Wessy has been three for over a month now, so I guess now is as good a time as any to write a blog post about it? Three years old, for some reason, feels like a real solid kid age. I read some books about child development by Alison Gopnik, and in her mind, she defines babies as anyone under three. So I always had it in my mind that when Wesley turned three, he would officially be Not a Baby Anymore. Mind you, this is very different from Not MY Baby Anymore, which is something he will never, ever be.
In HIS mind, Wessy is DEFINITELY NOT A BABY ANYMORE. If you say anything about him being a baby, or owning baby things, or doing baby things, he will immediately and emphatically correct you: SOY UN NINYO GRANDE MAMA. Once he saw a picture of a baby rattle in a book and asked me what it was. I told him, "That's a baby rattle. You had one when you were a baby." He sighed at my ignorance and corrected me, "MAMA, I HAD A BIG BOY RATTLE."
If I get all mushy and sentimental and tell him he's my little baby, he will quickly point out, that, no, PLANTAS ES TU BEBE. SOY TU NINYO GRANDE. Usually I'm too overcome by the cuteness of this to argue the above point about him never not being my baby and/or go into the fact that he and Plantas are both, in fact, my babies and always will be, so I just acquiesce and agree that he's a big boy and Plantas is a fetus-baby and everyone is happy.
Speaking of Plantas, Wessy's understanding of Plantas seems to have evolved. He previously had asked me and Stevo who Plantas's parents were, uncomprehending of the fact that he could share his parents. Now he readily accepts that we are able to be parents to him and Plantas both. Correspondingly, he is accepting, if not entirely embracing, of his big brother role. He uses it to bolster his I'm-not-a-baby case (Stevo said that a week ago he told him, "I'm not a baby because I'm three and I'm going to be a big brother"). He also accepts big brotherhood as an important facet of family life--so important, in fact, that a few days ago he asked me, "MAMA QUIEN FUE MI HERMANO MAYOR CUANDO YO ERA BEBE?"
Granted, he has not been unwavering in his endorsement of having a little sibling. He has also told me on occasion, very politely but emphatically, that he would prefer that Plantas just stayed inside forever. Sorry buddy, but that is NOT a plan that I can get behind. Then again, yesterday he told me that he was excited for Plantas to come. Three year olds are nothing if not mercurial, and I have no doubt that this rapid-fire changing of opinion is an accurate foreshadowing of their sibling relationship.
Apart from negotiating the baby-big boy divide and anticipating the arrival of a sibling, the next biggest thing going on in Wessy's three year-old world is getting used to his new preschool. We are a month in, and preschool seems to be getting easier for Wessy, which is not to say that it's going super smoothly yet. He still resists going to school in the mornings, but does seem to relax and do well once he's there--at least from what we can gather from the many pictures and videos the teachers dutifully send us almost daily.
Generally, the first thing out of his mouth in the morning is "I don't want to go to school." Part of me knows this is just (expected) adjustment phase and that things are going to get easier for him as he understands more Chinese and gets to know his classmates better. Another part of me doesn't want him to dislike going to school, even a little bit, when he's only three. As someone who complained that she hated school for many years (and I really did) to parents who never did much about it, I don't want to give him the impression I'm dismissing his concerns when I tell him that it's okay and it will get better.
And of course, there is the part of me that ALSO doesn't want to just throw in the towel because it's hard right now, because I'm fairly confident that he will really like school once he understands more Chinese. AND I don't want him to learn that the way to solve one's issues is to just give up or leave the situation entirely rather than adapting and trying to make it work.
We definitely see little glimmers of hope come out here and there--he came home a few days ago singing Happy Birthday in Chinese, and he will sometimes spontaneously bust out Kung Fu moves. So I know that he is participating at school and absorbing all kinds of new things that I hope are enjoyable and interesting to him. In fact, yesterday when Jeje went to pick him up, he told her that he didn't want to leave yet! And then this morning...back to "I don't want to go to school today." Sigh.
So, there is Wessy's three year-old world for you...learning to be a brand-new big boy, adjusting the idea of becoming a big brother and hopefully hating preschool a little less each day. We love him desperately. We just want him to be happy and to learn to negotiate all these changes with as much resilience and good humor as possible, but it's hard to see him struggle (even in ways that are safe and not a huge deal in the scheme of things).
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Monday, September 3, 2018
Gwynn Valley
Last month we returned to the place it all started, Gwynn Valley. Olivia and I met there 12 years ago. We'd been back a few times for a brief visit, but wessy had never even set foot in North Carolina much less been to camp. He was enthusiastic from the start, given that the trip began with a ride on an airplane. The flight was a great success. We bought him these toddler headphones, which may have been good for an hour or so of entertainment. We had positioned ourselves with seats near the rear toilet, and wessy was happy to make use of it.
The trip started with a visit to auntie Ray and uncle Kevin's house in Atlanta. We took the MARTA rail which wessy dubbed "el BART." Understandable mistake. The rolling stock is the same for both systems, and the trains even make a similar humming noise as they roll.
At camp, Wessy's favorite activity by far was picking up rocks and sticks in the many streams.
Picking leaves off the plants and tree was also a hit.
Of course, Wessy enjoyed the farm and the horses.
It should be noted that while several of these pics show me leading Wessy around camp, almost all of the Wessy-containment duties fell to mommy, as I was perpetually being called to some minor "emergency" or another. We were actually there putatively so I could be the camp doctor, but it seemed more like we were there to enjoy the mountains of NC on a pseudo-vacation.
Most of the medical issues that arose were fairly prosaic: mystery rashes, bug bites, etc. We did have some broken bones, and a rather scary episode involving a pitchfork vs a hand. I'll leave it at that.
I had requested that we have a separate room for Wessy (declined), but this turned out to be completely unnecessary. Wessy slept in his portable crib in the corner of our room, and slept remarkably well (usually in bed by 8, babbling until 9 or 10, and then up at 8 AM). Not too shabby.
We stayed at camp the entire time except one foray into Asheville to celebrate Rob's birthday.
On the way home, we came back to see Wessy's cousins one more time and return Ray's car. Wessy got some time to play with his cousin Ada, which mostly involved wessy splashing Ada and enjoying the novelty of running around outside shirtless.
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Hurtling towards the future
At least once a day, I look at Stevo and say sadly, “He’s
too big.” Stevo will sigh resignedly and
say “I know. What are we going to do about it?” Of course we are asking these
questions more to reflect on our own sadness that his childhood is passing,
knowing that watching Wessy grow happily is infinitely preferable to any actual
alternative. It feels selfish to even
resent him growing, but the fact remains that all those bastards who said that “it
goes too fast” were right.
One of the most wonderful and most terrible things about
Wessy turning three is that his transformation from baby to child is rapidly
concluding. His activities as well as
general developmental terminology label him firmly as a “preschooler” as
opposed to a “toddler.” He doesn’t, in fact,
toddle anymore. He runs, albeit with a straight-legged
quick step that I hope never changes (but it will).
A lot of child development teaching focuses on how children
Wessy’s age have “big feelings” and he is no exception. When we went berry picking on father’s day,
he accidentally dropped a basket of blackberries. He swiftly burst into inconsolable tears. “I DON’T WANT THE BLACKBERRIES TO FALL.” He
wasn’t upset because he was hurt, or even because we couldn’t immediately pick
the blackberries back up, but only because he so strongly did not want them to
fall. In his miniature world, things I
would dismiss without thinking about are full of meaning and gravity.
This morning, he stumbled getting out of bed and fell on his
leg. He cried quite forcefully for a
short time, then announced “I DON’T WANT TO FALL.” He insisted on a re-do,
climbing back into his bed and then successfully easing himself out of the bed
onto the floor. That done, he was able
to move on with his day.
I find that Wessy is the most babylike when he sleeps. Now that he’s potty-trained during the day,
it’s the last time that he still wears a diaper. He’s a fan of sleeping without pants on
(though that has been curtailed lately due to some diaper-removal incidents). Seeing him in a diaper with his little thighs
out, blankets thrown off, his face soft, lips pursed, he still looks like his
newborn self. During the day, his
sentience and speed make him seem so much bigger and older.
Lamentably, Wessy has not had as many struggles with
enunciation as some toddlers (ahem, preschoolers). His malaprops
are somewhat limited but include “HELICOCKERO” (as opposed to helicoptero) and “CORAZONES”
(rather than croissants). Otherwise, his speech is shockingly intelligible. He does sometimes get over-excited and his brain will outpace his mouth and he will repeat the same few words a few times until his brain catches up and he can finish the thought.
So far, we have about two weeks at his new preschool under our belts. From our end, it's amazing--Jeje drops him off in the morning, he eats breakfast there, stays all day and gets lunch, a nap and a snack there too before she picks him up in the evening. He has dance class and they often do cooking projects. Unbeknownst to us, the teachers there even got him a little Transformers-themed playdough set for his birthday. This morning he insisted on carrying the picture of the transformers that came in the box with him on the bus.
From Wessy's perspective, the transition to school has been a little less fantastic. Overall, he seems very happy and very much himself, so we are not too worried, but he does say in the morning that he doesn't want to go to school. If you ask him why, he will helpfully volunteer, "because I already went," or "because I want to stay home." Jeje says that sometimes he will cry at drop-off, too, though his teachers tell us that this is short-lived and he does well once he is distracted.
I'm guessing some of the transition pains are due to the language change (Spanish to Mandarin) and also to the fact that now he goes to school five days a week instead of three. Oh, and because we moved, my schedule changed and we told him he's getting a new sibling. So really I can't blame him if he's feeling a little overcome with all the changes lately. Every day is getting a little easier, though.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
humanoid
I remember being on a bus in Tanzania (10 years ago! Holy shit!) and watching a baboon (I think? It was some sort of large ape) sit by the side of the road and meticulously peel and eat a banana. One of my fellow passengers remarked to his seatmate: "Anakula kama binadamu" which means "He eats like a human."
Today at dinner I watched Wessy clutching his plastic spork in his left hand (we're 80% sure he's left-handed), eating spoonfuls of yogurt in a semi-civilized manner. He was chatting casually, hoisting the spork to his mouth and, most remarkably, the vast majority of the yogurt was reaching its target. And I thought: "Anakula kama binadamu." This little guy I've raised from a blastocyst is eating like a human. He's still not as coordinated as that ape, but nor does he have opposable thumbs on his feet.
And so, we have a little human. I blinked once, maybe twice, and my little squishy squish now wears underpants and speaks three languages (KIND OF). And he eats like a human.
Today at dinner I watched Wessy clutching his plastic spork in his left hand (we're 80% sure he's left-handed), eating spoonfuls of yogurt in a semi-civilized manner. He was chatting casually, hoisting the spork to his mouth and, most remarkably, the vast majority of the yogurt was reaching its target. And I thought: "Anakula kama binadamu." This little guy I've raised from a blastocyst is eating like a human. He's still not as coordinated as that ape, but nor does he have opposable thumbs on his feet.
And so, we have a little human. I blinked once, maybe twice, and my little squishy squish now wears underpants and speaks three languages (KIND OF). And he eats like a human.
Monday, July 16, 2018
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Wessy says . . .
"papa cura a la gente con medicamentos y con electricidad"
translation: dad cures people with medicines and with electricity [ie, cardiac defibrilation]
translation: dad cures people with medicines and with electricity [ie, cardiac defibrilation]
Thursday, June 21, 2018
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Wessy says...
"Papá, esta ambulancia va a buscar a enfermitos para llevártelos?"
Translation: "dad, is that ambulance going to look for sick people to bring them to you?"
Translation: "dad, is that ambulance going to look for sick people to bring them to you?"
Friday, June 1, 2018
big news
By now, we have hopefully told all of you in person (by which I mean over the phone): We are expecting a new baby at Thanksgiving! Wessy is going to be a big brother! I'm a little more than 15 weeks along at this point, which seems like a solid enough number to make this announcement internet-official.
I've been feeling fine. My first trimester was a little bit rough, mainly because I was working more than full time and doing a lot of nights. I was painfully exhausted through the entire month of April. I had some mild nausea, nothing too unmanageable, and a raging appetite. I swear I have never been hungrier in my life.
Even in the first months of breast feeding Wessy, when my caloric needs were roughly that of Michael Phelps, I was not as hungry as during my first trimester. During the first tri, I could eat an entire large meal and then be as hungry again in thirty minutes as if I had not eaten in days. On my night shifts, I would eat the dinner I brought and then order another take out dinner. All I wanted was fatty, greasy and sweet foods. I was uninterested in vegetables and meh about fruit. I suppose I should not be surprised that I gained ten pounds in the first twelve weeks.
Thankfully, I've worked a lot less in May and consequently have been more energetic and able to hit the gym more. My appetite has normalized somewhat (though I admit that I still indulge more in treats than before) and I'm only eating one dinner a night. Mostly I feel like myself. A grumpy, paunchy, sober version of myself. Some days I even forget I'm pregnant. Then I'll pass a mirror, look at my gut and think, "girl, you look pregnant." And then I remember there's a reason for that.
With my pregnancy with Wessy, I was terrified of having a child. I had no idea what it would be like. Everything was an unknown. I worried about everything. This time around, probably because I have a toddler and a job and whatnot, I haven't really worried much. Not because things can't or won't go wrong, but mostly because I'm too tired to get worked up about it.
Having a second child is also different in that you already know what hard work it is to have a child. We are excited, of course, but we are also steeling ourselves for a higher level of hustle and somewhat different lifestyle going forward. We are basically throwing away our opportunity at being those cool people who still go out and travel and eat at hip restaurants with their one perfectly behaved child and officially becoming Mom and Dad. Might as well buy an RV and some elastic-waist pants now. But I digress. Yes, we're excited. Yes, it will probably be awesome--eventually--but I'm a little scared of the first six months.
Can I say that Wessy is excited? No. Nor is he upset, jealous or confused. The best word I can use to describe his attitude towards the fetus is "uncomprehending." He has decreed that the fetus shall be called "PLANTAS" (he was looking out the window at some potted plants in the yard when I asked him what we should name the baby) and that the baby is a female. I must note that this is Wessy's intuition and not based on actual data--we are going to be those annoying people who are going to wait for the baby to be born to find out the sex.
He kind of understands that there is a baby in my uterus. One day, as I was leaving for work, he asked me, "Is the baby going with you to work?" This morning, he inclined his face towards my abdomen and said "HOLA PLANTAS!" From time to time, he will ask to touch PLANTAS or will volunteer take PLANTAS out of my abdomen through my mouth. When I tell him that PLANTAS has to stay inside for awhile longer, he will helpfully volunteer to help PLANTAS stay put (unclear how he intends to do this--perhaps we have a future MFM on our hands?).
Wessy does occasionally ask some very thought-provoking questions about the fetus. Does PLANTAS have clothes? Does PLANTAS wear diapers? What happens to PLANTAS'S poop if s/he doesn't wear diapers? What does PLANTAS eat? All very logical questions to be honest. He has volunteered to share his diapers and his underpants with PLANTAS but is wary of letting PLANTAS sleep in his old crib. As a compromise, he has generously offered to let PLANTAS sleep in his toddler bed while he himself goes back to sleeping in his old pack and play.
I suspect that their sibling relationship will require some recalibration once (God willing) PLANTAS is actually born, but I'm hopeful that the two of them can be buddies. Having siblings is one of the best things that ever happened to me, and hopefully the two of them will be loving and caring towards each other. Just like me and my siblings when we were younger (LOLOLOLOLOL).
I've been feeling fine. My first trimester was a little bit rough, mainly because I was working more than full time and doing a lot of nights. I was painfully exhausted through the entire month of April. I had some mild nausea, nothing too unmanageable, and a raging appetite. I swear I have never been hungrier in my life.
Even in the first months of breast feeding Wessy, when my caloric needs were roughly that of Michael Phelps, I was not as hungry as during my first trimester. During the first tri, I could eat an entire large meal and then be as hungry again in thirty minutes as if I had not eaten in days. On my night shifts, I would eat the dinner I brought and then order another take out dinner. All I wanted was fatty, greasy and sweet foods. I was uninterested in vegetables and meh about fruit. I suppose I should not be surprised that I gained ten pounds in the first twelve weeks.
Thankfully, I've worked a lot less in May and consequently have been more energetic and able to hit the gym more. My appetite has normalized somewhat (though I admit that I still indulge more in treats than before) and I'm only eating one dinner a night. Mostly I feel like myself. A grumpy, paunchy, sober version of myself. Some days I even forget I'm pregnant. Then I'll pass a mirror, look at my gut and think, "girl, you look pregnant." And then I remember there's a reason for that.
With my pregnancy with Wessy, I was terrified of having a child. I had no idea what it would be like. Everything was an unknown. I worried about everything. This time around, probably because I have a toddler and a job and whatnot, I haven't really worried much. Not because things can't or won't go wrong, but mostly because I'm too tired to get worked up about it.
Having a second child is also different in that you already know what hard work it is to have a child. We are excited, of course, but we are also steeling ourselves for a higher level of hustle and somewhat different lifestyle going forward. We are basically throwing away our opportunity at being those cool people who still go out and travel and eat at hip restaurants with their one perfectly behaved child and officially becoming Mom and Dad. Might as well buy an RV and some elastic-waist pants now. But I digress. Yes, we're excited. Yes, it will probably be awesome--eventually--but I'm a little scared of the first six months.
Can I say that Wessy is excited? No. Nor is he upset, jealous or confused. The best word I can use to describe his attitude towards the fetus is "uncomprehending." He has decreed that the fetus shall be called "PLANTAS" (he was looking out the window at some potted plants in the yard when I asked him what we should name the baby) and that the baby is a female. I must note that this is Wessy's intuition and not based on actual data--we are going to be those annoying people who are going to wait for the baby to be born to find out the sex.
He kind of understands that there is a baby in my uterus. One day, as I was leaving for work, he asked me, "Is the baby going with you to work?" This morning, he inclined his face towards my abdomen and said "HOLA PLANTAS!" From time to time, he will ask to touch PLANTAS or will volunteer take PLANTAS out of my abdomen through my mouth. When I tell him that PLANTAS has to stay inside for awhile longer, he will helpfully volunteer to help PLANTAS stay put (unclear how he intends to do this--perhaps we have a future MFM on our hands?).
Wessy does occasionally ask some very thought-provoking questions about the fetus. Does PLANTAS have clothes? Does PLANTAS wear diapers? What happens to PLANTAS'S poop if s/he doesn't wear diapers? What does PLANTAS eat? All very logical questions to be honest. He has volunteered to share his diapers and his underpants with PLANTAS but is wary of letting PLANTAS sleep in his old crib. As a compromise, he has generously offered to let PLANTAS sleep in his toddler bed while he himself goes back to sleeping in his old pack and play.
I suspect that their sibling relationship will require some recalibration once (God willing) PLANTAS is actually born, but I'm hopeful that the two of them can be buddies. Having siblings is one of the best things that ever happened to me, and hopefully the two of them will be loving and caring towards each other. Just like me and my siblings when we were younger (LOLOLOLOLOL).
Return to Pinnacles
This past week, we returned to Pinnacles National Park for a camping trip! As you may recall, we went there last year at the end of March, and it was an incredible time. This year, being as it was the end of May, it was hotter. Also being that it was a year later, a certain someone was a lot larger and more unruly.
Camping and hiking with Wessy have never been particularly easy. He has always been a restless sort, an erratic hiker and unusually attracted to dangerous things. But this trip set a new watermark for how challenging it was to handle him on a camping trip.
At this stage, we are in the "doughnut hole" of hiking, Wessy-wise. He is generally too large and too squirmy to be contained in a hiking backpack, as was the case in days of yore. If he's a in a favorable mood, maybe we can carry him half or three-quarters of a mile before he starts writhing around and asking to be put down. And it is tempting to put him down, because he's big and heavy. However, if you do, you will probably regret it fairly quickly.
Once you put him down, he will begin his beagle-style explorations of the trail and environs. He will alternate between minute examination of each stone, each leaf and each blade of grass in his purview and erratically bolting towards unseen but attractive objects in the distance. He will either drag pokily along, impervious to any verbal encouragement or threats, or he will sprint headlong down the trail until he inevitably falls and hurts something. He will ask incessantly to go back to the car, or to touch some owl scat he found on the trail or to go to the edge of a nearby cliff to peer at what's below.
So, bottom line, we knew that our usually respectable hiking ambitions would have to be scaled back somewhat on this trip. We would have to try something new for both of us--being patient!--and just let Wessy do his thing. Otherwise, there would be frustration and crying all around.
The first day, we did a fairly mellow hike. It was supposedly to see a cave that was equipped with handrails and steps, courtesy of the Great Depression, but the cave was closed seasonally to allow the inhabitant bats to recuperate from the endless stream of tourists. Nevertheless, we slowly but surely did the hike, alternating between carrying our little angry sack of weasels on our back and letting him lurch around the trail. At the midpoint of the hike, at a reservoir that had been dammed by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, we encountered a very bold squirrel.
The squirrel looked very scrappy and experienced, with a partially denuded tail and absolutely no shame or fear in approaching humans. We tried scaring him off with shouting but that was minimally effective, so we started throwing small rocks. This would work for about 30 seconds at a time. In frustration, I angrily yelled "MOVE IT!!" to the squirrel while running towards it and waving my arms. The squirrel was nonplussed but Wessy thought it was pretty funny. For the rest of the trip, whenever there were flies swarming around him, Wessy would wave his hands and shout '"RUBE IT !!! RUBE IT!!"
The second day we took a similar approach and chose an easy out-and-back. Disaster nearly struck mid-way when Wessy had to poop but there was no bathroom. With much effort, we convinced him to poop in the woods and then we packed it out. The whole thing was a little gross, but preferable to either letting him sit in a dirty diaper for the rest of the morning or contending with a set of soiled clothes. Again, we let Wessy do a bit of walking on his own and tried to just sit back and let him go at his own pace without too much prodding.
The wonderful thing about visiting Pinnacles mid-week is that, unlike the weekends, it's very chill. There were very few other people in the campground. For our first night, there was no one in the two surrounding sites, and for the next two nights there was only a quiet older couple who had two grown boys of their own and were exceptionally tolerant of Wessy's yelling and carrying on.
The other great thing about visiting Pinnacles when we did is that there is a pool at the campground. It's really nothing special and I can't say that it's very meticulously maintained, but at the end of a long hot, dusty day there is really nothing better than jumping in a pool. Despite the daytime heat, because it cools off so much at night, the pool was refreshingly cool. Wessy declined to put more than his feet in, but he did enjoy egging and cajoling Stevo and me to jump in. At one point, I told him that I would jump in when he counted to five. He gamely replied "UNO CUATRO SEIS CINCO!!" and then waited for me to jump. About thirty seconds of coaching and cuing later, he did manage to sort of count to five, so I fulfilled my end of the bargain and jumped in.
In the afternoons, we attempted to nap in the tent. Just like last time we went to Pinnacles, Wessy found tent life far too exciting for napping. We did make one key improvement over last time we went car-camping, though. A friend gave us a travel pack-and-play, which we set up inside our gigantic tent. This functioned as a Wessy-containment system that at least prevented him from poking our eyeballs and breathing on our faces as we tried to sleep. So for both afternoons, Stevo and I dozed with the soft sounds of Wessy reading his books (upside down) to himself and periodically yelling at us to wake up. After about 90 minutes, we gave up and went back to the camp store and had some ice cream (really frozen Yogurt tubes) and then hung out at the pool.
I'd say my very favorite thing about camping, and Pinnacles in particular, is how quiet it was. There was no internet or even cell service, which meant that I wasn't distracted by even the possibility of anything popping up on my phone. Because we were out in the woods, there was no way we could get sidetracked by random chores or inopportune interruptions. We just spent time with each other and read our books and enjoyed the simple pleasures of sitting by the fire.
The hot afternoons were deafeningly quiet and still--if we still lived in Santa Rosa I may have found it creepy, but coming from the city, it was just peaceful. Stevo and I both decided that our best family vacations have been when we are away from internet and cell service, or at least in a place where we can easily turn off and stow our phones without a second thought.
The one complication to our peace and quiet were the aggressive campsite raccoons. Much like the squirrel we encountered earlier, these raccoons were heavily habituated to humans. They had no shame in approaching our campsite and rummaging around for scraps of food that may have been left out. They even tried (but did not succeed) to manually open the "animal-proof" food lockers in the campsite. They would scamper away if you yelled or threw something at them, but them come right back to try their luck again about thirty seconds later. If I hadn't been a little worried that they might succeed in unzipping our tent while we were sleeping and rob us blind, I'd have found them more amusing.
Wessy's enthusiasm for camping seemed to wax and wane somewhat, but overall I do think he enjoyed himself. His tolerance of the swarming flies did improve over the course of the trip, and the third night he was so profoundly exhausted from a day of running around that he fell asleep as I was lifting him into his travel crib. Last night, as he was lying in his bed in San Francisco, he asked me if we could go camping again tomorrow. I told him, no not tomorrow, but yes, we will go camping again very soon!
Camping and hiking with Wessy have never been particularly easy. He has always been a restless sort, an erratic hiker and unusually attracted to dangerous things. But this trip set a new watermark for how challenging it was to handle him on a camping trip.
At this stage, we are in the "doughnut hole" of hiking, Wessy-wise. He is generally too large and too squirmy to be contained in a hiking backpack, as was the case in days of yore. If he's a in a favorable mood, maybe we can carry him half or three-quarters of a mile before he starts writhing around and asking to be put down. And it is tempting to put him down, because he's big and heavy. However, if you do, you will probably regret it fairly quickly.
Once you put him down, he will begin his beagle-style explorations of the trail and environs. He will alternate between minute examination of each stone, each leaf and each blade of grass in his purview and erratically bolting towards unseen but attractive objects in the distance. He will either drag pokily along, impervious to any verbal encouragement or threats, or he will sprint headlong down the trail until he inevitably falls and hurts something. He will ask incessantly to go back to the car, or to touch some owl scat he found on the trail or to go to the edge of a nearby cliff to peer at what's below.
So, bottom line, we knew that our usually respectable hiking ambitions would have to be scaled back somewhat on this trip. We would have to try something new for both of us--being patient!--and just let Wessy do his thing. Otherwise, there would be frustration and crying all around.
The first day, we did a fairly mellow hike. It was supposedly to see a cave that was equipped with handrails and steps, courtesy of the Great Depression, but the cave was closed seasonally to allow the inhabitant bats to recuperate from the endless stream of tourists. Nevertheless, we slowly but surely did the hike, alternating between carrying our little angry sack of weasels on our back and letting him lurch around the trail. At the midpoint of the hike, at a reservoir that had been dammed by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, we encountered a very bold squirrel.
The squirrel looked very scrappy and experienced, with a partially denuded tail and absolutely no shame or fear in approaching humans. We tried scaring him off with shouting but that was minimally effective, so we started throwing small rocks. This would work for about 30 seconds at a time. In frustration, I angrily yelled "MOVE IT!!" to the squirrel while running towards it and waving my arms. The squirrel was nonplussed but Wessy thought it was pretty funny. For the rest of the trip, whenever there were flies swarming around him, Wessy would wave his hands and shout '"RUBE IT !!! RUBE IT!!"
The second day we took a similar approach and chose an easy out-and-back. Disaster nearly struck mid-way when Wessy had to poop but there was no bathroom. With much effort, we convinced him to poop in the woods and then we packed it out. The whole thing was a little gross, but preferable to either letting him sit in a dirty diaper for the rest of the morning or contending with a set of soiled clothes. Again, we let Wessy do a bit of walking on his own and tried to just sit back and let him go at his own pace without too much prodding.
The wonderful thing about visiting Pinnacles mid-week is that, unlike the weekends, it's very chill. There were very few other people in the campground. For our first night, there was no one in the two surrounding sites, and for the next two nights there was only a quiet older couple who had two grown boys of their own and were exceptionally tolerant of Wessy's yelling and carrying on.
The other great thing about visiting Pinnacles when we did is that there is a pool at the campground. It's really nothing special and I can't say that it's very meticulously maintained, but at the end of a long hot, dusty day there is really nothing better than jumping in a pool. Despite the daytime heat, because it cools off so much at night, the pool was refreshingly cool. Wessy declined to put more than his feet in, but he did enjoy egging and cajoling Stevo and me to jump in. At one point, I told him that I would jump in when he counted to five. He gamely replied "UNO CUATRO SEIS CINCO!!" and then waited for me to jump. About thirty seconds of coaching and cuing later, he did manage to sort of count to five, so I fulfilled my end of the bargain and jumped in.
In the afternoons, we attempted to nap in the tent. Just like last time we went to Pinnacles, Wessy found tent life far too exciting for napping. We did make one key improvement over last time we went car-camping, though. A friend gave us a travel pack-and-play, which we set up inside our gigantic tent. This functioned as a Wessy-containment system that at least prevented him from poking our eyeballs and breathing on our faces as we tried to sleep. So for both afternoons, Stevo and I dozed with the soft sounds of Wessy reading his books (upside down) to himself and periodically yelling at us to wake up. After about 90 minutes, we gave up and went back to the camp store and had some ice cream (really frozen Yogurt tubes) and then hung out at the pool.
I'd say my very favorite thing about camping, and Pinnacles in particular, is how quiet it was. There was no internet or even cell service, which meant that I wasn't distracted by even the possibility of anything popping up on my phone. Because we were out in the woods, there was no way we could get sidetracked by random chores or inopportune interruptions. We just spent time with each other and read our books and enjoyed the simple pleasures of sitting by the fire.
The hot afternoons were deafeningly quiet and still--if we still lived in Santa Rosa I may have found it creepy, but coming from the city, it was just peaceful. Stevo and I both decided that our best family vacations have been when we are away from internet and cell service, or at least in a place where we can easily turn off and stow our phones without a second thought.
The one complication to our peace and quiet were the aggressive campsite raccoons. Much like the squirrel we encountered earlier, these raccoons were heavily habituated to humans. They had no shame in approaching our campsite and rummaging around for scraps of food that may have been left out. They even tried (but did not succeed) to manually open the "animal-proof" food lockers in the campsite. They would scamper away if you yelled or threw something at them, but them come right back to try their luck again about thirty seconds later. If I hadn't been a little worried that they might succeed in unzipping our tent while we were sleeping and rob us blind, I'd have found them more amusing.
Wessy's enthusiasm for camping seemed to wax and wane somewhat, but overall I do think he enjoyed himself. His tolerance of the swarming flies did improve over the course of the trip, and the third night he was so profoundly exhausted from a day of running around that he fell asleep as I was lifting him into his travel crib. Last night, as he was lying in his bed in San Francisco, he asked me if we could go camping again tomorrow. I told him, no not tomorrow, but yes, we will go camping again very soon!
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
Monday, April 30, 2018
My son: A primer
Considering that Wessy is about to go to full-time preschool, I thought I'd write down a few things that may be helpful to the preschool about him and how to interpret his behavior.
Dear Preschool,
First of all, thanks so much for accepting my child into your school. You had us at "breakfast, lunch and snack," but you really sealed the deal with "help with potty training." Wesley is very much looking forward to starting full-time preschool.
There are some things you should know first. One, when we said on the application that he was potty-trained, well, that was just a generalization. Do we put normal underpants on him and pretend he is potty-trained despite the fact that this results in four or five clothing changes a day? Yes, yes we do. Does he tell us three out of four times before he craps his pants? Yes, yes he does. Did he meticulously pull his pants and underpants down and discreetly perch in the corner of the sandbox to take a dump at Dolores Park the other day? No comment. I will leave it up to you whether you think this counts as potty-trained. Pro tip: His way of telling us he has to go potty is to yell MY STOMACH HURTS (ME DUELE LA PANZA) in Spanish. Considering your teachers are primarily Mandarin-speaking, maybe one of your earlier priorities could be to teach him a Chinese equivalent?
Speaking of Chinese immersion...well, we are having a little problem with our English immersion right now. Basically, Wesley doesn't want to live in an Anglophone household. If we (his parents) are speaking to each other in English, he will chide us loudly, "NO HABLEN!," or, sometimes more gently, "HABLEN ESPANYOL!" If you try to read him a book in English, he will decline to listen,
demanding either a switch to laborious simultaneous translation or to a book written in Spanish. If you explain that a particular book was written in English and that it loses a significant amount of context and/or narrative value if translated (an excellent example would be anything by Dr. Seuss), he will not take no for an answer and will prefer a shitty Spanish translation to a melodious English narrative.
Another thing that you should know is that he asks a lot of questions. I know what you are going to say--curiosity is natural at this age and it's wonderful that he has such an inquiring mind. We think it's wonderful too, to a point. Most days we are past that point by 8am. He will ask you anything, at any time. If you tell him he can have something in the future, the immediate follow up question is "DONDE ESTA EL FUTURO?," which, if you think about it, is a very interesting concept. If you tell him it's late and it's time to sleep, he will ask how to "take away the late," which again, is an interesting concept but a tough one to explain to his satisfaction.
He will ask where his "teeth card" (business card with a picture of a lovely veneered smile) that the dentist gave him two weeks ago is now, despite the fact that he has not seen or inquired after it since you recycled it 13 days ago. Today he asked if he could tell the childcare workers at the Y that he had a light fixture in his bedroom that was still in a box (true). If you see a picture of an aquarium in a book, he will ask what fish eat, where their mothers are, why isn't there coral in that aquarium, and where are the bubbles, and can he have some fish and can we go buy them now, and can their name be PLANTS? Basically he devotes this level of scrutiny to every thing in his life.
As intense as he is about asking questions, he is twice as intense about touching things. This is very unfortunate in San Francisco, a city full of dog shit and discarded needles. I would appreciate you keeping a very good eye on him. This morning, he did manage to snake his hand underneath the plastic cover of a fire alarm and was extremely close to pulling the lever before I removed him from the vicinity. Other recent exciting things to touch include toilet seats, plungers, any floor, anything really. Doesn't matter much as long as he can touch it and then put his fingers into his mouth. That second part is key. So, mainly, the most important thing would be to just make sure he washes his hands before he eats.
At the moment, he is supposed to be napping. I can tell he is not by the periodic crashing sounds and the dog-like yipping emanating from his room. I'm crouching in the corner of the kitchen at the opposite side of the house because if I move he will be able to sense my presence and will start yelling that the sun has come up. He knows that he can wear us down with the screaming, because it just isn't humanly possible to do anything else while listening to something so shrill and grating. I hope your tolerance for it exceeds mine.
Anyway, thanks again for taking him and also for having full day availability. We will be there at 7am on the opening day with bells on! Can't wait!
Dear Preschool,
First of all, thanks so much for accepting my child into your school. You had us at "breakfast, lunch and snack," but you really sealed the deal with "help with potty training." Wesley is very much looking forward to starting full-time preschool.
There are some things you should know first. One, when we said on the application that he was potty-trained, well, that was just a generalization. Do we put normal underpants on him and pretend he is potty-trained despite the fact that this results in four or five clothing changes a day? Yes, yes we do. Does he tell us three out of four times before he craps his pants? Yes, yes he does. Did he meticulously pull his pants and underpants down and discreetly perch in the corner of the sandbox to take a dump at Dolores Park the other day? No comment. I will leave it up to you whether you think this counts as potty-trained. Pro tip: His way of telling us he has to go potty is to yell MY STOMACH HURTS (ME DUELE LA PANZA) in Spanish. Considering your teachers are primarily Mandarin-speaking, maybe one of your earlier priorities could be to teach him a Chinese equivalent?
Speaking of Chinese immersion...well, we are having a little problem with our English immersion right now. Basically, Wesley doesn't want to live in an Anglophone household. If we (his parents) are speaking to each other in English, he will chide us loudly, "NO HABLEN!," or, sometimes more gently, "HABLEN ESPANYOL!" If you try to read him a book in English, he will decline to listen,
demanding either a switch to laborious simultaneous translation or to a book written in Spanish. If you explain that a particular book was written in English and that it loses a significant amount of context and/or narrative value if translated (an excellent example would be anything by Dr. Seuss), he will not take no for an answer and will prefer a shitty Spanish translation to a melodious English narrative.
Another thing that you should know is that he asks a lot of questions. I know what you are going to say--curiosity is natural at this age and it's wonderful that he has such an inquiring mind. We think it's wonderful too, to a point. Most days we are past that point by 8am. He will ask you anything, at any time. If you tell him he can have something in the future, the immediate follow up question is "DONDE ESTA EL FUTURO?," which, if you think about it, is a very interesting concept. If you tell him it's late and it's time to sleep, he will ask how to "take away the late," which again, is an interesting concept but a tough one to explain to his satisfaction.
He will ask where his "teeth card" (business card with a picture of a lovely veneered smile) that the dentist gave him two weeks ago is now, despite the fact that he has not seen or inquired after it since you recycled it 13 days ago. Today he asked if he could tell the childcare workers at the Y that he had a light fixture in his bedroom that was still in a box (true). If you see a picture of an aquarium in a book, he will ask what fish eat, where their mothers are, why isn't there coral in that aquarium, and where are the bubbles, and can he have some fish and can we go buy them now, and can their name be PLANTS? Basically he devotes this level of scrutiny to every thing in his life.
As intense as he is about asking questions, he is twice as intense about touching things. This is very unfortunate in San Francisco, a city full of dog shit and discarded needles. I would appreciate you keeping a very good eye on him. This morning, he did manage to snake his hand underneath the plastic cover of a fire alarm and was extremely close to pulling the lever before I removed him from the vicinity. Other recent exciting things to touch include toilet seats, plungers, any floor, anything really. Doesn't matter much as long as he can touch it and then put his fingers into his mouth. That second part is key. So, mainly, the most important thing would be to just make sure he washes his hands before he eats.
At the moment, he is supposed to be napping. I can tell he is not by the periodic crashing sounds and the dog-like yipping emanating from his room. I'm crouching in the corner of the kitchen at the opposite side of the house because if I move he will be able to sense my presence and will start yelling that the sun has come up. He knows that he can wear us down with the screaming, because it just isn't humanly possible to do anything else while listening to something so shrill and grating. I hope your tolerance for it exceeds mine.
Anyway, thanks again for taking him and also for having full day availability. We will be there at 7am on the opening day with bells on! Can't wait!
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
Trip to Ben Lomond/Santa Cruz
This year, as is our tradition, we headed to the Quaker Center at Ben Lomond so Stevo could teach at HEART. We went with Wessy last year and had gone together for a few years pre-Wessy as well. The Quaker Center is an amazing place--set among the redwood groves outside of Santa Cruz. It made for a very fun place to let Wessy run (kind of) wild. Our first stop on our way in was Lighthouse Field State Beach in Santa Cruz. While we were there, a pod of blue whales was breaching just off the beach. I don't think Wessy noticed, but it was an impressive sight. Here we are contemplating the sea:
Our contemplation quickly turned to engagement with the sand. Wessy loves playing in the sand. He will spend longer playing in the local sandbox than doing almost anything else. So you can imagine how he feels about the PLAYA.
I almost didn't bring his CAMIONES but at the last minute I think Stevo said something offhand about going to the beach and Wessy quickly and firmly insisted that the CAMIONES were coming. He was also very interested in the local flora and fauna including all manner of ALGAS MARINAS.
After 2.7 years and twelvity billion pictures of Stevo and Wessy together, I finally prevailed upon Stevo to take some pictures of me and Wessy. This was probably the best of the bunch:
Another esteemed toy who enjoys the beach is BIZCOCHO. Bizcocho is a translucent pink plastic duck with little silicone wheels whose original incarnation was as some sort of back massager. Bizcocho means "Biscuit" and the origin of the duck's name is the series of children's books about a golden retriever puppy of the same name. Anyway, bottom line is that Bizcocho enjoys a good beach day.
After a bit in Santa Cruz, we headed into Ben Lomond and got settled at the retreat center. It was the first night and it was taking awhile for dinner to come together. To say Wessy was restless was a vast understatement. He ate 20 lbs of pretzels and careened around the main gathering room alternating trying to peer off the deck and pet the wood-burning stove until dinner was finally served. It was a delicious stew.
Wessy impressed the fourth year medical students with his Spanish, but soon it was bedtime. We were all bunking down in a tiny one-room cabin. For us, this was a bit cramped and challenging. For Wessy, who had his portable crib in the center of the room, it was the best possible situation. He stayed up far later than usual, alternately babbling very happily to himself in his crib and asking us random questions in the dark, "DONDE ESTA PAPA?" "DONDE ESTA SANTA CRUZ?" "DONDE ESTA TU JABON?" "QUE PASO A TU JABON MAMA?"
The next morning, we ALL woke up bright and early, as I was to teach yoga at 7am. Stevo went ahead and made a fire in the wood-burning stove at the Casa De Luz, which is a gorgeous meeting/meditation room at the very top of a hill. It looks out over the tree tops. I've always liked doing yoga there, because if you start early in the morning you are doing actual sun salutations and the room slowly lightens up as the sun rises. It was a great class and an even more wonderful breakfast. After breakfast, Stevo was teaching his session, so Wessy and I were on our own for entertainment.
We decided to go for a walk around the Quaker Center. Another good thing about the Quaker Center is that it is interlaced with hiking trails among the redwoods. Wessy's enthusiasm for hiking waxed and waned, but his excitement about sticks, leaves, mushrooms and dirt was constant:
That afternoon, after trying and failing to get Wessy to nap, Stevo took him to meet one of the caretakers of the Quaker Center. As it turned out, they were pruning fruit trees in the orchard that afternoon. Wessy appointed himself as a helper, and dutifully spent almost a half hour dragging tree branches from the orchard down to the road to be loaded into a pick up truck. He kept nipping at the workers' heels and asking to help again and again. He was disappointed when there were no more tree branches. Would that he maintains this enthusiasm for yard work as he gets older!
That night, it was again a struggle for us all to sleep in the same room. Well, I should say it was a struggle for some, and for others, it was the funnest slumber party EVER.
Today we again did yoga class and had a fabulous breakfast. Then it was time to head home, but not before hitting up Davenport State Beach. It was a gorgeous, cloudless day and there was hardly anyone there. Wessy went crazy running and playing on the immense stretch of white sand. First he found a horsie and hitched a ride:
Then the CAMIONES came back out:
Somewhere along the way, he lost his pants. Apparently no big deal and not something to slow down for anyway.
He played a long stretch and had an amazing time. Even after we had been there for two hours and he was flagging a bit, he begged us to stay longer. After much tribulation, we made our way along the abandoned railroad tracks and back to the car. Wessy lasted a few minutes more until falling into an exhausted sleep, ruddy-cheeked, his little knees skinned, still not wearing pants and happy as a clam.
Our contemplation quickly turned to engagement with the sand. Wessy loves playing in the sand. He will spend longer playing in the local sandbox than doing almost anything else. So you can imagine how he feels about the PLAYA.
I almost didn't bring his CAMIONES but at the last minute I think Stevo said something offhand about going to the beach and Wessy quickly and firmly insisted that the CAMIONES were coming. He was also very interested in the local flora and fauna including all manner of ALGAS MARINAS.
After 2.7 years and twelvity billion pictures of Stevo and Wessy together, I finally prevailed upon Stevo to take some pictures of me and Wessy. This was probably the best of the bunch:
Another esteemed toy who enjoys the beach is BIZCOCHO. Bizcocho is a translucent pink plastic duck with little silicone wheels whose original incarnation was as some sort of back massager. Bizcocho means "Biscuit" and the origin of the duck's name is the series of children's books about a golden retriever puppy of the same name. Anyway, bottom line is that Bizcocho enjoys a good beach day.
After a bit in Santa Cruz, we headed into Ben Lomond and got settled at the retreat center. It was the first night and it was taking awhile for dinner to come together. To say Wessy was restless was a vast understatement. He ate 20 lbs of pretzels and careened around the main gathering room alternating trying to peer off the deck and pet the wood-burning stove until dinner was finally served. It was a delicious stew.
Wessy impressed the fourth year medical students with his Spanish, but soon it was bedtime. We were all bunking down in a tiny one-room cabin. For us, this was a bit cramped and challenging. For Wessy, who had his portable crib in the center of the room, it was the best possible situation. He stayed up far later than usual, alternately babbling very happily to himself in his crib and asking us random questions in the dark, "DONDE ESTA PAPA?" "DONDE ESTA SANTA CRUZ?" "DONDE ESTA TU JABON?" "QUE PASO A TU JABON MAMA?"
The next morning, we ALL woke up bright and early, as I was to teach yoga at 7am. Stevo went ahead and made a fire in the wood-burning stove at the Casa De Luz, which is a gorgeous meeting/meditation room at the very top of a hill. It looks out over the tree tops. I've always liked doing yoga there, because if you start early in the morning you are doing actual sun salutations and the room slowly lightens up as the sun rises. It was a great class and an even more wonderful breakfast. After breakfast, Stevo was teaching his session, so Wessy and I were on our own for entertainment.
We decided to go for a walk around the Quaker Center. Another good thing about the Quaker Center is that it is interlaced with hiking trails among the redwoods. Wessy's enthusiasm for hiking waxed and waned, but his excitement about sticks, leaves, mushrooms and dirt was constant:
That afternoon, after trying and failing to get Wessy to nap, Stevo took him to meet one of the caretakers of the Quaker Center. As it turned out, they were pruning fruit trees in the orchard that afternoon. Wessy appointed himself as a helper, and dutifully spent almost a half hour dragging tree branches from the orchard down to the road to be loaded into a pick up truck. He kept nipping at the workers' heels and asking to help again and again. He was disappointed when there were no more tree branches. Would that he maintains this enthusiasm for yard work as he gets older!
That night, it was again a struggle for us all to sleep in the same room. Well, I should say it was a struggle for some, and for others, it was the funnest slumber party EVER.
Today we again did yoga class and had a fabulous breakfast. Then it was time to head home, but not before hitting up Davenport State Beach. It was a gorgeous, cloudless day and there was hardly anyone there. Wessy went crazy running and playing on the immense stretch of white sand. First he found a horsie and hitched a ride:
Then the CAMIONES came back out:
Somewhere along the way, he lost his pants. Apparently no big deal and not something to slow down for anyway.
He played a long stretch and had an amazing time. Even after we had been there for two hours and he was flagging a bit, he begged us to stay longer. After much tribulation, we made our way along the abandoned railroad tracks and back to the car. Wessy lasted a few minutes more until falling into an exhausted sleep, ruddy-cheeked, his little knees skinned, still not wearing pants and happy as a clam.
Thursday, March 22, 2018
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