We went to Mexico last week. It was our first vacation just for us in a couple of years, since our last trip to Mexico, shortly before we had Jack. That 5-day trip was an extended period of drinking, swimming, sunning, and siesta-ing. This 5-day trip had some of those things, but with a 15-month old toddler it was rather different. For one thing, we drank less. For another, we slept less. (Jack was only so-so with the resort pack-n-play. And for a third, well, it was a classic example of a vacation where you need another vacation to recover from when you get back.
The trip was too big to cover in one blog, so I'm just going to run through some highlights.....
1. Jack started walking. Maybe it was always being barefoot, or not having his supportive walkers around to lean on, or maybe it was just the right time, but Jack started walking in Mexico. He had taken a few steps on occasion with us here, but in the resort, he suddenly held his arms up, arched his back a little, and took off, walking up to 20 feet at a time, and turning around, and walking back, always with a big, pleased smile on his face. Oh yeah, I'm walking. That's right. Can you dig it? Oh yeah. His best walk was when I was sitting on the couch doing a sudoku puzzle, Emily was in the bathroom, and Jack was standing at the coffee table near me. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw his head sort of bobbing across the room, and I looked up, and there he was, just cruising over to the bathroom, finding the door closed, turning, and cruising on back. Smiling. Just classic.
2. Jack didn't sleep on either of the 3-hour plane trips -- until the plane was shuddering and roaring while it was landing on the tarmac. No joke: the two LOUDEST portions of the entire trip were when his head slumped to his chest and he snored his way to sleep. On the way there he slept during touch down, going through baggage claim and customs, and all the way out to catch our bus to the resort. On the way back he slept through touch down and customs, waking up in baggage claim. To Jack, airports must be the easiest thing in the world: one minute you're on the plane, the next you're at the sidewalk trying to catch a ride to your hotel or car. This seems as good a place as any to mention that as Emily learned on the trip there and I learned on the trip home, he's kind of a heavy little guy, especially when he's zonked out.
3. Jack loves the ocean. Within an hour after arrival, we'd changed into our suits, lathered up, put on Jack's little cap with the neck and ear flaps ("Lawrence of Ababya," Emily dubbed him), and cruised down to the ocean. I went down to the water with him in my arms, dropped to my knees in the surf, and let the waves slam into us - my back, his legs, as I held him up a bit. He screamed with laughter, cackled with joy, like it the greatest thing he'd ever experienced. We did this repeatedly; it didn't get old for him. Except for one time when I kind of got knocked over and we both went under, but even that he was a trouper about; he sort of sputtered a bit and looked a bit befuddled, but didn't cry and seconds later was yukking it up again as the next wave crashed into us. He crawled across the sand like it was his favorite game. Since there are no oceans in Colorado, it looks like we'll either be moving or taking our share of trips to various coasts in the coming years.
4. Vacationing with a baby is exhausting. The plane trips, with Jack needing constant entertainment/soothing, were tiring. Meals, which were a constant battle to both eat and keep Jack happy (when he's not happy, or into his food, he tends to throw it on the floor), were anything but relaxing. Sleep, which either ended too early or was interrupted by a couple of hours of Jack being upset (What is this place? Where am I? Where's my nightlight that my idiot parents forgot to bring?), seldom left us feeling rested. And then there were the middle portions of each day where Emily and I barely saw each other, as Jack took a long nap and we traded off staying in the room with him with visiting the beach, the pool, and of course the swim-up bar. Emily would disappear for an hour, come back slightly burned, and I'd spare a quick kiss before making a break for the beach myself. There were no 2-hour siestas by the pool for either of us, not that I've ever been any good at the kind of thing anyway; we wanted to give the other person a little break.
5. Jack's a charmer. The guy flirts with older women. Makes serious-looking businessmen and overworked busboys smile. Behaves for all the world like the perfect baby, aside of course from those moments when he's throwing food or drink on the ground or fussing in his airplane seat because he's exhausted but has to wait another hour and a half before he can finally fall asleep. But for all the angry looks you worry you might get from people when you've got a baby with you, and he's babbling loudly about nothing, the truth is you really get a lot of smiles. Which is kind of cool.
Vacations are important. They can be more expensive than you expect, more work than you expect, and more tiring than you expect. But even as I yawn my way through this blog I know I'm not going to remember the two hours of listening to him not sleep 15 feet away in his pack-n-play for several nights, anywhere near as long as I'll remember him in his little bathing suit and T-shirt walking like a little wind-up toy across the suite with a big grin on his face, or sending peals of joyous laughter out over the waves, as another one smashed into us.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Day Care Where?
Jack's day care center, Bliss Academy Early Learning Center, is closing at the end of the May. Only the other day, for the umpteenth time, we were talking about how lucky we were with them. They were our 2nd choice, but ultimately far better than our first choice would have been for several reasons, and they've been great for Jack. He's been there every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since he was about 14 weeks - most of his life then. That's so long ago it's scary to write.
Basically they're being kicked out of their very nice location, so more ugly condos or office complexes can be built or something. I've kind of tried to be okay about the whole thing because really, it's a lot harder on the staff and teachers there, who on the whole strike us as very nice people, and are suddenly going to be out of a job they love doing - and in many cases have done at Bliss for many years. It's going to be harder on parents who BOTH work in offices 5 days a week.
But since this is my blog, you get to hear how it affects us, and needless to say we're quite upset about the whole thing. Jack drew his first sort of pictures there, made his first palm print / foot print art, made Father's and Mother's Day cards for us, kissed his first girl (we've got the picture to prove it), and made his first little friends. Had his first teachers, his first community aside from his family. He seemed to enjoy himself.
Jack won't have any idea what's going on when he suddenly isn't going there anymore. Presumably he'll be going somewhere else, and will adapt, but not only have we not yet found another place (in two days of frantic calling and looking, mostly by Emily), we don't know for sure that we'll be able to. It's six weeks away, and the shortest waiting list we've found is 3-6 months. And even those aren't exact, they're just estimates, which could be good - or bad.
Speaking philosophically here, because I don't want Emily to cry too much reading this, Jack was going to be leaving Bliss eventually anyway. He'd already switched rooms, going to one with entirely new teachers and new children. Soon he'd switch rooms again, and then leave. And he's perfectly happy being home with me, which is where he'll be, full-time, if we can't or until we can find another place. (Which, as an aside, we can safely assume means I'll be sleeping a whole lot less, since I'm still going to have to work and stuff. Anyway.)
We're going to find another day care, though. We have to. Because Jack enjoys it, and we think it's good for him. We don't have friends with kids his age in our neighborhood, just work and former work friends, none of whom live close enough to us for weekday gatherings.
The sad thing, among other things, is that it's just kind of a shame. Finding a day care, sending our baby to a day care, was the toughest and scariest thing we've ever done. Well, right up there with moving across the country and having a baby in the first place and bringing him home the first time and taking care of him and his first doctor's appointment and the first time he got sick and all that stuff. And we find a place, and it's great, and now it's gone.
What can you do? Just try to be glad for them being there when they were, because they were great, and hoping things turn out as well or better at his next place. Because we love the little guy and want him to be happy. And this is just the first tough change for him and for us, with probably, unavoidably, and hopefully in most cases wonderfully, many more yet to come.
Basically they're being kicked out of their very nice location, so more ugly condos or office complexes can be built or something. I've kind of tried to be okay about the whole thing because really, it's a lot harder on the staff and teachers there, who on the whole strike us as very nice people, and are suddenly going to be out of a job they love doing - and in many cases have done at Bliss for many years. It's going to be harder on parents who BOTH work in offices 5 days a week.
But since this is my blog, you get to hear how it affects us, and needless to say we're quite upset about the whole thing. Jack drew his first sort of pictures there, made his first palm print / foot print art, made Father's and Mother's Day cards for us, kissed his first girl (we've got the picture to prove it), and made his first little friends. Had his first teachers, his first community aside from his family. He seemed to enjoy himself.
Jack won't have any idea what's going on when he suddenly isn't going there anymore. Presumably he'll be going somewhere else, and will adapt, but not only have we not yet found another place (in two days of frantic calling and looking, mostly by Emily), we don't know for sure that we'll be able to. It's six weeks away, and the shortest waiting list we've found is 3-6 months. And even those aren't exact, they're just estimates, which could be good - or bad.
Speaking philosophically here, because I don't want Emily to cry too much reading this, Jack was going to be leaving Bliss eventually anyway. He'd already switched rooms, going to one with entirely new teachers and new children. Soon he'd switch rooms again, and then leave. And he's perfectly happy being home with me, which is where he'll be, full-time, if we can't or until we can find another place. (Which, as an aside, we can safely assume means I'll be sleeping a whole lot less, since I'm still going to have to work and stuff. Anyway.)
We're going to find another day care, though. We have to. Because Jack enjoys it, and we think it's good for him. We don't have friends with kids his age in our neighborhood, just work and former work friends, none of whom live close enough to us for weekday gatherings.
The sad thing, among other things, is that it's just kind of a shame. Finding a day care, sending our baby to a day care, was the toughest and scariest thing we've ever done. Well, right up there with moving across the country and having a baby in the first place and bringing him home the first time and taking care of him and his first doctor's appointment and the first time he got sick and all that stuff. And we find a place, and it's great, and now it's gone.
What can you do? Just try to be glad for them being there when they were, because they were great, and hoping things turn out as well or better at his next place. Because we love the little guy and want him to be happy. And this is just the first tough change for him and for us, with probably, unavoidably, and hopefully in most cases wonderfully, many more yet to come.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Swimming
Emily got Jack into swimming classes. Starfish Swim School, in Aurora. He got this little T-shirt that says Starfish Swim School on it, and these colorful little swim trunks, and he and Emily go every Saturday morning. The class was called "Tiny Bubbles," because all the attendees were roughly Jack's age - about 12-15 months. I had been unable to go the first month since it was at the same time as Charlie's dog obedience class (Charlie did not get a T-shirt or swim trunks, but upon graduation last week he did get his picture taken wearing a sporty mortarboard, and he seemed happy enough about it). That's over now, so I got to go to swim class with Jack and Emily.
I have my own memories of swimming lessons, although of course I wasn't as young as Jack was. They were at a neighborhood home in Vermont, held pretty early in the morning, and being as it was early morning in Vermont, it was freezing. I remember doing the "steamboat," and learning to tread water, and other things, eventually, but mostly I remember it was freezing.
Anyway, it's been 80 in Denver the past couple of days, and although it was cooler today, the swim class was inside, and the pool area was heated. One difference that Jack faced was whereas I was one of 3-4 kids getting lessons in Vermont, there were several different classes going on, dozens of kids, and of course family members crowded around the pool, all of them snapping tons of pictures with their digital camera. Oh wait, that was just me.
But Jack, to his credit, seemed okay with the crowds, and the pool itself, initially because he was in his Mommy's arms, occasionally because he saw his Daddy waving madly and grinning like an idiot, and later because he had a toy to play with, a little plastic submarine, that was more fascinating to him than any fear of the water or the noise or the splashing or that guy with the digital camera almost taking a header off the edge of the pool.
The half-hour class featured Jack being held by the hands while he lay on his stomach and kicked with his feet, being lifted into the air like a ball, and placed into a yoke-like floating device so he could float around without being held. At one point Emily brought him to the side of the pool so he could touch it with his hands, and "walk" along it. And frequently he enjoyed playing with toys -- submarine, squeezy fish, some kind of ball. Much better bath toys than I've been able to find for him, as noted in an earlier entry, but regrettably the gift shop was sold out of the submarine.
The cool thing to the whole experience was just to sit back (and lean forward with the camera, so sue me) and watch Jack and his Mommy in the pool. His Mommy looked happy. Jack looked unafraid.
What more could a Daddy want?
I have my own memories of swimming lessons, although of course I wasn't as young as Jack was. They were at a neighborhood home in Vermont, held pretty early in the morning, and being as it was early morning in Vermont, it was freezing. I remember doing the "steamboat," and learning to tread water, and other things, eventually, but mostly I remember it was freezing.
Anyway, it's been 80 in Denver the past couple of days, and although it was cooler today, the swim class was inside, and the pool area was heated. One difference that Jack faced was whereas I was one of 3-4 kids getting lessons in Vermont, there were several different classes going on, dozens of kids, and of course family members crowded around the pool, all of them snapping tons of pictures with their digital camera. Oh wait, that was just me.
But Jack, to his credit, seemed okay with the crowds, and the pool itself, initially because he was in his Mommy's arms, occasionally because he saw his Daddy waving madly and grinning like an idiot, and later because he had a toy to play with, a little plastic submarine, that was more fascinating to him than any fear of the water or the noise or the splashing or that guy with the digital camera almost taking a header off the edge of the pool.
The half-hour class featured Jack being held by the hands while he lay on his stomach and kicked with his feet, being lifted into the air like a ball, and placed into a yoke-like floating device so he could float around without being held. At one point Emily brought him to the side of the pool so he could touch it with his hands, and "walk" along it. And frequently he enjoyed playing with toys -- submarine, squeezy fish, some kind of ball. Much better bath toys than I've been able to find for him, as noted in an earlier entry, but regrettably the gift shop was sold out of the submarine.
The cool thing to the whole experience was just to sit back (and lean forward with the camera, so sue me) and watch Jack and his Mommy in the pool. His Mommy looked happy. Jack looked unafraid.
What more could a Daddy want?
Hi!
Jack says hi a lot. Pretty much all the time, except on three occasions. 1. When friends or acquaintances come into our home, or 2. When we go into theirs. Or 3. When we call a family member on the phone and give him the phone to say Hi to them. Then he is essentially silent. Stage fright, I guess.
But random strangers we pass on the street? "Hi!" A phone or cellphone that's turned off? "Hi!" The TV remote? "Hi!" People driving by while we're on our front porch? "Hi!"
Clearly, he's ambivalent about getting a response, or carrying on a conversation. Most of his "Hi's!" have little chance of being threatened by a reply. Oh, sometimes the person will hear it, laugh, and throw a "Hi!" back, but we're already 10 yards down the street and Jack has moved on to a new person to greet.
His greetings are short but sweet, kind of like him, and this blog entry.
But random strangers we pass on the street? "Hi!" A phone or cellphone that's turned off? "Hi!" The TV remote? "Hi!" People driving by while we're on our front porch? "Hi!"
Clearly, he's ambivalent about getting a response, or carrying on a conversation. Most of his "Hi's!" have little chance of being threatened by a reply. Oh, sometimes the person will hear it, laugh, and throw a "Hi!" back, but we're already 10 yards down the street and Jack has moved on to a new person to greet.
His greetings are short but sweet, kind of like him, and this blog entry.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Old Friends
Went out for coffee this morning with Jack, Charlie, and Melissa and Alisa, two women I knew in college, and two of their kids, a 3-year-old and a 2-year-old. Melissa also has a 6-year-old, who was in school, which has to be a slightly odd feeling. Or at least I'm guessing it will be for me.
I hadn't seen either of them in probably around 12 years, and only once or twice since college, which was a few years longer than that. We were all in roughly the same crowd of drinkers, slackers, and people who got together to do both of those things and occasionally cut each other down with sarcastic humor and the like. All in good fun, or at least most of it. Most of us drifted off in our separate ways and tend to only see each other sporadically at weddings. They both live in Denver and a mutual friend had ultimately gotten us back in touch.
So the three of us sat and drank coffee at a patio table in the sun, while their three-year-old and two-year-old careened around, shared control of a pair of sunglasses, and alternately showered affection on Charlie like he was a stuffed animal and avoided him like he was some great beast, both of which he kind of is. Jack remained in the stroller where he drank his water, ate an entire banana and hunk of coffee cake, and then developed a fascination for my ice coffee straw, followed by the ice coffee itself, which I kept from him in part because he was due for a nap in a couple of hours and I didn't want to have to scrape him off the ceiling to get him into his crib.
And the funny thing is that none of us have really changed all that much since college, not really anyway. I mean, we're all much better-looking, smarter, and wildly successful, but we're largely the same people. Except we each have these tiny children who are running, or crawling, or otherwise clamoring around us. And they're totally dependent on us, a bunch of former stay-up-all-night, drink-to-excess college kids who didn't pay enough attention in class and - speaking for myself - didn't really think about having kids one day; didn't even like kids particularly, in fact.
The funny thing is that when I was in college, I didn't really appreciate the friends I had. I took them for granted, I forgot about most of them when I left, and I certainly didn't think that more than 15 years later, 2000 miles away, I'd be sitting drinking coffee with a couple of them while our kids ran around us. And enjoying it. Not wishing I was off somewhere having a beer or sleeping. (That came later, after two hours in 80 degree heat and sun, when Jack was actually taking his nap and I lay down on the couch and either slept or watched an old episode of Star Trek, which is essentially the same thing.)
Jack's only 15 months old, but I already owe him a lot. Because before Jack, I think, I cared mostly about myself, and my life, and my own happiness, often at the expense of others. Today, through totally and utterly falling in love with him, I find myself caring more about others, and my family -- all of them, Emily, my parents, my sister and her family, my in-laws -- and my friends, with kids or without them. Not caring because I feel I should or caring because it's the right thing to do, but caring because I actually do. Having one little person totally dependent on you reminds you that a lot more people are important than just the ones who do things for you, and who you see every day. We are all in this together, and it's nice to think that even if you wasted a lot of time and mistreated a lot of people in college, it's not too late to find them again, sit and catch up, and let your kids play together.
Who knows, maybe one day they'll all be off at the same college drinking, slacking off, and cutting each other down. And having coffee together 15 years after that. You never know.
I hadn't seen either of them in probably around 12 years, and only once or twice since college, which was a few years longer than that. We were all in roughly the same crowd of drinkers, slackers, and people who got together to do both of those things and occasionally cut each other down with sarcastic humor and the like. All in good fun, or at least most of it. Most of us drifted off in our separate ways and tend to only see each other sporadically at weddings. They both live in Denver and a mutual friend had ultimately gotten us back in touch.
So the three of us sat and drank coffee at a patio table in the sun, while their three-year-old and two-year-old careened around, shared control of a pair of sunglasses, and alternately showered affection on Charlie like he was a stuffed animal and avoided him like he was some great beast, both of which he kind of is. Jack remained in the stroller where he drank his water, ate an entire banana and hunk of coffee cake, and then developed a fascination for my ice coffee straw, followed by the ice coffee itself, which I kept from him in part because he was due for a nap in a couple of hours and I didn't want to have to scrape him off the ceiling to get him into his crib.
And the funny thing is that none of us have really changed all that much since college, not really anyway. I mean, we're all much better-looking, smarter, and wildly successful, but we're largely the same people. Except we each have these tiny children who are running, or crawling, or otherwise clamoring around us. And they're totally dependent on us, a bunch of former stay-up-all-night, drink-to-excess college kids who didn't pay enough attention in class and - speaking for myself - didn't really think about having kids one day; didn't even like kids particularly, in fact.
The funny thing is that when I was in college, I didn't really appreciate the friends I had. I took them for granted, I forgot about most of them when I left, and I certainly didn't think that more than 15 years later, 2000 miles away, I'd be sitting drinking coffee with a couple of them while our kids ran around us. And enjoying it. Not wishing I was off somewhere having a beer or sleeping. (That came later, after two hours in 80 degree heat and sun, when Jack was actually taking his nap and I lay down on the couch and either slept or watched an old episode of Star Trek, which is essentially the same thing.)
Jack's only 15 months old, but I already owe him a lot. Because before Jack, I think, I cared mostly about myself, and my life, and my own happiness, often at the expense of others. Today, through totally and utterly falling in love with him, I find myself caring more about others, and my family -- all of them, Emily, my parents, my sister and her family, my in-laws -- and my friends, with kids or without them. Not caring because I feel I should or caring because it's the right thing to do, but caring because I actually do. Having one little person totally dependent on you reminds you that a lot more people are important than just the ones who do things for you, and who you see every day. We are all in this together, and it's nice to think that even if you wasted a lot of time and mistreated a lot of people in college, it's not too late to find them again, sit and catch up, and let your kids play together.
Who knows, maybe one day they'll all be off at the same college drinking, slacking off, and cutting each other down. And having coffee together 15 years after that. You never know.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
It's All Happening At the Zoo
We went to the zoo today. And so yes, we've officially become one of those families that loads everyone into the car on a beautiful sunny day and goes off to fill up parking lots with other families and spend ridiculous amounts of money on lemonade and what have you while rubbing elbows with other families peering at animals who tend to hide in the shade whenever possible.
But I kid, because really, it wasn't all that bad. In the first place, the animals were pretty cool. The hippo sashayed its considerable bulk across its pen to a big puddle of mud, snuffling his nose into it while debating whether or not to do a big belly flop. (This of course had me thinking of the classic Sandra Boynton book "But Not the Hippopotamus": 'She just doesn't know...should she stay...should she go?') The flop didn't happen, at least not while we were watching, since 5 minutes of looking at hippo butt was quite enough for the lot of us and we moved on.
The rhinos paced majestically across their area to random logs in order to gnaw the bark off of them, while the giraffes and zebras strutted and preened as if they actually enjoyed being objects of attention. The elephant, during a show, had a good time spraying water out of its trunk on observers who got too close, and the sea lion seemed to enjoy swimming laps around its pool. Granted, the kangaroos lay off in a corner as if they were waiting for nightfall, and the polar bear looked like he wanted nothing more than to be inside either eating or sleeping, but most of the animals seemed fairly content with their lot in life. And of course there were all these educational placards noting how the zoo was helping these animals to survive extinction and reproduce and stuff, which is all a good thing. And if just one kid, impressed by the animals he sees, decides not to grow up and hurt any animals later on, the zoo will have served its purpose in my book.
This was Jack's second trip to the zoo, and he was only about eight months old the first time, plus his parents were both in the process of getting sick, plus for one reason or another the bulk of the trip was spent looking at 23 slightly different varieties of monkeys. So it could be said that his initial exposure to the place wasn't particularly memorable.
This time, although we were on our own - we'd been led around by more zoo-familiar friends the first time - and tended to stumble around aimlessly with little idea where we were going, we managed to see all the big animals, and Jack was somewhat more into it. He made the appropriate noises ("Wow!") and pointed at the rhinos, hippo, elephant, and zebras, and whether his "Wow"s were out of excitement or because it was just a word he felt like using today, it made us feel like he was enjoying himself. He spent most of his time in our arms or on our hip, which made it a near certainty I'd be bringing the backpack carrier next time.
It was April 9th in Colorado, which of course meant it was in the 70s and, in the sun, felt about 10 degrees warmer. I went to use the restroom at one point at the back of the "Tropical Birds" building, which seemed to be about 100 degrees and made me glad I don't live in the tropics. Jack was well sunscreened and wearing his hat ("Hat!" he said), while Emily and I slogged about somewhat glad that about 2 hours of zoo-time would probably be Jack's limit; when he started getting a little cranky around about that time, we realized we were right. We spent $14 on chicken tenders and fries that tired Jack refused to eat, Emily didn't get to enjoy because she was holding Jack, and I didn't get to enjoy because I had to wolf down what I could before we all hustled off to the car. Jack was half-asleep by the time we'd strapped him in, and then it was a dangerous trek through a parking lot crammed with people, strollers, kids, and wagons - roughly 2, 2, and 1 per family of the latter three items, by my count.
I did not see any high school or college age kids at the zoo - the latter in part because it was before noon on a Sunday, but that probably wasn't the only reason. I didn't see any people without small kids period, a grouping which of course included us.
So yeah, it was one of those crystal-clear moments when you realize you're a family. And with Jack clinging to my shoulder and pointing at the hippo and saying "Wow," well, that was pretty okay with me.
But I kid, because really, it wasn't all that bad. In the first place, the animals were pretty cool. The hippo sashayed its considerable bulk across its pen to a big puddle of mud, snuffling his nose into it while debating whether or not to do a big belly flop. (This of course had me thinking of the classic Sandra Boynton book "But Not the Hippopotamus": 'She just doesn't know...should she stay...should she go?') The flop didn't happen, at least not while we were watching, since 5 minutes of looking at hippo butt was quite enough for the lot of us and we moved on.
The rhinos paced majestically across their area to random logs in order to gnaw the bark off of them, while the giraffes and zebras strutted and preened as if they actually enjoyed being objects of attention. The elephant, during a show, had a good time spraying water out of its trunk on observers who got too close, and the sea lion seemed to enjoy swimming laps around its pool. Granted, the kangaroos lay off in a corner as if they were waiting for nightfall, and the polar bear looked like he wanted nothing more than to be inside either eating or sleeping, but most of the animals seemed fairly content with their lot in life. And of course there were all these educational placards noting how the zoo was helping these animals to survive extinction and reproduce and stuff, which is all a good thing. And if just one kid, impressed by the animals he sees, decides not to grow up and hurt any animals later on, the zoo will have served its purpose in my book.
This was Jack's second trip to the zoo, and he was only about eight months old the first time, plus his parents were both in the process of getting sick, plus for one reason or another the bulk of the trip was spent looking at 23 slightly different varieties of monkeys. So it could be said that his initial exposure to the place wasn't particularly memorable.
This time, although we were on our own - we'd been led around by more zoo-familiar friends the first time - and tended to stumble around aimlessly with little idea where we were going, we managed to see all the big animals, and Jack was somewhat more into it. He made the appropriate noises ("Wow!") and pointed at the rhinos, hippo, elephant, and zebras, and whether his "Wow"s were out of excitement or because it was just a word he felt like using today, it made us feel like he was enjoying himself. He spent most of his time in our arms or on our hip, which made it a near certainty I'd be bringing the backpack carrier next time.
It was April 9th in Colorado, which of course meant it was in the 70s and, in the sun, felt about 10 degrees warmer. I went to use the restroom at one point at the back of the "Tropical Birds" building, which seemed to be about 100 degrees and made me glad I don't live in the tropics. Jack was well sunscreened and wearing his hat ("Hat!" he said), while Emily and I slogged about somewhat glad that about 2 hours of zoo-time would probably be Jack's limit; when he started getting a little cranky around about that time, we realized we were right. We spent $14 on chicken tenders and fries that tired Jack refused to eat, Emily didn't get to enjoy because she was holding Jack, and I didn't get to enjoy because I had to wolf down what I could before we all hustled off to the car. Jack was half-asleep by the time we'd strapped him in, and then it was a dangerous trek through a parking lot crammed with people, strollers, kids, and wagons - roughly 2, 2, and 1 per family of the latter three items, by my count.
I did not see any high school or college age kids at the zoo - the latter in part because it was before noon on a Sunday, but that probably wasn't the only reason. I didn't see any people without small kids period, a grouping which of course included us.
So yeah, it was one of those crystal-clear moments when you realize you're a family. And with Jack clinging to my shoulder and pointing at the hippo and saying "Wow," well, that was pretty okay with me.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Nappy Time
You'll note I pretty much always write a blog entry on Thursday. That's the day I'm alone with Jack, and it's the day there's usually the most to write about, or the day I need the cathartic release of the day's action-packed events by clearing some stuff out of my head that evening.
Jack's nap usually starts sometimes between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., lasting in the neighborhood of two hours. That's pretty much the only time I have to get things done on Thursday, so naturally, I spend it sprawled on the sofa with an ice pack against my forehead. No, no. Actually...
11:01. Jack's down for his nap. He was getting pretty cranky, so although I'd like his nap to come around 12-12:30, which is when it's scheduled at day care, you can't fight certain things too much. Food, beverage, story time, his new favorite toy ("Fun Fair")....they've all lost their interest and the boy just wants to sleep. So I put him down and after some token resistance ("Ah-huh! Ah-huh! Ah....zzzzzzz") to sleep he goes.
11:10. After verifying that, as usual, there's nothing on TV, I head out to the kitchen to put away the breakfast dishes and put non-dishwasher safe stuff in the sink, to be washed while Jack is having his lunch. No question I'm overly paranoid, but I'm not going to make too much noise during the nap since I want it to last.
11:15. I check my email, make sure there have been no major events in the world of sports to track, and upload some recent photos of Jack to Kodakgallery.com.
11:20. I do about half an hour of work for my main employer, Fantasy Index. Their annual magazine goes to press in a couple of months, and I'm writing a lot of it this year, including everything defense-related. This means keeping track of all the offseason player transactions so I don't inadvertently connect some second-string defensive tackle with the wrong franchise. I get most of this work done for them on days I'm NOT home alone with Jack, but I'm starting to feel the deadlines approaching and trying to get some stuff done.
11:45. I go outside to put a box in recycling and Charlie bounds down the steps with me. I throw the tennis ball with him for about 10 minutes. He could probably do it all day; at least, I've yet to see him NOT chase a ball once thrown. It's fun playing fetch with him; he comes back all happy, ball bulging out of the side of his mouth, resists letting me take it for a moment or two, and then starts bounding after the ball before it's even left my hand.
12:00. I come inside to watch the NFL Network's 2006 NFL Schedule show, a two-hour program during which they'll dramatically release the schedule that will be available online in a few minutes anyway. I watch 10 minutes of a largely incoherent program in which Rich Eisen and ex-Lions coach Steve Mariucci, with the full schedule on papers in front of them, nonetheless jump all over the place from week to week, only mentioning certain games. It's totally useless unless you're only interested in random moments of the season: "In week 3, the Patriots face Denver in a title game rematch...Then in week 5, Terrell Owens returns to Philadelphia as a member of the Dallas Cowboys. The excitement really goes up a notch in week 11, when...." Disgusted, I turn back to my current favorite music station, XM Radio's love songs, which plays a lot of songs from the 70s by the Bee Gees, Barry Manilow, and other songs that you know all the words to in spite of yourself.
12:15. Tearing up a little over the profound lyrics of Billy Joel's "Honesty," I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich and pour a glass of milk. We get milk delivered each week so I feel compelled to drink much more of it than I ordinarily would, otherwise it goes bad and we have to throw it out.
12:25. I walk quietly around the house picking up Jack's toys. This is of course a temporary fix; once he's awake they'll be strewn all over creation within minutes. Regardless, it makes me feel good so I do it. Plus I like putting the masts and little first mate, who I call Smee after the first mate in Peter Pan, back onto the pirate ship. I put the mermaid in the vicinity of the Captain, who I call Blackbeard (he has a black beard, natch), because I think he'd probably be the one with the best chance of getting anywhere with her.
12:35. I finish the Sudoku puzzle in the morning's paper. I did most of it this morning. I'm a little bit addicted, but I think I'm starting to break the habit. It bothers me to think that theoretically they could run the exact same puzzles every week and I wouldn't even know.
12:43. Sounds of stirring from Jack's room. I frown; it's too early. Two hours is really the minimum we're shooting for here.
12:44. Now he's talking. "Hi!" "Uh-Oh!" "Ommy...?" In the early days of his waking up and or wailing when we wanted him to still be sleeping, I'd say to Emmy, "He's saying, 'I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping."
12:46. Crying now. Nappy time is over.
I go in; he's standing at the bars of the crib pointing to the floor. "Shoes! Shoes." "Yes, those are your shoes all right." This is one of his new favorite words. And it's just as well he sees them and wants to put them on - I have to add that he also occasionally tries to put on MY shoes, or Emily's shoes, which is hilarious - because with his nap behind him, lousy weather outside, and 5 hours until Emmy's home, you can bet he and I will be getting out of the house to go to the mall or something. And so we do.
Jack's nap usually starts sometimes between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., lasting in the neighborhood of two hours. That's pretty much the only time I have to get things done on Thursday, so naturally, I spend it sprawled on the sofa with an ice pack against my forehead. No, no. Actually...
11:01. Jack's down for his nap. He was getting pretty cranky, so although I'd like his nap to come around 12-12:30, which is when it's scheduled at day care, you can't fight certain things too much. Food, beverage, story time, his new favorite toy ("Fun Fair")....they've all lost their interest and the boy just wants to sleep. So I put him down and after some token resistance ("Ah-huh! Ah-huh! Ah....zzzzzzz") to sleep he goes.
11:10. After verifying that, as usual, there's nothing on TV, I head out to the kitchen to put away the breakfast dishes and put non-dishwasher safe stuff in the sink, to be washed while Jack is having his lunch. No question I'm overly paranoid, but I'm not going to make too much noise during the nap since I want it to last.
11:15. I check my email, make sure there have been no major events in the world of sports to track, and upload some recent photos of Jack to Kodakgallery.com.
11:20. I do about half an hour of work for my main employer, Fantasy Index. Their annual magazine goes to press in a couple of months, and I'm writing a lot of it this year, including everything defense-related. This means keeping track of all the offseason player transactions so I don't inadvertently connect some second-string defensive tackle with the wrong franchise. I get most of this work done for them on days I'm NOT home alone with Jack, but I'm starting to feel the deadlines approaching and trying to get some stuff done.
11:45. I go outside to put a box in recycling and Charlie bounds down the steps with me. I throw the tennis ball with him for about 10 minutes. He could probably do it all day; at least, I've yet to see him NOT chase a ball once thrown. It's fun playing fetch with him; he comes back all happy, ball bulging out of the side of his mouth, resists letting me take it for a moment or two, and then starts bounding after the ball before it's even left my hand.
12:00. I come inside to watch the NFL Network's 2006 NFL Schedule show, a two-hour program during which they'll dramatically release the schedule that will be available online in a few minutes anyway. I watch 10 minutes of a largely incoherent program in which Rich Eisen and ex-Lions coach Steve Mariucci, with the full schedule on papers in front of them, nonetheless jump all over the place from week to week, only mentioning certain games. It's totally useless unless you're only interested in random moments of the season: "In week 3, the Patriots face Denver in a title game rematch...Then in week 5, Terrell Owens returns to Philadelphia as a member of the Dallas Cowboys. The excitement really goes up a notch in week 11, when...." Disgusted, I turn back to my current favorite music station, XM Radio's love songs, which plays a lot of songs from the 70s by the Bee Gees, Barry Manilow, and other songs that you know all the words to in spite of yourself.
12:15. Tearing up a little over the profound lyrics of Billy Joel's "Honesty," I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich and pour a glass of milk. We get milk delivered each week so I feel compelled to drink much more of it than I ordinarily would, otherwise it goes bad and we have to throw it out.
12:25. I walk quietly around the house picking up Jack's toys. This is of course a temporary fix; once he's awake they'll be strewn all over creation within minutes. Regardless, it makes me feel good so I do it. Plus I like putting the masts and little first mate, who I call Smee after the first mate in Peter Pan, back onto the pirate ship. I put the mermaid in the vicinity of the Captain, who I call Blackbeard (he has a black beard, natch), because I think he'd probably be the one with the best chance of getting anywhere with her.
12:35. I finish the Sudoku puzzle in the morning's paper. I did most of it this morning. I'm a little bit addicted, but I think I'm starting to break the habit. It bothers me to think that theoretically they could run the exact same puzzles every week and I wouldn't even know.
12:43. Sounds of stirring from Jack's room. I frown; it's too early. Two hours is really the minimum we're shooting for here.
12:44. Now he's talking. "Hi!" "Uh-Oh!" "Ommy...?" In the early days of his waking up and or wailing when we wanted him to still be sleeping, I'd say to Emmy, "He's saying, 'I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping."
12:46. Crying now. Nappy time is over.
I go in; he's standing at the bars of the crib pointing to the floor. "Shoes! Shoes." "Yes, those are your shoes all right." This is one of his new favorite words. And it's just as well he sees them and wants to put them on - I have to add that he also occasionally tries to put on MY shoes, or Emily's shoes, which is hilarious - because with his nap behind him, lousy weather outside, and 5 hours until Emmy's home, you can bet he and I will be getting out of the house to go to the mall or something. And so we do.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The Outdoorsman
As parents, you have to set boundaries, and as Jack gets older, that boundary line has been moving fairly regularly. First it was the main floor of the house; we'd use a baby gate to block off the back steps down to the back door and the back yard. Then it was the back door itself; his favorite game was to climb up and down the back steps, over and over again. Now he's finally broken through to the yard itself, and I guess it's only a matter of time before I'm tossing him the keys and his boundary is the local mall or soda counter or wherever it is those young whipper-snappers will be hanging out 15 or so years from now.
Now that he's discovered the yard, well, Jack suddenly has very little interest in the house. Because after all, all we have in the house are toys and books and stuff, while outside - Ah! - there's lots of dirt, and rocks, and grass, and squirrels, and dog bones, and half-eaten tennis balls, and a myriad of fun things for him to play with and us to race over to separate him from. Look, it's Charlie's squeaky little soccer ball...don't put your mouth on that thing! Gah!
Naturally we want to respect our son's healthy interest in the great outdoors, so we invested in one of these combination slide-swing things for him to play on. Unfortunately, the swing doesn't quite have the range or height potential of the swings at the park, so he grew bored with that fairly quickly. He likes pushing it, which he's big enough to do (unlike at the park), so that's something.
The slide is pretty enjoyable, although it's not like he climbs up the ladder, slides down, and races around to do it again. It's more a case of me bringing him to the ladder, which he climbs up, then slides down, happily...and then crawls off in the direction of one of Charlie's bones, or tennis balls, or maybe a spot I only recently picked up Charlie's poop from. Excellent!
So the swing and slide are basically a colorful lawn ornament which he gets about 5 minutes a day worth of entertainment from, and they briefly distract him from his main purpose of mapping out the entire back yard, which he does by crawling along its boundaries, at least as much as we allow. He has a look of determination on his face while doing this, as if his sharp little mind is working away: okay....now I'm outside the walls. The next thing to do is go over the fence. I'm going to need some help with this one....If only I can get that dog to stand near the gate, I can probably get up on his back and work the latch....yes....yes, that's it exactly.
The downside to Jack always wanting to be in the yard, besides the things in the yard we'd rather he didn't touch or put in his mouth, is the simple fact that he always wants to be in the yard. Early morning, late evening, before and after meals, before and after every car trip - which, naturally, requires a walk through the back yard.
And so now we're learning one of our biggest challenges yet - saying No and trying to explain it to a little person who we can't be sure understands. "Jack, it's bedtime, you're in your pajamas, so no, you can't go crawling through the back flower bed." "Jack, it's dinnertime, so even though we have to pass through the back yard, and your dog is out here jumping around as if he just won the dog lottery, you can't play out here right now." Naturally, there is much dismay and frustration all around, mostly from him.
Tonight, it seemed like maybe Emily got through to him. She was putting him to bed, while I was readying our Mexican Jumping Dog for his evening walk, and Jack wanted to go outside with us. When taken away from the door, there was a minor meltdown, the kind he tends to have when he, you know, can't go outside.
Emily explained that no, it was late, and he could go outside tomorrow, which - since we're all home all day on Tuesday - he certainly would get to do plenty of. And it's not clear how much he understood, but the meltdown ended, and he played for a bit with one of his indoor toys. And everything seemed okay.
A few minutes later, with Charlie strapped into his leash and harness (to keep him from dislocating our shoulders when he sees geese or other dogs, although we're getting closer to keeping him calm, I promise you), we headed out into the evening. We looked up at the big picture window in front where Emily stood, holding Jack, watching us go. Jack was waving bye-bye, and smiling.
And it was probably my imagination, but I think he had a little look in his eyes that said Ha Ha Ha - just wait, Daddy....
Now that he's discovered the yard, well, Jack suddenly has very little interest in the house. Because after all, all we have in the house are toys and books and stuff, while outside - Ah! - there's lots of dirt, and rocks, and grass, and squirrels, and dog bones, and half-eaten tennis balls, and a myriad of fun things for him to play with and us to race over to separate him from. Look, it's Charlie's squeaky little soccer ball...don't put your mouth on that thing! Gah!
Naturally we want to respect our son's healthy interest in the great outdoors, so we invested in one of these combination slide-swing things for him to play on. Unfortunately, the swing doesn't quite have the range or height potential of the swings at the park, so he grew bored with that fairly quickly. He likes pushing it, which he's big enough to do (unlike at the park), so that's something.
The slide is pretty enjoyable, although it's not like he climbs up the ladder, slides down, and races around to do it again. It's more a case of me bringing him to the ladder, which he climbs up, then slides down, happily...and then crawls off in the direction of one of Charlie's bones, or tennis balls, or maybe a spot I only recently picked up Charlie's poop from. Excellent!
So the swing and slide are basically a colorful lawn ornament which he gets about 5 minutes a day worth of entertainment from, and they briefly distract him from his main purpose of mapping out the entire back yard, which he does by crawling along its boundaries, at least as much as we allow. He has a look of determination on his face while doing this, as if his sharp little mind is working away: okay....now I'm outside the walls. The next thing to do is go over the fence. I'm going to need some help with this one....If only I can get that dog to stand near the gate, I can probably get up on his back and work the latch....yes....yes, that's it exactly.
The downside to Jack always wanting to be in the yard, besides the things in the yard we'd rather he didn't touch or put in his mouth, is the simple fact that he always wants to be in the yard. Early morning, late evening, before and after meals, before and after every car trip - which, naturally, requires a walk through the back yard.
And so now we're learning one of our biggest challenges yet - saying No and trying to explain it to a little person who we can't be sure understands. "Jack, it's bedtime, you're in your pajamas, so no, you can't go crawling through the back flower bed." "Jack, it's dinnertime, so even though we have to pass through the back yard, and your dog is out here jumping around as if he just won the dog lottery, you can't play out here right now." Naturally, there is much dismay and frustration all around, mostly from him.
Tonight, it seemed like maybe Emily got through to him. She was putting him to bed, while I was readying our Mexican Jumping Dog for his evening walk, and Jack wanted to go outside with us. When taken away from the door, there was a minor meltdown, the kind he tends to have when he, you know, can't go outside.
Emily explained that no, it was late, and he could go outside tomorrow, which - since we're all home all day on Tuesday - he certainly would get to do plenty of. And it's not clear how much he understood, but the meltdown ended, and he played for a bit with one of his indoor toys. And everything seemed okay.
A few minutes later, with Charlie strapped into his leash and harness (to keep him from dislocating our shoulders when he sees geese or other dogs, although we're getting closer to keeping him calm, I promise you), we headed out into the evening. We looked up at the big picture window in front where Emily stood, holding Jack, watching us go. Jack was waving bye-bye, and smiling.
And it was probably my imagination, but I think he had a little look in his eyes that said Ha Ha Ha - just wait, Daddy....
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