weird... something must have clicked for both of you guys, to have you now associate the act of jumping on the trampoline with eating green beans. 


Little Mama




Wheels on the Bus


Market


Mommy Sad


Baby crying at playground.....

two lumps of clay

september 16th

In dreams last night I walk along the ventriculated limbs of my thought possums, those sleeping possibilities.  Endlessly variegated and multi-edged, these tentacles deliver me into courtyards, into street scenes, where I weave amongst seated patrons and take some orders, ignore others. Everything is blossoming, wild differentiation. A man speaks to me and then you cry out from your room next door and I am wrenched from the scene and into this one: darkened room and stillness.
Six a.m.
I gather you into my arms with a bottle of milk and we snuggle back into bed for our new morning cuddle routine (you drink the milk with eyes wide open on my face, while I hold you and stare back dreamily, and we break and giggle for kisses and fierce hugs before returning to soft focus) and we are two lumps of clay again, waiting to be formed.

-mom

Dear Sava,

Your communication skills are growing, you are becoming cuter and more excited with life than ever before. It's almost absurd how cute you are. In fact, you're the child who makes people want a child. At least that's been a comment from quite a few people.

For the past few weeks now you've been on the "What's that?" phase, only you use who for what. We'll go walking and you'll ask "Daddy, who's that?" and I'll say "That's a ______ (flagpole, grate, brick, desk, lampshade, mousepad, coat rack . . .)" and you'll repeat (in your own language) "Moosh pad" "Cot wark". I always congratulate you and you seem so proud of yourself.

Last night we were sitting on the bed together upstairs. Your mother was downstairs, but you thought she was coming up and, as per usual, you shushed me. "Mommy coming," you said wide-eyed. Then you grabbed pillows and hid us under them. In the dark under the pillows you asked "Where mommy go?" "I don't know," I said. We looked up, but mommy wasn't there. "Where is she?" I asked. "Cooking," you said. "What's she cooking?" I asked. "Chicken!" came the reply.

The idea of chicken cooking was particularly appealing to you. "Mommy!" you called out. "Cook chicken!" I stopped you and asked you to repeat after me. "Mommy." "Mommy," you said. "Can." "Can." "You." "Yuuuuuu?" you said. "Cook." "Cook." "Chicken." "Chicken." "For." "Foo." "Dinner." "Dinner."

Excellent, I told you. Now say it back to me. You thought about it for a moment. "Mommy. You. Cook. Chicken?"

"Yes!" I said with a big smile. "And what else do we say?" "Thankyouyouwelcome," you said.

You were so excited to be able to ask your mother this complex thing that we actually went to the store and bought chicken to cook!

Tonight I returned home and found you still sleeping at 5:30pm. You woke up at 6 and we both sat in bed together watching Fern Gully for a little while. You really like sitting with me on the big bed, reclining back in my right arm with a pillow behind your head, and watching movies. You continually ask me, "Who's that, Daddy?" and I tell you, even if it's the same person 100 times. Then I ask you to tell me who they are. Most of the time you will remember, and when you don't, I remind you.

During movie time you inevitably grow bored with the movie and begin asking about my face. "That, Daddy?" you'll say while grabbing my ear. "That's an ear." "Eeeeaaarrrr," you say. In this way you've enabled yourself to attain an incredible vocabulary of terms. You not only know mouth, like most two year olds, but you know the difference between lips, teeth and the tongue. You also know nostrils, nose bridge, earlobe, shins, forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, eyeballs, and eye lashes. You're amazing. Truly amazing.

There is so much more I'd love to write. The wonderful dinner we ate tonight which was followed by jumping on the trampoline for starters. The moon kept going behind the clouds and you'd ask "Moon go?" Then you'd look all around in the trees, the bushes, up in the air. Then the clouds would part and you'd shout, "There it is!" We played this for a while, then we came in the house and you took a bath while I wrote this. Right now you're sitting on my lap. You're wet, but wrapped in a towel. You're burping and making silly noises...and while I write this, you gently touch my face and say, in the sweetest little voice, "Daddy, Daddy, milk please." I told you yes, I'll get you milk, but when I kept typing you poked your finger into my cheek very hard. "What is it?" You hugged me very closely. "Mommy," you said. "Uh. Daddy."


I love you, sweetie. And I'm going now because we are going to look at picture of crocodiles on the Internet before getting milk.

Daddy

Poop: in your mother's words

last night, i came home from work at 9:30 (so early!!) to find an overwhelming stench of human excrement wafting down the stairs. Instead of proudly trumpeting my spicy chocolate ice cream treasure to (what I had imagined would be) an adoring and grateful husband, I raced upstairs to find Jamba forlornly scrubbing the sides of Sava's cribs with antiseptic spray. The smell was noxious..I gave a little dry heave.
Me: "What happened????"
Jamba: "I swear tonight I came so close to ending her puny little life. After taking her out to buy new shoes and a new dress, getting ice cream, and then taking her to the playground and letting her go down the slides, coming home and making us both dinner, and then putting her to bed, I finally laid down on the bed in exhaustion. I heard her call out a few times, and then silence. I got suspicious and went into her room and she had, in that space of time, pulled handfuls of poo out of her diaper and smeared it all over her shirt, into every crevice of the crib, all over the walls. She even flung chunks of it across the room. It's everywhere. I thought, at least it looks like her dollies and stuffed animals escaped, but I turned them over and she had smeared shit all over their faces."
Me: "Oh my god. Jamba. I am SO SORRY! That sucks. Here, get out of here. Let me finish it up at least. Go take a walk. Ummmm.. do you want some chocolate ice cream?? It's really spicy! Maybe it could take your mind off it"
Jamba: "Yeah, I don't think I could really eat chocolate ice cream right now. But... thanks. I feel more like throwing up. Sava's lying on the bed. I made her take a freezing shower and I think I scared her a little. I was SOOOOO pissed at her. I think she got it."

There were some feeble "mama's" coming from the bedroom, so I went into our room to find Sava just lying there quietly on her back, looking up at the ceiling. Since she started to crawl, I have never seen her lie so still in one place for any length of time. I chastized her gently and then told her that I had to go finish cleaning up her poo, and that I was really really unhappy about it. She nodded penitently.

So then I spent an hour on my hands and knees scrubbing dried poop off the floor, crib, etc!!!! What fun!!! I am really glad I had a big glass of that delicious red wine after work, and that I had been in such a good mood all evening that I was still kinda floating over all the horror. And I was shaking my head and thinking about Nico's skunk incidence from last week (I got home at 11:30, let Nico out for a final pee, and she ran directly into a skunk- I was brushing my teeth at the downstairs sink and thinking contentedly of bed, when I looked down to see Nico blinking her little eyes furiously and foaming at the mouth. "You can't get rabies this quickly", I remember thinking for a foggy micro-second, and then the wall of smell hit me like a sonic boom- Fresh Skunk, I learned, smells a little bit like Skunk but more like burning rubber tires, and I ordered her into the tub in a panic (the bathroom stills smells so strongly of skunk a week later) closed the door and ran upstairs to find Jamba so we could spend the next two hours scrubbing Nico in the warm midnight air)  and wondered "What have Jamba and I done to deserve all this, these lives of toiling scullery maids???"

We acquired dependents.
Sometimes, at certain times in the weary day, I don't recommend the habit.

Just kidding, Sava- we adore you and Nico and you are worth all the pain. But seriously.. what's with the poop smearing? 

poop redux

Dear Sava,

Your mother canceled the babysitter for today so when she left for work at 3, I had to cancel my work meetings and return home. You woke up at 4 we watched Shrek together until you lost interest.

I decided to try and give you a really good day because you've done thrown a lot of minor tantrums in the last week as we approach your second birthday (13 days away!), so I took us out for ice cream. You were such a good girl. You kept your napkin on, you ate with your spoon, and when it was over you didn't cry or scream, you just pointed out some trucks to me, noticed a bird ("Bird flying!") and got back into the car.

Next we went to the store to buy you shirts, socks and new shoes with princesses on the sides and lights inside that light up when you run. You love the shoes, but in the checkout line on the way out of the store, you began grabbing everything you wanted or shouted the names of things you could identify that you wanted. This was short lived though and soon we were back in the car headed to the play park.

"Yaaaaaaayyyy" you shouted when you saw that we were at the play park. You were so happy to be there. You jumped on the colored spots that make sound, you went on the swings, you slid down the slides and you were so cute in your new shoes that the adults were pointing to you and smiling.

At home we read a book, changed you into your pajamas and put you into your crib with a bottle of milk. You had all of your babies in there with you, and a while later, when I noticed you were still awake and checked on you, I noticed you had lined them up between the wall and your crib rail. This is a little game you created when you play alone.

But by 9:15 you were still awake! I heard you cry my name one time, but didn't go into the bedroom for a few minutes ... until I heard you cry "Poop. Poop, Daddy. Poop."

When I walked in the room I couldn't believe my eyes. You were covered in poop and you were holding up your poop-smeared hands. You had rubbed poop into the railings of your crib, smeared it across the faces of all your dolls, on the backs of teddy bears, made hand prints on the walls, and what you could not immediately use, you hurled across the room so that the floors were littered with pieces of poop.

Remembering the books, I put you into an ice cold shower and held you in there (a little too aggressively, I'm sorry to say) while you screamed bloody murder, but all the while kept trying to wash you hands and body. It was a horrible, horrible moment. When that was over, I lay you on our bed and put a new diaper on you as I went in to clean your room.

How do you begin with such a mess? It was everywhere. I packed up all of your blankets, sheets, dolls and clothing into a big bag and then began with the railings and walls. Your mother came home about 45 minutes later and took over for me. When we checked on you in our room, you were so petrified that you had not moved from your spot.

Finally it was finished. I returned to the bedroom to find you in the same position as before. You looked worried. You were worried. I dressed you in pajamas and sat you down on the bed.

"Sava, can you tell me what we can play with in your room?"
"..."
"Can we play with dolls?"
"Yes."
"Yes, we can play with dolls. And can we play with books?"
"Yes. Books."
"And can we play with toys and teddy bears?"
"Yes."
"Sava, can you tell me what we CAN'T play with in your room or in the house?"
Long pause.
"Poop."
"Yes, we do not play with poop. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Long pause.
"Sorry, Daddy."
"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for getting angry with you, Sava."

Then you gave me a big hug and a kiss.

Cute, but the next morning it was tantrum after tantrum leading to your breaking a glass on the front porch. Ah, two.

And your not even two yet!

Billowing Curtains

Sitting on the toilet, the fresh September night wind floats the brown floral curtains in fulsome billows, and you are crying for me, in a broken, midnight wail: soft. A moment ago, I had scurried upstairs to respond to your plaintive waking. Soft night terror: Something had woken you up, and you clutched me tight and feverishly- we pressed torsos together as we hadn’t done since you were infant co-sleeping bedmate. Relaxed immediately, from fear to comfort, breathing and sleeping into sleep. I could stand there and hold you forever, , rocking side to side like a gentle boat and remembering our puzzle piece interlocking, but I knew I know if I bring you into our bed you will fight and arch to get back into your own equilibrium. So I place you gently down into your crib, and you fuss and pull into your new comfort: Water: Water Bottles: at least two. Full, and please with ice “in there”. Not one but two, clutched to your chest, and I leave brokenhearted, to sit on the toilet and listen to you softly chant, Momeeee. Mommmeee- an idea but not really a request. Not: mama. Not the open ended Mama of your first utterances of the idea. Somehow over the months I have moved from source to object. Momeeeeee. With the winnowing of your tongue comes the muscle of ownership. Mom. Me. Mine and Mine and Mine. You are mine, as we grow towards our own separate, desperate longing for each other.

almost twosies

I should be fired. I am alarmed at how much time has passed since a posting! And this is IT, this is the time- that SO MUCH is changing. Literally, every day a metamorphosis.

Well, let's not waste time with regrets, but just jump in.

Okay. You are almost two. Your brain is startlingly elastic. You can count almost to ten. For a long while, it was "one..... two..... one, .....two!!  And we laughed about breaking the "three barrier", of that mythic future moment in which you were going to be able to jump off into the void and finally land on three. Then, one day, just like that, you said it. Like it was nothing. Then about a week or two later, you were playing by yourself and i heard you quietly to yourself, "six, seven... eight!"  So we are up to eight. Sometimes I hold up the counting cards and ask you how many bears there are on it, or balloons or whatever, and you nonchalantly answer the correct amount. I have no idea of whether it is a guess or not, but .....I have to remind myself of the voracious ability that you are, right now.  Jamba is better at testing you, challenging you, and I have to remember that now is the time for that sort of thing. That this is when all your synapses are wildly overconnected to each other and you can LEARN things in a way my mind has completely forgotten.

A few weeks ago, we got back from a trip to California, and I would like to write about it. Shame that there were no words put down in the moment, but that is how it goes. The long and short of it is that we took a plane, (for the first time all three together as a family) and first we went hot-tubbing at Harbin Hot springs, taking turns swimming with you in the kiddie pool and taking our own solo dunks in the hot and cold pools, camping along the banks of the trickling stream at the base of the hill (where a frog sat sentinel on the rock we had to jump on to cross) where you got to spend your first night in a tent under the starry night, and we saw a pack of deer, with baby fawn, on our walk up to the pools and met a little boy on the deck outside the cafe who was the self-appointed guardian of a mama robin who was sitting on her eggs in a nest they had (foolhardedly? wisely?) built right off the side of the deck, so they were at perfect eye height, a touch away, and he had studied all there was to know about their patterns and the birds who threatened their eggs and performed his robin whistle for us, and then we drove back to SF and got into a car with Rachel and drove up to the woods for the annual reunion of all our Bay area friends along a river up in the Trinity Alps.

And something happened, there, for you. One day, in that wild place- the closest you have been to true wilderness, with the butterflies thrumming the skies and the forests so alive with their forestness, and the clean clear streams that you were actually allowed to play in- and we noticed this remarkable transformation.

It might have started the moment we got out of the car... Four year old Chloe, daughter of Jim and Giulietta, had been asking her mother eagerly all day for the baby girl she had been promised would arrive, and so she excitedly ran up to the car when we pulled up. She put out her hand to you, and you took one look up at her and fell hard. You took her hand, and the two of you just walked off together into the metaphorical sunset, which was then being performed by the trees of main camp. That image of you two, hand in hand and walking away without a look back, will be seared in my mind forever. Her tall and willowy, you a plump little peanut. The cuteness factor was a little outrageous.

So the two of you played and played, and swung in the hammock together and ran around with the dogs and you helped her not to be afraid of the doggies, and you twirled together in a world of your own, under the gaze of the adult world. It was what I have always wanted for you.. a tribal situation in which you and your friends are the undercurrents of the rippling and dynamic stream of community (forgive the cheesy metaphors) and not just the sole focus of our attention. Anyway, after a day in the fresh clean air with such a special friend, you came back to the tent with us to be put down for the night, and we were all snuggling on the air mattress and suddenly you sat up and started, just SPOUTING language. Sentences, nonsensical syllables, all connected in a stream of language, came pouring out of your mouth where before there had only been single words uttered in slow punctuation. You were just kind of blabbing. Talking, pointing at the walls of the tent, and then you shrugged your shoulders up in a kinda "i dont know!" way, and then continued on.

It was absolutely stunning. We were floored. We waited for you to finish and then we both said, "Sava, where did you COME from?" Oh my god we are both so in love with you. It was wonderful, also, to see you fall in love with a friend more your own age, because up to this point, you have existed side-by-side with some playmates, without forming any attachments. But you fell in love with her instantly, and it was so nice to see that side of you. That ability to form friendships.

So much more to write about our trip to California, but I will leave it at that for now. All I know is that, sitting in front of the statue of Quan Yin at Harbin Hot Springs after a dunk in the cold pool, I made a solemn vow to return to this place so that you could grow up blessed with the same contact to the natural world that I had. I want you to know these places in your bones.

Okay, so now you are starting to play with sentences- the big puzzle right now is how words fit together.  You are starting to get ideas like subject verb agreement, and concepts like "I and You". However when you want me to pick you up and hold you, you say "I hold you". I ask: "Sava, do you want me to hold you?" and you say "No, I hold you", as you lift your arms to be picked up. It is so cute. I am going to miss the passing of some of these twist-ups. For instance: wardawn has officially passed on. Sometime after California. You charmed the pants off everyone there, by calling "water" "wardawn" (which your dad finally figured out was because when you used to be in the bath, he would ask "Sava, do you want the water on?), so that people were starting to use it instead of the real word. And then we came back, and one day you woke up saying "water", just like the rest of us. I never got a video of you saying wardawn, and now you won't say it anymore. It is very sad.


You are incredibly athletic and bold in your skin. So full of energy and life that it is very hard to get you to sit still. In the mornings, Grayson, Emi and Kim sometimes gather together on the lawn to do Bagua together. They will be standing in a circle crouching and circulating their chi in a series of poses and breathing exercises, and I will come over and let you loose on them. They love it: you are like the distillation of all the chi they are attempting to generate. And you must feel something from their energy circle: because you just start going crazy: giggling, turning around in circles, falling down on your head, chasing Nico around and screaming with glee. They doing all these serious joyful poses with the widest grins on their faces.

You love nothing more than to jump from great heights into my arms. A current favorite game is to climb up on the back of the blue velvet couch and jump into my arms from there. You have complete trust in your physical prowess (for which you boast many a head bump and scrape and splinter, but luckily so far only minor injuries) and your favorite state is naked and with no shoes on exploring the different surfaces of the planet with your bare feet: sidewalk, asphalt, wood floor, grass, mulch, thicket. I worry about worms penetrating your tender soles and scan the vicinity for broken glass, but i feel somehow that this early experience with unfiltered walking is the more important thing to protect. I try to stuff my worry inside and hope that you continue to find the world a safe and welcoming oasis.

I have to go now, to my studio to spend a few moments painting, but I will be back, and I promise to write more. I love you
Mama

Rare Moments

It’s been a long week at work. I sit for hours on end staring at spreadsheets. We’re trying to build a language course for Spanish learners who are also paramedics or firefighters. It’s not hard work, but it’s sometimes difficult because it takes skills I’m not always certain I possess. Today is Friday, which means that with your mother’s new schedule (she’s working evenings as a hostess for a local restaurant), I get to watch you directly after work.

It was a warm day, and the humidity was probably 70-percent or higher. So when I drove down to pick you up, I was sweating the entire way. You were playing outside when I arrived. Your nose was running and your pretty little dress was covered at the top in snot and buggers—another sign of your recent invention: nose picking. The babysitter told me she needed a check for the week so we drove all the way back home then all the way back there. Then we went to the gym, but daycare was closing early so we only got about 30 minutes. We walked around the track (you love pulling the wagon around the running track) and then we went into the basketball court. You love balls and this is where they keep most of them so consequently you love the courts. In fact, you squealed when we walked into the courts. Then you ran over and picked out a purple basketball and started kicking it around and chasing after.

You’ve started this new thing. Moonwalking, really. You tell me I can’t squat and wait for the ball, I need to stand up. Then you get back to throw me the ball, but instead of throwing it you moonwalk. Back you go. Back. Back. Back. Then you throw the ball…and it creeps across the floor in my direction. I pick it up and ask if you’re ready…and you moonwalk for a while before saying yes. I roll the ball, you pick it up, and then the entire process begins again.

After this we stopped by the bike store and looked into getting a trailer for you and another bike for us. But we no sooner got there when you started breaking down and crying to go home. Off to the house we went. I put on a movie for you (your new favorite, Nemo) did the dishes, put food on the stove, fed Nico, cleaned the floors, straightened the living room…and then you were in the kitchen asking for food. Just in time, too. I plopped you down, but not before removing your dress because I somehow knew that with Russian dumplings and soup you were going to be covered in it all. Sure enough, you had soup dripping down into your lap and into the highchair. And the dumplings covered in Russian sour cream, oh man. You were drenching your fingers in it and stuffing your entire hands into your mouth. You LOVE cream and sauces of all kinds, but you really love Russian sour cream.

I was able to do a load of laundry, clean the stovetop, cook dinner and start a bath before you snapped out of your revere. Then it was into the bath. But something happened during your bath. The humidity cranked up to 90-percent or higher and suddenly Nico came running into the bathroom and tried getting into the tub with you! I pushed her back, but she was insistent so I picked her up and literally tossed her out the door. It didn’t take long before the thunder alerted me to the issue at hand. Nico hates lightning. She was shivering on the floor and scrambling to get into the bath, on top of the counter or in anyplace she felt she might be secure. And at that same time, you noticed a leaf in the tub and were full sure it was poop. “Poop! Poopoo!” you screamed. You stood up, wanting me to take you out, but Nico was now cowering on the floor in front of the tub. I tried getting you to sit. I tried getting Nico to leave the room. No such luck.

I took you wet from the tub and carried you out of the bathroom and upstairs to change your diaper and brush your teeth. But you wanted to play a game with brushing your teeth. Every time I came close with the brush you backed away and closed your mouth. Okay. No tooth brushing tonight. We read a little in the room, which you loved and then I basically started blacking out with exhaustion and so popped you into the crib then walked downstairs to change the laundry, wipe down the counters, and dry the dishes.

Ah, but where had Nico gone? It seemed obvious that she had tried to get into the tub without realizing there was water. I followed the footprints out the bathroom, across the kitchen floor and out the side door! Nico was out there in the storm that was now raging with lighting and thunder and pouring rain. Out into the rain I went. Eventually I found her in the backyard and brought her back. But the bleach I put on the stove was beginning to smell up the house so I had to go and clean that while Nico tried jumping onto the counters.

Finally you were down, Nico was under a bed somewhere and the storm was finally calm enough for me to open a beer and sit down on the front porch to tell you how beautiful it is right now, and how happy I am that we get to spend these busy and difficult times together. I went and checked on you to make sure you got to sleep okay. You were laying there wearing the one sock you insisted on wearing to bed. Your little body is getting very long. Soon you’ll be sleeping in a real bed. I just want to say that you are a little angel, and if this is how it has to be right now, this is how it has to be. We’re dreaming about another future as artists with more time at home, but that’s exactly why we’re working so hard at the moment. I just hope we all survive the overfullness of it all happening at once.

Love,

Dad

ephemera

That's the word for all of these plateaus of being you are continuously reaching and tumbling off of. Ephemera. It's the language of transition. Methexis in Greek. The participle which divides and generates a relationship based on division. Think of the transitory state of all the still photos that go into creating a movie. Each frame is both an image and a division; the consistency of the whole relies upon movement and divisions the way an utterance relies upon the word and the word the sentence.

Your childhood is ephemera. Not because it's not precious, but because it's too precious. There is an archival issue holding onto the change itself, but it's precisely what we're trying so hard to capture. Your first words, your temporary fascinations, your first jump on the trampoline, your first forehead dent, the last day you were still small enough to wear your yellow dress, the cuteness of you wearing your mothers tank top as a dress, your fish and shark and bunny rabbit imitations, the sign language which comes and goes, your love of black olives, tattoos, lotions, toothpaste, and anything you can sit in, stand on or wear.

A participle is a non-finite verb. It is not affected by categories; not yet tied to mood, structure or gender. And while you are also not tied to any one mood, structure or gender, at the very least the participle anchors itself in language while we struggle to capture the individual frames in this paper flip book animation of your becoming. It's a beautiful tragedy to experience what can never truly be captured: the film role of these moments put together which keeps us continually in awe, in love and continually on the edge of our seats. 

It's difficult watching these precious moments scattering into time as quickly as we can weave our narrative nets to capture and rein them back together into some semblance of a story about the awesomeness of your childhood. But Sava, sweetie, it's not this. It will never be this--these blog postings, the photos and the memories. And it's precisely because of the ephemeralness of being. What we're trying to net is your wildness, the attitude that brings up such deep and tender emotions one moment, and leaves me wanting to shout obscenities at god the next. It's in the flashes between the words and the photographs. The furled brow or the new expression that flashes across your features. Your various state of undress. The foodstuff in your hand, sauces on your person. The anxious expressions of the household animals in your presence. The various odors we must track down. It's the orchestration of these occurring in harmonious simultaneity. Then it's over to make way for the next image we'll foreshorten into a story about this or that. And if there are gaps in our archive you'll have to be patient and remind yourself that it's the result of our absolute engagement in these flashes of perfection.

Soon you'll be talking and reading and borrowing the car, but for now it's transition after transition after transition. Soon enough the moments become minutes, the minutes decades and the memories become photographs and coins at the bottom of a box--concrete ephemera to fill the once of absolute wonder and movement, the dance of letting go and holding on and letting go.

It's exhausting to be in multiple frame-rates at once: watching the reel, capturing the breaks, playing the father, the employee, the student, the husband, the tenant, landlord, the co-curator of the Miss Sava Lue sort-of archival project, the exhaustee and  translator/bodyguard in your junior explorations. . . .

But I know it's important to try.

Love,

Dad

Sava . . . the poem

I found this poem "Sava" written by Sibelan Forrester, a professor at Swarthmore College

Sava, you flow like sweet green sleep,
easy to fit my steps beside.
I always thought your name
was the name of a saint,
or of a girl whose wicked brothers
used the name as bait
to lure her gullible lover --
but Sava you carry no death for me,
nor any heavenly perfection,
only a reflected sunset.
On the embankment above your waves
I walk as if I could walk for days,
for nights with no need to rest,
and never stop -- to Serbia, to Syria,
to the walls of the wine-dark sea.
Sava, love is sharp in my heart,
and time is failing to heal --
Sava the name of my love wounds me
with every step, with every breath.
If I wrap my bodu in your green waters,
if your waves lap and lave my skin,
will you bear the pain away?
Sava, my goddes, my verdegris sister,
draw me somehow into the future,
where today's love will be long gone,
and only as sad as a story,
only as sad as a song.

Spring 1987

- Dad

Sava in Spring

 

Sava in Springtime: Assorted notes. 

For my birthday party, we had an Easter bbq in the backyard, and we strung the tree with a bunch of plastic easter eggs that Emi had filled with jelly beans. We left them up for a while. I wonder how this event is going to imprint on your brain, as you have now had weeks of an experience in which candy really does grow on trees. You see the tree and you point and squeal "yay!" while nodding your head up and down vigorously. This is your main method of manipulation at present: you have learned to present your case with the utmost conviction and affirmative body language. So it is, "Mommy + (sign language for milk) + (nodding head vigorously) + "Yesh!"  You reserve that special "yay!" though, for the easter egg tree, and the easter egg tree alone. There are four jelly beans left. 

Your language skills are becoming ridiculously good. It is to the point where I can say almost anything and you will try to repeat it. Even conjunctions. Two syllable words. "Armpit" "Elbow". My favorite words to hear you say right now are: "Horse"  (Whoarse)  "Butterfly" (Bird-fly) and.... "Elephant" (alollyluhlalala)

Our favorite You-tube video is "Giraffe Baby". You point out its eyes, its ears, its mouth (mouw) its nose, and its tongue. With books and games, it is mostly now this game of pointing out things you recognize and naming them. Goodnight Moon is a favorite- you like to call out the socks, the shoes, the moon, the kitties (titties) the cow (moooo). You have recently become very aware of trains... and every time  you hear a train whistle blow (which is often around here) you perk up and squeal "choo choo!" You seem to have amazing hearing... can pick it out even when it is subtle and dwarfed by other noises. So I found this amazing vintage edition version of "The Little Engine That Could" and it is your new favorite book. You point out the giraffes "graff" and the elephants and you can also find the tiny little monkey in the middle of the pile of toys and you go "hoo hoo hoo" as you curl your arms up to tickle your armpits in a perfect imitation of a moneky. So monkeys, choo choo trains, and horses are big right now. I have a book called Horses- basically an encyclopedia of all the different types of horses in the world- and your dad likes to walk you through the book. "Sava, what's that?" (Whoarse!) "Okay. What's that one?" (Whoarse!). "Hmmmm. This one?" (Whoarse!). You are tremendously patient with him and will answer him endlessly, with the same degree of enthusiasm. Another game he likes to do is to point to a horse and ask if it is a kitty. Or a dog. Or a fish. And you say "nooooo", each time, very patient with your (by all appearances) dim-witted father. 

Nico is "Doh" and Noble, (when Lauren and Tyler came out to visit last weekend for Jamba's birthday) was "Momo".  You are starting to enjoy counting, but usually chime in on the "two" which sounds more like "dew" and fall off the wagon around "twee". But you are really good at pointing at your fingers while doing it. And a couple of times, when we asked you how many things were on a page, you answered with the correct number. Luck or brilliance.. who knows? Who cares?

Games

Here are four favorites... one's that you even initiate by yourself when you are bored or want to liven up the situation:

1)Your dad invented a game during car rides, when one person says "ummmmmmm.......... "and then blurts out the first random syllabic word nonsense that comes to their minds. For Jamba and I, it is usually "ummmmmm.... pencil fart! donkey breath! swizzle stick" or some other such nonsense. You are more of a minimalist and a true nonsense poetic genius. "ummmmmmm..... dert!" "ummmmmmm....twollylo!" Jamba and I have agreed that the moment in which you are saying "ummmmmmmm......" with your little nose and upper lip pulled down over your mouth, is the absolute cutest Sava moment that has ever been.

2) You got really excited about yelling "uuupppp,  DOWN!" for awhile. For example, while getting your diaper changed, you would lift your legs up, and then yell "Down!" as they were falling down. 

3) Jamba would point up to the ceiling to get you to look up when he wanted to tickle you under your chin, and so now when you want to tickle somebody you point up and say "Der!" and then go "tee tee tee" while waving your little fingers at their body parts.

4) "Shh Shh, Hi!"  One time we were all lounging in the bed in the morning and you suddenly said "Sh sh, Hi!" and I couldn't figure out what you were saying, until I realized that you were telling us to "Shush" and "Hide!", because you heard Nico clambering up the stairs on her way to jump on the bed, and now it is our favorite way of initiating a sudden mad dive under a pile of pillows.

Our Little Crow

You are picking up funny little turns of speech.. whenever you want something to come along with you (which is often), you say " 'mon" as you are looking back over your shoulder. (I guess I say "C'mon Nico!", "C'mon Sava!" a whole lot).  Jamba had congestion for about two months so there was a lot of throat clearing around the house, and you started mimicking him whenever you heard it. He would be upstairs getting dressed for work and clearing his throat and you would be downstairs eating breakfast with me and start doing it between bites of yogurt.

Bee Poop

Jamba got a bag of bee pollen and has been feeding you spoonfulls of it... he says "Hey Sava, do you want some bee poop? Sava, do you want some "bzzzz plllop" And you just love it. He has gotten you to make the sounds when you want to eat it.

Trust

Total lack of fear. Total trust both in the universal friendliness of all dogs and in your physical prowess. The ability to do an amazing amount of things that should be beyond your physical ability. Like jumping on the trampoline for minutes without falling... catching yourself in the middle of stumbling and righting yourself. The other day I was gardening and I turned away for one minute, and when I looked up you had made it clear across the garden and had climbed up the chair and were wriggling onto the trampoline of your own accord.  You are so fast it is frightening. Not surprisingly, you have been accumulating battle scars.... scraped knees and elbows and bandaged digits and even one blackish eye (from running into the bookcase with your face). We are going to have to send you off to Amy for capoeira boot camp soon. Your dad is really worried.

Fear

The only thing you seem to be afraid of right now is puppets and little boy penises. Mom gave us these cool hand puppets...I guess they can be considered scary (one is a three-headed dragon called a hydra, the other is a two-part puppet where one hand plays the frog and the other the prince.) You were totally into the frog puppet and gave it a bunch of kisses, but when i pulled the prince around and started talking, thanking you for transforming him into a prince in a very elaborate, silly voice, you got real quiet and solemn, and in a really small voice said "no", while you backed away. It was the same little "no" that you gave when you saw your first little boy penis, in the wading pool with your neighborhood friend Elliot.

Gender Lines

Although you get really excited whenever you see a truck, and yell "truck!", I have to admit that you are aligning yourself along standard party lines. For instance you are totally absorbed with babies.. You have about three of them of various sizes and squishiness at present. You love watching babies on youtube videos. You are extremely interested in feeding your babies and giving them water. Especially putting them in the booster seat for a little snack. (But really, you like to feed and water all of your toys. You have tried on a number of occasions to give your little horsie some breastmilk, graciously stopping mid-nurse to bob his head at my nipple (while making little slurping noises).  I said, "oh honey, one day you will learn that you can lead a horse to ... " oh, never mind.)

Your obsession with shoes continues... and also your maddening drive of de-shodding yourself constantly... especially whenever in the car seat. I do the same amount of shoe changes that a mother of quadruplets would. Choosing new shoes and demanding that these be the ones that are put on now. You are constantly with one shoe on, and one shoe off. I have no idea that such a thing could be a genetic trait. 

And lastly, you call "socks"  "gocks"

-love, Mom

"Mommy, I draw!"

My Sweet Sugar Monkey, 


It was a warm evening. The sun was shining into the studio in the backyard. The studio side door was open, and the ivy that usually grows up the door was now laying beautiful and emerald against the dark wood of the flooring. 


You were completely naked; your face was filthy and your hands were colored with various pastel colors. Acoustic music was playing on a laptop (Gregory Alan Isakov, the music that played when you came into this world) and you were taking turns hopping, spinning, dancing and making little pastel chalk marks on a canvas Erin had propped up against the door frame.


You were too busy with this routine to give me little more than a few big smiles. Then you hopped several times in a row, rushed to the canvas to add a bitty purple line, and then smiled up at us and spoke your first real sentence: 


"Mommy, I draw!"  


We cheered and did a little dance around the room, which you loved, but after than you went right back to single syllable words:: "shoe" "eye" "sick" etc. 


It's beautiful and poetic: Mommy, I draw. 


I love you, 
Dad

Comin' From Where I'm From

On Friday we took you to see How To Train A Dragon at the local movie theater. It was your first movie theater experience and you were awed by the experience. You sat on our laps and stared at the screen with your mouth agape. A few times when the movie was a little intense you nursed with your mother, but mostly you sat and stared in total wonder. 

We now know that this wasn't the best movie for a 1 1/2 year old, but its the first children's film to play at the movie theater for a very long time. Because the show started at 5:20pm there were just a few other people there with their kids, and periodically you'd turn to watch them for a second before returning your attention to the dragons and the battle scenes. 

We've been wondering what sort of influence the pop culture is going to have on you. Horton Hears A Who is a concealed story about faith. And the Dragon movie mirrors the U.S. wars in Iraq where the enemy is only the enemy because they are themselves ruled by a despot. We've been watching the previews for children's movies with some sense of balance, but they've all become metaphors for military action of one sort or another. 

Tonight you wanted me to put the headphones on you so that you could listen to music. We sat on the bed and I plugged them into the computer while you struggled to put the headphones on...your knee. I helped direct them to your head, but they were way to big for you. Looking around the room, I noticed a pair of clean socks and I put them under the headphones to hold them in place. You were so adorable in your pink butterfly pajamas sitting on the bed with your legs straight out and the socks and headphones on your head. You were so serious as you intently waited for the music. So, to counter all the military action, I found an Anthony Hamilton video of the song "Comin' From Where I'm From" and put that on. 

You're eyes got very big and a smile passed over your expression like a summer rain. It was there and full and then it was gone. What remained was your seriousness for the task at hand. You watched the video on my computer and every now and then you'd wide-eyed in my direction before returning your attention to Anthony and the video. It felt good to equal out your pop experience with a classic, and I was thinking I'd write something witty and interesting about the moment--the look in your eyes, the recognition of a type of rhythm your mother and I tend to love--but I guess this is that entry. 

After watching Hamilton, we went to the grocery store and you suddenly became enamored with my face, which you kept gently kissing probably as a reenactment of of my kissing you. Then at home you became a little baby and crawled on the floors until it was time for good night. 

It's difficult to know which among these experiences will stand out or shape you in some way, but I guess that's the beauty of life. You never know. 

I love you, 

Dad

Oh, Look At The Little Baby

Tonight you were doing your normal routine: running around the house demanding to watch television one minute, needing cheese the next--which you then threw into a container outside--screaming about needing something in the kitchen, dropping to the ground to pick a squished raisin off the linoleum . . . with your teeth, chasing the kat, falling chin-first into the living room floor, climbing the bookshelf and throwing anything you could reach onto the floor, demanding a horse ride then crying when I put you on . . . when you suddenly noticed your binky.

Pause.

A serene look passed over your face as you reached out for the binky and put it into your mouth. You wanted down, so I stood you on your feet, but you got down on your hands and knees and began waddling around the carpet like an infant. You perfected the waddle and then took it on the road, into the living room where your mother was sitting. "Oh," she said, "look at the little baby."

You waddled up to your mama and wrapped your arms around her legs like it was all you could do. She reached down and picked you up and held you on your back in her arms singing children's songs. And you lay there so peaceful, looking around with very sleepy eyes, sucking on your binky and every now and again closing your eyes and snuggling into your mother's arms.

5 minutes of this and you wanted down. You then waddled across the room to me and did the same routine, acting the part just perfectly (eerily). Then it was back to the old Save for a little while, running, destroying, demanding. Then, a little later, you decided to be a baby again. And again, you played the part like a good little actress.

You are a funny little kid.

You wear me out, but you always leave me with something to laugh about or admire in you.

I love you,
Dad