Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Accepting (but annoyed)
I don't know where my font tags went. I miss Verdana small.
Anyway, I can't write much now as I'm at work. The title of the post will be explained later, but it refers to the strange place I find myself in with my father: I'm trying (and doing OK?) to accept him for who he is -- as emotionally stunted, strange and disappointing as he is, while at the same time, I'm frequently annoyed at his lack of interest in my life (or anything outside his head), his inability to connect beyond a superficial level and his many other foibles. Can you be accepting and annoyed at the same time, or are those at odds with each other?
More later...(3:05 p.m. now)
Anyway, I can't write much now as I'm at work. The title of the post will be explained later, but it refers to the strange place I find myself in with my father: I'm trying (and doing OK?) to accept him for who he is -- as emotionally stunted, strange and disappointing as he is, while at the same time, I'm frequently annoyed at his lack of interest in my life (or anything outside his head), his inability to connect beyond a superficial level and his many other foibles. Can you be accepting and annoyed at the same time, or are those at odds with each other?
More later...(3:05 p.m. now)
Friday, May 27, 2005
Father time
I'm sure this isn't going to show up in the same font as my other posts. Not a big deal...but where's the font tools on the posting toolbar? Huh, Blogger?
My dad is visiting now, and here's what Nicola said after we spent a few short hours with him last night (at the start of a six-day [!] visit): "It's so obvious he's not like a father to you at all. It's like he's some guy who just came to visit."
Ah, so true. My father is really no father, at least to me. He's got two little boys from his fourth marriage, now ages 4 and 1. And me having daughters who are 5 and 3 months...well, we're basically peers! (Actually, our relationship has existed on this pseudo-pal level for many years before he started his new family.) He didn't come here as a grandfather, for sure, although he's been cute with Lindsay. And he's good with Ella...but as we sit around and talk, it's like we're comparing notes about our kids or sharing amusing anecdotes. We say something about Lindsay; he counters with "Oh well, you should see how Andrew works a restaurant. He really charms people." Uh huh. OK.
This is inoffensive behavior and not intentionally harmful. It just speaks to his inability to act as a parent toward me. Let's talk about grown-up things, Dad. Show me how you can be parental to ME, not my friend. Pick up the check at lunch today -- you are the PARENT! Yes, I'm no longer a destitute post-grad, but come on -- that's the way these parent/child relationships work, up to a point.
Ah, what's the point. He's self-involved...and at the same time painfully needy of other's blessings. It's an interesting combination of psychoses, and when I encounter it, I basically withdraw and shutdown. Which leaves us little to talk about, no real energy or enthusiasm in our interaction, and an awkwardness that grows more bizarre to me each time we're together. It's a very healthy relationship!
I'm sure I'll have more to vent about later. Here's my prediction for the weekend: at least once, he drinks too much. We focus on doing stuff with the kids and never really have a meaningful conversation...and I don't do anything to change this, because somehow it's easier for it to be awkward and benign than interesting and potentially painful or confrontational. At the end of the visit, I will likely say that it was nice that he made the effort to come here but I didn't get much out of it and I doubt he did either.
Our relationship is like the houseplant you always forget to water: you aren't trying to hurt it...it's just benign neglect...and it clings to a borderline existence, and every once in a while you invest something (water, new soil...a probing question or an emotional outburst) in an attempt to make it healthier, but it doesn't really make much difference as far as you can tell...so eventually benign neglect sets in again.
Cheery thoughts to warm me over the next five days.
My dad is visiting now, and here's what Nicola said after we spent a few short hours with him last night (at the start of a six-day [!] visit): "It's so obvious he's not like a father to you at all. It's like he's some guy who just came to visit."
Ah, so true. My father is really no father, at least to me. He's got two little boys from his fourth marriage, now ages 4 and 1. And me having daughters who are 5 and 3 months...well, we're basically peers! (Actually, our relationship has existed on this pseudo-pal level for many years before he started his new family.) He didn't come here as a grandfather, for sure, although he's been cute with Lindsay. And he's good with Ella...but as we sit around and talk, it's like we're comparing notes about our kids or sharing amusing anecdotes. We say something about Lindsay; he counters with "Oh well, you should see how Andrew works a restaurant. He really charms people." Uh huh. OK.
This is inoffensive behavior and not intentionally harmful. It just speaks to his inability to act as a parent toward me. Let's talk about grown-up things, Dad. Show me how you can be parental to ME, not my friend. Pick up the check at lunch today -- you are the PARENT! Yes, I'm no longer a destitute post-grad, but come on -- that's the way these parent/child relationships work, up to a point.
Ah, what's the point. He's self-involved...and at the same time painfully needy of other's blessings. It's an interesting combination of psychoses, and when I encounter it, I basically withdraw and shutdown. Which leaves us little to talk about, no real energy or enthusiasm in our interaction, and an awkwardness that grows more bizarre to me each time we're together. It's a very healthy relationship!
I'm sure I'll have more to vent about later. Here's my prediction for the weekend: at least once, he drinks too much. We focus on doing stuff with the kids and never really have a meaningful conversation...and I don't do anything to change this, because somehow it's easier for it to be awkward and benign than interesting and potentially painful or confrontational. At the end of the visit, I will likely say that it was nice that he made the effort to come here but I didn't get much out of it and I doubt he did either.
Our relationship is like the houseplant you always forget to water: you aren't trying to hurt it...it's just benign neglect...and it clings to a borderline existence, and every once in a while you invest something (water, new soil...a probing question or an emotional outburst) in an attempt to make it healthier, but it doesn't really make much difference as far as you can tell...so eventually benign neglect sets in again.
Cheery thoughts to warm me over the next five days.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Preakness weekend
The Preakness was held this past weekend, and about 10 years ago this would have been cause for great celebration and festivities among me and my friends. From 1992 (?) to 1996 (?) or so (I think I went in 1993, 1994 and 1995), a group of 50 friends/acquaintances led by Jocelyn MacNeil, my old high school friend and housemate, would rent a big yellow school bus and head off for a day of drinking, sunshine and horse racing. Joc always did have a flair for logistics and organizing, especially events like this -- "Jocelyn has the clipboard" we used to say (Love Boat reference). Makes sense that now she's planning big events at some fancy NYC hotel.
This could easily veer into another post about my mid 20s indiscriminate partying -- nothing wrong with this kind of reminiscing, I suppose. Yes, the Preakness represents maybe two or three of my most innebriated days. What do you expect when you start the day at 7:30 a.m. by drinking a 40-oz malt liquor, put a keg on the bus, carry in coolers filled with 20+ cases of beer and spend the day in the Pimlico infield doing your best to keep your wits about you. And many wits were not kept.
I think what this post is about (wait! I figured it out!) is a tribute to the importance of that time in my life. As I've mentioned previously, I was often under-employed, financially derelict and possibly too committed to my fun-loving lifestyle during my tenure in Washington, D.C., and its suburbs. But look at what I came away with: a solidified friendship with Gene; a new close friend in Dave Mello; a relationship (now expired) that led me to move West and eventually led to a beautiful daughter in Ella and a move to California (not glad I had to move, but glad I'm here -- does that make sense?); plentiful memories with new and old friends; and a cool dog.
I read something online today that perhaps subconsciously spurred this post:
I used to believe that thinking and aching about one's personal past was the only way to pay homage to it: That the only proper way we legitimized and respected past events was to ponder them, relive them, and salute them in our minds with prolonged and vivid clarity. Otherwise, I thought, what was the use of fretting over and caring about present and future actions and events, if they were only going to be so easily dismissed and forgotten? However, in time, I learned that overdoing reminiscing and resisting change is, as Bono writes, "running to stand still." It chokes you and that which surrounds you. One can respect the values of the game while attempting to innovate.
I think I've been stuck in that "running to stand still" loop to some degree...not to the extent that my backward glances harm my ability to be present in my life today. But I sure do like to look back with longing and wistfulness...like if I don't, those experiences will be forgotten or their meaning will be lost?
It's cliche to say the past is the past, but don't things become cliche because they are so obviously true?
I am not who I was in 1995, nor is Gene or Dave or Jocelyn or Michelle or the other people who were in my life then. A decade later, I can say my time in DC was great, but (according SE Hinton -- is that who wrote The Outsiders etc.?) That Was Then, This is Now. I don't even talk to Jocelyn anymore, this woman who was once perhaps my closest friend. I think of Gene circa 1995...working his way up the corporate ladder at Carey Limousine...dancing his nights away and drawing feminine attention with ease...fun-loving, carefree, always amazed at the cool things that life put in front of him. And now he's 35, a new father...still the same guy in many ways, but facing new challenges that he never anticipated.
What's the point here? Perhaps it is the reminder to myself again to not dwell on or lionize my past -- here or in my brain -- at the expense of enjoying the present or imagining the future. What do I want for myself, for Nicola, for Lindsay, for Ella? What do I want for my friends now? Where am I going...isn't that so much more important than where I've been?
This could easily veer into another post about my mid 20s indiscriminate partying -- nothing wrong with this kind of reminiscing, I suppose. Yes, the Preakness represents maybe two or three of my most innebriated days. What do you expect when you start the day at 7:30 a.m. by drinking a 40-oz malt liquor, put a keg on the bus, carry in coolers filled with 20+ cases of beer and spend the day in the Pimlico infield doing your best to keep your wits about you. And many wits were not kept.
I think what this post is about (wait! I figured it out!) is a tribute to the importance of that time in my life. As I've mentioned previously, I was often under-employed, financially derelict and possibly too committed to my fun-loving lifestyle during my tenure in Washington, D.C., and its suburbs. But look at what I came away with: a solidified friendship with Gene; a new close friend in Dave Mello; a relationship (now expired) that led me to move West and eventually led to a beautiful daughter in Ella and a move to California (not glad I had to move, but glad I'm here -- does that make sense?); plentiful memories with new and old friends; and a cool dog.
I read something online today that perhaps subconsciously spurred this post:
I used to believe that thinking and aching about one's personal past was the only way to pay homage to it: That the only proper way we legitimized and respected past events was to ponder them, relive them, and salute them in our minds with prolonged and vivid clarity. Otherwise, I thought, what was the use of fretting over and caring about present and future actions and events, if they were only going to be so easily dismissed and forgotten? However, in time, I learned that overdoing reminiscing and resisting change is, as Bono writes, "running to stand still." It chokes you and that which surrounds you. One can respect the values of the game while attempting to innovate.
I think I've been stuck in that "running to stand still" loop to some degree...not to the extent that my backward glances harm my ability to be present in my life today. But I sure do like to look back with longing and wistfulness...like if I don't, those experiences will be forgotten or their meaning will be lost?
It's cliche to say the past is the past, but don't things become cliche because they are so obviously true?
I am not who I was in 1995, nor is Gene or Dave or Jocelyn or Michelle or the other people who were in my life then. A decade later, I can say my time in DC was great, but (according SE Hinton -- is that who wrote The Outsiders etc.?) That Was Then, This is Now. I don't even talk to Jocelyn anymore, this woman who was once perhaps my closest friend. I think of Gene circa 1995...working his way up the corporate ladder at Carey Limousine...dancing his nights away and drawing feminine attention with ease...fun-loving, carefree, always amazed at the cool things that life put in front of him. And now he's 35, a new father...still the same guy in many ways, but facing new challenges that he never anticipated.
What's the point here? Perhaps it is the reminder to myself again to not dwell on or lionize my past -- here or in my brain -- at the expense of enjoying the present or imagining the future. What do I want for myself, for Nicola, for Lindsay, for Ella? What do I want for my friends now? Where am I going...isn't that so much more important than where I've been?
Friday, May 20, 2005
You call this work?
I worked from home today, and really, no seriously, I did get some stuff done. I did a lot of work on the Academy's Web site in terms of getting the Washington Report archive more functional. Yes, BORING...but it's a living.
I also found time to dig through our CDs and pull out what I'm calling the "One and Done Collection" -- albums I bought primarily for one song and, for the most part, haven't listened to in about five years (or more). I selected the one or two decent songs from each, copied them on the laptop and burned a CD. God, we've come a long way since mix tapes...adding up the time of each song to see how to best fit them on a 90-minute tape with 45 minutes on each side...trying not to have lengthy delays between songs...writing the song titles on those tiny cassette inserts. I've got another post brewing about cassettes, but back to the "One and Done."
The most obscure would be...Geggy Tah? "Whoever You Are" is the catchy little ditty that persuaded me to buy this CD. Me and the band members' families, I think. Other winners: Midnight Oil, The Smithereens, Eve 6, Guster, Soul Coughing, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Matthew Sweet, Us3, Fun Lovin' Criminals, etc. Some more obscure than others. Many of the selections provide a snapshot of my random music wanderings from 1995-98. Boy, I was all over the place. I guess it beats my college cheesy metal days (again, another post).
Well, off to a quiet weekend!
I also found time to dig through our CDs and pull out what I'm calling the "One and Done Collection" -- albums I bought primarily for one song and, for the most part, haven't listened to in about five years (or more). I selected the one or two decent songs from each, copied them on the laptop and burned a CD. God, we've come a long way since mix tapes...adding up the time of each song to see how to best fit them on a 90-minute tape with 45 minutes on each side...trying not to have lengthy delays between songs...writing the song titles on those tiny cassette inserts. I've got another post brewing about cassettes, but back to the "One and Done."
The most obscure would be...Geggy Tah? "Whoever You Are" is the catchy little ditty that persuaded me to buy this CD. Me and the band members' families, I think. Other winners: Midnight Oil, The Smithereens, Eve 6, Guster, Soul Coughing, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Matthew Sweet, Us3, Fun Lovin' Criminals, etc. Some more obscure than others. Many of the selections provide a snapshot of my random music wanderings from 1995-98. Boy, I was all over the place. I guess it beats my college cheesy metal days (again, another post).
Well, off to a quiet weekend!
Thursday, May 19, 2005
7000 words
Below, find a brief photographic history of my beloved, Nicola Anne Ries Taggart, who turned 30 the other day. The surprise party (invite also included) featured three posters that showcased her evolution from cute baby to mother of cute baby.
Damn, I'm one lucky son of a bitch to be with this woman.
Damn, I'm one lucky son of a bitch to be with this woman.
High school: VOLUME!! (believe it or not, there's a tiara in that nest of curls somewhere)
Just met a girl
A quick "welcome to the world!" to Maria Larson, new daughter of my best pal Gene Larson and his wife Jimena Mendoza Larson. I send warm, nourishing, healthy thoughts your way, Maria, as you've arrived a bit on the early side. Maria clocked in down Houston way yesterday at 3 lb, 4 oz, about a month early. All is going well so far. And I send my support and love to Gene (mi hermano) and Jimena...who I'm sure are thrilled at your arrival but also a bit anxious. They are going to be awesome parents.
In the Taggart household, the Crib Campaign's fourth night was a bit rocky, as Lindsay unleashed another high-energy display of her displeasure at...well, who knows what. She peeled the paint and frazzled our nerves before The Swing did its pacifying magic. A return to the crib after that was actually successful, and Lindsay greeted me this morning at 6 a.m. with bright eyes and broad smiles. So, naturally, all is forgiven. But Lindsay's let's not make a habit of this, OK? It was fine going to the grocery store at 10:15 p.m. last night, although I prefer other times.
Lindsay is 12 weeks old today, and I feel like we have arrived at an in-between stage -- she's no longer the newborn who will sleep anywhere or anytime, but she's not quite old enough to be into a regular sleep routine. Each set of parents may view this differently, and there's as many books out there on infant care and sleep advice as there are "Closer" promos on TNT basketball games right now (which is to say endless). We are not parents who have Lindsay in bed with us or tote her around in some kind of sling all day. She does not get a breast in her mouth at the first hint of displeasure. We believe in swaddling, soothing, the pacifier, white noise and routine, even if Lindsay has not completely bought into all that right now. The Crib Campaign centers on helping Lindsay figure out how to put herself to sleep when she's sleepy, and sticking to some routines in getting her ready for nap and bed. Cosleepers and attachment parenters out there -- more power to ya. I can't sleep hardly at all with an 8 lb, defenseless, heat-generating bundle next to me...I end up bolting upright from a half sleep/half dream state, wondering where the baby is and if I smooshed her with a deadweight arm. And that's when she's NOT in bed with us!
I think I'm sounding a bit defensive. I'm not feeling that way...parents gotta figure out what works for them and their kind of kid, and then stick to it, and that's what we're doing. I know from firsthand experience with Ella that some hard work by the grown-ups to help improve a child's sleep habits pay big dividends. She's been a great sleeper pretty much ever since the ex and I went for it at five months. For our household, I am visualizing a happy, rested Lindsay, a happy rested Nicola who has some time during the day to take care of the non-baby things that make her fret, and restful evenings for all. It may sound selfish to say, but I miss my nights with Nicola. NO, not that way...I miss the regular opportunity to talk and connect and enjoy each other's company. That's part of having a new baby -- I know all too well what goes with that territory. But I'm still wistful and anticipating a return to more "normal" times.
In the Taggart household, the Crib Campaign's fourth night was a bit rocky, as Lindsay unleashed another high-energy display of her displeasure at...well, who knows what. She peeled the paint and frazzled our nerves before The Swing did its pacifying magic. A return to the crib after that was actually successful, and Lindsay greeted me this morning at 6 a.m. with bright eyes and broad smiles. So, naturally, all is forgiven. But Lindsay's let's not make a habit of this, OK? It was fine going to the grocery store at 10:15 p.m. last night, although I prefer other times.
Lindsay is 12 weeks old today, and I feel like we have arrived at an in-between stage -- she's no longer the newborn who will sleep anywhere or anytime, but she's not quite old enough to be into a regular sleep routine. Each set of parents may view this differently, and there's as many books out there on infant care and sleep advice as there are "Closer" promos on TNT basketball games right now (which is to say endless). We are not parents who have Lindsay in bed with us or tote her around in some kind of sling all day. She does not get a breast in her mouth at the first hint of displeasure. We believe in swaddling, soothing, the pacifier, white noise and routine, even if Lindsay has not completely bought into all that right now. The Crib Campaign centers on helping Lindsay figure out how to put herself to sleep when she's sleepy, and sticking to some routines in getting her ready for nap and bed. Cosleepers and attachment parenters out there -- more power to ya. I can't sleep hardly at all with an 8 lb, defenseless, heat-generating bundle next to me...I end up bolting upright from a half sleep/half dream state, wondering where the baby is and if I smooshed her with a deadweight arm. And that's when she's NOT in bed with us!
I think I'm sounding a bit defensive. I'm not feeling that way...parents gotta figure out what works for them and their kind of kid, and then stick to it, and that's what we're doing. I know from firsthand experience with Ella that some hard work by the grown-ups to help improve a child's sleep habits pay big dividends. She's been a great sleeper pretty much ever since the ex and I went for it at five months. For our household, I am visualizing a happy, rested Lindsay, a happy rested Nicola who has some time during the day to take care of the non-baby things that make her fret, and restful evenings for all. It may sound selfish to say, but I miss my nights with Nicola. NO, not that way...I miss the regular opportunity to talk and connect and enjoy each other's company. That's part of having a new baby -- I know all too well what goes with that territory. But I'm still wistful and anticipating a return to more "normal" times.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Weekend update
It was a big weekend at the Taggart house, as Nicola was feted at a surprise 30th birthday party in our backyard on Saturday. I arranged for about 20 friends to be there, as well as her brother up from L.A. I must say I did an OK job at pulling off secret logistics, including food, beverage, custom tunes, decorations, delightful and amusing childhood photos (I'll post some of those later) etc. Nicola was surprised and appreciative, and she hung in there well considering I'd sent her off to a massage as a ruse to get her out of the house. She overcame the post-massage stupor to enjoy herself.
So, other than dramatically overestimating how much people would eat and drink, the only other hiccup was Ella spiking a 103-degree fever on Saturday afternoon. She briefly rallied to consume some tortilla chips and cheese, but by 5 p.m. or so she was back in bed, sweaty and I think a bit delirious. I was a bit freaked, but we got her through the worst of it and by Sunday morning she was pretty much OK. I think her mother's new work schedule is taking its toll -- formerly, Ella could sleep in most mornings and hang around the house until she went to school at about 8:45 or 9 (or later). Now, they leave the house at 7:30 or so and it sounds like quite a hustle to get out the door. Ella mentioned the hectic pace, the busy mornings and her increased tiredness several times this weekend. I mentioned it to the Ex today, who immediately got defensive. Just trying to co-parent! That's another saga -- the ridiculous e-mail exchange we had last week culminating in her playing the victim again and me saying (threatening?) to go to mediation to get some satisfaction. Today, she called to discuss Ella's after-school options for next year, and that was encouraging...but I'm sure we're going to have to get a more formal process in place to resolve our differences. Or, she could just get the hell over it already.
Now, back to the important stuff -- Lindsay was really great all weekend, and we even captured a smile on camera (another I'll post later). And last night -- (drum roll) -- she slept the whole night in her crib. Not without a whimper or too and some nursing, but she did not sleep a wink in her swing or anywhere else...and this, for the Taggart household, is a major accomplishment. The swing has been our safety net and Lindsay's preferred choice for lengthy slumber. We came to terms with our parental guilt on this one, but I know there are some who found it, um, distressing that we relied on the swing. Last night, we just decided to go for it, perhaps sparked by some successful crib naps over the weekend. To bring this incredibly boring story to a close (sorry, you non-parents), we feel quite good about it and hope that the increased sleeplessness on our part is a small sacrifice toward getting Lindsay into a more consistent sleep pattern. (New parents can talk about sleep patterns and tricks and challenges for hours on end -- no lie.)
I won't blog tonight -- going to the Sox game -- sitting in row 2 by the Bosox dugout! Yowza! Reminds me of my coolest sports experience -- front row behind the plate at Fenway, and I mean, fingers-in-the-protective-net first row. Thank you Jerry Remy, and Dad!
And while I dish out kudos: thanks to Tom and Phoenix for being such awesome in-laws this weekend and helping me pull off the party. What a blessing to have them around.
So, other than dramatically overestimating how much people would eat and drink, the only other hiccup was Ella spiking a 103-degree fever on Saturday afternoon. She briefly rallied to consume some tortilla chips and cheese, but by 5 p.m. or so she was back in bed, sweaty and I think a bit delirious. I was a bit freaked, but we got her through the worst of it and by Sunday morning she was pretty much OK. I think her mother's new work schedule is taking its toll -- formerly, Ella could sleep in most mornings and hang around the house until she went to school at about 8:45 or 9 (or later). Now, they leave the house at 7:30 or so and it sounds like quite a hustle to get out the door. Ella mentioned the hectic pace, the busy mornings and her increased tiredness several times this weekend. I mentioned it to the Ex today, who immediately got defensive. Just trying to co-parent! That's another saga -- the ridiculous e-mail exchange we had last week culminating in her playing the victim again and me saying (threatening?) to go to mediation to get some satisfaction. Today, she called to discuss Ella's after-school options for next year, and that was encouraging...but I'm sure we're going to have to get a more formal process in place to resolve our differences. Or, she could just get the hell over it already.
Now, back to the important stuff -- Lindsay was really great all weekend, and we even captured a smile on camera (another I'll post later). And last night -- (drum roll) -- she slept the whole night in her crib. Not without a whimper or too and some nursing, but she did not sleep a wink in her swing or anywhere else...and this, for the Taggart household, is a major accomplishment. The swing has been our safety net and Lindsay's preferred choice for lengthy slumber. We came to terms with our parental guilt on this one, but I know there are some who found it, um, distressing that we relied on the swing. Last night, we just decided to go for it, perhaps sparked by some successful crib naps over the weekend. To bring this incredibly boring story to a close (sorry, you non-parents), we feel quite good about it and hope that the increased sleeplessness on our part is a small sacrifice toward getting Lindsay into a more consistent sleep pattern. (New parents can talk about sleep patterns and tricks and challenges for hours on end -- no lie.)
I won't blog tonight -- going to the Sox game -- sitting in row 2 by the Bosox dugout! Yowza! Reminds me of my coolest sports experience -- front row behind the plate at Fenway, and I mean, fingers-in-the-protective-net first row. Thank you Jerry Remy, and Dad!
And while I dish out kudos: thanks to Tom and Phoenix for being such awesome in-laws this weekend and helping me pull off the party. What a blessing to have them around.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
So she said
"You're not the boss of my feet." -- Ella to me, after I commented that her choice of green rain boots on a sunny day to go with her pink skirt was "interesting"...which one could interpret to mean that I disapprove or prefer her stuff matched. Which I do, but I need to let go of.
Lindsay's been better the last couple of nights, and I'm happy to say that I've been the one to put her to sleep. So my cold streak is not so cold. But I'm still pretty wiped, so here's a topic for future discussion: how to help your children be their own independent people by putting aside your own shit and predispositions. Me, I'm presdisposed to go with the flow and status quo...which leads me to select matching clothes etc. How great it is when Ella makes a choice outside the norms, or should I say my norms. And for god's sake, if a cute 5-year-old can't traipse around in a pink skirt and green rainboots, who can? She feels no self-conciousness, and that is a feeling to support and encourage.
Big weekend ahead! Tom and Phoenix are visiting, nice sunny weather is expected in the 80s, and MWBR! Plus a Sox game on Monday night vs. the A's, with tickets right by the visitors dugout.
Lindsay's been better the last couple of nights, and I'm happy to say that I've been the one to put her to sleep. So my cold streak is not so cold. But I'm still pretty wiped, so here's a topic for future discussion: how to help your children be their own independent people by putting aside your own shit and predispositions. Me, I'm presdisposed to go with the flow and status quo...which leads me to select matching clothes etc. How great it is when Ella makes a choice outside the norms, or should I say my norms. And for god's sake, if a cute 5-year-old can't traipse around in a pink skirt and green rainboots, who can? She feels no self-conciousness, and that is a feeling to support and encourage.
Big weekend ahead! Tom and Phoenix are visiting, nice sunny weather is expected in the 80s, and MWBR! Plus a Sox game on Monday night vs. the A's, with tickets right by the visitors dugout.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Duffer days
I've been pondering this analogy that taking care of an infant is like playing mediocre golf. Bear with me....
You are not exactly sure what you are doing, but you are having fun doing it. You approach each swing (interaction) with optimism even though you can't predict the outcome. You miss badly sometimes and unforeseen things happen with alarming frequency. But every once in a while, you hit a beauty -- in golf, a sweet drive or a long putt or a deft pitch...with kids, just the right bounce or tone in your voice to elicit a smile or silence a cry -- and it's enough to make you come back again and again.
I'm sure this analogy reflects equally poorly on my golf game and on my parenting game. But that's how it feels these days with Lindsay -- lots of misses and the occasional solid connection. For further explanation, let me refer to the fact that three out of the last four nights, Lindsay has transformed from a sweet, cooing, placcid child into a screaming, distraught mess within a matter of seconds. "Night-only colic" is one book's description. "Unbelievably sad and distressing and perplexing" is my description. I weathered a 45-minute perfect storm of crying, wailing and thrashing limbs last night as Nicola was on a drscore.com phone call. Nothing I did seemed to work, and by 7:45 we found ourselves cruising down I-880, wondering if we'd have to drive to Santa Barbara before poor Lindsay would calm down. (Monday night was similar, but without the car trip.)
She finally was asleep by about 10, I think, and unfortunately my dear wife had to do most of the soothing work, as Lindsay basically wanted nothing to do with me. This isn't self-pity -- it's fact. She was nearly asleep in Nicola's arms at one point, and we went for a transfer so I could take a turn, and The Tasmanian Devil returned immediately. Back she went to Nicola, and order was restored. Good, but Ouch.
To return to the golf analogy...I've had my share of wicked slices and chunked irons with Lindsay. Every parent does. But a few smiles here and there made up for it, and I -- booming drive down the middle! (I officially retire this strained analogy now) -- even got a half-laugh out of Lindsay Monday night in the middle of a crying spell. But last night, the rejection was so blatant...well, I'm not sure to describe my feelings. It revved up my anxiety that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, even though I've helped raise a wonderful girl who's now 5.
Each kid is different, I must remind myself, and not only that, but it's not surprising that a baby who spends almost every waking moment with one primary caregiver is going to express a preference for that caregiver. During the week, I'm out the door by 7 a.m. most days and I'm lucky to see her awake at all. Home by about 6 p.m., and lately she's already sleepy and on the verge of grumpy by then. Not exactly quality time.
Should I be getting up at night more? Feeding with a bottle more? More involved generally? I feel pretty involved now, but I suppose there's always MORE. We'll keep trying to make it work, and fortunes can change quickly.
Message to Lindsay: we're doing the best we can, and we feel terrible that you get so distraught and out of sorts. Let's all take a deep breath and intend that, together, we can begin to sidestep your wild-eyed unhappy moments.
You are not exactly sure what you are doing, but you are having fun doing it. You approach each swing (interaction) with optimism even though you can't predict the outcome. You miss badly sometimes and unforeseen things happen with alarming frequency. But every once in a while, you hit a beauty -- in golf, a sweet drive or a long putt or a deft pitch...with kids, just the right bounce or tone in your voice to elicit a smile or silence a cry -- and it's enough to make you come back again and again.
I'm sure this analogy reflects equally poorly on my golf game and on my parenting game. But that's how it feels these days with Lindsay -- lots of misses and the occasional solid connection. For further explanation, let me refer to the fact that three out of the last four nights, Lindsay has transformed from a sweet, cooing, placcid child into a screaming, distraught mess within a matter of seconds. "Night-only colic" is one book's description. "Unbelievably sad and distressing and perplexing" is my description. I weathered a 45-minute perfect storm of crying, wailing and thrashing limbs last night as Nicola was on a drscore.com phone call. Nothing I did seemed to work, and by 7:45 we found ourselves cruising down I-880, wondering if we'd have to drive to Santa Barbara before poor Lindsay would calm down. (Monday night was similar, but without the car trip.)
She finally was asleep by about 10, I think, and unfortunately my dear wife had to do most of the soothing work, as Lindsay basically wanted nothing to do with me. This isn't self-pity -- it's fact. She was nearly asleep in Nicola's arms at one point, and we went for a transfer so I could take a turn, and The Tasmanian Devil returned immediately. Back she went to Nicola, and order was restored. Good, but Ouch.
To return to the golf analogy...I've had my share of wicked slices and chunked irons with Lindsay. Every parent does. But a few smiles here and there made up for it, and I -- booming drive down the middle! (I officially retire this strained analogy now) -- even got a half-laugh out of Lindsay Monday night in the middle of a crying spell. But last night, the rejection was so blatant...well, I'm not sure to describe my feelings. It revved up my anxiety that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, even though I've helped raise a wonderful girl who's now 5.
Each kid is different, I must remind myself, and not only that, but it's not surprising that a baby who spends almost every waking moment with one primary caregiver is going to express a preference for that caregiver. During the week, I'm out the door by 7 a.m. most days and I'm lucky to see her awake at all. Home by about 6 p.m., and lately she's already sleepy and on the verge of grumpy by then. Not exactly quality time.
Should I be getting up at night more? Feeding with a bottle more? More involved generally? I feel pretty involved now, but I suppose there's always MORE. We'll keep trying to make it work, and fortunes can change quickly.
Message to Lindsay: we're doing the best we can, and we feel terrible that you get so distraught and out of sorts. Let's all take a deep breath and intend that, together, we can begin to sidestep your wild-eyed unhappy moments.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Welcome (redux)
Thanks to a link from blogging veteran and former college acquaintance over at xtcian.com, I would suspect that my readership expanded today beyond my Mom and my wife.
With that in mind, here's a quick rundown on me and what MWBR is and is not about (and where the name came from). (A useful exercise for me, readers or not, as I have a hard time figuring out what I'm doing here sometimes.)
You may find this blog interesting if you: come from divorced parents and/or have issues with your father; drank excessively in your 20s; went to North Carolina and/or hate Dook (see here and here, in part); have kids (in my case, Ella [5] and Lindsay [10.5 weeks] -- photos throughout); at one time obsessed about having your shoelace ends be of equal length (haven't discussed that yet); are a fan of the band Taggart Rocks; or are curious about obscure ear disorders. Perhaps there are other random topics I've covered that will interest you....
With that in mind, here's a quick rundown on me and what MWBR is and is not about (and where the name came from). (A useful exercise for me, readers or not, as I have a hard time figuring out what I'm doing here sometimes.)
You may find this blog interesting if you: come from divorced parents and/or have issues with your father; drank excessively in your 20s; went to North Carolina and/or hate Dook (see here and here, in part); have kids (in my case, Ella [5] and Lindsay [10.5 weeks] -- photos throughout); at one time obsessed about having your shoelace ends be of equal length (haven't discussed that yet); are a fan of the band Taggart Rocks; or are curious about obscure ear disorders. Perhaps there are other random topics I've covered that will interest you....
I make no promises to be topical, interesting or amusing to people beyond my immediate circle...or even to them. I started MWBR for my own purposes, to document the impending birth of Lindsay and to provide an outlet for my writing, which professionally is restricted to ophthalmology right now. Eyes really aren't that interesting, I'm sure you'd be surprised to hear.
I've tried not to filter my thoughts too much, which means I occasionally veer into territory that feels too personal to read (sorry, Mom). I'm not afraid to share it if you're not squeamish to read it. Everybody has skeletons in their closet -- mine tend more toward the irresponsible than the criminal (other than juvenile shoplifting), but I'm still digging in that closet and uncovering a few things, so who knows? I'm blessed to have by my side in real life my wife Nicola -- a beauty with a giving soul and an open heart who has an uncanny ability to touch people and make them feel loved and supported. (Happy belated Mother's Day, Nicola!). It is with her help the past three years that I've become more open emotionally, more honest with myself and others and more sure of what I want my life to be like. MWBR is an extension of that.
I welcome you and your comments.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Ass-what?
I had quite a frustrating day, between dealing with pissy co-workers questioning my competence and an irrational ex-wife who won't show me the respect I deserve as Ella's father.
So what a treat to show up at Ella's school to pick her up, and within three minutes she and her friends are licking the torn pieces of a microwave popcorn bag in order to get the butter. "Mmm, I love butter," says Ella, who is not the little porky child you might expect based on this statement. Anyway, it struck me as so absurd and so unexpected and so ...later, after I was distracted and quiet for some of the evening. Ella eventually did help me get out of my mood, as did Nicola...but I wish I could have taken a deep breath at Ella's school and just let it all go and focused on her and on the family when I got home.
I think I was just way thrown off by the nasty spin of the conversation with my ex today. The upshot is that she has no interest in giving me anything I want in terms of more time with Ella, and she retreats into a defensive corner where she tosses out old barbs and rehashes stuff from three years ago, playing the victim. Ah, fuck. It's not even worth going over. I've got to formulate a plan for getting what I want...and what I DESERVE as Ella's father, including respect.
OK, I didn't want too negative. I don't want it to overshadow the joy I got today when Lindsay smiled at me and when I watched Ella play with her tonight...just two sisters having fun and adoring each other. Lindsay couldn't take her eyes off Ella, and it was simply sweet to observe.
Do you know the meaning of this word: asymptote?
Well, here it is: a straight line associated with a curve such that as a point moves along an infinite branch of the curve the distance from the point to the line approaches zero and the slope of the curve at the point approaches the slope of the line. as·ymp·tot·ic (adjective)
The etymology: probably from (assumed) New Latin asymptotus, from Greek asymptOtos not meeting, from a- + sympiptein to meet.
Translation: something that approaches something else, getting close without ever touching it. Dick used this word to describe my soccer playing style as a youth...I would run very fast in parallel to the action without ever really getting involved. I didn't take it as a compliment (once he explained it). My first defensive reaction would be, "Shit, I don't even remember you (my parents) coming to any of my games in the first place, whether it was soccer, basketball, baseball, tennis, swim meets, whatever. Where were you when Mike Hawksworth and I won the German Brain Bowl at the Foreign Language Forensic Day at Rider College?" Er, forget I mentioned that (nerd).
Upon further reflection, I wonder if "asymptotic" is not a good way to describe my life and my approach to life, at least up until the last three years or so. I'm one to stay above the fray, to not rock the boat. I avoid confrontation like one avoids eye contact with a mariachi band leader in a Mexican restaurant. I don't like to mix it up, generally. I would guess this list of cliches is sufficient to give you the idea. Anyway, maybe my problem on and off the soccer field was my distaste for the scuffle and for "getting dirty" -- at jobs, in relationships, in finances. I've drifted, I've not committed to things like a soccer player needs to commit to going after the ball.
So what a treat to show up at Ella's school to pick her up, and within three minutes she and her friends are licking the torn pieces of a microwave popcorn bag in order to get the butter. "Mmm, I love butter," says Ella, who is not the little porky child you might expect based on this statement. Anyway, it struck me as so absurd and so unexpected and so ...later, after I was distracted and quiet for some of the evening. Ella eventually did help me get out of my mood, as did Nicola...but I wish I could have taken a deep breath at Ella's school and just let it all go and focused on her and on the family when I got home.
I think I was just way thrown off by the nasty spin of the conversation with my ex today. The upshot is that she has no interest in giving me anything I want in terms of more time with Ella, and she retreats into a defensive corner where she tosses out old barbs and rehashes stuff from three years ago, playing the victim. Ah, fuck. It's not even worth going over. I've got to formulate a plan for getting what I want...and what I DESERVE as Ella's father, including respect.
OK, I didn't want too negative. I don't want it to overshadow the joy I got today when Lindsay smiled at me and when I watched Ella play with her tonight...just two sisters having fun and adoring each other. Lindsay couldn't take her eyes off Ella, and it was simply sweet to observe.
Do you know the meaning of this word: asymptote?
Well, here it is: a straight line associated with a curve such that as a point moves along an infinite branch of the curve the distance from the point to the line approaches zero and the slope of the curve at the point approaches the slope of the line. as·ymp·tot·ic (adjective)
The etymology: probably from (assumed) New Latin asymptotus, from Greek asymptOtos not meeting, from a- + sympiptein to meet.
Translation: something that approaches something else, getting close without ever touching it. Dick used this word to describe my soccer playing style as a youth...I would run very fast in parallel to the action without ever really getting involved. I didn't take it as a compliment (once he explained it). My first defensive reaction would be, "Shit, I don't even remember you (my parents) coming to any of my games in the first place, whether it was soccer, basketball, baseball, tennis, swim meets, whatever. Where were you when Mike Hawksworth and I won the German Brain Bowl at the Foreign Language Forensic Day at Rider College?" Er, forget I mentioned that (nerd).
Upon further reflection, I wonder if "asymptotic" is not a good way to describe my life and my approach to life, at least up until the last three years or so. I'm one to stay above the fray, to not rock the boat. I avoid confrontation like one avoids eye contact with a mariachi band leader in a Mexican restaurant. I don't like to mix it up, generally. I would guess this list of cliches is sufficient to give you the idea. Anyway, maybe my problem on and off the soccer field was my distaste for the scuffle and for "getting dirty" -- at jobs, in relationships, in finances. I've drifted, I've not committed to things like a soccer player needs to commit to going after the ball.
Speaking of drifting, this analogy has drifted. I don't know if this makes any sense, but I found it interesting to contemplate. Ever since Dick said the word "asymptotic" I've been thinking about this, and I think there's some truth to it. I also think that in the past three years I've grown up more than in the past 32 combined, and while I still hate confrontation, I believe that I've mended many of my asymptotic ways.
Lindsay medical update: Not much new from the ENT doc, although he was reassuring that we shouldn't have to worry about stuff like facial bone development and airway complications (!). And once again, a doctor's awesome demeanor helped defuse our tension and unease. No other results -- he can't tell what's down the left ear, the canal is narrow, we have to watch the right ear closely for ear infections to preserve its hearing. All you need to have proper speech development is one good ear, and she's got that.
Looking forward to a nice weekend ahead -- some social plans, and some good family time, plus Nicola's first mother's day!
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
On the road
Or is that on the ropes? Best to say that it was both last night, as Lindsay fussed, wailed, pondered and battled sleep for more than three hours. We pulled out all the big guns (no breastfeeding pun intended) -- music, the swing, the crib, nursing, swaddling, rocking, bouncing, shhshhing, quiet couch time, lying with her on the bed (this list feels eerily familiar -- have I written this before?) -- but to no avail as Lindsay blew through tired, careened by exhaustion, zoomed into crazy alertness and then settled on crying unconsolably (sp?) to show her displeasure at the whole situation.
Into the car we went at 10:15 p.m. for a nice drive down 880 to Hayward. Thirty minutes in the car worked! And, our frazzled nerves trumping our parental guilt, we parked her car seat in the crib and let her sleep there. She didn't fully wake up to eat until 5 a.m., providing all of us with some much-needed rest and quiet.
Was last night's fury unleashed by attempts yesterday to transition Lindsay from the swing/bed/couch to the crib for nap times? I don't know...Nicola is worried that her quest to help Lindsay sleep better and more consistently during the day is to blame, but I'll just chalk it up to a bad night. Our little Bean is still functioning off whim and chance, and we need to be OK with that for now...while making progress toward some small goals (sleep in the crib, less reliance on the pacifier, less frequent swaddling, etc.).
I'm at the office early today, due to a mid-day departure to go to Lindsay's ENT appointment at Children's Hospital. We may get some more definitive information about The Lucky Ear today, and I'm anxious. I told my Dad last night that moderate hearing loss or no hearing -- it's basically the same developmentally. Even if that is true, I think getting an indication that there's no hearing at all will come as a blow. So...MWBR. Deep breaths, be strong, be there for your family. All I can do today.
More later.
Into the car we went at 10:15 p.m. for a nice drive down 880 to Hayward. Thirty minutes in the car worked! And, our frazzled nerves trumping our parental guilt, we parked her car seat in the crib and let her sleep there. She didn't fully wake up to eat until 5 a.m., providing all of us with some much-needed rest and quiet.
Was last night's fury unleashed by attempts yesterday to transition Lindsay from the swing/bed/couch to the crib for nap times? I don't know...Nicola is worried that her quest to help Lindsay sleep better and more consistently during the day is to blame, but I'll just chalk it up to a bad night. Our little Bean is still functioning off whim and chance, and we need to be OK with that for now...while making progress toward some small goals (sleep in the crib, less reliance on the pacifier, less frequent swaddling, etc.).
I'm at the office early today, due to a mid-day departure to go to Lindsay's ENT appointment at Children's Hospital. We may get some more definitive information about The Lucky Ear today, and I'm anxious. I told my Dad last night that moderate hearing loss or no hearing -- it's basically the same developmentally. Even if that is true, I think getting an indication that there's no hearing at all will come as a blow. So...MWBR. Deep breaths, be strong, be there for your family. All I can do today.
More later.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Birthday boy Papa and his California granddaughters. April 2005.
Happy birthday...Dad.
Today is the birthday of Richard B. Barrett, also known as my step-father Dick. Happy birthday, Dick, and thanks for being my "dad" over the past 30 years.
I've never actually called him dad, but that's really what he was. I don't really ever remember my biological Father being in the house with us, and by the time I was 7, we moved across the country and I only saw the Father a few times a year. Who knows how the relationship as it is now -- friendly, superficial, generally benign...neither outright negative nor particularly beneficial -- would be if we'd stayed in closer geographic proximity. But the hand that was dealt me was, nevertheless, a good one, as I was fortunate that Dick came along in my formative years (anyone have a clue when those end? I'm still forming all over the place) at age 5 or 6 and stayed with us up to this day.
There's definitely some residual Nature in me (some good and some bad things from Father), but there's a whole lot of Nurture, and beyond the acute sensitivity to the cycles of the furnace and the noises in a house, I'm incredibly grateful for the things Dick contributed to me and taught me by way of Nurture. Some I follow, some I pledge and strive to follow...but nevertheless: an unerring sense of honesty and fairness; directness to a fault; ambition; good humor and quick wit; a surprising playfulness (particularly with little kids); determination; intellectual curiousity; near complete intolerance for bullshit and pretense; fondness for a daily newspaper; and an introduction to Red Smith, one of the giants of sportswriting whose work helped lead me to a life of journalism.
Now, there's a lot of my mom mixed in there too...so she deserves some billing as well. Mom, I couldn't have done it without you...what "it" exactly is still a work in progress, but I'm happy to see that there is more progress than regress these days, and I hope you both feel the same way.
Dick -- Happy 68th Birthday. I'm not of your genes, but I'm proud to be your son.
Today's Lindsay note: I swear to god, she grew up between when I left for work and when I came home. She just looked...older or something, and it's interesting to note that Nicola said several people complimented her on how cute Lindsay was (aww, proud dad!). I'm sure these things are unrelated, but our little Bean seems to have turned a corner in terms of going from newborn to baby or something. More coos and random noises came forth tonight. It just moves so fast...10 weeks this Thursday!
The good sleep continues...but a confession: it's primarily in the swing. Goddamn she loves that swing, as do we. We are managing our guilt with the "whatever works" mantra familiar to all new parents...but how long will this bromide continue to be a legitimate rationale? Well, it passes now, even though we do recognize that Lindsay's happiness should not rely on the power of four D batteries. Baby steps...like moving the swing from the living room to our bedroom and now into her nursery. Hey, it's mere steps from her crib (the next stop)!
I've never actually called him dad, but that's really what he was. I don't really ever remember my biological Father being in the house with us, and by the time I was 7, we moved across the country and I only saw the Father a few times a year. Who knows how the relationship as it is now -- friendly, superficial, generally benign...neither outright negative nor particularly beneficial -- would be if we'd stayed in closer geographic proximity. But the hand that was dealt me was, nevertheless, a good one, as I was fortunate that Dick came along in my formative years (anyone have a clue when those end? I'm still forming all over the place) at age 5 or 6 and stayed with us up to this day.
There's definitely some residual Nature in me (some good and some bad things from Father), but there's a whole lot of Nurture, and beyond the acute sensitivity to the cycles of the furnace and the noises in a house, I'm incredibly grateful for the things Dick contributed to me and taught me by way of Nurture. Some I follow, some I pledge and strive to follow...but nevertheless: an unerring sense of honesty and fairness; directness to a fault; ambition; good humor and quick wit; a surprising playfulness (particularly with little kids); determination; intellectual curiousity; near complete intolerance for bullshit and pretense; fondness for a daily newspaper; and an introduction to Red Smith, one of the giants of sportswriting whose work helped lead me to a life of journalism.
Now, there's a lot of my mom mixed in there too...so she deserves some billing as well. Mom, I couldn't have done it without you...what "it" exactly is still a work in progress, but I'm happy to see that there is more progress than regress these days, and I hope you both feel the same way.
Dick -- Happy 68th Birthday. I'm not of your genes, but I'm proud to be your son.
Today's Lindsay note: I swear to god, she grew up between when I left for work and when I came home. She just looked...older or something, and it's interesting to note that Nicola said several people complimented her on how cute Lindsay was (aww, proud dad!). I'm sure these things are unrelated, but our little Bean seems to have turned a corner in terms of going from newborn to baby or something. More coos and random noises came forth tonight. It just moves so fast...10 weeks this Thursday!
The good sleep continues...but a confession: it's primarily in the swing. Goddamn she loves that swing, as do we. We are managing our guilt with the "whatever works" mantra familiar to all new parents...but how long will this bromide continue to be a legitimate rationale? Well, it passes now, even though we do recognize that Lindsay's happiness should not rely on the power of four D batteries. Baby steps...like moving the swing from the living room to our bedroom and now into her nursery. Hey, it's mere steps from her crib (the next stop)!
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Blurry, but can't you see the smile? We've captured a million near misses.
Our failed attempt to buy a hat that fits Lindsay. April 17, 2005.
Teach it and weep
Today, I taught Ella (5) the meaning of the word "compromise"...and to demonstrate her understanding of the word, she tossed it right back at me five minutes later.
After a full day (out to breakfast, grocery shopping, secret errands and a trip to Toys R Us to buy her a new bike), we found ourselves at about 3 p.m., discussing Ella's quiet time (or not). It was too late for a nap, but I wanted her to have some quiet time in her room...not too much, because she would be leaving in two hours, but some, on principle. Amazingly, at age 5, Ella willingly takes quiet time in her room and even still naps on occasion. On this day, I suggested 30 minutes of quiet time; she countered with an hour (I know -- weird that she wanted more, but she is fond of the roundess of the one hour figure, I guess). I said how about 45 minutes. She said an hour or none. I said 45 minutes again, and I explained it would be a compromise -- when two people have different ideas of how to do things, you meet in the middle, so each person gets some of what they want.
This was acceptable to my hard-bargain-driving 5-year-old. Once in her room, she insisted on the timer (she likes to know how much time is left). I said, "Why don't I set it for 30 minutes, and we'll see how you're doing then." My rationale: she was working on Mother's Day cards for three of her five "grandmothers" and that should be done by 30 minutes. No, really, I wasn't trying to pull a fast one. But Ella was on to me, no matter what. "I thought you said 45 minutes?" "Um, let's try 30 and see how that goes," I respond.
"But 30 minutes doesn't have any of my idea in it."
Yes, you read that right. Ella cogently called me on my wanton disregard of our compromise. 45 minutes represented some of her idea because it was closer to an hour, which was her preference. Just want to make sure you get the subtle genius and logical thinking of this amazing child. Man, she grew up in my eyes again today, between the brain activity and the trip around the block on her new bike. Wow -- she's a kid! Not a child -- a kid. How cool. And a kid with childlike needs at times, like when she woke up Saturday afternoon after a bad dream.
I can't close without mentioning a seminal moment on Saturday: Lindsay's first giggle. An adorable little laugh sprung forth from this precious thing on her 65th day of existence, and it sent all of us off on a glorious ride. Baby giggles can do that -- they are an infectious, unstoppable tide of mirth...one listen and you start to laugh yourself, and under the right circumstances, the cycle continues and perpetuates and this is one of the happier instances in life, I tell you. Nicola was holding Lindsay, who had been dazzling me with smiles all weekend, and I was holding Ella, and we three older ones were all beaming down into Lindsay's dancing eyes, and chicken or egg, I don't know if we laughed and then she giggled or vice versa, but it was a moment of sheer delight for all.
(My eloquence is less than eloquent these days. I would like to blame sleep deprivation, but the slumber has improved around here. Not sure what it is -- I just feel like I'm struggling to express myself and to adequately share what's going on. Maybe I should go back to writing about the past -- like about the time I drove through the night to Jacksonville for the Gator Bowl and I tried to sleep in my car in a Howard Johnson's parking lot (everything was booked up and down the Atlantic Coast on I-5), and then I tried to kill time in a Waffle House...but 5 hour is far too long to spend in a Waffle House in Jax when you've been up all night...but it's too short to get a hotel room in the dive behind the Waffle House...or is it? I opted for the dive and a few hours of sleep.
Hmm. That's not all that entertaining either. Maybe I just need to cut myself some slack and write from the heart...it feels a bit like I'm watching my words now that I have the tiniest of audiences. MWBR has turned into a log of events instead of an exploration of my life, past present future. And I seemed more entertaining to me earlier...but I'm not all that objective about my own ramblings.
