One step away

We are thisclose to sending Luke off to school for a day all by himself. And he seems to be doing alright with the teeny transition steps so far. Today was the first day he was going to eat lunch there, and although he didn't seem to be listening when I showed him his lunch bag and told him what was in it, he apparently spent the rest of the morning at home asking, "Where's Lukie's lunch bag?" When it was time to leave he ran to get the lunch bag, then slung it over his shoulders and marched out the door like a big kid on a mission.

His "doctor" affectation, while mystifying, seems to have taken hold in a big way. If you say, "Thank you, Luke" or "Sorry, Luke" or "Luke, could I please have the..." he will quickly correct you: "Thank you, doctor," - etc. As Dave puts it, he's one step away from having an imaginary friend. Well, if that's what it takes to keep the doctor happy...

workshop

Nothing much to say, just kind of blissing out after a really nice day. The "doctor's" big surprise this morning was a super-duper new workshop/tool center (thank you, Craigslist) and we didn't do much else except fix things and talk about tools. Had a nice, mellow Shabbat dinner over at Hatcher's house and the two little guys played together like longtime buddies (which, technically, they are). I guess it's part of the bounceback from being sick - and maybe Luke is feeling this too - but I have just a nice glow about what a good day it was. Yes, I ate far too many chocolate chip bars...and yes, I'm feeling very nervous about the big change looming ahead of us...but hey - it's winter and I don't have to wear a swimsuit...and Luke seems basically OK, possibly even happy about the concept of "school" thus far. (In fact yesterday, after spending two and a half hours there in the morning, he had a weird kind of electric energy about him, but in a positive way. It was almost like he was just being stimulated in a new way. At least I hope it was that, and not some new weirdo kind of virus.) And on top of all that, I have American Idol, the comfort food of television, to get me through the next few weeks. O happy, happy day.

The doctor is in

So we told Luke that today he'd be going to school with Silvia. As soon as he realized that meant he'd get to play the drums again and climb up the reading loft, he was game. Dave reports that once he finished breakfast, he jumped down from his chair and said, "Suba, go to school!"

Today was technically just the first break-in day (just a 2-hour visit) so we have yet to see how lunchtime will go...or nap time...or a full day...or the drop-off. But so far, so good.

Also, there's another kid named Luke in his class (and a kid named Duke, of all things). When Luke introduced himself as "Me llamo Lucas," the teacher asked if he wanted to be called Lucas in school. I don't think so. But he has had an oddball thing recently where he wants us to call him "the doctor." ("The doctor drumming," "The doctor using tools," etc.)Wonder if they'll indulge him on that?

overnight

So we started out with a toddler, and now all of a sudden we have a kid. How did it all happen so fast?
--Earlier this week, he weaned completely. He will now announce to anyone and everyone: "No mas money milk."
--At some point this weekend, he officially refused the booster seat and started eating happily, compliantly in the grown-up dining room chair. He even knows that he has to ask to be excused.
--Last night he had his first night in the big-boy bed. Slept through the night. Seemed fine with it, except for being a little disoriented this morning. I'm sure it's confusing because all of a sudden there's this new bed in the room, and the rocking chair is gone, and there's no mas money milk in the morning...So he basically woke up and wanted out of the room entirely. Back to more familiar pastures, like Postman Pat.
What has he morphed into? Here's a two-year-old who can sense when I am unhappy and say "Feel better, mommy" - and then turn right around and act like it is the absolute end of the world when he needs to put on a light jacket to go outside. Here's a kid who will eat "poos-pasas" and "mas masa" but who won't even touch the large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs presented to him at the fancy museum restaurant. Here's a guy who wants to be carried around said museum, and yet discusses the exhibit of ancient Greek vases (OK, "bases") for hours afterwards.
And here I am - bemused, a little befuddled, and ever curious to find out what's next. If all of this can happen today, what's in store for tomorrow?

Ow.

I was going to post a post today that consisted entirely of "Ow ow ow. Ow. Ow, ow ow ow ow ow. Ow ow ow. Ow. " But I thought the point would be made after only a few ows.

Today is Valentine's Day, which, if the past two years are any indication, has become a day of pain for me (two years ago - lack of sleep plus incessant baby-crying; last year - baby surgery plus baby unwillingness to go to sleep at night).

But also today, amazingly is the first day in almost THREE YEARS (counting back from March 2003) that my body has been entirely mine. And I don't want it. Hahahahahaha. No, I mean I'm just foggy from a cold, acutely sore from an infection of some sort, and generally just wanting to tuck myself into a very large bed. But Luke did not nurse this morning, which was the source of just a minor protest, and which was more or less resolved by giving him the rest of the chocolate "money milk" cake. So here I am - just me. I threw all caution to the wind and drank a glass of wine - yippeeee! I think Luke might be moderately OK with it because he didn't even mention it tonight. Now I just have to go through some other agonies for a week or so to get through it...and then it'll all be a breeze, right?

On a cheery romantic note: Today I was finally able to give Dave the culmination of my weeks-long project, our wedding album (we had the negatives and the proofs but we had never put it together as an official album). As we were paging through it, we came to the picture where we're up at the altar and Dave is wiping a tear from his face. We asked Luke, "What is Daddy doing?" and Luke took one glance at it and said, "Picking his nose!"

Two steps forward...

We couldn't help thinking, while we baked in the sun at the beach this morning, about our fellow family members stuck in the snow back East. Sure, we had a good time digging and shoveling and watching the waves crash. But there's something we just miss about the idea of being holed up in the house, no reason to go anywhere, hunkering down with fuzzy blankets, watching movies, and chowing down on mac-alicious party food meant to serve 60. I mean, sure, we had the beach. But we didn't have cake, you know what I mean? Sigh. You don't.

I'm at a point where I need to hunker down. It's just been too many battles over the past week, too much time spent comforting and reassuring, and looking for ways to kill the pain. Luke had an amazing few leaps ahead this weekend. He voluntarily pooped in the potty not once but twice this weekend (TMI? You tell me). And he strung together his first five-word sentence while watching Postman Pat ("Little girl want stay home."). Sounds like we're right on track, right? Well, we also had major regression of the I-hope-this-isn't-permanent kind. I had to resort to giving him a bottle, something he hasn't had since age, oh, I don't know, 16 months. And when dinnertime rolled around, he was too busy to eat because he was happily ensconced with a Baby Einstein video. Little did I know Dave had been preparing to ask me about why we haven't put him in the bed yet: "Are we infantilizing him?" - only to come home and see the bottle of milk in his hand. One battle at a time, he tells me, and I try to tell myself.

So as if we didn't have enough sand at the beach, we now have not one but two sand tables, courtesy of garage-cleaning neighbors who saw fit to throw both out on the curb. But they look just fine to us, so that'll be one more thing that Luke can do outside, to distract him from the bottle, and the Baby Einstein, and the pain...

Fix it

This week we've moved on from psychic pain to real, hard-core physical pain. Luke was diagnosed with hand-foot-mouth disease (just the mouth part at least) and it has involved some of the cruelest sores imaginable for me and him. In fact, most of the things I was prepared to describe this week fell under the TMI category. I kept thinking, "I should write about...oh, never mind." No one wants to read about it, maybe not even me fifteen years from now. Let's just say it's hideous, awful, painful, and making all of us cranky.

Since we've had so much lap time this week I've had a chance to observe lots of Luke the Reader. He has a great time with books, usually going from one object to another "Wha dis? Wha dis? Wha dis?" and so on. Other times he loves to name individual things: "That digger. That lawnmower. That forklift." Sometimes if he's particularly jolly he likes to mess around with Dave: "That pig. That pig. That pig" to everything on the page. Sometimes, if he's in bed, he just likes to hear the story, and he fills in the gaps where necessary. Like in Corduroy, when he creeps down from the shelf at night, "All shoppers gone home."

Apropos of nothing, today I had to miss the day with Luke. Instead I spent the day speaking at a conference...and I didn't get nervous or foul up or anything bad (woo-hoo!). It was just cool and easy, and I was so proud of myself. But I kept having this weird alter-ego thing where I kept trying to think of ways to incorporate Luke into my examples or anecdotes, just so people knew I was also a mom. I couldn't help it; I guess I didn't realize how much I thought of that as a central part of my identity, even as a professional person.

I came home to find Dave and Luke in the guest room, guiltily holding on to forbidden wires and plugs. Luke has an almost insatiable need to "fix" things, whether it be the car (see above) or the drums or the box that the rice steamer came in. His prize toys are the hammer from Grandpa, the chainsaw from Cousin Sam, and any tool at all, especially the forbidden ones, in daddy's garage. Sometimes his fixes cause more damage than the cuteness can justify (again, see photo above). Some fixes need to be done time and again (see the rice steamer box). That said, some things just plain need fixing, and we're all frustrated because we don't know how to fix them, other than to see what happens over time.

The Walla-Walla Pansies

We've gone through Hell Week and emerged, relatively unscathed. Work was horrible. Putting Luke to bed was horrible. Having Dave gone was horrible. Trying to buy Luke a bed and dealing with Ikea was horrible. But hey, it's all behind us now. Luke is semi-compliant at bedtime again, we have a new bed for him which he'll try for real one of these days, Dave is home, and I still have a job for now.

We took a break from all of the yuckiness yesterday by heading over to Suzi and Boom-Boom's house for the Superbowl. Suzi and Bill decked out in purple for ... the Minnesota Vikings? Luke decked out in a red football jersey for... the Redskins? Dave wore white in honor of...hmmm...the White Sox?...and I was in pink for (as Bill suggested) the Walla-Walla Pansies.

Luke's cold had gotten worse and even though he insisted that his nose had "turned off" earlier, it started running again, and he was even running a slight fever by the end of the night. But he was positively undeterred in having a (non-football-related) great time. He's serious about drumming on the big fancy set and the little bongos. He's very interested in any cooking that happens outside (read: grilling). And he's perfectly happy just running around doing goofy stuff.

Picture him in his blue footie pajamas, wearing Suzi's long pearl necklace, reaching into her jewelry cabinet, pulling out another necklace, carefully closing the door, trotting back into the living room to present someone with a new necklace, then heading back in to her room to repeat the process. Now picture him with the same PJ's and the same necklace, leaning jauntily against the ottoman, chatting and gesturing around the room with his big mug of milk. He's like a witty pajama-wearing raconteur, quick with a joke and easy with a crowd.

Now I'm trying to buy kids' sheets for Luke but I'm getting a little caught up in what it means I think about his personality. Licensed characters are out. I don't want him sleeping with the Wiggles. And don't even get me started on Elmo. Diggers are a possibility. Castles would be a possibility too, but he's more interested in the castle, not the dragons. Would that be too scary? I'd think bugs on sheets would be a little scary, as would dinosaurs. Ikea had some sheets with creepy one-eyed monsters that seem to be begging to be the subject of nightmares. Also he doesn't have any real allegiance to a particular sports team at the moment (except the Walla Walla Pansies) so it feels weird to force it.

If I could I would design custom kids' sheets: some with barbecues and flippers and mixers; some with guitars, drums, violins, pianos, and horns; and some with another non-gender-stereotyped subject matter that I have yet to come up with. Not to get all Brokeback Mountain on the world, but why do the boys have to have sports or train themes, while the girls get all the pretty flowers and colors? Why can't a kid just wear a necklace, enjoy cooking and music, and still be the coolest guy on the block?

Siamese family

"When you hold his hand, it feels like butter," said Friend Paul, as Luke dragged him across the grounds of the water garden yesterday. (Friend Paul, as Luke calls him, is Luke's favorite guy to look at in pictures, even though Luke is not entirely sure who he is.) I agree. I had a chance to hold the butter-hand all weekend as I helped him up and down various steps, accepted assorted leaves and weeds as presents, and participated in several rounds of high fives. But strangely, the same hand that can feel like butter can also carry out the Vulcan Death Grip, as in, when he is in the crib and I'm preparing to leave the room for the night.

Why is a little guy who used to love going to bed, and who still loves to play-sleep at various points throughout the day, suddenly resisting the crib so fiercely? Is it the crib (as in, he needs a new bed)? Is it being left alone in the dark (as in, he needs a nightlight)? Is it some kind of growth spurt (as in, we just have to deal with it as we muddle through a new stage)?

This morning Luke reminded me that he had been crying last night. When I asked him why, he said, "Luke want mommy." Well, sure. I know how he feels. But we can talk about it before, during, and after the fact, and make various promises and agreements with each other, but that still doesn't make him want to go to sleep.

Then there is the growth spurt possibility. Last night he mac'ed (macked? macced?) down a tamale and a half, and he would have eaten more if there were more to eat (mas masa? mas masa!). He also ate every single pea (a new accomplishment) in the bowl, then guzzled a few cups of milk. This morning he went to work on one and a half pancakes, plus a yogurt, or yoghurt as I like to call it. Who is this strange new guy, who looks so grown up but then looks you in the eye and begs you to carry him?

Tonight Dave got home from work early and I experienced irrational exuberance at the thought of us having more time with him. Maybe it's because we lost last night when Dave's dad was in the hospital, and we all got a sobering reminder of how life can be incredibly tough sometimes. Maybe it's because I'm dreading Dave being gone later this week. Maybe it's because I just feel better when both of them are in extremely close proximity. Dave rejected the idea of family play time in my car ("Let's find a different toy, maybe one that didn't cost more than $20,000") But when he was reading with Luke, all I wanted to do was curl up with them, a tangle of limbs, so that we could all be glued together. "I wish we could always be touching each other, like a Siamese family," I told them. Within seconds I realized how impractical, embarrassing, and ultimately gross that would be. Still, why can't we all at least hold hands most of the time?

I am a pizza

Our class assignment was to take the Test - the test of temperamental characteristics that attempts to characterize a child's personality - for ourselves, for our child, and for our spouse; then compare the results and prepare to argue. Don't worry, we didn't fight. But I'm laughing about some of the things that we just find "off the charts" about each other. For instance, on "physical sensitivity" - awareness of slight noises, slight differences in temperature, etc. - Dave rated me to the extreme of "not sensitive" and I rated him to the extreme of "very sensitive." And of course we know each other is more or less right. (Remember, we are 'cursed' in this house with those slider light switches, which means that every time Dave enters a room, he feels the need to adjust the light just a little more or less to get it right...) And on "positive or negative mood," Dave was all the way at the top of positive; and I think his positive nature actually colored his responses about me as more positive than I actually am. Where does Luke fall in these categories? With all the caveats about not pigeonholing a kid too early, and not mistaking 2-year-old traits for lifelong personality characteristics...I think it's pretty interesting that he seems to fall more or less right in the middle of us. Funny how that works.

But the real question is, how does this all relate to pizza? I'm not really sure - and I don't think I'm going to drag out some painful analogies to make a connection. Suffice to say, Luke made his first pizza tonight and it was delicious and we had an awesome time making it together. It got a little tricky when we were trying to flatten out the dough into a big circle and he realized that it was actually more fun to poke holes in it than smooth it out. But I think he thought the best part was putting on the meat. (If he truly had it his way, all of the pepperoni slices would be in a big pile on top of one another.) Oh, and it tasted good too.

So let's not get all bogged down in this adaptability/persistence/sensitivity/distractability matrix. It's a Friday night, we had some tasty pizza, and our lighting is perfectly adjusted. Life is sweet.

anchored

Dave called me on Monday from his cell phone; he had finished his meeting with the group at Marsha's beach house, then he took part in a conference call, which he did sitting on the beach with his toes in the sand. I ask you, is this a guy who could live anywhere but the beach?

We had gone through a whole period where we thought we were on the brink of selling our house; now it looks like we might be able to stay, at least for the forseeable future or at least until we have more additional kids than can fit in Luke's tiny bedroom. But if we left, where would we go? Affordability issues aside, are our roots in this little town so strong that we wouldn't want to be anywhere else?

A quick aside - Usually when I get on the computer in the morning it's on Dave's side and I get to see the last thing he was working on. I've been chuckling to myself every time I see that he's been researching the biological/chemical origins of life, while I'm gearing up to read celebrity fashion commentary. But Sunday morning I was a little jarred to get on the computer and see that the Moorestown weather forecast was the last thing he looked at. Are we getting at something here? (And yes, I know that Haddonfield is so cute you could pinch it.)

Then there was the astonishing revelation from Suzi and Bill that if Dave's parents were no longer part of the picture at some point, they would follow us wherever we went. Whatever anchors them to where they are now is not as strong as the pull of family, or Luke, and whomever else might come along. Whoa.

What anchors Luke? Up until yesterday, one thing was the absolute certainty that no matter how early he woke up in the morning, his mom would always be there to meet him. But he's clearly learned to be adaptable on that conviction. Yesterday I was in the shower, so Dave trudged in there to get him, and Luke was actually willing to cook at the Diaper Grill while patiently waiting for me to finish my makeup and dry my hair. Then when he finally heard the hair dryer switch off, he wasted no time asking for "Money miiiiiiiiiiilk!"

Other Luke convictions:

That when it's time to cook something, anything, "First, you crack eggs."
That when you're visiting a duckpond, a "reed" is NOT the same as a "weed" - Got that, mommy?
That all humans have an inalienable right to wear pajamas at least until after breakfast.
That for any sort of musical entertainment, the song people will always want to hear first is "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
That if you count to ten, you don't really need six. I mean, come on. Six?
That if something is broken, all it takes is a few rounds with a chainsaw and a hammer to fix it.
That everyone cries when he or she gets a haircut, but once they get a cookie they feel better.
That British people are hilarious for saying, "Cheerio!" I mean, they might as well be saying "Waffle!" or "Yogurt" - which are both pretty funny too, you have to admit.
That everything is funnier when you're running around naked.

What more do you need to be sure of in life?

hair-trigger

I actually started to worry about Luke in the past 24 hours, about how he is on such a hair-trigger for meltdowns. He was starting to remind me of the kid in "Parenthood" who loses his retainer and cries his eyes out. It's been stupid stuff, like dropping the cake yesterday, or spilling some juice today, setting him off into a tailspin.

Then I realized that we are in fact living parallel lives because I'm the one on a hair-trigger for criticizing Dave, or worrying about something, or sinking into the depths of depression because of - what? Things so minor they're not even worth enumerating.

It's a good thing Luke has other role models in his life, like Dave, or like Uncle Boom-Boom, whose arrival Luke so happily anticipated that he couldn't sleep for about 45 minutes into lights-out-doors-closed nap time. Dave and I were cracking up downstairs because for the longest time we kept on hearing him from upstairs, "Where's Uncle Boom-Boom? Boom-Boom here yet?"

As much as the events of yesterday's party, and today's crowded park playdate might have set Luke into a tizzy, I'm so grateful for the things that make him really calm and happy. Like drumming. Or talking about drumming. Or looking at pictures or videos of people drumming. Or anything related to cooking. Dave and I had a good little chuckle yesterday at the party because what finally helped Luke find some peace among the chaos was a little alcove, with a bench, upon which he could "cook" some foam frisbees.

Cooking is also turning out to be our chief occupation in the mornings in place of nursing, and in the evenings, or just plain whenever. The diaper table has two shelves underneath that are perfectly slatted like a grill, and the diapers are conveniently flat enough to stand in as pizza or tortillas. The possibilities are endless.

So Dave's putting Luke to bed and he's protesting - He wants to cook. Dave says no. He says, "One more diaper, Daddy." And goes and cooks one more diaper on the grill, flips it, and then he's back in Dave's lap, ready to wind down for the day.

Judgy Judgerson

OK - So I don't want to judge people, and I don't want people to judge me, and yet...I do it all the time. More so now since I have a kid, and there are so many more ways to feel superior or inferior, depending on the context. So I'm sure it's coming back to me somehow.

That means I can nit-pick about a way a particular party is thrown, or about a particular way people are choosing (or not) to teach manners to their kids, yet there I am on the flip side feeling really embarrassed about still nursing, and moderately embarrassed about having a kid who is clinging to me in fear while all other kids are romping around and having the time of their lives.

More specifically, one thing that really freaks Luke out is loud noisy gatherings with tons of kids running around. He's the opposite of the kid who's running up to grab the puppets or swat the bubbles - he's the one who's begging to be picked up and cowering in my arms. Why, why, why? Is it something that I did? And are other moms looking at me like, "She really coddles him way too much"? Tonight at the birthday party he ultimately settled in a little bit, but then he was on a meltdown hair-trigger, like when his piece of cake fell on the floor - total catastrophe.

And yet there we all were on the way home, yapping our gums about the lack of food, or the musical selection, or so-and-so's decision to do such-and-such and what a lame idea that was. And then we're home, and it's quiet, and we're all much happier. So Luke is possibly picking up on this introverted thing. Does that mean he's going to start being Judgy Judgerson too?

empathy

Our very wise teacher says that the way you teach a child empathy is by digging deep and giving all of yourself when it really means something. As in, sure, it's nice to reach out and give your kid a hug when everything is hunky-dory. But what really counts is when your kid has driven you up the wall and fried your every last nerve and is screaming about who-knows-what and you're able to go over to them and give them a big hug and say, "I know it's hard."

Possibly Luke is starting to get it because one of his new favorite games is asking me to cry about something (getting a haircut/dropping a pizza/not wanting to go to bed) and then patting me on the back and saying, "Feel better, Mommy."

But the scenario our teacher didn't cover was, what about when it's 3:30 in the morning, and your kid has inexplicably been awake since 2 am, and is ready to do anything as long as it doesn't involve going back in the crib? Are you teaching them anything if you just tell them, "I know you don't want to go to bed, but I need my sleep and I have to go to bed now"? Then you give them a big hug and go back to your room only to listen to the most anguished screams of "Where did mommy go?!?!?! Where did mommy GOoooooooo?!?!?!?!"

For the record, Dave, the King of Empathy, took over at that point and magically brought him down to calm, then peace, then sleep. But it's been a real test of push-and-pull. Do I worry about how Luke feels or how I feel?

I guess today we tested the limits by putting both of us through the ringer. First we had a doctor's appointment, with a shot. Luckily we had Reindeer on hand to go through most of it first - get his eyes checked, then his ears, then his tummy...Reindeer checked out OK, and happily, so did Luke. We were basically doing just fine up until the shot, then there was a moment or two of trauma, and then the shot was forgotten quickly enough.

Then Luke and I went on to have the Best Morning Ever. We went down to the "water" park and just played and talked, without the social pressure of other buddies or other moms to distract us. Then we had Special Mommy-Lukey Lunch at In-N-Out burger, involving large quantities of milkshake and very little burger. Then I successfully talked him out of nursing after his nap and the world didn't end.

But those experiences perhaps gave me too much confidence because I decided to swing a haircut this afternoon. I don't want to go into the full-blown details but let's just say it involved at least 20 solid minutes (I'm not kidding) of screaming, and me, Luke, and Pudgy Bear completely covered with hair (Reindeer wisely decided to sit this one out on the counter). I jokingly said to the manager afterwards, "Well, I hope we didn't drive too many of your customers away," and all she could manage to come back with was, "Not too many." Yeesh.

It's after a day like this that I just want to wrap him up and say, "I'm sorry. I know life is hard. We made it hard for you by doing most of the hard stuff all in one day. But tomorrow we have a birthday party, and the day after that we have Suzi and Bill, and I love you every single day even more than the last." I could be teaching him some real empathy. But he's busy running naked down the hall, singing "Shimmy Shimmy Cocoa Pop," and not even listening to me.

If I could draw myself right now, I would do one of those cartoon smiley faces where the smile is all squiggly up-and-down, glasses are crooked, and hair is askew.

Feel better, mommy.

Chairman Mao, Reindeer, Pudgy Bear, and Bocky-mooney

So it took me a week, but I thought of at least one small purpose for this blog. It happened when I was working on my will, of all things. I realized that I can leave Luke the entirety of my "estate" - hahahahaha - but what will he do if I'm not around to tell him the stories he'd want to know? And for that matter, what if I'm just plain alive and I want him to know what was going on way back when? So, for what it's worth, this is for Luke.

In the past few weeks we've entered the random and goofy world of imaginary play. Luke's favorite partners in crime are the three musketeers, also known as Chairman Mao, Reindeer, and Pudgy Bear. I wish I had a picture of all three, but they're an elusive bunch. They can usually be counted on to be reading books, taking a nap, or cooking up a fresh batch of diapers somewhere. Chairman Mao is a fluffy white cat that I bought as a "lovey" for Luke when I wanted him to stop nursing; the idea being that he would cuddle up with the cat whenever he wanted to nurse. That went out the window pretty quickly as soon as he and Chairman Mao decided that they were both pretty much cool with nursing. Reindeer is our cool new buddy who generally needs to be alerted as soon as any new action is being taken ("Reindeer! Change diaper!") And Pudgy Bear is the bear that Arianna gave to us and who lived most of his life as Arianna Bear until one day out of the blue Luke started calling him Pudgy Bear. I don't think he has any idea what pudgy means, and I think it is probably some attempt at "Arianna" but Pudgy Bear stuck and that's what we all call him now. He used to sleep in the crib, but now he watches Luke calmly from the floor at night. During the day he's another good old pal who's always up for a haircut or two.

Why these three and not some other animals or objects? I guess it's fair to say that these three have the most "personality", such as it is, but other than that it seems to be sort of random. Kind of like, why is the castle book such a hit, when "A Good Day for Up" never quite made it past the first-read stage? Or why is chicken parmesan one day the most amazing food in the universe (mas! mas! mas!) and another day a plate of it cannot even be allowed at the same table where we are eating? Or for that matter, what's the deal with avocados, which Luke won't go near, but suddenly bocky-mooney is all he'll eat? (That's guacamole to the uninitiated)...

Each night we usually close out the evening with some form of musical entertainment. Last night it was an all-star guitar-jamming tribute to bocky-mooney (see photo above). Tonight we sat down for a mellower concert video. Luke has his own idea of what he wants to see (mas harmonica? mas drums?). But I think he truly melted Dave's heart tonight when he said, slowly and deliberately, two words that Dave could only dream of hearing someday from his very own son: "Bob......Dylan."

Luke catalog

I still haven't decided what the purpose of this blog is, but, for posterity - a few of our favorites from the Luke dictionary:


Ah-put (open)
Bo-tan (broken) (also the name of our new rice)
Wha do-ning? (What are you doing?)
Wuh-waff (waffle)
Dee-deet (digger)
Sahz (inside or outside, depending where he wants to go)
Nut [pause] CHA-CHA! (nutcracker)
Too-too! (Thank you!) (said cheerily)

What is the purpose of this blog?

I've been forced to ask myself why I am writing this blog, exactly...The writing's not especially great or funny, and as far as recording events it's far from all-inclusive. What purpose is it serving, other than an occasional distraction for me and one or two others? Any thoughts are welcome.

So.... We're home and the process of getting there was not too bad (word to the wise for those who might be hesitant about flying cross-country with kids, wherever you may be). In fact, it seemed like Luke matured exponentially in the past two weeks since we flew back East. All signs pointed to a terrible trip: Not only did we have to wake up at 5:30 am (2:30 am) to get to the airport, but the plane was then delayed by 2 1/2 hours. That said, Luke was a jewel on the plane. He willingly sat in his seat, read books, watched videos, ate, got his diaper changed without a freakout, appeared marginally interested in the goings-on outside his window, and even slept for about an hour. As Dave observed, it was like he really understood where we were going, and what was going on. While we were en route I realized that being on a plane was one of the only times that the three of us are together in close proximity, forced to talk and read and look at each other. And as the flight was ending, I heard myself say those words I never thought I'd utter in a million years: "I wish this flight would last a little longer." Aaaaahhhh.

Making the transition back to West Coast time was another story. Luke woke up crying at 5 am yesterday morning, and by 9 am he was *begging* to put his pajamas back on and go to bed. Then he slept for three hours and was up by noon as if it was morning (uh, yeah, in Guam). We did our best to keep him up until 7:30 pm but by then he was so tired he couldn't even hold a guitar or sit on the chair to play it (which is saying a lot). Then when Dave put him down he did a total overtired hysterical freakout, unlike anything we've heard in a long time. Sigh. At least he slept until 6:30 this morning, which is pretty close to normal. Let's hope today was OK.

I'm doing OK, at work, but again it's an adjustment after so many days of people and happy noise. Here it's quiet and there's very little human interaction. I went to a bookstore at lunch and browsed and tried to remember the last time I had a day that was so internalized. Now the combined effects of time-zone confusion and bad eating choices have made me sleepy, very sleepy...

I like my job, I guess. I've boiled it down to something that I can do in a few hours a week, and no one hassles me, and I get paid with some cool state benefits. But I keep thinking I'll do it just until the Change happens - and I don't know what that change will be. When I publish my novel? Yeah, I have to write it first. When Dave's job takes us to Washington or Sacramento? Yeah, when global warming eliminates winter in both of those places. Will there be something that I do to make a change, or will it creep up on me slowly, without warning?

What is the purpose of this blog?

High school

Here I am, back in high school...Well, not really. Just back at the old homestead for New Year's Eve and Day. But I had a weird high school flashback last night at the First Night experience. Watching a high school garage band, then watching the crowds of giggling girls standing by...Was I transported back to my high school days, seeing the cool confident girls and the shyer self-conscious ones, all trying to fit in? Or was I fast-forwarding my own life and seeing Luke up on that stage as a shaggy-haired high school drummer and watching the girls as if they were watching him? Maybe this is middle age, halfway between being in high school and having a high-schooler.

Then there's the whole "moving to New Jersey" farce that Dave and I let ourselves get caught up in. We could get a nice house for a lot less money, and we would be closer to at least half the family, and I would be happy, but in what alternate universe would it actually happen?

Then there's saying goodbye to Joe and Sara and their little posse. I guess I can't really wrap my mind around what it means to only see them every eight months. I feel like we get close to getting in the groove with them, getting to know them and their lives a little better, and then *zoop* we're out of town and it's another x months until we see each other again. It's like just barely grasping something and then it slips out of my fingers. Will Sam even remember me next time? We'll try to come back in the spring but I don't know how that's going to fly financially...or time-wise for Dave...or in the balance of the other things we want to see and people we want to visit. It's just a sad little struggle I have.

But before I let myself get too far down, let me try to remember some cool Luke things. Like watching the symphony and waving his arms like the "con....doctor" Or knowing the words to "Rudolph" and the nose book. Or counting to (gasp) nine!!! Who knew that he even knew these things? What else is stored in that head of his?

I told Mom/Dad/Unk last night about my theories on being a "homebody" and not wanting to run around with the crowds on a cold New Year's Eve. Then I thought more about it and I realized that I am possibly a homebody all the time. I mean, my ideal Christmas vacation at this point is hunkering down on the couch at Mom & Dad's house and getting some free time to go to Marshall's and the shoe outlet. Talk about a limited agenda...

I told Dave a few days ago that possibly this vacation was too long...and perhaps it is for a number of reasons. But the good thing is I have tomorrow, an unplanned day, that will possibly give me enough time to unpack some of my former life here - my cello, some kid stuff in the attic upstairs, etc. I think I try to avoid it because I don't want to deal with it, but I love the fact that it's still there.

(im)perfection

No better way to capture the complete and utter delight of Christmas vacation than to think about two fuzzy pajama-clad boys reading together, tearing around the house, and scrambling to open presents. Luke is my joy; Sam is the man. Oh, and Lily...When I first saw her, she took my breath away. Those big eyes that stay glued to you...I guess the reason I haven't been blogging is because I have *no complaints* whatsoever. Life is just rich and good. When do you ever hear me saying that???

Ha, ha. Anyway, I labored over how to make a cake for Luke and I finally settled on *buying* a guitar cake pan, over Joe's scoffing, and making a drum cake to go with it. They both turned out, well, let's just say...a little less than professional. The guitar cake looks alright but the frosting colors are downright ugly. Turns out that when you add a certain amount of blue food coloring, there's no more additional red you can add to make it purple. The color just keeps getting more and more of what I like to call steel grey.

So there's that.

The drum on the other hand, is not only ugly, but sloppy. It looks like a third-grader did it - while playing a video game. I can tell you all of the various reactions before I even hear them:

Me: "This is so embarrassing." (self-deprecating over-analytical criticism)
Dad: "Could you use a knife to guide your hand while you draw the lines?" (attempt to be constructive)
Mom: "It's fine. What's the problem?" (pragmatic indifference)
Joe: "Too...many...jokes..." (brotherly mocking)
Dave: "I love it!" (unbridled adoration and enthusiasm)
Luke: "Want...cake" (single-minded determination)

Two years ago tonight, Dave and I went out to dinner with his family and then headed home for a quiet evening of rest. Not long after midnight, I uttered the fateful words that changed our lives forever: "Water...breaking!" and nothing has been the same since. I was truly freaked out in the beginning but now I am at peace. I think of our lives as kind of like the drum cake - ragged around the edges and really kind of a mess, but just so sweet.

I love you, my two-year-old boy.

not changing a thing

Yeah, so it's been six months of blogging and griping, griping and blogging. Well, let me tell you: Right now we're home again, all together, we just had Sal & Joe's, Luke is happy and even volunteered to go to bed, and I'm not changing a thing. Well, OK, so I've been healthier. And I've felt less like crud in my life. And it would be nice if my lips weren't so parched they crack every time I move them. But hey, we're cool. Really.