Three Dots

Dear J-

Are Mondays easy to bear? There’s no pressure about getting dressed (limited wardrobe means that I have to be vigilant for repeated shirts later in the week), stuff that’s due at the end of the week seems a distant dot on the horizon, and I’m usually able to get up on time after having secured enough rest over the weekend. Sure, there’s work to deal with, but what else am I going to do with my time? If the weekends feel short it’s because we have to cram so much into those two days. Even with theVet finally having Saturdays with us that usually means that we have an extra day to play around San Diego.

I was just realizing yesterday how (relatively) easy it is to take care of Calcifer at this point — he is immobile without us and so, whether carrier or stroller, goes where we direct. Once they get mobile — and verbal, and opinionated — that’s when you need the skills of a hostage negotiator. On the other hand, that’s when the real fun starts. Everyone knows that babies are cute, and sweet, and all kinds of benign cooing, but kids are hilarious even if frustrating. It’s the moments I get to laugh out loud (and I have, often and frequently too) that keep me coming back for more.

Over the weekend I was mentally putting together the number of trips we might have cut out with a family bike on hand. Saturday to the library, one. Later, to Kensington wouldn’t have worked — I have a deep-seated anxiety about crossing I-8 and Mission Valley, both from a traffic view and a geographical one (that’s a big hill). Sunday, to breakfast, nope — same deal with Mission Valley. Later, to Balboa Park, ditto. Finally, out to dinner, yes I suppose so but between traffic and the darkness no one would have enjoyed it I think. Yet perhaps we’d find a way to work around these things, right? It is a lot of money to sink into a vehicle that may not see as much use as you think, so let’s not be hasty.

Mike

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Drop Ship

Dear J-

I spent the day indoors wrestling alternately with a recalcitrant computer and (when she was awake) a sick figgy. The computer at least you can reboot and hope for things to work better, while the baby is a lot less receptive to similar treatment, though she does readily accept the Children’s Tylenol when offered. Clearly medicine has gotten much better tasting in the past thirty years or so, though I was always partial to those orange-flavored chewable aspirin. Life is pretty slow around here when she’s sick and we shift gears to suit.

If I think about it in terms of that at least she’s getting it out of the way before the big trip, that’s a good thing, but if we’re lagging her illnesses by a few days, that means we’re going to be well-impaired by the time we set out. Or perhaps we’ll have a few days grace period, as we incubate and pass the mutating virus between us; if life is like a petri dish, we are the culture that always develops a reaction — one of us has something remarkable.

She had a brief moment of lucidity this afternoon, rising from her pallet (we had literally laid out a few towels and a pillow in the front room and she spent most of the waking hours on it) and so I had a vision of her, vertical and awake beyond the confines of her misery. It’s tough to see her like this knowing how excited she usually is for various activities — wanting only to sleep is a sure sign of how low she feels. This too shall pass; hard to believe that we are back to work again tomorrow.

Mike

Medal of Honor

Dear J-

We’re starting something a little different on Saturdays — instead of staying home and melting with boredom, missed chores, and overindulgent TV watching, I’ve been trying to take advantage of the various passes we’ve purchased over the past few months. Last week, Sea World; this week, the Zoo. Both times, I’ve eschewed stroller and backpack (both of which I never seem to have any luck with lately, anyway) in favor of arms and a shoulder bag.

Let’s just say that both figgy and I have had no trouble sleeping on Saturdays. It makes me try to recall how I spent my weekends growing up; I wonder if there are (as indeed there are) errands and home improvements to be wrought; I wonder if we’re setting the bar high for all weekends to come. I only have to remind myself that it’s going to be all too soon before she chooses to be seen without us, that no one ever says they regret not spending more time at work.

The aches at the end of the day I wear like badges and medals. Good fun decoration. Happy memory citation. Sights seen and exclaimed over; beyond the little frustrations of the past, the overwhelming feeling is of deep accomplishment. We’ll carry those together past the limits of muscle fatigue and the failure of patience; we’ve built the future again.

Mike

Two Year Revue

Dear J-

I keep making excuses, although we don’t have that much further to run — figgy’s real birthday is Wednesday, but weekends are much easier to observe these things. The second birthday isn’t as big in any culture, I think, except to mark the transition to the terrible twos. My personal hypothesis for that has to do with developmental issues — you’re somewhere between knowing what you want and not being able to say it; the cliché of “use your words” is actually pretty accurate. Therefore, the two-year review:

• 200 gallons of milk consumed (mostly soy)
• 150 extra trips around the block trying to get her to fall asleep
• 100 weeks with at least one tantrum
• 75 steps, average, taken before asking for UPS, UPS, UPS
• 50 dollars usually spent on toys quickly discarded in favor of a rock, or a leaf
• 30 seconds, nominally, until the next request
• 20 years wondering what life would be like with a figgy
• 15 percent, time, money, and effort spent trying to guess correctly
• 10 hours a day worked means no time for figgy, terrible for all of us
• 5 different ways of pronouncing Daddy, depending on what’s needed
• 2 cupcakes destroyed today
• 1 more heart won, as usual

Mike

Crazy Crib

Dear J-

Triskadekaphobics all over can take solace in the fact that not a single thing I set out intending to accomplish today turned out quite right.  I’ll take that as a good indication that the rest of my Friday should proceed smoothly.  Then again, we’re dealing with Friday and US Open-induced traffic here, so everything has yet to be quite settled.

We put figgy to sleep last night in a nightgown and, because it was still warm, didn’t zip her into a sack (wearable blanket ) like usual.  A few hours later, when it was our turn to turn in, I checked on her, intending to add the sleep sack but noticing three things in rapid succession:

1. I didn’t remember leaving an extra diaper in the crib with her, and she can’t reach the changing table, so —
2. Oh, she pulled her own diaper off, but that’s no problem as long as she didn’t —
3. But she did.

So we ended up changing her out of the now-wet nightgown, strapping a diaper on her, re-making the bed with fresh linens, and finally, locating the emergency pacifier to stop the why-am-I-awake-if-I-didn’t-request-it protests.  For her, it may have been a strange dream; for me, it served to remind me that every day, things are different.  Feeding is now best accomplished by feigning showing great interest in her food and attempting to eat it for yourself, all while chasing her around the room, as she’ll submit to the high chair only for certain goodies (yogurt, mango, and graham crackers).  Patiently, now, she points out all the animals to her poor unobservant parents, sometimes accompanied by a bloodcurdling shriek of crushing anticipation designed to weaken her enemies’ bowels.

We keep having more fun.  What seemed like a plateau turns out to show more peaks, and sooner than expected.  And work itself becomes both faster and more fun.

Mike