whoosh

Do you ever have one of those moments where you just nearly fall over from emotion? I had one of them today, and I know I'm going to hate myself when I re-read this and see it written in this sort of overly explanatory, self-aware style that totally fails to capture the essence of the moment. But anyway, my friend Carol, an accomplished ukulele player, had promised she would send Luke her beginner ukulele. It helped that she knew he had interest, we had family uke experience (Grandma P.), and her old uke just happens to be known affectionately as L'uke. I told her she couldn't possibly want a two-year-old to be bashing around something of such great sentimental value, but anyway...
The box came today while Luke was napping, which gave me a great opportunity to open it and inspect it before prying toddler hands got ahold of it. Then the weirdest thing happened - While I was opening the box, I just suddenly felt a *whoosh* like I can't even describe. I imagined how completely tickled and happy Grandma would be to see me opening this ukulele and teaching my son to play. It was almost like I could feel her seeing me opening the box and just being completely thrilled. My eyes just completely filled with tears and I actually had to stop for a second to sort of regain my footing.
That emotion dried up pretty quickly after I completely failed to tune it properly and strummed the first note - *twoing* - sending all native Hawaiians within shouting distance running for the hills. But I got the hang of it pretty quickly and it is very cool. It's definitely a mom toy and NOT a Luke toy. I didn't show it to him after he woke up - I think I want to wait until I can play a few chords reasonably well and then he can watch me and learn how to hold it.
After dinner we heard the unmistakable sound of police siren and canned Christmas music, which could only mean one thing: The Santa float was outside our block! Given that Santa is all Luke has talked about for the past week, we couldn't miss the opportunity. I went outside to catch up with Dave and Luke, and realized belatedly that it was a photo opportunity. So I did a hundred-yard dash back to the house, then back to the float with camera in hand, huffing and puffing and pausing to get that perfect shot. Then the whoosh came again - seeing Luke totally excited about Santa, feeling like what it really means to be a parent, and feeling that last piece of pizza rising up in my throat and threatening to make a reappearance. Mmmmmm...emotions on overdrive. Yes, that's what Christmas is all about.

trash truck

I am like a balloon deflated today, without Luke or Dave or Mom and Dad. Luke had to be peeled away from us, kicking and screaming, but I suppose it was better than the alternative of us leaving him behind. Then I had to be peeled away, weepy and mopey, from Mom and Dad at the airport as they left our sunny climes for cold and distant New Jersey. I guess feeling like a balloon doesn't quite describe it - I'm more like a peeled Meyer lemon, shriveled and drippy with nothing protecting my sweet vulnerable insides but a white bumpy skin...
Oh, but before all that, we spent some time walking around the neighborhood, hot on the trail of the trash truck (think "Trash truck! Trash truck! Trash truck" multiplied a hundred times). Out on the stoops we saw representative samples of Thanksgivings gone by - wine crates, turkey boxes, and assorted fall/Halloween decor being discarded to make room for Christmas. Then we finally caught up with a trash truck, which, symbolically enough, was broken down and unable to do any of the trash-trucking that makes it so appealing.
But lest we all get super-sad reading this post, I should point out that the trash did bring us one treasure this morning: A very cool easel, discarded by our neighbors because a little shelf on the chalkboard side had broken off. A shelf? Who needs a shelf?, we said, and we had it washed up and being drawn upon by Luke before he could even say "trash truck" (again).
What's been good about this vacation? We went to the beach almost every day. Luke developed a strong attachment to "Dama" and "Papa." We ate like kings, and we ate like white trash, and it all tasted good going down. Luke learned how to say "dustpan" ("dust [pause] PAN!") We heard some good music, and we made some extremely bad (or at least loud) music. Luke pointed to the white bearded saint in the stained-glass window in church and said "Santa!" We finally managed to scrape together enough money to buy me another earplug. We saw the funniest $2.395 million house ever built, with direct garage access from the master bathroom. We bought the most beautiful Christmas tree, the first in our Pacific house, for only $19.99. We vowed to do it all again, more frequently, in the future.
Now, after a week of being surrounded by noise and loved ones, I'm alone at work, with my office-mate gone, and it's totally quiet. I'm debating - Should I call Silvia to see how Luke is?
*brief pause while I actually call Silvia - he's fine*
While I stood out on the beach with Dad yesterday, he told me that he was thinking about how in 48 hours, he'd be thinking about how just 48 hours ago he was on the beach. So THAT'S where I got it from. Pre-retroactive disappointment. I felt that way at breakfast (our last breakfast with them!), out in the yard with mom (I'll remember that the chairs were arranged that way because they were here!), doing the dishes (they used those dishes!) - missing them before they left. Why can't I just have the gift of living in the present? Will I feel that way the entire Christmas vacation, mourning the fact that we only have x days left until it's over? No! I won't do it! I'm going to sit here at my keyboard, alone at work, relishing this moment and thinking just a little sadly, of a small guy who just woke up and probably wants to see another trash truck.

fire truck

It could be me, or it could be Mom and Dad, or it could be Dave, but we all seem to agree that Luke's speech has just taken off this week. He has a few compound words and comments, and he seems to come out of nowhere with these words he knows (clown? salt?).

We've had a glorious time and I'm not quite ready for it to be over. Maybe just one more beautiful day at the beach with them to tide me over until Christmas...

We overheard them at the farmers' market this morning saying "Let's spend our winters here," and Dave and I gave each other the mental high-five.

Other than that, my only comment is "burp." We have totally pigged out. Just as an example, I cooked eggs and hash browns and pepperoni for breakfast...but then we went straight to the farmers' market where we sampled fruit, then doughnuts, then Japanese food, then fish, then we bought some pupusas, then Dad bought some satay chicken, and then we had a French chocolate crepe. Feeling full yet?

Probably more to say about Thanksgiving, but for now I'll just sign off and hope to burn off some calories by napping...

Yay

Mom and Dad are here! I love it! Luke is totally enamored with "Pa-PAAAAAA" and won't let him have a moment's peace. They're reading quietly out in the backyard right now, while Luke dozes and I'm stirring up the stuffing. Ahhh. Thanksgiving. I feel plumper already.

wheeeeeeeeeeeeee

Too bad I don't have a picture to go with today's post. If I did, it would be a big blur of me and Dave and Luke zipping along the beach at top speed, two grown-ups on Rollerblades and one tot in a jogging stroller. It has been almost THREE YEARS since we last Rollerbladed. I forgot how much fun it was. On Friday when we drove along the beach, I said to Dave, somewhat nostalgically, "Remember when we used to just go skating on the beach?" and he said, "We still can!"

So this morning we clumsily packed up the entire car, preparing for any possible diaper-changing, sun-screening, sand-digging situation, and we bumped on down the road to Playa del Rey. I wondered if it really would be like getting back on a bike, and...it was. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee! I barely even bothered to wait for Dave and Luke. The fact that it was sunny and nearly 85 degrees outside made it simultaneously more enjoyable and more uncomfortable. We stopped for a little while, took a breather, gave Luke time to dig, and then kept going for what we clocked at approximately four-plus miles. Was there throwup earlier this weekend? Yes, yes there was. But was it all forgotten as we zipped along the smooth beach pathway? Yes, yes it was.

Luke conked out on the way back and then perked up once we got to the house. He won't go down for his nap now because all he wants to talk about is "Fast! Fast! Fast!" Maybe it'll become a new routine...Maybe there's something that we can do for our own self-interest that he will enjoy as well...Heck, maybe he'll be one of those little kids who goes around on skates like they're regular shoes. OK, now I'm scaring myself. I'm just going to relax now with that smooth, smooth skating feeling still running through my legs...

where everybody knows your name

Just got back from the downtown merchants' open house, aka "the candlelight tour" for those of you who have that as a reference point, and I had an amazing revelation: The first time I went was six years ago, when Dave was working late, and I went through the whole thing on my own, grabbing snacks and getting my raffle card stamped. I was so determined to fill that thing out that I just muscled past people and sped through the whole event. Hey, I won one of the raffles, so that was all good. But at the time I remember thinking that it would be nice to actually know some people.

Fast forward to six years later, and how cool is it that as soon as I got there I ran into a friend of mine, and we walked a little while, and then I ran into another friend, then another, and soon I had seen almost all of my friends. (And Luke got to see some reindeer, watch some big kids play in a band, and eat ice cream - what more could you want?) So I don't know how real or fake any of these friendships might be, but hey. I felt like a real mom-around-town.

I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself about Dave not being around so much. Earlier this week when I told a colleague that Dave was gone, she started telling me how hard it was when her husband, a commercial fisherman, would leave her and her two kids for six months at a time, back when there were no cell phones and only sporadic radio contact. Or tonight, it was hammered into my head again as I heard on the radio the story of a woman fearing for her husband's safety in Afghanistan. So what do I have to complain about? Well, I miss him. And I know Luke misses him. The way he lit up and practically jumped out of his skin when he saw Dave tonight was just a clue about how he feels. I wish we could have more of him spread around throughout our day (kinda like in the movie Multiplicity) to give each of us our share.

So now Dave has put Luke to bed - why am I still blogging? I guess I'll just end with this picture of Luke, because my heart swells every time I see it.

'Nuff said.

not exactly poetry today

Another "rare" at-work post since there's not much computer time at home...So this weekend turned from "Eh? So he vomited..." to super-scary "How soon until we should just take him to the hospital?" It was really like that. He couldn't hold down a single thing on Saturday, and he basically turned into lethargic noodle-man who couldn't even hold his head up. That after the scourge of Saturday morning, where we dealt with newborn-type crying for four straight hours.

Oh, AND Dave was working all weekend and left on Sunday night. AND this was the weekend that Stephanie and Dave fired Silvia, although that was obviously on the back burner.

So, how was everyone else's weekend?

Now, for some positive turns: This morning Luke woke up at 5:45 (that's not the positive part just yet), presumably wanting something to eat. But he was otherwise pretty cheery and he was pretty happy when Silvia got there, and he was actually fine with me leaving. And Silvia seemed surprised about the firing but sounded like she wasn't even thinking of leaving us. So I'm not sure where that leaves us for the long term, but for the moment we are just sort of skating.

We have no Dave tonight either. Let's just hope the next 48 hours or so stay vomit-free.

sugar

Before I even start saying things that will make people laugh at me, let me just point out that Luke threw up again this morning (in his crib) and that canceled out most possible activities that we would have undertaken today. Bummer for him, bummer for me.

So we muddled through the morning, alternating between TV, books, and computer. Then he wanted to go in the kitchen and play with Dave's coffeemaker. I know this is a problem, and I know I shouldn't even indulge this for a moment, but...after a moment he decided that what he would rather do is get a spoon so that he could play with the sugar. Since that seemed like the lesser of two evils to me, the decision was made: Our new morning activity would involve sugar.

So I got him the spoon, three big bowls, a measuring cup, the shaker filled with Cheerios, and I sat it all down on the floor. I let him pour about a cup of sugar into one of the bowls and mix it all up and pour it back and forth while saying "cook." He was happy as a sugar-sifting clam for a good 15 minutes, and I have to admit that I was congratulating myself too. Good old mom, thinking of new textures for him to play with, indulging him in his favorite activities, digging and dumping. I even did some cooking myself in the meantime.

Then things took a dark turn. I noticed that there were pockets of sugar accumulating on the floor around him and on his shirt and pants. No problem, I thought, I'll just shake him off and clean up afterwards. Then he dumped the whole pile on the floor. Not good. I tried to scoop up as much as I could and then I started trying to wipe up around him. First it got all wet and sticky. Then I noticed that it was getting hard and crusty...

One of the things that amazed me the most from that point on was how quickly it degenerated from mildly annoying to truly alarming. Before I knew it I had a completely sugar-coated guy sitting on sticky sugar-glazed floor, laced with Cheerios. It was then that he got bored and decided to get up and walk away, all sugar-crinkly, into the next room. Oy. I had to grab him, pull off his clothes, and finally corral him upstairs in the bathroom sink. At this point he was crying, I was covered in sugar, and I didn't even want to think about what the kitchen floor looked like.

So. Fast-forward to three hours later. We avoided the kitchen for the rest of the morning. Once Luke went down for his nap I had to haul out the mop and the Pine-Sol and wipe down the entire kitchen... And I'm thinking that we don't pay preschools nearly enough for what they go through.

up

At times I feel like we are living with a Martian in the house. A small, opinionated one. The kind that you have to explain everything to because it's completely brand new. These are the kinds of things I think about when I hear myself saying, "There's this thing called Christmas, where everyone gets presents, like a birthday, except there's a big man with a white beard, and his name is Santa Claus," or "It's a bat, like a black thing that flies, not like a fly, and not like the thing that you hit the ball with," or "You use the spoon to put the food in your mouth, not down your shirt." Maybe I'm the one making it all so hard to understand.

Anyway, Luke has discovered a new dimension, which is anything higher than he is. All he wants to do is climb up, and then if all environmental conditions are deemed suitable, jump down. I swear he has spent more than an hour in the past week carefully thumbing through the clothes in my closet, not because it's interesting, but because it's the only thing available to do while standing on the stepstool in there. And the jumping-off-the-hamper game seemed like fun until someone fell off and bumped his nose, and then - wait - come to think of it, it was still fun after that! More hamper jumping!

Today Luke's food also moved into a different dimension, which is to say, up and not in his stomach anymore. Wait, you say, why is Jeanne not totally freaked out or in the dumps or somehow blaming herself? Well, it happened at about 3 pm and Silvia cleaned it all up and didn't call me, which was probably a good thing, because by the time I got home he was all fresh and just about the happiest guy around. I suppose there was something gnawing at him, which would explain why he couldn't sleep last night, and why at 3:30 am he was rolling around moaning. Either way, he seems to have purged himself of the offending substance and gone back to cheery equilibrium.

Then there's the big Martian in the house, also known as Dave, whom I continue to marvel at every day. How can he work almost round the clock, manage our finances and refinancing, manage all of our home renovations, manage Luke's bedtime routine every night, muddle through our sad and confusing decisions about child care, and yet still lie down on the living room floor at the end of the day with a huge smile on his face and make me laugh? Is he just built with some different sort of chemical composition? Do they sell it in drug form? Because I think I should be taking some. Really.

Or maybe the two of them have it right and I'm the one from Mars who just doesn't get it. I've got these feelings about the childcare dilemma that are so intense and raw, but when I try to explain them I can't even get them out of my mouth. It's like I want to have this liberating feeling like he's off enjoying himself at childcare/preschool...and yet I don't want to let go of him or have to turn my back and walk away. I went from feeling sort of excited about preschool to having total sit-up-in-bed anxiety about how bad it would be, and the discussion has only just begun.

But tonight, after the liberating vomit, and the moderately confusing Christmas explanation, and the quality time spent in my closet, Luke went to bed happy. For now, that's enough to make me think that things are looking up.

that sinking feeling

A rare at-work post. Filled with conflict today over childcare and Luke's future. That feeling of dread was followed by yet another phone call from home today: Luke hurt his foot or leg, not sure how severely, at Adventureplex today. *Sigh*

In part the problem is that I'm allowing this to turn into a situation where someone else is making the call and deciding on the timing. Stephanie and Dave are moments away from firing Silvia, and as soon as they do, it's only days left on our clock before she finds a family to work for full-time. So Silvia's days are numbered.

In another part it's a matter of letting the little Silvia things bother me in the meantime - like leaving an egg in the diaper bag; or like Marti deciding that she's no longer going to come over to our house, just because I finally said something about the house being left dirty.

In part it's that while I don't want another nanny, I'm truly not ready for sending Luke off somewhere else. This is not a comment on day care, by the way, for those of you who happen to have outstanding daycares that are conveniently accessible. I don't, and I probably would have used one sooner if I had. In fact, of all the moms in all of my classes, I can only think of one who has her kid in a local daycare (one of the ones that Mom and I looked at and Mom poo-poohed). One other kid I know is in a daycare/preschool type situation, and that's because the family had a second baby and they hired a nanny for the baby while the toddler went to school.

So anyway, the part about dropping Luke off somewhere and leaving him there is not something I'm ready for just because I am certain that he won't deal with it too well. How can I get him ready for it? Would they tolerate us going there repeatedly throughout the month of December, until it was somewhere he was so used to going that he just did his little "Buh-bye!" when I dropped him off?

Oy. Big stressball here. That explains why I'm eating a lot too. At this rate I'll be prepared to roll home for Christmas, just barely being able to stuff myself into a single airline seat.

Any encouraging thoughts are welcome...

feel no pain

My two-day silence has been brought to you, in part, by the most painful, hair-tearing, teeth-gnashing lower back ache I have ever had. Yesterday when I picked up Luke I literally could not walk - I staggered out of Art Zone, dangling my clinging charge as we dragged closer and closer to our parking spot. It most likely came about through a combination of factors: poor posture at work; 30-plus-pound boy who always wants to be carried; and odd positions in which I am required to pick up said boy, including a broken crib front that does not slide down into easy baby-pick-up position.

I must have ignored my back long enough that it finally tore into me, with red neon signs, begging me to pay it some attention. And yet I still continue to pick up Luke and drag him all over creation.

At the same time tonight I was totally entertained by Luke and Eitan running around with each other after dinner. They are truly adopted siblings - entirely in synch with one another and they know exactly what each other finds hilarious. Anyway, while either one of them might throw a fit if any other kid so much as tapped them on the shoulder, they could crack each other's skulls and walk away smiling. I watched them do a total Tom-and-Jerry-type crash into each other, involving both of them falling comically on the very hard stone patio, and they just picked themselves up and continued the mayhem.

Does it hurt less if someone you really like is the root of the pain? Well, that would explain why anyone would go through childbirth once (or more than once). Could some things just be so much fun that they're worth the pain? That would explain why I continue to toss Luke in the air for the Too High/Too Low game. Are some friends worth having cracked skulls and chipped teeth for? Apparently for Luke and Eitan, if the current trend continues.

But I need to give myself some kind of break. Current vision of myself a year from now is a haggard 38-year-old, barking out mom orders while being wheeled around on a gurney...and the whispers behind my back: "She just didn't know when enough was enough..."

Yoga mom?

Someone forwarded me an article yesterday about the new demographic group they're calling "yoga moms" - the women who postpone childbearing while climbing the corporate ladder of success, then have babies whom they overindulge with ever-escalating gourmet/couture baby products. The person who forwarded the message was mad: "Just because I am a little older and had a successful career doesn't automatically make me a yoga mom. Don't lump me in with this bunch."

Am I a yoga mom? No, I don't think so. I haven't kow-towed to some of the most ridiculous trends. And I'm the bargain-hunter I've always been. But here's the thing: If I found that Fleurville diaper bag for, say, 15 bucks somewhere I'd buy it in a heartbeat.

Then again, who's to say I'm not trying to buy my way out of something? I work three days a week; Mom never did. So I try to pack those other four days into big-time quality time to make up for the lost time. Maybe that's where the super-indulgence really comes in. In fact, I was just wondering this morning if my time with Luke was kid-focused enough. I mean, we read books and all, but I never quite get into his games with total abandon. I found myself wondering if I would ever have the kind of day where we were just jumping up and down and throwing confetti everywhere. Total kid fun, but who wants to clean that up? And - getting back to the original point - why would I fault myself for not having days like that? You see my dilemma.

Luke continues to impress with his astonishing memory. We were looking at a picture from a week ago with Owen at the senior home, so he says "Yo-yo" (Owen) "up" "no" (Owen tried to climb up the stairs where he wasn't allowed) "zzzhhhhhh" (we left after they started a really loud vacuum cleaner) "dod" (we saw a seeing-eye dog coming in as we were leaving). I didn't remember half these details about the morning, but once he started narrating the story, I realized what he meant. Unbelievable.

Now I'm off to search Ebay for that Fleurville bag...

Project: Best Day Ever

I had a project yesterday that was inspired by a number of things, one of which was a comment from the peanut gallery about how I am not fully appreciating what I have in life (read: I'm all glass-is-half-empty). So yesterday, a mundane, workaday Tuesday, I made it my mission to have the Best Day Ever. Actually, I knew that would be aiming a little high but I thought I'd at least aim for a Great Day. Did my new sunny-side-up approach to life have any effect whatsoever? Well, I suppose I was a little more patient with things at work. I tried a little harder to make sure that my time with Luke was fun time and not chore time. I tried a little harder not to get frustrated by Every. Little. Thing. that Silvia does. All in all, it was genuinely an OK day. Luke and I actually had a grand old time after dinner reading the new books I bought him. The only part of the day that was truly horrible was when I put him to bed (no Dave) and he screamed bloody murder for a good 15 to 20 minutes before I finally threw in the towel and went to get him and even took him out of the crib. But astonishly, he calmed down and within a few minutes and a quick water break, went back to bed willingly and peacefully.

Today was an OK day too even though I didn't have to make an effort to convince myself of it. Luke was lotsa fun through the morning and in class, up until he had a mini cookie (TOO-TEE! TOO-TEE!) tantrum. (Ironically, the class discussion was, Why do they whine? and one of the first answers was: Because they are tired). I took him home and he fell asleep even before I got back to the house, which was funny for me because I didn't realize he had been asleep and I had been talking to him the whole time.

What was my point here? So it was a good day; maybe just a little disappointing that Dave couldn't make it home until after 7:30. He's been working so hard, and I feel bad for him, but I also feel bad for Luke missing out on that time. Tonight we had a chance to do Luke's absolute favorite thing in the world - all three of us jamming on various guitars, brooms, and shovels - but it only lasted a few seconds because it was way past bedtime.

Where am I going with this? I guess I'm just saying that I hear y'all - I'm trying to honor my blessings and make the most of them.

trick or treat

Rather than going out, Luke and I stayed home to welcome the trick-or-treaters. He was shy at first, then warmed up to the idea, and soon was taking the candy and putting it into the kids' bags. At one point we had Chinese delivery and Luke was confused as to why the delivery guy didn't want any candy.

Holding a piece of candy in one hand, he called after the guy as he walked away from the house: "Man? Man?!!!..."