Bubba Love

Cal turned up the dial on Christmas. This year was even more frantic and dynamic and breathtakingly beautiful.

Cal danced for the first time, helped unwrap his gifts, was mesmerized by the boxes, opened a door by himself, marveled at Christmas trees, made “friends” with a 3-year-old boy, coveted a nutcracker ornament, went on his longest car ride (2 hours + from Grandma Cindy’s), and continued exploring the low range of his voice – growling and grumbling.

For presents, I poured candles in Cal's leftover baby food jars. They were inspired by him since he'll zero in on any lit candle in a room, and direct his pudgy hand toward them, uttering "hot." Well, everyone loved them, loved Cal's leftovers. One of the scents I affectionately named Bubba Love.

He was the pinnacle of the holiday -- walking the halls of people’s houses, pointing out the mundane and the beautiful, giggling with satisfaction, shadowing and snuggling with me. Receiving kisses and kisses so graciously.

He is a marvel. At Cindy’s party, one thoughtful observer commented, “He’s walking and he’s talking.” She said this with sincere wonderment. He’s connecting with the world like never before. He walks and opens doors and feeds himself and falls asleep in his crib and talks and signs. He is not even a year old.

This year has been a small lifetime. I know I’m not supposed to derive so much satisfaction from one little being, but he glows so bright that sometimes I can’t tell who is smiling. I’ve lost a bit of myself in those glowing eyes and elegant laughs. He’ll always have that piece of me, but that’s what I’d meant to happen. The pieces I still have are only stronger and better for it.

That’s not to say this year hasn’t had its dips and turns and difficulties. Mostly sleeping difficulties and carving out moments of silence and solitude. And I am forced to make choices every moment about what self I put forward. The pressure can seem oppressive, if you let it. This is no small matter. I’m helping to spin an important but complicated web of Cal’s first years; I’m planting so many seeds some days, it’s hard to keep track.

Yet I am the supporting actor in his play. He is resilient and perfect, just as whole as the sky is blue. I often say to myself, in the rhythm of the Christmas song: let it go, let it go, let it go. And someday, let him go.

That’s where I’ll leave you, and this blog. I’m starting a new one but these writings are so perfect and strange and of this time, this one year, that I’d like to keep them safe here, a part from everything else. Someday I’ll find them again and laugh at my naïveté and cry at Cal’s enduring beauty. And be humbled once again by the glory of first steps and ephemeral days of babyhood.

kiss, smile, suprise

Calvin made us laugh hard the other night. He kept pushing his tiny face up against the soft purple chair and then snuggling his mouth into his beastly, behemoth white teddy bear.

“What is he doing?” Shaun said between belly laughs. I shook my head, chuckling.

Meanwhile he kept nuzzling everything soft around him. He’s been doing this off and on and I’ve finally realized that this as the first signs of kissing. Sweet, Cal kisses. Today Nana reported he tried to kiss Mill’s pig-dog Valentino; as small animals, they have a sort of kinship. Naturally, he’d want to smooch him.

Something else that makes us break into huge grins is Cal’s chuckling at the oddest, most un-funny moments. In the car, for instance, he issues short bursts of laughter for no apparent reason. And, I guess, why not laugh at 6:30 on a Monday morning? Life is funny enough without anyone even trying to make it that way.

I read this the other day – parenting is love in action. Yes there is a lot of love. But may I add this: it is also complete surrender in every moment. With each moment, let alone each month, Cal brings us sweet surprises, like those kisses. With each day he grows in unpredictable, beautiful and perplexing ways. Surprises seem to fall on us like rain.

an ode to November

November has been Cal’s “industrial age.” I term it this because the whole baby paradigm changed in his 10th month on the outside. During November, Cal began pointing, climbing, walking and talking. This fistful of milestones has me joyful but also discombobulated. It’s sort of like the anticipation over something that we love like Christmas – you look forward to it and plan for it, but it comes so quick and you kind of forget how crazy the aftermath can be. It's wonderful, but things are different now.

I can’t wrap my head around this fact: just a handful of months ago Cal learned to sit well. Now he has joined the ranks of the ranting bipeds who tinker endlessly. I think parenthood is the best biological study of human growth that one can undertake.

And now we’re to last week, Thanksgiving. Calvin is a great host, the shining star of any party, the twin t-days were no exception. Our holiday was so full. For me, I can still taste the sweet and bitters of our huge meals, smell the perfume cloud of food at our house and feel the energies of bouncing human emotions. But Calvin was as happy as ever amid the storm of love and food. Even with missed naps and stim overdrive, he sailed on through with hardly a fuss (to tell you the truth, he’s more fussy at home where there’s not a stream of entertaining characters and in their place only me and our boring baby-proofed house).

Shaun and I took our first vacation days in awhile in preparation of fixing our very own Thanksgiving meal on Thursday. We were able to prepare for the holiday with the time needed to pick out and cook a beautiful and fine feast and also hang with our Bubbas. Shaun did most of the cooking (his mushroom stuffing was epic), but I made some oddly delicious bean brownies and helped with salad dressing while Cal was strapped to me. We also made the most of Friday, the buffer day between big meals, to relax and pack for the big Saturday dinner production in Nevada City.

I have to say, Cal is just hilarious at his ripe old age of almost 11 months. Around the 15th of November, Cal uttered his first words: light (mostly says and points to them to remind us to flip switches on) and hot (says in reference to candles, fireplaces and ovens). At first he was just experimenting, but now his delivery has gotten fancy – the “h” in hot is given much attention in the delivery, with Cal exaggerating the beautiful hissing sound and opening his mouth in an oval shape. Then suddenly the tiny “t” noise hits and the word is complete. He is utterly transfixed with all the things he calls hot and wishes in his bones that he could touch each of them, especially since he cannot have even one. This must be a part of their mysterious allure.

So Saturday, Cal showed my mom’s side his “Frankenstein” tottering and his affection for all things that flame. One particular memory I have is dancing to Michael Jackson in the kitchen while my Aunt Denisse moved Cal along with the beat. Cal beamed at us all dancing around him, like fawning fans, and giggled and cocked his head when I busted some of my special moves.

Attending family occasions can be utterly exhausting, but it is a treat that family members swoop in and steal Cal for chunks at a time so I can focus on others. Aunt Beth took Cal on multiple walks along the big evergreens to escape the kitchen buzz.

After Cal fell asleep on Saturday night, the eating commenced. At one point, my mom remembered that last Thanksgiving we’d each written a note to our future selves, with three sincere hopes and dreams for 2009. It was a twist on the traditional “I’m thankful because” and good use of the spirit of hope and family of last Thanksgiving (I think we all had our eyes on Cal’s impending arrival).

So we found the notes hidden up high and we shared them. I was touched by a truly common theme: hopefulness for a happy, healthy baby boy. And that is exactly what we have. What a blessing to feel the love and support that envelops Cal, that surrounds all of us. It's never been a secret, but this year it was louder and clearer than ever. We are blessed, indeed.

all in a week's work

Cal is officially a toddler at all of 10 months. I was just getting acquainted with the quickness of his crawling when he took his first steps last Monday, on his 10 month birthday. Shaun and I missed it but we saw him take steps over the weekend, totally out of the blue (and of course not when we were ardently coaxing him to do it). The first time Cal was standing across from Shaun clutching the chair in our room, and suddenly took two tiny steps toward Shaun before falling into his signature crouch and crawling the rest of the way. Cal met this huge milestone so seamlessly, no face plants or big falls. Perhaps it’s because he’s been building his balance on furniture and our legs for months.

Wait, there’s more!

On Wednesday, I discovered Cal pointing at lights on the ceiling. Actually, a mom friend saw him pointing with his entire hand and mentioned that it looked like the beginnings of full blown pointing. Sure enough, the rest of the day we went around the house pointing at lights (sometimes his pointer finger would sneak out from the rest of his fingers, sometimes it stayed nestled with them). The gem for me was when we’d giggle together at the fact of his pointing. The pointing stuff is amazing because it means he can explicitly share his inner experience with us. And we can look into his eyes with this recognition.

Friday, Cal seemed to be squeezing his fist to indicate “milk.” He did this first when I was feeding him. And over the weekend, Cal was our tiny echo, mimicking words and sounds. Sunday night at dinner found the three of us making this wonderful smacking noise with our lips, taking turns initiating it! The amazing fact was neither Shaun nor I knew who started it; we were just this great continuum of sound interplay.

Walking, pointing, pitch perfect parroting, all in one week.

our time in tahoe

Sunday we made it back from our first “real” vacation with Calboy. It was sad to leave Lake Tahoe behind us; I’m still recovering from the lake’s natural beauty, which is almost stinging. Since our cabin was perched high above Tahoe City, its driveway offered the world’s best view.

I thought having Calvin along on the trip would make things more harder, and it did in some ways, but it also allowed us (because we were awake and walking to get coffee to avoid rousing others), to experience two sunrises – one, an orange and pink glow levitating over a mirror lake, and the other, a clean light bursting from the tops of blue mountains. I breathed a lot deeper in Tahoe.

Thankfully, the weather was sunny and nice for Bubba’s first plunge into the Sierras. But of course, the morning brought ice into the air. For our walks down the steep hill into the funky-cool town of Tahoe, we layered Cal up, bundled him in a thick holiday coat with prancing reindeers and burrito-ed his legs and feet in blankets, his apple cheeks and nose bare and bravely facing the nippiness. Cal didn’t seem to flinch when he burst through the front door in the stroller, chug-a-lugging down the quiet condo-lined street, my parents and Shaun giggling at his bird noises. What else would we be doing? Though, we had a heck of a time trying to keep Cal’s warm hat on his head. We all but gave up on the glove notion because of his fiddling hands.

Every morning, we hit up Sid’s Bagelry for warm muffins with pats of butter (Cal had some too!) and coffee in for-here cups. Calvin sat nobly in his wooden high chair, trying to grab for our hot drinks, twirling in his chair and banging cups around. He studied new customers who came close to our table waiting for a moment of shared connection in which he’s smirk at the stranger and proceed to stare holes through him or her. Friday morning, Shaun spotted a burley beaver in its dam of sticks floating on the creek. Cal saw the beaver just in time before it exited under our toes on a roadside bridge. That was his (or her) only appearance.

Going down the hill, it was amazingly steep and hard; the area at the top with the dynamite view Aunt Beth named Lover's Leap. By the time we were plodding back up hill, it’d be Cal’s nap time and he demanded more and better entertainment to keep him fueled, so it was also challenging; and pushing that stroller up and up perhaps sculpted our behinds like no other exercise before. I was sore, but a good sore. It felt good to bust my butt a little.

Back at the cabin, parties were had, good food eaten. The whole weekend was hybrid Halloween and Ryan’s birthday. At one point, we played a game of who could stretch their elastic, neon skeleton the furthest, complements of Ggma. Millie wore neon-nail gloves and her and Matt carved pumpkins.

Nana bought a toddle toy for Cal at the local consignment store and we gave it to Cal and watched him blaze a trail across the living room. He alternated between wanting to play with the front of the toy (it looked like a cartoon slot machine) and steamrolling everything in his path. He’d go back in forth behind his “walker” smiling huge and big and bumping into people and things. Then, we'd turned him around. He giggled so much on the trip it makes my cheeks hurt thinking about it!

And let’s not forget Apples to Apples marathons with the world series streaming in the background. Mostly, I was just watching between walks and getting Cal down for naps (and walks to get Cal down for naps). This particular word game seems to be all about who is judging and how to judge how the judge will judge. Saturday night by the game’s end, some of the elders had crashed on the living couch and floor, even to the sound of pitched laughter.

When it was time to go, we said our good byes and Cal waved good bye at the crowd of departing family members (he's been doing this sporadically, but never for this long). When Shaun had to fix the car seat, Cal kept on waving good bye. We laughed at his resolve to master his beaty pageant wave for the crowd. It kind of melted us a little and it also made saying good bye to the crystal lake a little easier.

evenings are funny

“Hi Bubbas! We’re home.”

Before I crack the door, he’s already crawling in my direction. I enter the house at 5:15, and I watch Cal speed racing toward me on his hands and knees, leaving our nanny in the dust on the floor behind him. Now that Shaun and I carpool, we arrive together, but Cal, grunting, bypasses his dad and dashes over to my feet where he grabs my pant legs and stands in front of me. It’s his way of greeting me after a long day away. I can’t help but revel in it. I smile and say hello then attempt to wash my hands. After, I pick him up and tote him around.

He likes when I’m holding him while Shaun makes him laugh. Half the time in the evenings now he is laughing; I mean, completely cracking up. It really sets him off when I walk down the poorly lit hallway and Shaun starts in after us making big monster noises and dramatically stomping around. I’d think this would scare him, but Cal thinks this is the cat’s meow. Even when Shaun’s not meaning to stage a monster chase game, Cal laughs when Shaun walks behind us. After playing all kinds of peek-a-boo games, we sit on the floor and I ask him about his day. He’s busy playing with something, but I know he listens because he pipes up in his own format. Later, while Shaun is starting dinner, we go to Cal’s room.

Trying to wrestle a huge cloth diaper and footed PJ’s on a 9 month old is probably my hardest physical task of the day. It takes lots of song and dance to get him unclothed, diapered, then clothed, and when he’s free of my confines, he crawls straight to the window draped in three panels of soft jean. He hides in the jean and falls over the thick curtains, all the while holding on for dear life and giggling. Sometimes this sort of thing would make him cry but not there or then. It’s funny.

I snatch him up and pop in his pacifier and he curls up clutching his blanket beside me on the futon on the floor, which rests beside his crib. We both breathe for the first time that day it seems. He nurses for a few minutes then I choose three books and most of the time he’ll watch me read them, only periodically grabbing at the pages. Lately, he’s interested in the parade of animals in Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Or maybe it’s the animal noises I make.

After reading, we say good night to his nightlights, formally known as Mr. Moon and Mrs. Star (they both kept their last names). Once I flip the switches, it’s dark. I power on the waves on the sound machine and I rock him for several minutes, singing twinkle, twinkle or humming. He knows it’s time so he just rests his head against my chest (he used to resist at first, now he just unwinds.) Once I say goodnight, I lay him in his crib on his side, he rubs his blanket over his hands and keeps his eyes closed. Eventually, he rolls on to his stomach, tucking his feet underneath.

As I slip out of the dark room buoyed by the eventful evening, Cal’s laughs still streaming through my head, it’s just past 6 so I have time to accomplish a few more tasks before putting myself to bed too.

the professor and the athlete

I don’t want to leap to conclusions, but I think Cal is on the verge of taking his first small steps (one big step for Calvinkind!). Couldn’t resist.

For a while Cal’s been fluid and comfortable on his fat little feet, gliding around the room from chaise lounge to couch, and even using the wall. It’s the cutest darn thing to look down and find him clinging to your jeans, looking up to meet your gaze. He often prefers to cling to pant legs because, I think, it offers an ever-novel vantage point, and also, he prefers to stay close. Sometimes I surmise that it’s his very ingenious way of getting me to stop moving so frantically about and to stay with him while he totters, and it works.

More recently, he shuns our hands, and pulls away to stand alone for several seconds and then, when he starts to wobble, crouches to the floor. Last weekend Cal pulled this standing stunt over and over again (as if seeming to say: Look, no hands!), testing his muscles and balancing more frequently and for longer intervals. On Sunday, 1-year-old Oren, the nephew of friends of ours, came over to “play.” The adults were eager to see how the two adorable and positively different baby slash toddlers would interact, if at all.

Once the gates were released and they were put on the floor, Calvin crawled straight toward Oren to inspect our smaller than usual visitor. He tried to grab his face, but we intervened. Then, over the course of the visit, he kept trying to use Oren’s shoulders and head for a standing launching pad. Oren, who isn’t so much into all this standing and walking nonsense, just looked at a much bigger Cal as if he was an ambassador from another, more athletic, planet.

So it was Oren the kind professor with soft strawberry curls in his hair and Calvin the star sports player with short, aerodynamic fuzz, both spinning their own feats for us to see. While Calvin crawled fast and climbed on everyone's laps and clang to knees and couch arms to stand, Oren pointed at things and showed his sharing “tricks,” by gesturing and offering toys to people close to him. I think Cal can use someone like this in his life; I have a feeling sharing is nowhere near his top concern.

It was interesting to meet Cal's contrast. And it was also funny watching Calvin try to inspect and tower over Oren. But after they left I had a sinking feeling -- what will I do to teach my 90th percentile little guy to use his powers of diplomacy instead of his strength? I’m starting to think I gave birth to a Shaquille O’Neal. Unlike Shaq, I’m hoping, praying, Calboy will learn to play nice.

Letters

October 16, 2008

Dear baby Cal,

How are you? I am so happy that someday soon I’ll get to meet you. I wonder if you’ll have a fuzzy head of hair and huge blinking blue eyes or a bald head and curious green eyes. Whatever you look like, I know you’ll be perfect. I’ve already fallen in love with you.

Do you know that we already play games? Mainly you kick me and I smile to myself, or you push with your feet and hands and I’ll touch you gently from outside. Often, you hiccup so it feels like a tiny earthquake rumbling inside my tummy (it kind of tickles!). Other times you are a boxer, others, a graceful dancer. You get stronger every week. You are so active these days. When I’m on the bus early in the morning, you’re already busy doing acrobats. You’re favorite time is after dinner when I’m relaxing (and you’re having a great feast!) and dad massages my stomach and we both smile and laugh at the thought and feel of you rolling around in your home. That is my favorite time too.

In fact, many people love putting their hands on my belly to feel you kicking. It is their first connection with you, so it brings so much joy to their faces. I’m so lucky that I get to spend everyday with you.

Sometimes I think of you as an astronaut, weightless and bouncing around in my stomach, restricted only by your umbilical cord. At this point (27 weeks) I already know you can hear my voice and dad’s voice, which is amazing. I also read today that you are sleeping regularly, opening and closing your eyes, and sucking your fingers! You’re also practicing your breathing for when you make the journey outside and take your first breath of air. Although I am so eager to hold you and meet you, I hope and pray you get to relax and grow in my tummy for many more months so you can be big and strong.

I hope you like cereal, peanut butter, salad, plums, apples, burritos, and a little chocolate here and there because these are some of the foods I love to eat. I also drink lots of orange and pomegranate juice, yum! As you grow, my stomach grows too. When I glance in the mirror, it appears I’m hiding a balloon under my shirt, but it’s really you in there. I love providing a warm and safe home for you until you’re ready to see the world.

I still can’t believe the miracle that you are. But I am so glad that we picked each other. When I first found out that I was pregnant, you were the size of a poppy seed and now you’re more than 14 inches long and weigh 2 pounds – like a head of cauliflower. And you’ll only grow bigger!

You are such a wonderful blessing. Keep on bopping and bouncing around and I’ll see you in a couple of months, when I can finally shower you with kisses.

Love always,
mom

October 19, 2009

Dear Cal,

How are you?

Last week I found a letter I wrote to you when you were in my tummy. I wrote it one year ago. I cannot believe how remarkable you are and how both our lives have changed since I wrote that first letter. I’m writing you another letter so that I can marvel next year at the beautiful arch of your growth. I will try to write to you each October. As the leaves change colors and season turns cooler, I’ll think about you and your cycles and changes.

A year ago I wondered about your looks – now I know you do have fuzzy hair and huge blinking blue eyes. Although I guessed that, I didn’t know how expressive those bright blue eyes would be or how funny and captivating you’d act with your smirks and your toothy grins. Or how soft that peach fuzz head would feel.

The shapes of your eyes are similar to mine – little almond lakes protected by your long black lashes. Their blue color takes breaths away. I remember now that your Nana had a dream you’d have eyes like mine. Your mouth reminds me of your Uncle Ryan – especially when your lips are shut and you’re acting noble or serious. I think you have your dad's height and itch to tinker with things ... that's just the tip of the iceberg. You express bits of all of us, yet you are your own beautiful you.

You’re a curious little boy. A lot of people use the word “aware,” meaning they think you’re paying attention and tuning into what’s going on. Many adults lose this ability, so it is a gift to watch you watch the world.

Last year I wrote about the games we played when I poked at your feet as they pushed on my belly. We play so many games now. You like peek-a-boo with blankets and you also chase after us when we peek out from behind things. We roll on the floor together and explore everything down to the zipper on my sweater. Your favorite toys are not really toys, but kitchen objects. You also like buttons and pulling drawers open. Anytime there’s something new, you crawl straight toward it. You are quick. I have to jog after you. You want to play with the phone and remote control, and grab at them every chance although they are off limits. You play drums on oatmeal containers, boxes. You chew on all kinds of spoons and other things and then drop them on the floor and watch us pick them up. Then you drop them again.

Your Nana cares for you most mornings during the week; your Nana and Pops take you on walks every morning. At their house, you like to pet the little doggies, play drums on many surfaces and watch Nana vacuum. Lights make you light up, and you really appreciate Nana's twinkly string lights that dangle over the entranceway.

You are mostly on the move but you are silent and still when you’re in the stroller on walks, watching the world so intently. You seem to like being in the backyard on a blanket in the grass or playing on a swing at the park, which makes you laugh. When you were a younger baby you enjoyed watching the leaves in trees sparkle and sway. Nature seems to calm you, and also music. I've probably sang bingo 100 times by now. You like it, so we keep singing.

You can do so many things now – stand without help (you do this a lot now, because you are mastering this skill), crawl, drink out of a sippy cup, grunt to tell us your needs, fall asleep (you take two naps like clockwork and your bedtime is 6). Lately, you’ve been trying to pull yourself onto things. Yesterday, we had an older baby over at our house and you were intrigued. You crawled right up to him and tried to use his shoulder to stand! You are tall and agile and have a short-hair haircut. You seem like a little boy already.

I told you about the food I liked to eat when I was pregnant; now I know some of what you like. At Tomales, you liked your Uncle Ryan’s tomato/roasted bell pepper soap. Ggma recreated it recently and you ate it all up. You also like sweet potatoes, potato soup, peanut butter, squash and green bananas, nothing too sweet. When you like something, you grunt and lean toward us so you can get in another mouthful faster. When you don’t, you put your fingers in front of your mouth and grunt, and we know you’re “all done.”

Something we really enjoy now is that sometimes you’ll lay your head on us and cuddle. So many people just like being with you, holding you, watching you seek out things, watching you bloom. You seem to enjoy their company too.

People say you will have a lot to say when you learn to talk, kind of like your dad. Whatever you say, I can’t wait to hear it. You teach me to be mindful of the world. And also to take action! I love our Wednesdays, when it's just you and me. You keep me on my toes; I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Can’t wait to tuck you in tonight.

Love you,
mom

bonks and booboos begin

Blogger.com was down, written Friday Oct. 2

Maybe I’m getting old, but Cal has gotten slap-stick quick. He has mastered his crawling technique in a month’s time and now can burst into overdrive once he sees something electrical or dangerous to eat, or both. They tell you that kids seek out cords, plugs and everything off limits and you shake your head in ignorance until you find out that they do. I’m sure it has to do with novelty and that priceless “I can’t have it so I want it” quality.

My weekly Wednesday with Calvin ended with a sore back and all around fatigue. Don’t get me wrong, we had fun – especially at the park where, sitting directly in front of the bucket swing on the bark-padded ground, I pushed Cal and he swayed back and forth like a pendulum wearing a wide grin. He got quiet when I ducked out of view, then chuckled when I burst back into his frame. I could see his white bottom teeth glistening as giggles poured out.

Now that we’re homebound on Wednesdays (Shaun no longer carpools) we’re discovering the niceties of staying home. Grocery trips are replaced with walks and park trips. Eventually, we’ll venture out on the bus with our compact stroller, but we haven’t yet.

We spent a long stretch of time on a blanket outside, where Cal would pile on top of me or steal my glasses. That’s the other thing – he shuffles toward me with this beautiful grin (queue slow-mo) and just when I think he’ll nestle into my arms and give me a hug: he snatches my glasses and starts to mouth and inspect them, clenching them tightly in his fists while I try hard to wrestle them free. It’s not exactly like taking candy from any baby, he’s very strong. He gets upset when I eventually retrieve them, grunting with acute frustration and bounding after them, even if I put them behind me or under my leg. He knows that things still exist now. He is persistent about the glasses and I can’t help it because I don’t want to egg him on – but it makes me laugh, if under my breath.

The other thing is that his grunts have multiplied lately. My mom and I were talking about this last night at a friend’s fundraiser gala (my first night without Cal and without Shaun!). Calvin has so many desires and ambitions now, waiting to burst out, and they surface as these highly impassioned grunts. Sometimes, we can even extrapolate from the grunting and body language what exactly he wants; frequently, it involves things he can’t have. But the other day, Nana responded to his grunts at the decorative lights threaded over her living-area entranceway, which he’s always marveled at, by plugging them in; he smiled in approval.

Midday Wednesday I turned my head and Cal had pulled the stool over; it landed with a thud beside (thankfully not on) him, but he fell down with it. Emotion coursed through me as I heard his heavy breathing and crescendo crying begin – it made me tremble with grief even as I’d known he’d be alright. The stools were banished to the garage.

Our day together was speckled with grunting and bonked heads and lots of cuddling after my little adventurer’s accidents under the sun and in the breeze of early fall. Calvin is learning cause and effect (by way of hard floors and objects, and exposed outlets if he got his way). I’m learning to stay calm despite the mental anguish of watching him learn, and fall. I guess, welcome to Parenthood 101.

Running after Cal and absorbing so much emotion from his physics experiments runs a mom ragged. Thankfully, there are those two long midday naps – much needed rest for mama, and baby.

play, the original way

Today I learned about something called original play, named and encouraged by Fred Donaldson, a psychology professor, and it really hit home to me.

My favorite way to play with Calvin now is to sprawl out beside him, on his mat or a blanket on the grass, and allow him to dictate what happens next. He usually crawls on top of me, uses me to practice his standing or finds something interesting on my clothes or body. We invariably end up tangled and moving, and we might start some game or another, like him trying to get my glasses and giggling when I turn my head or me kissing the bottoms of his feet. It’s like the most gentle, laid back kind of wrestling. He never gets upset. And it really connects us.

And apparently this is exactly what original play is – play like the dolphins swirling their bodies together in the oceans, play like the mom and baby lion tumbling easily on the savannah. According to Donaldson, original play uses fluid movement and touch to create a raft of trust between the playing parties, putting fear, aggression, cultural dictates and competitiveness at bay. The only rules, surprisingly, are for the parents: no standing, tickling or grabbing. The kids, therefore, get the lay of the land, but are cued by the parent’s behavior to be free and comfortable but set aside aggression. Of course, there’s real strength in this kind of play, especially as kids get older, just no one-upping or attempts to control the other person’s body.

I’m glad I learned about the positives of this type of gentle lolling and rolling around, of original play, which we already enjoy so much, apparently like a lot of other animals on this big, beloved blue marble.

Cal-dimensional

Today is the first day of fall: the only season my sweet little son has yet to experience. Less than four short months and Cal will be one year old – crazy. My disbelief has less to do with time’s passage than Cal’s complete transformation from a totally reliant infant into this individual who crawls between my legs, recognizes words, imitates sounds, and perseveres after whatever’s in his sights.

And with Shaun working long, hard hours, I’ve been spending lots of quality time with Calvin. In recent memory, last Sunday’s lazy, hot and wonderfully long hours stand out. Cal’s great grandmother Kathryn was at our house all day and Cal spent probably three hours outside splashing in water, laying in the hammock and sitting in shade under the shade tree with her. During that time, Cal de-leafed a dead mint stem – plucking the leaves one-by-one off their perch and crinkling them to hear their melody. When I brought out a bowl full of water and bottle parts (which he promptly giggled at), he would alternate sucking on the toys, patting the water and methodically ferreting out any errant leaves that had landed in his tiny reservoir. He was sparkling, and in his element.

Last week at a moms club event, one mom led a discussion centering on temperament and behavior modification. Much of the behavior mod discussion wasn’t relevant to babies, but the temperament information made me think about Cal’s disposition, Shaun’s and mine, and how we all play off each other. Right away I deduced that Cal was different than myself (loud and intense) and more like Shaun in his many gregarious and outspoken mannerisms, but as I thought about it, I could see how we have some things in common too: his sensitivity and interest in others, his perseverance and focus, his vocalization of emotions. On an online quiz I took, we both were rated as “spunky” – but I think spunky in different ways. On another Web site, I found the “dimensions” of temperament, and wrote some notes under each:

Activity level. Calvin is generally squirmy and active. Although the natural world can bring out his relaxed side, he still craves new experiences and likes being on the move.

Regularity. Since he was born, Calvin has wanted to eat at regular intervals (2 hours), and, early on, started sleeping regularly without any schedule-setting from us.

Approach/Withdrawal. When Cal sees something new, he brightens up. He's happy to play "pass the baby" at a party! New people bring interest, and even though he has some stranger anxiety emerging, as long as I’m not in the room, he’ll interact happily with other people.

Adaptability. Cal thrives on consistency, but is open to the occasional schedule change, as long as his sleep is accommodated. Hey, he camped at a remote beach on Tomales Bay. I think his adaptability is thanks to his interest in novelty.

Sensory threshold. I would say Cal is more sensitive than not: he likes his bottle room temperature, sleeps only certain ways and with some coaxing (rocking) by us and prefers the feel of soft blankets. He will also wake up in response to racket (usually mine) in the kitchen.

Mood. Cal is quick to giggle, smile and smirk (he has a new, tight-lipped grin he sports nowadays), and lights up when he sees someone or something he likes. When he cries, we know he really does need something — and it’s usually comfort, sleep or a helping hand.

Intensity. Cal definitely seems extroverted – he laughs and cries loud. He also "talks" a lot. If he is unhappy, he makes it known. Generally, he enjoys making noises, like squawks and high-pitched squeals. His new MO is repeating sounds he hears.

Distractibility. Calvin can be highly persistent so it depends on what he’s being distracted from – if it's sleep, he likely won’t be distracted easily. If it's a toy he's passionately moving toward, he also won't be happy. But if it's a worthy distraction, it might work.

Persistence. If the item is new, Cal will play with it for some time. If it is something he wants and it is off limits, he will stop at nothing to get it in his tiny paws!

your Cal fill for today

I don’t want to forget …

Cal’s windshield wiper feet, when he’s excited they sashay back and forth; the yoga “downward dog” pose he’s suddenly acquired and keeps practicing to great hilarity; how he uses our sprawled out bodies as a way to get up on his feet and stand and how I secretly love it because it’s a way to get some rest; catching his gaze and looking into his eyes as if I’d never looked at anyone before; while rocking him to sleep, resting my chin on his fuzz head and him not minding; loving and resenting my status as the parent with the magic sleep touch; how he cemented his crawl technique on his 8-month birthday; his giggles before bed and frantic splashing in the bath tub; Ggma’s constant stream of $2 bills; how he’s started sleeping like a frog on his belly, legs and feet folded neatly under him; his determination to get anything that lights up and has buttons into his mouth; how Shaun says “I always know how to make him smile,” and how I think he’s right; his ticklish belly and thighs; how his squeals shatter silences; his quiet curiosity; his discovering the crinkly beauty of dead leaves, pinching and rolling them around in his fingers; how he raises his hands and grunts to be picked up, and then becomes quiet and contented in my arms; the moment we reunite after a long day at the office.

Because of course, all this will change tomorrow.

Cal's spell

Cal brings out the best in people. He unlocks love and softens edges. Just hold his gaze and fall into his sea-blue, sea-deep eyes and you are under his spell. It’s remarkable.

When I’m with Cal, strangers talk with me (or to Cal then me asking about him), people smile wide and long, eyes speak joy, and people no longer care about acting strange and looking funny as long as Cal talks to them or responds to their quirkiness with glee and twirling feet (he does this, it’s brilliant).

On Sunday, we visited my dad’s sister, Julie; it was Cal’s first time meeting her. They were intrigued with each other; Cal kept grabbing at her lips and looking at her intently, and smiling too. He ate a banana at Starbucks and actually liked it. We were out all day (a rarity with naps now) and G-gma Joyce kept saying, “He’s such a good boy, isn’t he,” while beaming. During the almost hour car ride home, Calvin took special interest in the water bottle I had, sucking on the lid and shaking the water inside. At one point he hissed in frustration as I took big gulps. I gave him the bottle. He didn’t want it. I poured him some water in the cap and he lapped that up. He knows what he wants. Then he started this roller coaster fit of giggling that lasted a good 20 minutes. He’d giggle with the bottle fully in his mouth, and stop. Then he’d giggle again. Then he squeel. Then giggle. Nana and I were just watching and laughing. My cheeks were sore from it.

Then back to our house for dinner (Shaun had been at work all day) where my dad said what a gift Cal has been to us, to our lives – absolutely. Part of the joy comes from that unlocking of love of everyone around Cal. He lets his emotions flow unabated and authentic, as he hasn’t fashioned a filter, which invites others to let their love flow without restraint too. While we teach him language and our worldly customs, perhaps we can learn his love-without-borders ways.

Maybe we can all take a queue from Cal and permeate joy for joy's sake.

OK, the other part of course is that he’s unbelievably cute, which, yes, goes a long way to crack shells and melt hearts, including, first and foremost, this mom’s.

it was him

Sometimes I think it's so plain now that Cal was the one twirling in my tummy when I was pregnant, just eight months ago. I think “It was him the whole time, he was the one kicking and hiccupping, especially in the evenings and after lunch, he was the one bounding about in the womb,” like somehow it is so utterly obvious now, after the great mistery has been unveiled.

I guess that’s because I can’t really remember what my life was like before the addition of this whole new person, this fantastic flower of a human being that just keeps evolving. The puzzle piece of what is Cal has fit so seamlessly into our picture.

His screeching at frustrations and talks with strangers and store clerks; his tapping hands, like bird’s wings, flapping as I breastfeed; his catlike big blues fluttering curiously; his fingers (sticky like any good gypsy or petty thief) snatching everything on the counter’s edge; his legs in a diamond shape and his hands clutching his blanket as he sleeps; his laughter that is almost tangible and fills the rooms of our house; his perfumed body smelling of solids and breast milk and Cal all on the tips of his hair; his bright face and puppy cheeks unapologetically real, greeting me whenever I enter a room; his gaping smile, so very authentic it makes me want to cry.

All this is so captivating and real that it seems I should’ve known it was him all along. It’s amazing how quickly this whole new person who you can't believe didn't always exist, grabs you and changes you.

two week catch-all

So much to tell. I’ve been sick and busy. An ugly cold greeted me during the day Thursday and I went home early and stayed home Friday. Calvin might have caught it before since he had a runny nose and some trouble sleeping.

Saturday night Calvin pulled himself to a standing position in his crib, fingers cupped over the end of his crib, marshmallow legs holding the whole operation together. It was close to 7 p.m., an hour after his bedtime. Both Shaun and I were tired and wondering what was up with the little mover. After rolling and hoisting his body up and down, he finally just stood up and stayed there long enough for me to cross the house and see his two-toothed smile beaming in the glow of the baby monitor. It was the look of triumph. Then he shifted his foot and lost his balance, landing on his bottom. But of course, he was up again the next day.

The practically crawling and the full-blown standing – all this has seemed to happen in a week. I mean, he’s been on the verge of almost crawling for awhile, but now he’s up on all fours at all hours – yes, at night too.

I feel like Cal is a great audience member for comedy acts of all kinds now. He really gets funny things. Sunday sitting in Cal’s room right before a nap, Shaun wrapped my rose-colored scarf(that I use as my breastfeeding cloak) around his head like a turban, over-emphasizing some cartoonish accent and comical facial expressions, and Cal laughed and laughed. Then Shaun made other hats then some hair, followed by more laughter from us, the peanut crowd.

Shaun regularly hoists Cal upside down, dangling him by his legs and asking comically for his milk money. It’s kind of cute. Although I either close my eyes or issue the warning: be careful now you sillies. Cal smiles a toothy grin and giggles. They play what we call affectionately and plainly “the blanket game” involving any sort of blanket and the basic peek-a-boo premise. Shaun has also taken to walking the house with Cal, holding his hands up while Cal takes steps – left … right … left – in a beautiful and timed fashion, almost like a tiny but incredibly adorable almond-eyed mechanical doll. He’s getting so good at it I can’t even believe it. They started this, what, like a week or so ago???

On Sunday, he showed off his walking at Chevy’s on the River while we celebrated my cousin’s 16th birthday. Calvin wore shoes for the first time – dark brown loafers – and took some aided steps that the crowd lapped up. As usual, Cal was tossed over the huge table, zig-zagging his way up and down, of our party of at least 20, sucking on spoons and eating fresh avocados.

Another thing, Calvin got his first real hair cut two weekends ago. I thought of his hairdo as like an old man’s – the strawberry blond hairs grew lush around the back and sides of his head, and made tiny tents over his ears. There were also long puffs up top. I wanted to keep the sweet wispies, but Shaun insisted we cut it to one uniform length, which was probably a good idea. Shaun drove over Cal’s head with his beard trimmer on the two-notch setting while we sat in the bath. The resulting ’do was a buzz cut fit for the military. It makes him look like a little boy; this is perhaps why I resisted.

Reading "the books" I can’t believe what amazing things are on the horizon: the first shows of empathy, as well as kissing, sharing, signing, and first words, not to mention crawling, walking and running. Oh and also many more falls and rough-and-tumble than a sensitive mommy can effectively handle. That’s where dads come in so handy.

After the Mexican food, we ate cake for my cousin’s birthday on a hillside overlooking the river aglow in afternoon sun. The breeze felt good. A family friend and little girl Sammy came up to me and asked if my repeated attempts to rock Cal to sleep in the carrier, for his much-needed late afternoon nap, were wiping me out. “It's hard work being a mom,” she said. “So why do people do it?” I smiled but was temporarily dumbfounded.

I got my answer 20 minutes later when Cal lay burrowed in my shoulder, fast asleep, with slivers of choclate and carrot cakes ready to eat in hand. Although you might have to wait a bit longer to join the party as a mama, the cake tastes a million times better, and life, spoon fulls sweeter.

nighttime nursing as a blessing

I know I promised no more sleep stuff, but I couldn’t resist sharing what I read a second ago:

A desperate father came to the master for advice. "We cannot go on like this, please give me guidance," said the man on the verge of tears. "We have ten children, and we live in a one-room wooden hut. In the small yard, we have a goat that gives us milk. We are too crowded and the conditions have become impossible." The master responded slowly and confidently, "Bring the goat into the hut," he said. "What?" asked the perplexed man. "Bring the goat in," repeated the master peacefully. The man went home and because of his great trust in the master, and in spite of his wife's protest, brought the goat into their one crowded room. Things went from bad to worse. After one week the man couldn't resist and went back to the master. "Master," he cried out, "The goat in the room is not helping. It is much worse. Please help!" "Take the goat out," said the master. The man leaped with joy as he rushed back home with the great news. The family found that ten children in one room was a blessing. - Mothering Magazine

Similarly Calvin’s two-a-night awakenings, once annoyances, have been uncloaked by trial and error and shown for what they are: blessings, as well. I really could not see this before. Well, I didn't mind them so much but I saw them as something to fix not accept. All I saw was cultural labelings and what experts say about Cal being old enough to go without food for the night. But breastfeeding is an experience in addition to nourishment. It really is a moment in time, a space for us to just be.

So after attempting to get him to go full nights without nursing, I found that those feedings mean a lot to Cal and to myself and that I don’t mind them, especially when juxtaposed against an unhappy and tired baby and mom and dad. Less nighttime feedings also diminished my supply, something the experts don't mention often enough.

I hold close those gentle and quiet moments at dawn with my son and think that we’ll let go of them when we’re ready. Now that we’re back to our usual nursing times, I get up without a negative thought – for I know these are but fleeting moments in our lives and that they’ll soon become apart of that cherished and elaborate quilt in my mind made up of our fondest memories together.

pain and progress

Restfulness is not underrated. During night two of our new routine, Cal cried a lot less and got himself back to sleep quicker – I could not believe it, around 15 to 20 minutes instead of the 45 minutes or more the first night (I was almost ready to throw in the towel after four of those episodes in night one). I could see him dealing with the problem and casting about for ways to soothe – he sucks on his blanket and pulls its soft edges against his face; he babbles to himself and turns to his side or to his back. After his morning feed today, I left him in his crib to get ready for work and he went right back to sleep, amazing.

I know that big changes can be hard fought and slow to catch on, and that first steps forward many times don’t mean squat, but my psyche revels in the progress of night two. I needed the confirmation that something would give. I take solace in the fact that Cal is not alone in the process, we sit by him, I shhh, talk to him and I trace circles over his soft blankets on his belly. I’m proud of him. And oh it twists my insides to watch him struggle with getting to sleep, but I am also proud of myself for setting limits and guarding our sleep time – mine, Cal’s, Shaun’s.

It feels like one of my first big tests of parenthood in doing something I don’t want to do but that I know is best. It pains me to watch people struggle, especially my small, innocent and bright-eyed wonder boy who depends on me to guard him, and to guide him through most everything right now.

I’d rather struggle than watch; that rings so true because if I was him at least the pit of my stomach wouldn't ache. But sometimes it is not about me. Struggling can be rewarding for the struggler when the obstacle can and is overcome; Cal is capable of this feat. That is one of my great lessons as a parent.

... I'm taking a break from sleep posts; being awake and with Cal tumps really any nighttime development. Next week, I'll tackle Tomales and try to capture Cal a little in words.

getting out of sleep debt

I … need … sleep. The experts say there’s a sleep banking system; if so, I’m in the red and have accumulated debt little by little, spending a little more energy each day than I can replenish by sleeping. I get enough sleep, but not the kind of stone-cold sleep I got before Calvin joined us on the outside, and that’s OK, because all I’m on the prowl for is something like a five-hour continuous stream of sleep.

I’m not normally this tired. Albeit our struggles with getting our son to sleep, I haven’t lost bulk sleep in any real way. In part, I think, it’s because Cal sleeps tucked up next to me and I can meet his every three-hour squawk with a tummy rub or a feed and lull him back from whence he came. I have enjoyed snuggling at night with the baby boy and I’ve adapted to sleeping with an arched arm that swerves over Cal’s head and acts like his own private entryway to sleepland. But my sleep tricks are increasingly met with resistance and have become less, not more, effective over time. And I dare say a couple of times last week I spent several hours bouncing Cal to bed on our exercise ball – jiggling us both into a stupor of sort, my whole body tired and Cal frustrated because we were getting nowhere fast. The thing is that I’ve given my sweet boy no tools with which to get himself to sleep or back – and that’s gotta change. In addition to that, I’m the only one at my house who wields the magic touch at sleepy time.

So this week, I will ease Cal into his own room and use a routine I read about where we stay with him but slowly introduce opportunities for him to soothe himself to sleep, moving further away. I’ve stalled this tack before because I feared the crying, but I, or Shaun, will be right there with him while he learns his new skill (I keep replaying this part to myself in my head). Right now, we’re in the stage where Cal and I sleep on Cal’s floor to get him used to the idea that his room will now host all sleep activities (which is one reason for my lack of sleep today – futon sleep ramped up on anxieties from the upcoming sleep changes, plus my usual rounds with Cal, left me awake, not asleep). But I’m sticking to the idea that this change will be a good thing, and that we’ll all emerge, in some weeks, with bigger bank accounts – and the puffy eyed blues just a mere memory.

back to blogging

I’m dodging this blog like a phone call from a longtime friend. I’ll get back to you tomorrow is what I think with the friend and the blog, but tomorrow quickly devolves into at least three days. There’s so much to discuss its daunting. But it always feels good to get the latest news off your chest and into the world, so I’m here. It’s just that with this small hiatus, I’ve found myself stuck and unable to do justice to the beauty of what is unfolding before me, and then I turn into this tragic irony – an idle blogger with mounds of material. I’m trying to break that chain.

To be fair to me, we’ve been really busy – Cal went to his first Tomales, which happened to be a very memorable one. I’m going to dedicate an entire blog to our adventures there. We also picked blackberries along Scout’s creek the weekend before, for Nana’s birthday. And especially in the last few weeks, I’ve felt like a single parent with Shaun’s hard days and late nights at work, leaving me the sole evening and nighttime parent and only resident housekeeper (thank goodness from some outside help from our nanny). I can’t imagine doing it like this forever. I am grateful for our support systems. And finally, work has been busy and I’ve taken on a handful of new writing commitments to quiet that little voice in my head that says: write! So far so good.

Lately I’d say the theme to Cal’s evolution is boy on the move. Cal pounces on his prey, which is usually some form of kitchen utensil, without a speck of hesitation. From a sitting position, he lunges forward and ends up on all fours then grunts and whines with furious frustration at his inability to really get going. If you are sitting beside the little man, he uses you for climbing architecture. Cal becoming mobile will surely be a heralded day, but we are waiting on bated breaths for when he can sail across a room because then we’ll have to get off our butts ourselves.

In addition to his menu of breast milk (he has gone on a permanent strike from formula, which he’s only accepted a handful of times before), our little buggy eats regularly now, mnostly backyard squash and a little farmer’s market avocado. But his newfound food fetish is wonderfully spiced and beautifully tart tomato soup, as discovered by happenstance at Tomales. His Uncle Ry made a tasty soup to pair with our grilled cheese and, on a whim, Nanna Anna gave him a lick. He wanted like 20 more licks. We had to move him to basically prevent him from licking the bowl clean. I made him a soup yesterday from our Romas and Big Beefs that I hope he’ll enjoy one inch as much.

He was seven months old Sunday. This sounds way older to me than six, so I have to gather myself up a little because I’m already mourning Cal’s babyhood, which is far from over. And of course Cal seems like a toddler, tenacious and big for his age as he is. Now that he’s older, he doesn’t always smile when I do, and I have to be much cleverer to get him to laugh. Although, when he’s really tired he’ll laugh when you just stare blankly at him. Cal’s also way more absorbed with the world than my face (OK that was bound to happen) and is only happy with peek-a-boo for a few rounds. On the flipside, his awareness makes him sensitive to sounds and movement (he cries when I drop things or when the little dogs bark) and he still requests to be held most of the time, and knows who’s doing the holding. So although I’m not his whole world, I’m an integral stage hand, which works.

“Dada” is by far Cal’s favorite phrase. He says it as a song, a question, a statement, and a monologue. My favorite is when he whispers it into the breeze and you can barely hear him over the hum of life. You can tell the “dadadadadaaaaa” has different meanings depending on context and tone, but the two letters used is constant. To say the least, the resident dada likes this.

Cal definitely has teeth now. Two kernels on bottom – they look like little nubs of corn. He’ll only show you when he has the hugest most wonderful grin on display, which completely melts my heart like butter.

That’ll have to do for now.

tomales, tomales

I started writing this last year because I missed our yearly camping trip. I finished it last week. It's more for Cal than about Cal. Cal will go to his first Tomales this Thursday.
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When I was a kid, my brother, sister and I would sing our own version of a song from Annie. “Tomales, Tomales, I love you Tomales, you're only a day away.” We sang it once we reached the hills near the gritty bay and smelled Eucalyptus trees, inserting the time increment for how far away we were from our yearly affair with the bay.

My family clan and some lucky friends gather on a Tomales beach most summers. We’ve returned yearly for more than 40 years.

Our bond to the bay and each other is so unique and compelling in this spiraling, quick moving world. The bay stays on our smelly breaths long after the sun sets on that last Saturday night. Our hairs persist of campfire smoke, a full and nauseating smell, through triple lathers. When we open our camping bags, sand slides and scratches uncomfortably in the vinyl cages. The aftermath of unpacking is so daunting that it almost assuredly gets put off … and put off. But all these annoyances are small beans compared to what Tomales Bay is for us.

To cross the Tomales Bay and lay claim to our sandy cove on the other side, we need a boat – enter the newly restored Tomales Tomato and Capin' Beth and second mate Abe. The bay itself is 12 miles long and a couple miles wide and relatively shallow, occupying the west end of a rift valley created by the San Andreas fault.

During the day, we keep busy chatting as we peel off clothing layers, like super ripe bananas, as the sun peaks then sinks in the sky. By night, we wrap ourselves in blankets and squeeze around the campfire, always on alert like birds of prey for breathe-easy areas and meditating on songs from the past, laughter circling from the fire to the sky, hours dense with honesty, guitar melodies, and sun-recovering faces lit up by smooth flames. We stoke the fire and tend to it like it’s our collective child. If it’s clear, you better believe the stars are out and bright.

There is an elaborate cooking schedule at Tomales, with each of us taking turns threading together beach-wide meals, which are really events in themselves, rotating people and cookware in and out of a camp kitchen that operates like a Rubik’s Cube – the food is gourmet, but camp style, and there’s lots of it. No one goes to bed hungry. There is much preparation before we even go.

Packing for Tomales starts weeks before. We max out our cars with food, clothing, books and games, but we only use about a tenth of it. Yet a collective anesthesia promises we’ll bring the same truckload of crap next year – although we try to consolidate things. To account for the camping largesse, we certainly do our best to help unload boats (or feign sleep) and share leftovers, giving of our food as we give of ourselves.

There are famous Tomales lores – like when cous Esa ate sandwiches with snail-track slime, the adults staged a discovery of shark bone jaws for Ry, and the many myths shrouding Hog Island. There’s also those way-back days when our hippy elders showed us their white behinds through photos (now imprinted like search lights in our minds), partied through the night, and camped on the beach in garbage bags, getting slicked from dewy mornings.

Then there are the carefully etched memories – gray whales caught in the bay at night singing under a bright moon; high tide one year kept us awake as it flirted with the faces of our tents and singed the fire and sent us scurrying like frantic mice on a sinking ship; weddings and love celebrations; Aunt Beth fearlessly swimming to Hogs Island; an eager troop of hikers temporarily lost while taking a “short cut” and young Abe, suffering from stinging nettle’s prickly wrath, asking us to leave him behind; the time I peed in the soap bucket; Shaun asking my family if he could formally join it; Aunt Scout’s discovery of an entire male elk that died close to campsite by a creek; the time when Tomales tomato shut down and left some in the middle of the bay and others freaking out; the artful picnic table we embraced with paint and left at the campsite and used it for years; and my dad flipping and piling on pancakes until lunchtime – in addition to countless other warm memories.

And don’t forgot those hazy but juicy sweet childhood memories – pretending to be black beauty by cantering along the rubbery wet sand; sitting on the warm, lighted night ground against my mom’s legs; Mill’s bucket aquariums; cous Erick covered in slimy bay bottom; collecting starfish and Ry naming the kinds; Captain Kirk as more myth than man; hours spent folded in half at the knees to get close to animals; running in the pack of wild cousins; and getting goose bumps from those huge crab claws making guest appearances from fractures in the rock – we felt brave as we prodded them with sticks until they pinched in response, sending us flying.

Finally, there are the perennial items that we can always look to – black seal pinheads bobbing in and out of the horizon like mirages; barnacles and stranded jelly fish as enemies of our bare feet; Nick’s Cove; bird songs coming and going in the morning; pelican beaks; swaths of seaweed salad; pouty-lipped anenomes; a cool, gray start to the day; games played with passion; politics and emotions; day hikes; the shit hole; the cafeine/coffee vultures; a jovial clan around the fire; music; cuddling with honeys; slick hair and natural smelling bodies; guac gone a second ago; belly laughs; and lots of shared stuff and memories.

I have this funny question: what if our real life is Tomales Bay and the rest of it is how we keep busy? So our livelihood consists of sandy tents, smoke smell that clings to jackets like small hands, the vague uncomfort of salt lips and damp pant legs, no clocks or phones, days of brilliant restlessness, the real work of establishing shelter and making food, hiking through the thick of what nature has including prickly grasses and poison oak just to see an inch of the ocean, and nights where warm, sand free socks bring us a world of comfort. That sounds pretty authentic to me. Our life beside this estuary is something to behold. It is something to bequeath to our children.

All of this is why those first adventurers boated over, and why we still do. If we skip a year, so be it. It’s not a perfect tradition, but it’s ours. No matter how you play it, we hold in our palms this sacred possibility and this silent magnetism that asks us, despite the daunting task of preparing like mad people and only barely dealing with the aftermath, to return.

If not tomorrow, than Tomales, Tomales, someday soon.

bubba love

Oh I just love having a baby around. Every day I fall in love with the little guy all over again. Yep, mothering is so much more challenging than I ever thought possible and it takes every grain of my being to stay calm and composed about 10 percent of the time. (For instance, when Cal didn’t fall asleep until 9 last night – which wrung me out like a towel and left me energy-less. It was because we had a friend over and he doesn’t sleep with strangers in the house. Yes, he is super aware of these things.)

But, it’s so meditative and life affirming to watch my little boy grow and flourish and I think I would cross oceans just to hang with him even if we weren’t genetically linked. I’m mesmerized by those eyes and how he tinkers to discover the underbelly of things.

Yesterday after Cal’s last nap, we went out in the backyard so I could line dry his diapers. He sat in his little u-shaped pillow until he careened backward and then he stayed lying on his pillow with his head angling upside down for several minutes, just looking at our tree. I wish I could’ve had temporary entrance into his mind to discover what he was thinking – I especially wonder what’s turning in those wheels when he gets fixated stuff.

I can’t really describe it, but how he is just makes me laugh and smile. Like when he says “dadadadada” under his breath to the car window on the way to work, when he wiggles his body in delight upon seeing a friendly face, when he squeezes and flexes his fingers over and over, or when he pinches people’s cheeks and lips when they lean close, leaving them wincing and struggling to talk. Also, I love how he sits up like a regular person until suddenly he falls to the floor, like a felled tree, then blinks and moves on, and when his face completely folds in on itself, puckering and seeming to say: “you just offended me by giving me that, how disgusting,” when we feed him anything besides squash. I also can’t get enough of his squeaks and loud, purring breaths, especially when he’s tired – I guess only a mother would actually think that is cuter than anything on this planet.

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful - beautiful boy

I have to share these pictures with you, taken by our dear family friend. They are from the garage sale we had this past weekend; it was wonderful time, a group of us spent the morning outside with new and old people. Anyway, with the pictures, I just can’t believe how remarkably these photos capture Cal's moods and his lovely character. And I love the luscious lighting on his face and how his blue eyes just leap off the whole scene. He’s such a gorgeous little man.

boy meets girl

At a friend’s birthday on Saturday, Cal met nose-to-nose with a sweet 10 month old girl who just two weeks before learned how to walk. Shaun supported Cal as he stood facing his new friend (he was almost exactly her height), and both babies began their detective work, reaching out hands and navigating each others’ faces. After a few seconds, the baby girl gave a Tarzan-size yelp, stretching out her vocals with euphoric glee, operatic style. Cal immediately looked puzzled and then began to cry out of fear and confusion from the sudden and acute outburst. We tried not to laugh but it was hard not to given the mixture of sweet and sad and funny. After that, we called Cal’s new girlfriend a man eater and consoled Cal regarding the turbulent matters of women and love.

Cal's five.9

Shaun first felt it Saturday – it’s a sharp, stubby pearl coming up in Calvin’s mouth! The tooth is on the left side of his mouth. We thought he’d been teething for awhile – due to nighttime wake ups, but it wasn’t until over the weekend that we discovered it, it was like finding a diamond in the rough or chocolate chip in some vanilla ice cream. What a wonderful discovery!

Anyway, I know you’re feeling a drought regarding Cal’s five, so here’s six for you until I write some more (for real) on Fri.

1. I play this game with the snake puppet, Sylvie. I slither toward Cal from about a foot away and make funny hissing noises. Cal gets this fire in his eyes and a case of giggles. It’s like he knows to laugh right when I start, I think he remembers it being funny from the last time.

2. Last night while Shaun was laying Calvin down in our bed, ever so gently, he said something so plain but so wonderful. “He’s really beautiful you know.” But not matter-of-factly. He said it like his beauty just completely came out of nowhere and hit him over the head. Like it was so bright and blinding he had to say something. Then he smiled then walked away.

3. Cal hung with his G Aunt Beth on Friday morning, and then she called to thank us for making such a wonderful creature, like we had all the ingredients lined up and planned the whole thing. She said he is sweet and sensitive like me and has Shaun’s fun-loving and friendly disposition. The best of both of us. I sure hope so. It’s funny that for all the ridiculous jealous feelings I’ve ever felt toward others, I want my son to blow me out of the water in terms of talent and beauty and characteristics. Anyway, he’s amazing, just like Beth said. And the fact is he’ll always be amazing no matter what he does or how he evolves. We're just here for the show.

4. On Sunday, we finally marched outside to tend to our garden, which is really a jungle. The tomato plants are so overgrown – the Romas have resigned themselves to growing horizontally. Our beans have climbed higher than the wooden tents, so their tendrils just reach out into the sky. We have about four huge pumpkins, already. Anyway, it was potato-harvesting day. Calvin was set up on a blanket and watched. We dug like terriers into the rich silt soil, and Shaun and I uncovered more than 75 potatoes – ranging in size from a marble to a large man’s fist. Then, Calboy sat on my lap while I cleaned our harvest, at one point almost leaping forward before I caught him by his belly. We were similarly outside on Saturday. I filled a huge bowl of water for Cal and plopped in various bottle parts so that he could splash in the water, and get some good finds to chew on. Like a deep-sea diver, his little hands sank to the bottom of the bowl and recovered all kids of chewable delights. It was hot even at 10 a.m. By the time we were finished, Cal’s legs were sparkly and wet, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

5. On his play mat Sunday, I collected the rainbow stackable cups (his favorite toy, btw) and set them in front of him. He was sitting up. First he grabbed the yellow. But after spying the red one in the corner of his eye, he chucked the yellow and grabbed the red quick. That was before he saw the purple one, which he quickly snatched up. He kept trading out cups for the color du jour. It was so sweet watching him change his mind and fly after the next one. I was dazzled by his intrigue and gusto.

6. I counted – when Calvin sits, he has four belly rolls. A quartet of rolls! Also, he has two thigh rolls and two ankle rolls, which are very tiny, but so very beautiful.

nanny to the rescue

In case you’ve been holding your breath since my Monday blog, I want to tell you some information that will let you breathe normal. Things have settled down around our parts – the ocean is quite calm (after the storm) and the skies are bright and indigo blue. We all feel more or less like ourselves again.

Monday afternoon we learned an important piece of the puzzle that’s restored our trust in the good and decent people of this world and made it possible for us to keep our wonderful nanny. We’ve also tinkered with the situation to make it better (I’m still not at home all day, but I’m dealing for now).

The whole ordeal has summoned to the forefront of my mind something that we all know but forget about a lot – sometimes, actually a lot of the times, impossibly challenging situations as well as dramas big and small are bubbling just below the surface of otherwise normal-looking people. You figure everyone is just honky dory and you’re the only one dealing with hard stuff that you can’t shake, but it’s probably the opposite. And it’s hard to remember that.

I recently finished the book Bird by Bird and I can’t stop thinking about life through Anne’s quote’s, so here goes: “I have come to think of almost everyone with whom I come into contact as a patient in the emergency room.” This is what puts her in the mood to give, she says. That’s a good way to orient yourself, I think, because in this world, every Joe and Jane is dealing with some kind of emergency unbeknownst to you, so it’s important to be as delicate and kind as possible, especially when you don’t want to.

Which brings me to the next point. I had a moment this week when I acted completely monkey-like, dumping my frustrations on my dear husband. It was after my most cherished Wednesday, and I just felt awful after putting Calboy through another suite of shots at his six-month appointment. He was cranky for the remainder of the day and I just stayed with him, holding him and neglecting every household chore, even during his naps. My husband was less than cheery to come home to see the house undone, and I snapped at him after he asked me about it. Everything came crashing onto the shore – the emotions of the week, the emotions wrapped up in Cal’s shots, my exhaustion, and that deep-seated nagging of not being or doing enough, awakened by that one comment. But of course my husband had his own emergencies, including a very long and challenging workday and an evening brimming with yet more to-dos.

So we’re all recovering from or overcoming something. With our nanny, she is facing something exponentially more difficult than the dereliction of dirty dishes, so our hearts reach out to her. Even so, I hope she knows that she’s saving us a little by bringing such beauty, love, and consistency to our sweet baby Calvin.

oral stage hello

What Calboy’s gummy little cave has been chomping, sucking, and mouthing on lately:

*The bottom of drinking glasses and glass bottles – the colder and more beverage condensation the better.
*Whole hard tomatoes from our garden – we watch in case he breaks the skin.
*Chins, shoulders, legs, hands, knuckles.
*The side of the bath tub.
*Blankets at bedtime.
*The backside of pacifiers.
*A magazine – the last for one we’ll be reading together for awhile.
*The hard yet soft corners of board books.
*The lip of the kitchen counter ledge.
*A baseball rattle before I confiscated it for BPA reasons.
*The doctor’s hand.
*A touch tone play phone at UCD Mind Institute (we were lab rats for an hour).
*All parts of the stroller, especially the tray and frame.
*Bottle parts and plastic food containers.
*Hyland’s Teething Tablets
*His cute feet, meaty thumbs, and tiny fingers.
*And of course, his toys.

(But not much food so far! Though he has tried blueberries, potatoes, carrots, avocado, & oatmeal. He makes a funny face and gives a tiny gag, but we'll keep up the effort.)

through the clouds

My little shining star sits now. And, when he’s lying down, he pulls his head up like he’s doing a miniature sit up. I try to tell him that it’s just easier to keep his head down because he’ll probably have to do those pesky sit ups later on, but he has this drive in his eye and he does them anyway. He’s so darn curious about the world that he won’t just lay there complacent. Nor will he sit pretty on my hip as I hold him. He grabs everything. But sometimes he’s surprisingly gentle when he gets something in his had, and he’ll just barely grace something like a lady’s long hairs or someone’s mouth with his fingers, touching it like his index finger is a feather.

Life is funny. Last night we found out that we may have to get rid of our nanny. She didn’t do anything egregious, she just overstepped the line by a small bit – but the outcome is the same no matter how far you cross the line. You might think that this is the worst thing that could happen. And it was for a second. But sometimes something better comes into sight through the clouds. Maybe my sister will watch him or maybe someone else who will work out better over the long run. The answer is out there some where.

Just a second ago I was sitting in the pumping room and balling my eyes out, reading Anne Lamott and wishing that I could just stay at home. I’ve done everything I can from this perch at work – I pump and spend every minute with Cal when I’m at home. But there are some things you just can’t do when you’re not there. You can’t touch and see and hear and be with him when you are away. You try but you just can’t.

Things seemed just fine on Sunday, before there was this crack in our armor. Once the crack happened, the egg busted up and there it was – the yoke. It seems plain as day now that something needs to give. I pray that we’ll find the best situation for us, somehow discover that good spot for our family. In my wishing to stay home, I know even that wouldn’t solve everything. Even if paying the bills wasn’t an obstacle, staying home wouldn’t be perfect. But it would be not perfect with Cal.

mr. six months

Everyone was right, it all goes by much too fast. Cal is growing so fast that I feel somehow I’m missing it and it’s falling through the cracks of my fingers, like sand. Tuesday night when he was sleeping it hit me like a pitcher of cement – Cal won’t be my little bug forever. I was so relieved that the next day was Wednesday and I’d get to contemplate his pudgy feet and thigh rolls, memorize the sprouts on his head, and see him first thing after naps when he’s still so cuddly and full of coy smiles. I think in the past week he’s turned into something else, something more boy that baby.

I see myself kissing him nonstop – maybe I’m holding tight to this era when I get a free pass to smooch on him all day long. He’s agile, and so in control of his body now. Feet and hands are tools on his increasingly effective tool belt. He can roll so well that he stops mid roll to look up and smile. He can also spin like a pinwheel and inch forward.

He sucks his drool before it slides out of his mouth so his shirts are drier now. His thighs are so pudgy I need two hands to make a band around them. He can almost sit perfectly – well it’s always been perfect for me ­– what I mean is with less sudden falls. But many times, he’ll fall forward on purpose so he can suck on whatever’s in front of him – the floor, your shirt, the table. He also does this in my arms; he’ll reach out and grab the counter, lunging his weight forward as if he’s taking off from a runway. I hold on tight.

Over the weekend, he happily gnawed on the bottom of my ice cold water glass at Tazzina’s. He also really liked the plastic food container I gave him yesterday, clutching it for the longest time and chewing on its bottom. In the bath, he doesn’t care that he can’t swim, he leaps off my lap, flying after his stackable cups. Once he gets one, he wants the other one, and the cycle continues.
We actually visited a friend’s preschool class yesterday and it really felt like it’d be realistic if someday he went to school too. We watched circle time. Cal was intrigued with the other kids, them with him. They introduced themselves and shook his hand. One girl made him laugh repeatedly with her funny faces.

He surprises me everyday and makes me smile at least 10 times more than I did without him. I just keep telling myself to embrace the amazing life force that is Calvin and let go of my need to hang on. I'm just glad I don't have to let go tomorrow.

red, white, blue and water bottles too

I will return with some lengthy Cal observations this coming Friday. Until then, here's what we were up to over the weekend:

Saturday was packed with patriotic fun – BBQ party, swimming, margaritas, and a glimpse of a firework finale. Lunchtime was spent at a friend’s bright orange house in the heart of east Sacramento. Flags hung from trees and whole streets were blocked off for festive block parties. Calvin wore a red striped shirt with star sleeves and became quite enamored with a half-full water bottle that he wrestled into his palms and put in his mouth, gnawing on its white cap for almost a full 10 minutes. He galvanized lots of ogling attention as the only baby in attendance. Swimming at Ggma’s house followed. It was Calvin’s first rendezvous with icy blue, cool, chlorinated water so he scrunched his face when his thighs were first dunked in. But he got used to the temperature and soon was back to laughing and smiling. His very favorite wet entertainment was Shaun coming up and smiling after hiding underwater – it never failed to get him giggling, which would make the rest of us laugh in a cascading giggle fest. Cal also liked to lead with his hands and head and wiggle his feet and tows as a rudder in the water, but a few unattended licks and gulps of water and I decided to keep him upright. After about a half hour, I dried our boy off and he, Ggma, and I sat in the shade and watched Shaun, Uncle Ry, and friends Morgan and Christine splash the afternoon away. On a bed of towels, Cal practiced his happy baby yoga move (as Morgan pointed out, it's when he's on his back with his hands holding his raised feet) and he also sat on my lap and talked. At this point, Cal was wearing his first pair of boxer briefs and probably feeling extremely comfy without a diaper. After a yummy BBQ dinner that included our garden's first corn cobs, the Hugheses and Ry returned to mom’s and dad’s house for margaritas and an attempt to put Cal to sleep. Cal resisted a little so he got wheeled out on the porch in his magic highchair. We all marvelled at his tiny toes that had curved themselves so sweetly around the chair's stopper. We left just after the sun set and Cal succumbed to sleep on the ride home in our new car. After tucking Cal in, Shaun and I caught the caboose of the beautiful Woodland High fireworks show from the perch of our own backyard. They crested perfectly between our trees in their sparkling glory. We had one warm, wet, wild, crackling, very American, and very wonderful 4th of July.

a new magic chair emerges

I broke down and bought the Chicco plastic highchair last weekend while Cal and I went shopping with mom and Mill. I had resisted buying such a chair (a replica of the one my mom has) because I wanted the old fashioned wood one that seems easier to clean and good enough to save for future generations. But, alas, the one that I purchased is pure magic because it can recline and has wheels and can get Cal to dreamland in about 5 minutes (we wheel it back and forth in the kitchen then move him to his bedroom when he’s in deep sleep).

Plus, it lets me have my hands when he’s asleep, which is a whole new concept for me. Last night I was walking in circles in the kitchen because I could not figure out what to do with my person with all this time and both thumbs. And Shaun, who previously could not help with the bedtime routine, is now enthusiastically pushing the chair so I can clean and do other wild things.

While I sing the praises of this lovely highchair, I am still reluctant to blindly follow its magic powers into the night because we’ve bound ourselves to baby gear before – the bouncy. So I’m trying to keep to at first rocking Cal gently to sleep and then moving to him to the high chair once drowsy, and later to his bed. That sounds like an elaborate night routine, but it is much abbreviated from the time spent before rocking Cal to sleep then trying to set him down two or three times then sometimes resigning myself to just holding my sweet boy for the rest of the night – while the house continues to look like it has been abandoned. I love holding snuggly bubbas, but I also like to discover my kitchen counter without dish clutter once in awhile.

cal's five.8

Calboy’s weekly five:

1. Cal takes a bath in the big person tub now, with me. I think he has found out about splashing, because his last couple baths, water flew like fireworks. Also, he first started doing this during his baths: while he’s sitting on my lap he’ll stop all action and look up to find me, smile, and then happily return to his activity. I can just see those sweet smiley eyes that say: “just wanted to check in, ma”; it grabs my heart every time.

2. For father’s day our little fam plus extended fams settled at Discovery Park and enjoyed BBQ grub and salads under trees and in between games of baseball. Calvin was mesmerized by a big bowl of cherries, but decided to gnaw on its metal container instead. Late in the afternoon I found Cal lying on his back impressing his G Aunts with his vocal dexterity, squawking, chirping, grunting, and, of course, smiling. Beth, Lisa, and Vicki sat at Cal’s feet in a horse-shoe half circle, interacting with him and giggling at his antics. The trees had parted a small bit and there was sunlight streaming through on Cal, like a spotlight on a comedian. I almost interrupted the whole event to move the show into full shade, but I let the perfect moment be.

3. So last week, the sleeping situation improved. Then this week it has improved less so. I guess back sliding is a natural part of any change. Anything worthwhile takes time is what I tell myself. And what is worth doing? Not using any version of cry it out and sticking with rocking Cal to sleep (but slowly weaning him off the rocking, you see). Anyway, the synopsis is that I think Cal is getting into the groove of our routine, but is still adapting to his early wakeup time of 6 a.m. Because we’re up with the roosters, there’s this awkward time in the evening where Cal wants to go to sleep (5 or 5:30) and it’s too late for a nap and a tad too early for bed time. So we either let him sleep (and he’ll wake up) or rush through dinner and get him down by 6, 6:30 (and he brings out the crank). It’s a work in progress.

4. Now that I spend so much time watching Calvin sleep (I can’t set him down until he’s in a deep sleep), I have this remarkable urge to make a photo documentary of all his snoozing positions (except that I’m usually holding him and don’t have any hands, or its dark). Like last night, he kept putting his right arm straight out like he was in a fencing competition. Often, he’ll sleep with both hands raised over his head, or he’ll just lay his hand directly over his face. I guess it’s his hands that are the radicals! As he’s falling asleep, many times he’ll clutch the railing of my shirt and attach himself there until I pull his tiny fingers off one by one when he’s fast asleep.

5. Cal can now move forward in his walker (whereas before he would only move backwards)! On Wednesday he showed off his new talents in the kitchen and kept cornering me while I was trying to cook. He’s also sitting with more strength and resolve than ever; I predict a sitting unassisted milestone around the corner ... my love button is growing up.