Rain Again

Dear J-

If I was smart I’d be returning to the airport only now having spent a little more time at one of these other places around Birmingham — perhaps the Zoo. Or maybe the Botanical Gardens — and I’d be out there in the rain somewhere. That’s nothing to dread and certainly nothing to run from but I think I would have liked to be caught out in the sudden downpour out there. There’s something different in a summer shower even with its bellicose thunder and ostentatious lightning, different by far from cold California winter rains designed to soak and obscure. Here the rain washes over us in clean, fat sheets, drenching in typical Hollywood fashion that says we should be tasting irony in every drop: the joy of rain, the ecstasy of life.

Mike

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Will Power

Dear J-

We are making a more serious effort (i.e. not just saying that we’ll do it next week) at potty training, prompted partially by the weather (rainy this morning, meaning that between the surgery and precipitation, the forecast was for lots of indoor time) and also by the fact that we’re tired of having what seems like the world’s oldest toddler still in diapers. Although she was incredibly excited at having real underwear to wear, she was also not particularly interested in keeping them dry — we ended up sitting on the potty only after it was actually needed; more than once I thought of a more apropos cliche than barn doors and horses.

The other thing that you’ll end up realizing as you go through this new phase is just how many things can be peed on; there is no dearth of absorbent surfaces in the house. We ended up having her sit on towels at one point; it was either that or clear out a little corral of hard plastic in the middle of the house. I used to make the joke that there are no diapers sized for five-year-olds, but much to my chagrin, there are. We hope not to explore that particular universe.

The other thing we need to explain is that the point isn’t wearing underwear; we have what seems like an unending supply out of the one drawer, but you also don’t want to have her sit around in a clammy mess all day too. It’s going to be another round of researching multiple approaches and finding out what actually works with her. For as much as she learns, we find that we’re learning new things about her (and life) all the time.

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

Cold Water on Your Back

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.