Posts Tagged ‘pee’


13 March 2010

Dear J-

Yesterday I spent a few minutes looking around the daycare for dirty laundry — not figuratively hunting for rumors and innuendo, but trying to find evidence of accidents; there were none, and I was confused, doubly so today when we ran out of pants and we had to choose between putting figgy into a diaper before bedtime and trusting that she’d be able to hold it. We did make it through an outing without incident (I’m not counting falling asleep and letting go in the car seat) but the rest of the day was filled with craziness.

It threatened rain all day, but the madness could not be contained in the house either. We made our way to Balboa Park where I initially thought we’d go off to the Japanese Garden and the Spring Festival, but we ran into a perfect storm of traffic (Zoo, major rummage sale, and a parade on the western edge) and we ended up trying to find a quiet corner instead. Yet as we made our way across the highway, the noise swelled and our steps quickened toward the St. Patrick’s Day parade instead of the Marston House like I’d thought. The brick paths and lush greens from the last month of rain were calling to me, but we’ll have opportunities in the future.

It’s strange how the more independent we want to make her, the more work we have to put into it. At some point she will find out that her legs work again and we’ll be able to discontinue the impromptu upper-body workouts, but that means we don’t get to hold her as much either. There are compromises and tradeoffs to every choice; we can’t hold back time, we can’t keep her from growing up and I wouldn’t want that — the small steps seem so infinitesimal until you actually take a longer look at things; one month ago, one week ago, one year ago.




8 June 2008

Dear J-

Guy digs a pool in his backyard and, to celebrate its completion, invites friends and neighbors over for a party.  Everyone’s having a great time, splashing, laughing; beverages are flowing, barbecue’s sending out wicked good smoke, the sun is keeping everyone warm.  His friend pulls him aside.

“Er, look, I don’t know how to say this –”

“Yes, isn’t the pool lovely?”

“Well, see, that’s the point.  Your sign says ‘Welcome to the ool’.  There’s a typo, there:  there’s no p in your pool.”

“No, that’s the intent!”

“It’s O-O-L, there’s no P in your POOL.”

“Precisely.  Let’s keep it that way.”


Cold Water on Your Back

5 November 2006

I must have really been homesick those two years in Boston. That’s all I can excuse myself for.


All the same, I really enjoyed grade school. You got crayons, glue, pencils, and a notebook in September. You listened to stories after lunch. You wondered what was on top of the roof, over the fire escape, past the fences, behind the bushes, under the slides, inside the teacher’s lounge. I personally had a huge fear of being in the sunlight with the bloodstones present. As my friend described it, it would suck the blood right out of your body, much as lab reports and midterms were to do in a few years.