Monday is Okay

Dear J-

With all the avenues for oversharing I’m finding that there’s no time before bed to sit down and do any reading; befre I know it, the huors of sleep have shrunk down to five or six and I’m getting things ready for tomorrow — laying out clothes, preparing a sandwich, what have you. So with the arrival of three library books that I have wanted to read (Rats Saw God, by Rob Thomas; King Dork by Frank Portman, and Reamde, by Neal Stephenson) I’ve been adoopting the old tactic of a flashlight-under-the-covers to get a little more time in the day.  It’s led me to the conclusion that reading smalll paperbacks is viable but when confronted with the 1000+ page Reamde your options are limited.

I do appreciate a good book, and yet given that I like reading in the dark I think I’m either going to purchase the ebook or wait for the library’s copy to become available. Holding a phone is infinitely less fatiguign than juggling book and flashlighteven if I needed the flashlight (that’s what I tell myself, at least) as part of a disaster preparedness plan (one that haphazardly includes visions of a usb-charging crank-powered radio). There are bigger things to complain about, and more important uses of my time, but this is part of the bedtime routine now and so you make it work.

Over the three days I got used to sleeping in — too used, as it turned out this morning when I confronted the clock with some mounting panic after what I thought was the first snooze.I probably should check the alarm setting, though. We’ve gotten through a year with two kids now and it is a significantly larger amount of work and money (now celebrating our fifth year of buying diapers!) but it’s also been incredibly rewarding as well. We have the mission this week to prepare for Thanksgiving and I’m hoping that it goes as smooothly as our plans last weekend did.

Mike

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Anthem Blues

Dear J-

In a complaint that can only be described as uniquely middle-class and therefore worthy of deep scorn, after breakfast this morning we were at a loss where to go for the day: Balboa Park or SeaWorld. It’s all figgy’s world so far, though, and so she made the decision, SeaWorld it was even though we’ve all grown weary of its charms recently. It shows in the ennui of our movements, not fighting crowds and going with the flow, taking breaks and making sure we’re rested and fed, not checking shows off our to-dos.

Me, I keep hoping for the impossible: a trip for an hour or two to the Automotive Museum instead. The closest we’ve come is their gift shop (and that only to kill time) where you could peek into one room with tempting, gleaming models inside. Ever since I went to the Ford Museum in Dearborn I’ve wanted to know what’s inside ours but for now I’ll have to settle for guesswork and conjecture (I’ve already checked the one car I must see in person, a BMW 507, off my list when we went to see the collection in the basement of the Imperial Palace in Las Vegas) — there’s nothing I’ve gotta see, I just want to know as it’s one of the last of the local museums we haven’t been to yet.

As soon as we decided to head to SeaWorld again for what seems like the fiftieth time this year I groaned inwardly and then laughed at how ridiculous the complaint was. I’ve already had the chance to go to a museum on my own — the ex-USS Massachsetts — and there’s nothing like hours spent through echoing decks with only your footsteps for company that makes a whole day with a kid hanging off your neck seem like heaven. We are lucky indeed. The promised rain brought clouds and cool weather but no actual precipitation; we had good company all day and what sounds like a long night ahead* but we can take care of that.

Mike

* figgy’s law of naps: if a nap is taken at any point during the weekend you can expect the actual bedtime to be extended by at least twice that nap length.

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

Last Sunday

Dear J-

Well, the curtain’s about to close on our last weekend with one kid so how would we grade it?  Effort was good — if desperate, seeing as how we had a little too much to do this last weekend — and execution was decent, as we managed to get it done too.  figgy did her part to help out, painting yesterday and in general providing running commentary and stolen parts as I assembled furniture today.  We’re at the point in our lives when our IKEA-sized budget matches our IKEA tastes, though it’s always better to check out how furniture fits in person — the sofa-bed we’d picked out on paper turned out to be a monstrosity built for 6’6″ long-legged giants, not us.

I wrote yesterday that we suspect that figgy knows something’s up, and how we know she knows.  To elaborate, the tantrums have come more frequently and with greater intensity — we endured a fifteen-minute squall this morning after breakfast over some entrancing slippers she’d seen in the store window, clouds gradually giving way to sighs and heaves and finally, sunny weather as we went through IKEA in search of the last pieces to finish off the room.  At times she’s one of THOSE kids — the ones other parents point at and whisper about as object lessons — but that’s part of who she is, unfiltered and unfettered.

It’s true that we haven’t had much time to pay attention to her the past few weeks, as preparations have hit a fever pitch that’s unlikely to be duplicated soon, if ever — unless we move into a bigger house, we’re now using all of the rooms; all the doors are open tonight for the first time since we moved in.  The goal to remember is that this is going to be so much fun for figgy that she’s going to want a new sibling again, right?

Mike

Island Style

Dear J-

It’s been a quiet weekend, which is probably best for me as I adjust back from Alabama time; last night I fell into dreams of being chased and trapped immediately and feverishly.  Read enough portents into the wind and it feels like I’m falling back into the quicksand of work and all it entails:  chained to the phone and e-mail.  Maybe there’s something to this whole being-chased business after all.

It’s also been an extraordinarily unproductive time away from work and home, as I’ve fallen behind on various projects and homework.  I keep saying it, but we run out of time every single day; if I don’t take some time out while figgy’s otherwise distracted, by the time she’s asleep in bed it’s time for us to follow suit.  But I have to remind myself that it’s not a race, again:  weekend pace means island time means we’ll get there eventually, and it’s how more than whether.

Mike

Comfortable Pair

Dear J-

This weekend one of my cousins — the one who just got married, in fact — will be in town doing an ocean swim that will consume his Sunday morning (and his new bride will be paddling alongside in a kayak: that’s love for you) while we’re busy either sleeping or stuffing our faces at our usual Sunday morning haunts. These are the choices for leisure time, after all.

Only a few years ago he arrived on our doorstep with the same plans to swim that same race and not much else, being at somewhat loose ends. He’d just left his job in a New York law firm and had vague plans to take the California Bar and make a fresh start. He ended up staying a week and we shared our routines, including the secret weapon (Di-Chan Thai Restaurant) that’s almost guaranteed to leave people with a good impression of San Diego. It was interesting having a guest: we did have to watch out for not spending all the time in our underwear, but other than that, it wasn’t so different that how we spend our days lately.

By that I mean there’s life as us and life as a trio; we’ve spent enough time as a pair that it’s very comfortable to hang out like this: quiet time. But when there’s three, we have more fun exploring the same old usual through new eyes; as much fun as we’ve had showing figgy different things, it’s more exciting to watch her learn. For instance, we’ve enrolled her in a Spanish language class; a couple of days ago, she told us she was thirsty and asked for some agua before bed. If we’d stayed comfortably two, we’d never have known any better.

Mike

Low Drama

Dear J-

Bereft of other choices, we went to the Zoo again today (we don’t generally head to the same place two days in a row, but we’re at the point where it’s the lesser of multiple evils. As it turns out we took nearly the same route as yesterday too, which sure didn’t help the case with figgy’s current case of recalcitrance. Honestly, we were prepared for more resistance, but we didn’t have to drag her around as much as usual.

We can tell how she’s feeling — whether sick or not — based on how she reacts to our suggestions. Mild resistance is normal, but whooping, screaming opposition means she’s not feeling well, and we were used to that from last week, I suppose. The longer we go without a huge blowout the more nervous I get: we think that the natives are quiet — too quiet — and then the ominous drumbeats start up again.

After lunch we headed back out to see if she would be able to take a nap: both yesterday and today were marked by none (and yet we ask, at daycare, there seems to be no problems falling asleep, much like me at work) and we kept expecting another struggle, but we made it to La Jolla without incident and without losing consciousness. She’s made it remarkably drama-free this weekend, and I can’t imagine any other way.

Mike

Lost Weekend

Dear J-

It’s been a lost weekend for me:  I’ve spent so much time at work that I might as well not go home tonight (the chair will only be cold for seven hours), and it feels like ages since I’ve seen anything close to normal — sure, I get up at the same time, but then head out the door like some kind of wandering soul in search of enlightenment (or at least a few extra bucks) at work.

I swear that walking in that door at 2pm this afternoon I could have heard some mocking voice in my ear:  clearly, you’re doing something wrong if this is normal.  That’s just the thing; since coming to work here seven years ago it’s become normal to miss holiday travel because of work commitments — to miss weekends because there’s no one else — to miss face time with people who matter for facing things that ultimately don’t.

So the giant slacker in me comes to the fore these weekend nights; things that take seconds under watchful eyes stretch into minutes as distractions and ideas pop into my head unbidden.  I suppose the more time I spend at work wishing I wasn’t makes me spend more time at work, as I haven’t done what I meant to accomplish (how’s that for this week of vicious circles?) but the weekend shift feels more like a penalty, as it’s opposite of everything I want:  alone, at night, and during times everyone else has off.

Mike

Spin Cycle

Dear J-

So if you want to go someplace touristy in your hometown over a four-day weekend, save it for Sunday: for this Thanksgiving, Thursday is reserved for family, Friday is filled with desperate folks looking to escape the shopping crush, Saturday is left with people trying to wring the last drops out of the weekend, but Sunday is a travel day for most and everything is pretty deserted. We completed our trifecta with a trip to the Zoo today; our original plans involved sticking around to see the lights, but they told us they wouldn’t be on for another two weeks.

It’s been a long time since we had four days off together in a row, it’s almost like re-learning how to function as a team. We work at cross purposes at times; we pull like mismatched oxen as we each have separate ideas as to what’s best. Through it all we’ve spent more time laughing than not — yesterday, for instance, we stood in line to meet Santa at Sea World, where she declared, “That’s Christmas; Christmas is wearing a hat.”

At some point, unnoticed, she’s turned into a little kid. There are small things we could work on, but by and large we’re well past the point of helplessness. One of the things the unnamed they tell you is how quickly it passes, blink and you miss it. After all, it is one of those things you have to experience for yourself to understand, right? We spin in cycles, we repeat every lesson our parents and their parents learned; the wheel revolves in silent amazement.

Mike

Two Days

Dear J-

We have fallen into a routine and speed through the weekends on a whirlwind of schedule; restaurant here, theme park there, pack the bag just so and make sure that it all makes sense. I turn around Sunday nights, preparing for work in a kind of daze; I just woke up from my Friday nap, how can it be that time again already? Part of it is blessedly being able to put work wholly away on that drive back, Fridays; I come back with one errand to run, Fridays, go back and pick her up from day care, and the ten minute walk there turns into an hour-long meander back as she finds distraction in the smallest things.

It’s hard to believe it’s been more than two years already; two different waitresses stopped us today to remark on how she’s grown. We’ve managed to find a way to integrate our lives together but it’s almost meant putting things on hold — virtually no home improvements, no particular sense of urgency towards license exam study — that I might not have done anyway, but the excuse seems able enough, anyway. Yet I wouldn’t trade anything, two days or two years, for anything else in the world; two eyes watching two steps towards the future.

Mike