Discovery

Painting with (and sometimes on) Avery at the Children's Discovery Museum of San Jose

A Picture and a Thousand Words

This photo is quite revealing about Life with Andrew* these days.

First, note the smile. He is feeling MUCH better today! We've all had a full night's sleep, which is cause for celebration.

With closer inspection, I invite you to notice a few more things. Check out those nasal passages. No more flowing tubes of flourescent yellow mucous! (OK, so he's still a little snotty, but that's to be expected for a few more days.)

Check out his bottom teeth. A little blueish tint to them, you say? They may in fact be rotting, since he won't allow us to brush them, but that's not why they're discolored. No, the little man had a blue crayon for breakfast! And see if you can spot the lone molar that broke through his gums a few days ago--yahoo! (Three more molars are on their way...)

Grandma Carol, he LOVES the cloth books he can carry on his wrists around the house.

And finally....Andrew is wearing the latest in Haven't Left the House Today toddler fashion: the onesie he slept in, unsnapped (because exposing ones underwear is the trendy thing to do), and a pair of sweats, so he won't freeze, cuz it's a chilly 60 degrees in the house.

*I've taken a liking to "Andrew". Is it because he's growing so quickly, and Andrew seems more appropriate than Andy for a man of his stature?

More photos--thanks for looking:

After the Storm

Felton, like other parts of the Santa Cruz mountains, was heavy hit by last week's storms. Fallen trees and branches, power outages, floods and slides are common here in the winter time. Luckily, so are the sunny 60 degree days, like today, that warm us and restore our spirits. We were fortunate not to suffer any storm damage, and neither did my parents.

Now that Andy is on the mend, we've been out enjoying the sunshine. Uncle Karl and Lucy came by this morning, and played with Andy in the backyard. Uncle Karl is fabulous at letting Andy get down and dirty in the mud, investigating the tanbark, twigs and earthworms. If Andy happens to get a little wet while splashing in the firepit full of rain water? Karl simply removes his shirt and lets him splash some more. All this I'm keeping appraised of from the window like a Nervous Nelly. Hmmm... maybe he's too cold out there without a shirt on, and he's sick after all. Oh, good, now he's in the sun. But wait: sun exposure! Skin damage! Cancer!


Lucky for Andy, he has an uncle who doesn't worry about those things.


Signing "more" chocolate chip cookies, Daddy!

In Sickness and in Health

I feel a little guilty when I use this blog to rant about the trials of parenthood, but there are times when a woman just has to vent! This is one of those times.

Andy's newest accomplishment is not one I'm particularly proud of. He has figured out how to seal off the back of his throat, gargle, and purse his lips in order to spew medicine across the living room. The fact that he can coordinate this effort without breathing is, in fact, remarkable. At the same time, he is wildly flailing his arms and legs, thrusting his head from side to side, and turning different shades of purple. At just one year old, he requires a small army to be administered antibiotics.

We took Andy to the pediatrican again yesterday. It was almost 5:00, and we didn't get the usual peppy greetings from the office staff. Probably because, from the moment he entered the building, he began shreaking continuously.

The doctor, surprisingly, was her usual cheerful self. "My goodness, he does seem to be a bit angry, doesn't he?" (Mike and I looked at each other, thinking that was the understatement of the year.)

"Would you like to give him some Tylenol with Codeine?" she asked. The clouds parted overhead, and halleluiahs were sung by a chorus of angels from on high.

"Yes, please," one of us finally answered. Tylenol with Codeine sounded much better than sedative or tranquelizer, some of the words I had been thinking of during our long, unhappy drive to the Capitola office.

The trick was getting the magic elixer down the throat of our spirited boy. Mike and I tried giving him a dose in the waiting room. (See second paragraph to see how well that went.)

Our pediatrican came in to help upon hearing Mike's cussing. "Try giving him a little bit on each side of his mouth," she suggested.

"Oh, you are a tricky one!" she remarked when Andy spit out half of the dose she gave him. Mike and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction that the professional had little more success administering medicine than we had. How the doctor could remain so cheerful after a full day with screaming babies and their frustrated parents, however, was beyond me.

Andy slept well last night, whether it was because of the Codeine or the new strain of antibiotics. The night before was too hideous to relive in writing. Let me just mention it involved Baby Einstien at midnight, and the Teletubbies at 3 am.

Many of my ideals have gone by the wayside during this illness. I am now that parent who has cookie crumbs between the couch cushions. This is payback for all the times when I'd babysit as a carefree teenager, and be mortified--absolutely aghast--to find a half-eaten moldy hotdog and bun by the couch in the living room. Or a melted icecream cone on a different three year old's pillow. Payback for casting judgement on the moral characters of the mothers (never the fathers) for their serious lapses in cleanliness and common sense.

Now I understand the pitfalls of living with a toddler travelling the house with food. And I'm just too tired to care. Very soon, I won't even notice anymore.

'Zat you, Santa Claus?

An eventful second Christmas for Andy! He became reaquainted with his grandparents, great-grandmother, aunts, uncles, two cousins, and four first cousins once removed. (I had to google for the correct term, but Andy will call them cousins). And how could I forget the furrier members of the family? (Yes, I mean the pets). Andy held his own with a German Shepard three times his size, a chocolate Lab with a lethal tail, and an aged Yorkshire Terrior.
Andy with Sierra
With Grandma and Pap-pap
With Chris and Courtney
Mary and Jim paid a surprise visit from South Carolina.
Nana had to bribe Andy with a cookie.
Playing with Pap-Pap
At the Zoo, in the Manta Ray tunnel with Aunt Michelle

My parents noticed a growth spurt in the course of just a week. Andy learned to say "ho ho ho!" to pictures of Santa. He signs "more" and "hot". He climbs onto and off of couches and beds. He walks at a much faster pace. And, a first sentence:

He commanded his Grandmother: "Ball, off!" He wanted Gram to take the glass ball ornaments off of a package so that he could play with them.

Today as I put his new (size 24 months!) outfits away, I had to pack up his size 12 month clothing to make room. He has outgrown his soft-soled Robeez shoes, too (sniff, sniff)...

Baby, it's cold outside!

Actually, we're having a warm spell in Western PA. It's 44 degrees outside (up from 6 degrees when we arrived on Monday night). So, what would be a teeth chattering experience in the Santa Cruz mountains, is cause for shorts and sandals in Pennsylvania (OK, not quite....but still a noticable difference)!

We spent our first night with Mike's parents in greater Pittsburgh. The next two days, we stayed with Michelle in Johnstown, which is 2 hours east of Pittsburgh. Johnstown is the site of early industrial boom and then the terrible flood of 1889, which killed over 2,000 people (considered the biggest U.S. natural disaster at the time). After a visit to the Flood Memorial, we learned that this "act of God" was in fact caused by men, including the area's bigshots Andrew Mellon and Andrew Carnegie, who failed to maintain the dam that held their exlusive lake retreat, 450 feet above the city. The flooding was also caused by the pilfering of the forests along the river. Sad, how history can repeat itself (we couldn't help but think of the poorly maintained levees in New Orleans, and the loss of the wetlands surrounding the city). Here is the site of the Johnstown tragedy:


Andy couldn't have cared less about the area's history, but he enjoyed sledding at the park across from Michelle and Craig's Park Hill home:


He was mostly frustrated with the snow at the park, however, because it nearly came up to his waist. He couldn't move without diving face first into the powder.

Now we're in Evans City, PA, at the home of Matt, Donna, Chris and Courtney. Here is Andy enjoying cousin time with Courtney:

Dreaming of a White Christmas

...in Pennsylvania. Pete and Carol have several inches of snow on the ground, blanketing their decorations of the Nativity, Santa, his reindeer, and a giant Frostie.

We can't wait to see everyone, and hope the snow stays for Andy to play in.

Speaking of the little Elf, here he is wishing you a Merry Christmas. (Mike is not so sure about the stockings, but he indulges me.)

And here are Santa and Mrs. Claus, from Andy's point of view. They were kind of frightening, and loud, so he kept his distance.




Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

This Christmas, embracing my Inner Geek

Photo courtesy of Mike
I would like to become a member of the Sarah Vowell Fan Club. Mike and I were first introduced to Vowell as the voice of Violet, in the animated film The Incredibles. Since then, we have discovered that Sarah Vowell's literary voice is more intriguing than the sarcastic, nasally, perfectly teenaged whine she brings to the character of Violet.

We sat transfixed through the DVD's special features, as the character Violet became flesh and blood in the eerily similar real-life person of Sarah Vowell. Sarah is interviewed in her office, which is adorned with memorabilia of presidential assasinations, and her collection of snow globes.

"Now that I portray a superhero, it's something my family and friends can get behind. I didn't get too much enthusiasm over my research on Garfield's assasination," she quipped during the interview. We watched the featurette twice, and wanted more.

Later, I saw her appearance on John Stewart's the Daily Show, promoting her book Assasination Vacation. Mike checked out the book from the library, which turned out to be an educational and surprisingly funny series of anecdotes on three US presidents and the men who wanted them dead. Since, Mike and I have worked our way through her previous books, reading The Partly Cloudy Patriot, and now Take the Cannoli. I'm looking forward to devouring Radio On: a Listener's Diary. Vowell is also a commentator for NPR's This American Life.

What is it that so appeals to me about her writing? It's not just that her political views agree with my own, only she's far more educated and entertaining about them. Her appeal is more than her candor and wit, and the fact that she inspires me to see historical dimensions in the public places of everyday life.

She's my heroic anti-hero. She's the Shrinking Violet of Superheroes, who has both the power to disappear and the boldness to "withstand embarassment. Maybe even seek it out. To take nerdiness to its most dizzying....extremes...to stick out my tongue at the (tormentors) of the world, run back to the baritone horn of life, and blow mighty and proud," (from Take the Cannoli).

When Mike gave me the Incredibles Violet action hero for Christmas this year, I burst into tears. Because I'm grateful for the man with whom I can take nerdiness to dizzy extremes. Who helps me embrace my wounded inner geek. Who makes me feel like a giddy kid again at Christmas time, playing with my action figure doll with posable arms and legs.

Mike (and Sarah and Violet) inspire me to use my own voice.

Confession

I had an insight after my mom came home from lunch and dropped off Lucy.

Instead of taking my parental frustrations out on Andy, I take them out on my mom. Instead of committing child abuse, I commit mother abuse. Which is probably more insidious, because there's no agency to report it to.

I'm sorry mom. I'm sorry that I blame you for everything in my life from having a stubborn son to my sloppy, unkept house.

I know it will eventually "come back at me". Unless that's one of the benefits of having a son.....

We love Lucy!

I am now a proud auntie to Jessica's newborn, Lucy. Lucy is a Wellington Pug. Andy and I have enjoyed puppy sitting on our days home together, while Jess is at work. The two cousins share a remarkable many traits. Consider:
They both bark at other dogs.
Neither are housebroken. Lucy prefers to poop behind the Christmas tree; Andy has many favorite places around the house.
They both love to play in the backyard and eat tanbark.
They both vie for my constant attention!

That last trait, needing constant attention, is what's keeping me from adding a Pug to our own family. It is tempting. Lucy has a sweet, mellow temperment, and loves to snuggle. Andy giggles deliriously while running after her. I have Lucy withdrawls when we return her to her mommy...

Today I'm officially on Winter Break. Instead of starting laundry and packing for our trip to Pittsburgh on Monday, I'm here blogging while Andy pounds on the television set in a desperate addict's plea for Elmo videos. He got a buzz from inadvertently starting the DVD we left in the player from last night (The House of D--and we don't recommend it).

OK, I just tore him away. Thus starts my lifetime role as my kid's buzz-kill. He's on my lap now, pacified by Iggy Pop's Nightclubbing, the first song that popped up on Mike's iTunes. (Which begs the question, what exactly is Mike doing on his days home?)

Anyway, Andy is rocking out. The kid has rhythm.

Oh, spoke too soon. He just let out an anguished howl in the direction of the TV.

Have I mentioned that my son is strong-willed?

We've got to end this Seseme Street addiction. Other kids may politely hand their parents the remote control in request for more of the sweet muppet stuff. (A parent at the park shared her son's habit of doing this.) Not our little guy. He knows what he wants, and there's nothing subtle about his demands for MORE! VIDEO! NOW! (No words yet, just high-pitched wailing and pounding of fists.)

Which is why, when Mike came home from work last week, I very pitifully asked: "Can we trade him in for a Pug?"

Mike reminded me that Lucy isn't nearly as creative or interesting as Andy, who tried to hang both play-doh and underwear from the Christmas tree.

Where's the manual?

It's been one of those mornings. Before I vent, here are some pictures taken at Johnson's Christmas Tree Farm in Boulder Creek.



After three attempts to get Andy down for a morning nap, I wondered if he was outgrowing the need for one. I've read that sometime during the second year, toddlers will downsize from two naps to one nap. I'm not ready for this to happen, and wanted desperately to consult a Book of Andy, to get a difinitive answer on the napping subject. Why didn't God give us a copy of such a book upon the birth of our darling bundle of joy? I mean, I pushed out all 8 pounds 11 ounces of him. I would have gladly delivered an instruction manual.

The answer, I'm afraid, is that there is no owner's manual because, although I am Andy's mother, I do not own him. The difficulty is finding the balance between his need for autonomy and my need not to spiral into a pit of depression.

I guess that sounds pretty dramatic. The truth is, now that he is finally down for a nap, I'm feeling much better. I also called Kristin, who filled me in on her own drama-filled morning with her nineteen month old daughter, Avery. Turns out they almost missed Kristin's doctor appointment because Avery decided to use the potty. Trouble was, she didn't quite make it into the potty, but all over the bathroom floor.

After hearing their tale, Andy's lack of nap, and lack of desire to sit in his new potty chair seemed less catastrophic.

Mike and I bought Andy a potty this weekend, and checked out books and videos on the subject of "infant potty training". We became interested in the idea when Lara and Eli's seven month old daughter Alyssa came to visit dressed in a cotton diaper without cover.

"No diaper cover?" I asked Lara. She told us that they were practicing something called "elimination communication". This involved watching Alyssa for cues to her need to pee or poo, then taking her to the toilet. Alyssa rarely goes in her diaper anymore. In fact, Lara had cancelled their diaper service.

Mike and I had never heard of this idea. We watched in amazement as Lara held Alyssa over the toilet several times throughout their visit. Alyssa did go in the potty. She did not wet her diaper once.

I thought about the expense of diapers, the stink of the diapers in their pail wafting into the living room. I thought about how Andy squirms and howls over diaper changes. I thought, this isn't a bad idea.

Well, three days into giving potty training a try, I'm ready to take the potty and throw it into the no-man's land that is the garage. Maybe in a few months we can revisit the idea of potty training. Andy is just unwilling to sit on the little potty or the toilet. There are too many other exciting things for him to do, and I don't want to fight him on this one.

Will he be ready at 18 months? 24 months? Three years?

What sayeth the Book of Andrew?

Pretty Woman

Today is Gram's birthday. When visiting her, I asked if she'd watched any good movies lately.

"Well, nothing, really. But I have been wanting to watch Pretty Woman. I can't remember the opera he takes her to."

Mike and I sent Gram a copy of the movie, so she can spend her birthday with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts at La Traviata, an opera about a prostitute who falls in love with a wealthy man. (We're hoping that she and Pop can operate the VCR...)

The days in which Gram stayed up late sewing curtains, and rising early to bake bread, are long gone. But her romantic imagination is alive and well. Her eagerness with this subject always catches me off guard, since she is the wife of a Christian minister. She's never had a drop of alcohol; she's never danced; she's never played cards.

"All you need is a little black nighty, girls," she told my cousins and me, while watching Jerry Maguire some years ago.

"Just walk with your chest out, like this," she told my sister and I once, when she could still go walking on the nature trail by her house. Some elderly men passing by took note.

She's told me, many times, that she is still in love with the man she married over 50 years ago. She's still hoping to be wooed by him.

Happy Birthday, Pretty Woman!

Superbaby

Dear Andy,

You're walking now. You walk better than your great-grandmother, who is 85 and uses a cane. You walk better than my aunt Ann, who fell while hiking and needed seven screws drilled into her ankle. (Yuck, we saw the X-ray).

It was bittersweet to see you toddling around my grandparents' apartment, in their Warm Beach Senior Community, north of Seattle. You made yourself right at home, tossing magazines to the floor, and throwing oranges-- "balls"--across the living room. They were delighted to see your first steps, your determination to walk upright despite repeated topplings. They noticed your unending curiosity of your new surroundings .

"He certainly has ideas about things," Pop said more than once. Those ideas included strumming the heater vents like guitar strings, and twirling Gram's cane like a baton (or nunchucks, depending on who is telling the story).

The bitter part was realizing that you would have no memory of these things. No memory of meeting these beautiful, loving people who absolutely adore you.

I'll have to do my best to remind you.

Love,

Mom

Ruminations

I was all set to take Andy out this morning to our first Felton playgroup. The Mountain Munchkins meet at the Felton Covered Bridge Park at 10:30 on Thursdays. This is the only public playgroup in town that I'm aware of, but it always falls smack dab in the middle of nap time. Nap time is so precious that I haven't wanted to give it up, even though I've wanted to meet up with these munchkins and their mamas for some time now.

Today, I was determined. The plan: get Andy up a little earlier in the morning, and then down for an early nap at 9:00.

Well, at 8:30, Uncle Karl rapped on the window and gave Andy his goofiest smile. I couldn't deny my son the pleasure of hanging out with his Favorite Person in the Whole Wide World. So, Andy and Karl played ball outside, and pushed the Lego Wagon in laps around the living room. Andy lived it up. At a little after nine, there was no way this wired boy could fall asleep. Not with visions of Uncle and ball! dancing in his head. Even though I tried to explain to him that the Munchkins wouldn't wait for us. Didn't he want to expand his social network?

I do. I miss adult conversation on my days home. You might not think that teaching affords many opportunities to socialize. Yet, those brief encounters over the copy machine, in the staff room at lunch, a few exchanges with parents before and after school--they serve as a bridge to the outside world, provide validation that my work with the children is important, and that I am connected to others who are doing the very same, terribly demanding and extremely rewarding, work.

Moms don't get those opportunities, unless they really seek them out. That's half the reason Andy and I venture to the park in the afternoons. Sure, I want Andy to practice climbing and interacting with other children. But I'm always hoping I'll find a sympathetic, friendly mom in the bunch. Someone who wants to admit that her house is never as clean as she would like, and isn't this the hardest job in the world?

Major News Flash

In the beginning, there was the word. And the word was ball.

And then the word became........shoe!

Mike and Karl reported that Andy said this new word, shoe, yesterday. I was doubtful since I didn't hear it directly from the mouth of the babe.

But tonight, he said it again, twice, while taking off his blue Monkey Robeez. He said "Shoooo"! so softly, so sweetly, that I forgave him for squirming and kicking on the diaper changing table, for throwing his toy into the poopy diaper pail, for always preferring uncle Karl to me or anyone else...for doing the countless tiring things that are the work of a 13 month old.

Mike and I basked in the shoe afterglow. Wasn't our son a sweet angel, an articulate genius?

And we wondered, why, out of all the words he could possibly choose from...why shoe?

What will be next?

Night Out

My cousin Meg threw another big birthday bash, this year with a cowboy theme. Half the fun for us was putting our costumes together. (Thanks Romina for the boots and hat!) Our cap guns were the ultimate accessory, even though they were bright orange--you can't buy a realistic looking toy gun these days, for good reason. Who knew that after a few beers the cousin clique would start brandishing our weapons, shooting round after round toward the ceiling? Dancing and shooting. Totally obnoxious and strangely satisfying. Mike tells me later that he took the first shots (as the only sober one in the group). Jess, Hilary and I couldn't be left out. We started a trend and soon a few other cowboys packing heat drew their cap pistols, too. Yee-haw!

I still don't like the idea of guns, even toy guns. I don't want Andy to have any. Yet I found that after a few drinks, I can be a one of the staunchest supporters of the second ammendment.

Happy 28th birthday, Meg!

Happy first birthday, Ben!

Blogger was busy, so some pics are on Flickr.

Ball means many things in his language

I mentioned that we are letting Andy air-dry while his diaper rash clears up. Although he loves being naked and free, I've decided that diapers are really one of humankind's best inventions.

Yesterday he was pushing his lego wagon madly around the living room while his bum caught the breeze. I snatched the opportunity to put his laundry away.

Suddenly, it grew very quiet in the living room. As a parent I've learned that silence, however welcome, is never a good thing.

Sure enough, I walked into the living room to find Andy examining a lump of something warm and brown that came from his own body.

"Ball?" he pondered, looking up at me quizically. The look of horror in my eyes did nothing to convince him otherwise. "Ball!" he proclaimed, pointing excitedly. "Ball!"

He howled in protest as his mean mommy whisked him away from his fresh creation. "Baaaaaall!" To add insult to injury, I put him in a diaper, and he hasn't been without one since.

Just when we thought he was getting closer to the definition of "ball". (Pumpkins and balloons, we can understand...)

Halloween

Mike and I have agreed on rules for our webpage turf wars. He gets first dibs on pictures he takes, and I post the shots that I take. Today I'm scooping his Halloween pics of Andy, since I have more free time than he does, and I just can't resist sharing them:



Andy seemed to have a good time last night. We trick or treated at a few neighborhood houses, including a stop at cousin Nicholas's. We then walked to downtown Felton, where we met his friend Alyssa. (She stole the show in her kitty costume!) For a small town, there were quite a lot of families and kids about. The merchants were generous, many of them dressed up, and the realtors put together a fun Wizard of Oz haunted house.

Back at home, Andy enjoyed helping Mike answer the door in his naked bum (Andy's naked bum, that is). He has a bad diaper rash, so we're airing him out. We passed out five bags of candy and some bubbles before we turned out the porch lights.

All in all, it was a great 2nd Halloween for Andy, but Mike and I had the most fun. We get to relive our childhoods with him. And eat his candy.

More Vacation Pics

Maybe because it's starting to feel like fall...here are some more pictures of Andy in tropical weather:




Did I mention that the little man is now sleeping through the night?

He's delighting us with his sense of humor. One of his favorite games is to duck behind the coffee table, or under a blanket, and wait for us to say "where's Andy?" He'll giggle uproariously, but stay tucked away for a moment or two, then pop up: "Here I am!! Gosh, you guys are gullable!" And he'll laugh and laugh some more.

Changes

I love this picture of Andy and his cousin Nicholas at Felton's New Leaf pumpkin patch:

Nicholas is really sweet with Andy, wanting to push his stroller and play Brio trains with him. In turn, Andy adores Nicholas.

It seems as soon as Andy turned one, he began to develop a will of his own. It's no longer so simple to distract him from things he wants that are dangerous or disgusting (scissors, my hot coffee, the garbage can). He immediately throws himself into a back bend, screaching at the top of his lungs, throwing away the toy or juice that we offer as a consolation prize.

Last week, Andy came into my classroom for a brief visit. He went right for our reward jar full of marbles, so I moved it just out of his reach. He launched right into one of his tantrums. The first graders were wide-eyed in disbelief. How could Mrs. Matessa's child be so naughty? Why didn't she give him a time-out or have him turn his card?

I feel rather helpless in the face of these tantrums. Reading a few books on toddler discipline has given me some strategies. But mostly it reassures me that this is totally normal behavior.

Still, does it have to happen so soon? Where'd my baby go?

Feeling Better

Memories of my vacation to Hawaii are fading into the mist, replaced by memories of being violently, miserably sick. I had two revelations during my bout with food poisoning: so this is what it's like to die, and most of the time, I'm a pretty good mom.

Last Thursday, I thought that Andy might as well have a mother addicted to crack. I was completely unable to take care of him. Luckily, it was just for a morning, until my mom came to the rescue.

I woke up so delirious that I did the unthinkable: took a slice of bread and crackers back into bed, and let Andy have at 'em. He crawled all over the bed, happily munching. I kept waking from my fever induced haze to find some corner of the bed free from crumbs, so that I could curl into a fetal position and shiver. When every inch of the bed was covered in crumbs, it was time to move to the couch.

I plopped Andy down in the middle of the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa. Wouldn't you think this was his golden opportunity to crawl to the toilet, the fireplace, or some other forbidden zone? No, he stood right by me on the couch and screamed at me in his diaper. Get up, mom! What's wrong with you? I have a massive load in here! Can't you see I haven't had a proper breakfast? Play with me!

And I'm thinking, come on kid, here's your chance to finally break the DVD player.

It finally occurred to me that the day was not going to get better. I called my mom at work, and she instantly agreed to come over. Thank God we live so close and she was able to save the day.

When my illness progressed to running to the bathroom with the garbage can, Mike took me to the doctor. I started antibiotics and was better by Sunday. I was really, really bummed to miss my good friend Bernadette's wedding reception on Saturday.

I realize that most of the time, I take my good health for granted.

Back from Paradise

It's been an adjustment.

Siobhan wrote she hoped I didn't cry when l left Hawaii, like she did. Well, I didn't cry, but I haven't ever been as sad to leave a place.

Here are some of my favorite pics:






And one more, lest anyone think it's all smiles in Hawaii:

Hawaii

Back when I was a pimply-faced preteen, and much too old to be playing imaginary games, I liked to pretend that I was going to Hawaii. Cassandra liked to pretend this, too, so we invented a game called "Hawaii". The game consisted of us taking turns talking to our "boyfriends" on a disconnected phone about our plans for the trip. After about fifteen minutes, we'd look at each other sheepishly, and end the game. But we'd inevitably play "Hawaii" the next time we got together.

About five years ago, Cassandra traveled to Hawaii for the first time. Now, it's finally my turn to go! Mike, Andy, my parents and I leave Friday for a week on the Big Island. (Will a real life family be more fun than an imaginary boyfriend? Hmmmm...I'll see!)

We'll stay in Kona for five days, right across from Kahalu'u beach. Our guidebook calls this beach a "real gem", and "one of the nicer snorkeling spots on the island". Andy, get your mask and fins on!! Kona, here we come!

After Kona, we'll drive to the other side of the island, and stay near Volcanoes National Park. We're hoping we'll see some lava flows while we're there. The pictures of the glowing lava in the guidebook are spectacular. Andy can't get enough of the photographs, either. My mom was impressed to see him turning the pages of the guidebook, as if he were helping to plan our trip. I'd like to visit this black sand beach, mother .

To survive the five hour plane trip there and back, I've combed the collective wisdom of the Mountain View Las Madres play group. The most helpful advice has been to stock up on Baby Einstein and Elmo DVDs. The only thing I'm left to wonder is, did their babies actually wear earphones? Or did they just turn on the speakers on the laptop, figuring other passengers would rather hear Elmo babble than their baby scream the entire time?

Birthday Boy

Here is the newborn Andy, one year ago:

And yesterday, happy at last, with his toys:

The tired birthday prince, ready for a nap:


Blogger takes too long to load multiple photos, so I'm giving Flickr a try. Come and see more pictures of Andy's first birthday party, by clicking here. Thanks, Keidi, for taking the pics yesterday!