Monkey Daddy

2009-05-20T14:06:00.002-04:00

It's hard to be a single parent for four days, keeping the kids going, pets alive, and the house in order. It's the least I can do to support Ma Chere, who needs to be by her mother's side right now.

It just hasn't been easy that I've been sick as a dog the whole time. Both kids are under the weather too, fortunately not as sick as I have been.

A lot of my parenting tricks require physical robustness. Need to kill some time after breakfast or before dinner? How about a walk around the neighborhood to check out some construction sites or get dad a coffee? Or how about not.

And acute laryngitis (not to mention bronchitis, coughitis, and headacheitis) is anathema to my parenting style. I never really resented the legendary length of some Dr. Seuss books...until reading them caused me physical pain. ("Turn it loud, dad!" "i...can't!")

And I'm absolutely sure Ma Chere would have preferred to stay with her mom an extra day or to see her family sooner rather than get stranded by the airlines at a hotel in Phoenix a day late.

But I'm glad she's coming home tonight.

2009-05-20T13:46:00.002-04:00

Sorry. I might make them go away.

School of Rock

2009-05-20T13:41:00.006-04:00

One way I can tell that Boom's individuation has begun is that he often asks me to change the car radio station. I tend to prefer NPR and news. But his request is invariably either "I want music" or "I want rock and roll music."

His preference for rock and roll music is usually for "LOUD rock and roll music," but sometimes for "FAST rock and roll music," occasionally for "FAST, LOUD rock and roll music.

The other day he was happily air-drumming to a Steve Miller song (fun game: say "Crash symbol" and he makes a swipe in the air and says "TSCHHHHH!!!") when the song "Over the Hills and Far Away" came on next. You probably know it: Led Zeppelin song, pretty acoustic guitar riff at the beginning, but then much Robert Plant shrieking and general rocking. So Boom says, "Turn it to rock and roll music. This isn't rock and roll."

So it fell to me to instruct him on this finer point of rock. "Oh, this song will rock. Don't worry about that. This is Led Zep! They rock!" Just then there was some quality John Paul Jones bass and, especially, Jon Bonham drumming, and air-drumming resumed.

The next day we heard "Landslide", and I explained why some rock was loud, fast rock, but other rock was gentle rock, but they were both still rock. I didn't go so far as to say that in the Great Tao of Rock, the loud rock requires the gentle rock to rock loud, just as the gentle rock requires the loud rock to rock gently. I did say that people need different kinds of music to rock different ways, to say different things with their hearts.

The next day, we were listening to a Steve Earle song on the CD player. Banjo, voice, bass, and kick drum. I asked Boom, "Does this song rock?" "Yes, it rocks." "Even though it doesn't have electric guitars?" "Yes, it's rock and roll music."

So I think it's working.

It probably helps that I recently saw "Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny." Lyrics I will not teach Boom but rather will let him discover for himself include:

I'm the Devil
I love metal

and

A long-a** *@#$ing time ago
In a town called Kickapoo

Flowering trees from a bridge over waves in the rain

2009-05-20T12:57:00.004-04:00

On a whim, I invited the dog along for the ride. After she jumped into the back of the Subaru, I buckled Blueberry into her car seat and we headed off in the drizzle towards Boom's school. Twenty til noon, plenty of time to reach the suburbs by the time preschool let out. He was pretty sedate, and Blueberry was pretty chipper, so we took the long way home: across a few side streets, then along Beach Drive, and finally down onto Rock Creek Parkway where we followed the creek along its course.

Nothing stirs a kayaker's blood quite like driving along a river in the rain. Threading along the easy curves prompts a muscle memory of running shuttle before countless whitewater trips. Each bend in the road, each stolen glance through the passenger side at an interesting ripple in the water seems to quicken the blood a little. It's like a muscle memory for my adrenal gland: first the curves, then the boats off the car, then the first few dips of the paddle...then it's anybody's guess. It's a muscle memory more than a mental memory, because (like my pal Chris) I don't tend to remember the actual rapids or river run very clearly: the alive, present, active and reactive engagement of paddling isn't always conducive to analytical detachment. (Yet somehow the stories of this or that mishap on the river can be recollected with beer.)

But I'm not bombing down the road or anything. Nope, a flat 25 mph for me and my brood. Why rush it? Besides, the roads are slippery.

Most of all, I am enjoying the changing view. It's not exactly a river gorge, but the sides of the creek slope distinctly upward to higher ground above. And the foliage is bright green, because the cold, wet spring has delayed the onset of the dense green canopy. The gray sky and light green cover give a shine to everything, especially the dogwoods that still have their white and fuscia flowers.

The kids' windows are rolled down so that their view isn't obscured by running rivulets or fog. This admits a little spray, but it's refreshing. (The dog is a little prissy when it comes to water, and for that matter she gets a little hazy when the car corners so much.)

The creek is definitely up. In fact, we get to a section that is a little boulder garden, with noisy waves and haystack holes that don't materialize in drier weather. That quickens me more, even if the car stays the same speed. So when I notice a pull-out to the side of the road, it's nothing to bank the wheels and stop by the side of the road. Just in front of us, now I see a bridge through the leaves.

"We're going on an adventure," I tell the kids. I get out, unbuckle Boom from the driver's side carseat, help him on with his firetruck raincoat, and help him get down when no cars are hissing by. We come around back and I leash the dog up and let her out, and grab an umbrella. Then I put on the baby carrier -- Blueberry is almost too big for the veteran Ergo now, but I'm going to need free hands to manage the dog and the boy on the bridge -- and strap Blueberry to my front. We walk over some slick mud to a path towards the bridge.

At the apex of the arch, though the broad wooden handrails at my knee and waist, we look back up towards the boulders. It's frothy and splashy and exciting. (Standing over moving water is archetypal anyways: I think that's why vampires can't cross bridges.) Boom does a good job not climbing through the handrails, and Blueberry is agape and engaged. We cross to the other side, to a broader path under some trees.

Then we clamber down a little towards some wide, flat rocks at the edge of the quick creek. I reitierate to Boom how important it is to keep a safe distance from the water. (From the road, I had already contemplated what a pain it would be to need to rescue boy, dog, umbrella, or self from the current -- but like a kayaker who has seen and participated in many a river mishap, I had thought through courses of action for each eventuality.) Boom slips and slaloms down through the mud, with only my grip on one wrist keeping him up. We throw a few sticks into the river, to illustrate river speed and dunking potential, and because it's fun. (Because of my foresight, I remembered to grip the dog's collar before throwing the sticks: even my best dog rescue plan was probably going to be a fiasco.)

The rain was falling pretty steadily, and the kids still hadn't eaten lunch. And I wanted to leave them with a rushy feeling, not a drab and damp one. So we started back. But at the middle of the bridge, we pause again.

How do you spell the 3 Rs in Chinese?

2009-04-24T10:11:00.001-04:00

Forget all that stuff I said about DC public schools. The boy got in! to the public charter school of our choice! that's very close to our house! and is a bilingual Chinese immersion program! with sound management and leadership!

To our California friends: it looks like it might take us a little longer to get out there than we thought.

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2009-04-22T09:50:00.001-04:00

Work has been kind of stressful lately, so it was nice to at least put on freshly starched shirt to wear to the office today. Then Blueberry woke up (from a solid 7:30pm - to - 7am sleep) so I went into her room to say good morning and get her dressed. I greeted her with my usual greeting, and picked her up out of her crib. But instead of just transferring her directly to the changing table, I held her and we shared a beautiful hug. And then I realized that her soiled diaper was soaking through the sleeve of my shirt.
Luckily, there was more than one freshly starched shirt in the closet.

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That tears it

2009-04-02T10:31:00.001-04:00

I was present at the lottery for the DC public charter school of our choice. Pre-K, language immersion, good administration and parent support, the works.
Boom was not selected.
All is not lost, apparently. He has a decent chance at getting in through the wait list, which will be posted tomorrow and activated in two weeks.
Although we were lucky to get accepted to his present pre-school -- where it must be said that the boy is developing, thriving, and enjoying his little friends -- this felt like the first arbitrary, luck-based tournament that we have entered a child into. It sucked. And there will probably many more such arbitrary selection processes leading all the way to college admissions and perhaps the NFL Draft (but hopefully not the Selective Service lottery). One is reduced to waiting for someone to pick the correct slip of paper from a whirling brass drum. A drum, by the way, filled with names of jerky little kids that probably all live down in Capitol Hill where there are already decent schools, but their jerkly little parents want them to be something special (even though they are not).
Basically, the suckiness of this process recapitulates the fact that DC public schools ain't that great. Washington DC spends more per pupil than any other state and our schools, by and large, blow. And seeing as how this blog post is turning in to a wide-open rant, I should raise the point that whether DC should be compared to states rather than cities or counties is an open question. Also: I pay direct taxes in the form of income taxes and payroll taxes, and I don't have any voting representation in Congress -- which sucks. And I owe 4 digits to the IRS this year, which also...sucks!
So anyway, this is a shout out to all our California friends...we might be joining you sooner than later, refugees from the DC public school system!

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Our 'ting

2009-01-31T21:16:00.001-05:00

Ma Chere and I often sound like mobsters talking on a tapped line.

The problem we are trying to get around is the children's impatience--if you mention you're going somewhere, you'd better be ready to head out the door. So instead of "Are you going to the park with the kids?" It's "Are you going to to do the thing?"

Of course, we also try to avoid crushing expectations as well. So when we belatedly realized we wouldn't make it to an Asian New Year party, with its promise of tasty foods and sweets for Boom, it was "Are we going to see our friend?"
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Inauguration

2009-01-20T22:13:00.000-05:00

Ma Chere and I were down on the Mall today to celebrate the Inauguration. Our caregiver had the kids, so we headed down around 8:30am or so. Our metro train originated one spot away, so we got a seat. The driver kept changing her mind about which stations were closed. Finally she announced "L'Enfant is...off the chain." We got off at Gallery Place.

I hoped to stand in the same spot where I had held a sign ("One Mandate: Ballot Reform") and booed in 2001, and maybe kiss my wife there. (We didn't meet until two months later.). But the pedestrian access to the parade route was choked with people. So we picked and darted our way west of the White House and down to the Mall. We hopped over some chains and cement barriers, and eventually found a spot on the hill where the Washington Monument stands. With that monument over our shoulder and a view of the Capitol and a pair of jumbotrons in front of us, we stood and waited in the cold for a few hours.

From the hill, we could see the crowds. I've seen crowds before, but none like that. The AP said over 1 million, and it was certainly easy to imagine 1,000 blocks of 1,000 people from where we stood. It was awesome, standing at roughly the midpoint between the steps of the Capitol and the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

The crowd was so peaceful and polite. I've read that democracy is a religion, and people were definitely respecting their co-religionists. Once the formal program was underway, announcements to "please sit" or "please stand" were greeted with mirth. The claps of gloved hands resounded like thunderstrikes.

The inaugural speech was great, and if you look I'll bet you can find a video of it on the WWW.

After it was over, it was nuts. Watching 1m people drain out of perhaps 15 points of egress took a while. Unfailingly polite, the crowd let us escape after about 75 minutes. We saw the Marine helicopter fly overhead at about 2pm. It circled back around, presumably to see the spectacle again (as opposed to a victory lap.)Another 15 minutes, and we were having lunch in an Adams Morgan restaurant.

For a bedtime story, I told Boom about how kings used to transfer power: from father to son, rarely to daughter, and all to frequently after much fighting. But now Barrack Obama gets to fly the big, pointy helicopter over our house. (Boom feels bad that John McCain doesn't get to ride.).

For his bedtime song, I sang him the National anthem.
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Christmas Cheer: Greed, Lust, or Gluttony?

2008-12-01T13:38:00.001-05:00

Boom was watching the Patriots game with me last night, and one of the commercials was about kids ecstatically tearing off wrapping paper under Christmas trees to fulfill their greatest holiday wishes. Rip! Squeal! Tear! Glee! Over and over again. Nico's mouth was agape.
He doesn't see a lot of commercials on PBS, especially not these kind. They're the best Madison Ave. can come up with, on the most important retail event on the calendar. And they were working.
So I said, "What are you watching?" And he knew he was busted right away. He got all embarrassed and started jumping up and down and laughing. He was totally lost in a Christmas fantasy...and there was sin in his heart.

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Van lettering we can believe in

2008-11-05T19:53:00.001-05:00

Riding my bike to work today, November 5, 2008, I trailed a white van for a clean-up/disaster recovery service -- the kind you hire when your basement floods or whatever.
Not particularly noteworthy, maybe. But I noticed that this van also advertised "Trauma and crime scene clean-up."

Now that's a coincidence. Or maybe I'll be seeing a whole lot of these vans in DC real soon. Goodness knows this town needs them.
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2008-11-01T01:17:00.001-04:00

She should have been fathoms deep in sleep, but she roused early tonight. Fortunately, early for her means just at the end of a nightcap for me on this Halloween night. So I prepare a bottle and take it to her, and she feeds on it. Drinks the bottle nearly to the end, in fact.

But she has not been well lately, with weeks of congestion, an ear infection, and most definitely a longing for her mama who has been away traveling these past few weekends. So it is no great surprise to me - though none the less alarming - when she breaks from the bottle in heaving, phlegmy coughs.

My first reaction is to soothe her and to pat her back in a productive way. But another round of coughing seizes her. So I pat, and bounce, and try all the other learned routines I know of midnight feeding. I comfort her back to a heavy, warm (slightly feverish?) mass resting on my shoulder.

But the next round of coughs is so violent that I take her from my shoulder and turn her to look at me.

And for a fleeting moment she opens one eye and it meets mine, between coughing on her part and back-patting on mine. And in that instant I think I know what Melville saw in his deep sea divers. Just one glance communicates calm, acknowledges distess, and above all else makes me aware of am entirely different conciousness.

Perhaps we are all so otherworldly when we sleep, and perhaps babies even moreso. But the eye I saw gave me the sense that the mind it was attached to belonged somwhere fathoms away, even while connecting to me very intimately. It would not have been out of place on the side of a baleen head, lolling briefly above the surface just before diving down deeply again.
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Overheard

2008-10-27T15:21:00.001-04:00

From our bathroom:

"Mama, could you please close the bathroom door? I need a little pirate time."

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Meanwhile...

2008-08-13T09:09:00.001-04:00

Where do kids get this stuff?

At his request, I was telling Boom a story this morning. I think it had something to do with construction machines. But then he broke into the story:

"Meanwhile, some dinosaurs were there and a dragon, and the dinosaurs were mean, and they chomped the dragon..." etc., etc., and then Boom started flying around the house (presumably as a pterodactyl).

I'm copasetic with the dinosaurs and the dragons. But when did he learn to say "meanwhile"?

It happened last night during storytime, too.

Maybe he will do well in high school English class, where I seem to remember they put stress on using transitions in writing.

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Dry Underwear

2008-08-11T22:03:00.002-04:00

Today was the day. Tomorrow might be a step back, but today was a step forward.

Just in time for California! And school after that!

Caring

2008-08-11T21:52:00.002-04:00

A few posts ago I referenced our Wonderful Caregiver. This is a story about how wonderful she is.

Three times a week I knock off work and hustle on my bike up the hill as fast as I can to be home by 5pm (or very close to it). I greet the kids, and then proceed to find out how the day went, who ate what, find out who napped, and anything else of interest that might have transpired during the day. There is something of language barrier between us, but we can usually communicate the essentials. Another thing that comes through clearly is how dearly our Wonderful Caregiver holds our children...or so I thought.

From time to time, we call her husband to talk about significant changes: payment, vacations, changes in the weekly schedule, etc., the kinds of things about which we want to be absolutely clear. Recently we were talking to him and figured out a minor change -- I'm at home Tuesdays now instead of Mondays, to accommodate the needs of another family that our Wonderful Caregiver works for -- and we came to the end of the discussion. But then her husband told us this:

"Every day I pick her up at the train station, and every day she says a silent prayer before we go. I ask her what she is praying for. She says 'I do not pray for the few hundred dollars I got paid today. I do not pray for a million dollars tomorrow. I just pray for those children to be happy.'"

Wings to Fly

2008-08-11T21:46:00.003-04:00

We are prepping for our big trip out to California. Two and a half weeks filled with family and friends! We are excited.

This will be the longest vacation we have taken in quite some time, and our first vacation as a family of four. With four different climates to pack for, times four people, plus two giant car seats, plus one bulky breast pump, plus overhead like bibs and sippy cups, it would be great if out station wagon had wings to fly. But alas, we will schlepp all this stuff through two airports and pray for the children to be tranquil.

The flight leaves the east coast at 7pm, suspiciously close to bed time. I hope the kids can already hear the steady drone of the jet engines, vibrating them to sleep.

Foxtrot, Swing, Cha-cha...those are steps

2008-08-03T23:05:00.002-04:00

Ma Chere reported from the front room -- just out of my eyesight -- that the little girl took her first step yesterday.

I queried further. It turns out that the little girl stood up on her own with nothing to grab onto -- which she's been doing for at least a month -- then she moved one foot forward. Then she fell down, twisting, to land on her butt.

I don't think that counts as baby's first steps. For one thing, it wasn't steps, it was only a step. For another, it didn't alternate feet.

It was more like baby's first lurch. Except she's been lurching for months.

It's just a lurch.

But suffice it to say that she's closing in on walking. But she'll have to pick up the pace if she wants to fulfill her mother's prediction and take her first steps before her first birthday. Less than a month to go!

BRANHH BRANHH!!!

2008-07-28T23:29:00.003-04:00

Let me turn the mic over to Ma Chere for a quick story about Boom's birthday:

Hey [A. & T.],

We told you that [Boom] had a nice 3rd birthday celebration with Mom, Dad, [Blueberry], and [Our wonderful caregiver]. But I don't think we had a chance to tell you that the birthday got even better.

[Our wonderful caregiver] got him a Tonka Truck Fire Engine, which he loves. Coincidentally, the day after his birthday a large fire engine pulled up in front of the house. [Boom] and I (with new fire engine in hand) sat on our stoop comparing the parts on toy engine with the features on the big fire engine. [Boom] was beside himself...or so I thought.

He got even more excited when the fire fighter got out of his truck, walked up our stoop (big guy too), and introduced himself by shaking [Boom's] hand. Then the firefighter asked if [Boom] wanted to take a ride in the fire truck. Without hesitation, [Boom] gave a booming YES!

So birthday boy and I climbed in back of the large truck and the firefighter drove around the neighborhood with sirens screaming and the horn honking--a dream come true for our little guy.

Love,
[Ma Chere]

Day of the Perfectly Dry Diaper

2008-07-28T23:15:00.003-04:00

It's coming. It's coming very soon. It's already 90% here. That's really good.

As a parent of a lad in potty training, I am getting really caught up in the affirmations. Is it really the best thing ever? Is this setting a precedent for every future affirmation? (Will I say "Great job getting married! High five!" like he just went poo in a convenient place?)

As always, blogging about potty training (1) is something I never wanted to do, (2) is probably ethically suspect, and (3) one of the reasons to blog anonymously about your children.

Overheard

2008-06-05T13:07:00.001-04:00

The DCist website has a recurring feature called 'Overheard in DC' posting eavesdropped snippets overheard in the DC area. (The best one was http://dcist.com/2008/04/11/overheard_in_dc_44.php, for the 'crackers' reference but especially the 'Barbie' reference.)

With a hat tip to this feaure, I'll relate a conversation I overheard near the birdbath-and-statue section at Behnke's garden center:

Man: Do you want a gargoyle?
Woman: No.

Incidentally, we bought vinca and alyssum, and a particulary healthy specimen of the 'Big Daddy' hydrangea cultivar.
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Metablogging

2008-06-05T10:16:00.001-04:00

Taking the liberty of blogging about blogging for a second, I read this article with interest:

Is This Tantrum on the Record?
The ground rules for writing about your kids.
By Emily Bazelon
http://www.slate.com/id/2192374/

I sometimes think about the need for anonymity for my children as I write what amounts to a parenting blog. My stance has been to do so anonymously with no pictures. (Well, maybe a few exceptions.)http://monkeydaddy.blogspot.com/2006/08/good-in-back_22.html

Reading this article affirmed my approach. Its author writes about her kids, but not anonymously, and she has a lot of angles on how this might be a problem. I think my post frequency has gone down over the last year or so in part because our little Monkeyman turns 3 in a few days, and has developed his own personality...one that he needn't share with all the good people on the World Wide Web.
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Sick parents

2008-05-29T12:44:00.001-04:00

You never know how much you do as a parent until you can't do it because you're sick.

And when both parents are sick, the wheels come off.

We ended up buying Pixar DVDs for Boom and buying ourselves an hour or so of rest on the couch. But that was not a substitute for well parenting.

And our 4+ day sickness perfectly spanned Memorial Day Weekend. I can remember no holiday weekend with such perfect, dry, warm-but-not-hot weather. I think we bailed on exactly 5 cookout opportunities, attending exactly 0. (I did grill up some bay scallops and corn on the cob, but it was low key.)

Rats.
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Blueberry

2008-05-29T12:40:00.001-04:00

For those keeping track, this week Blueberry has had a couple of exciting developments:

* She said 'Mama.' And not just in a babbling way, this had real urgency. Ma Chere had just returned home from work, to the excietement and delight of Blueberry. When she ducked back into the house to change from her professional attire into something a little more appropriate for drool, Blueberry cried out 'Mama!' and lunged after her.

* Blueberry crawled. Within the same week, Ma Chere, our nanny, and I each independently observed intentional, forward, alternating crawling. In my observation, I observed her make three crawl-steps towards the cat. Which she grabbed. So I interposed my hand over her clutching fist. The cat bit my hand. The dog barked at the cat. The cat hissed at the dog. The dog chased the cat under a chair. Hiss. Bark. Blueberry looked interested.

* She is starting to put away the food. Doesn't like bananas. Likes avocados. Is kind of 'hmm' on yams...but will put away some serious yam when she's hungry. (And I'm like, "Yamn!") Thinks pressure-cooked pears are a'ight.

We'll get the rice cereal going soon, to supplement her iron. I suppose we could give her lentils for that reason, but it's hard to believe she would like them.

She's really good at picking up small grains (like quinoa) with her precise little fingers...and then darting them into her mouth. In fact, she's pretty good at picking up lots of small choky things with her fingers and darting them into her mouth.
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All around the mulberry bush...

2008-04-19T23:35:00.004-04:00

I was chasing Boom around the house the other day, having riotous fun.

I sang a tune as we ran tight circles from the front room into the hallway, and back into the front room through a different opening, and reversing directions!, and then chasing again, and so on.

The tune was a familiar ditty:

All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun
Pop! goes the weasel

Longtime readers of this blog might (or might not) grow nostalgic at the mention of mulberries, featured in posts first towards the end of my 6 months as a stay-at-home dad for Boom and then a year later.

Anyway, I was going through the tune again as we chased each other around, and then Boom broke in.

He said "My weasel popped!"

You just can't make this stuff up.

By coincidence, we went out for dinner tonight at El Limeno, the neighborhood Salvadoran place run by a really nice couple. Boom started asking Ma Chere for berries, seemingly out of nowhere, and she didn't know what to tell him. But as it happens, there is a huge mulberry bush across the street that Boom was looking at through the window.

I am sure that he was thinking back to some of our earlier mulberry exploits while walking the dog in this area. Maybe all of our time together plays readily at the front of his memory. Now I'm nostalgic again.

I told him that the berries weren't ripe yet, and that we would have to wait for mulberry season.

First word

2008-04-19T23:21:00.003-04:00

Blueberry said her first words today.

It was "da da."

That's the kind of feedback that really keeps you ticking as a part-time stay-at-home dad.

Contrast with Boom's first efforts. (Incidentally, I found this post by searching this blog in the upper left hand corner of the page for "first word.")

Shortly thereafter, she said
"
" which sounds like "gorgor," meaning "older brother."

For the rest of the day, she proceded to wear out the word "da da." Including charming variations such as "da" and "da da da."

It's great.

Mr. Ambassador

2008-03-31T23:19:00.002-04:00

On my days at home with the kids, I usually wear Blueberry for much of the day in a sling. This particular sling was made for us by a friend, and its two main charms are that it fits me well and it is simplicity itself. It is basically a folded cloth sewed into a sling of fixed length. Also, its fashion fabric is a striking crimson rough silk.

When I take the baby out -- for some tummy time, a nap, or some time in the Neglect-o-matic exersaucer -- I usually continue to wear the sling. It helps keeps the "attachment" in attachment parenting, and I don't have to think about where I put it down last.

But wearing the crimson sash without the baby does give one a certain look. At first I felt like a beauty pageant contestant, but that wasn't quite right. Instead, its shape and striking crimson color made me think of formal wear such as a foreign ambassador might wear to an event of state.

That's right, I'm a real Mr. Ambassador over here.

I will say, though, that if someone were to spit up on the sash of a real ambassador as often as Blueberry does, that someone would probably be removed from the event of state. There would probably be an international incident.

And of course I would have no choice but to demand satisfaction.

Blueberry

2008-03-24T22:29:00.002-04:00

If you've seen our little girl's eyes, you know they look like little blueberries. So this is the blog pseudonym she will get for the time being.

So, rounding out the roster, we have:

Monkey Daddy
Ma Chere
Boom
...and introducing...
Blueberry

Pop and Oma

2008-03-24T21:51:00.004-04:00

It's been great having my parents around for the past 8 months or so. Typically, they live on a sailboat for most of the year. Lately (since 2004) the sailboat has been in the Mediterranean. That makes visits from my parents rarer than we would like. Communication is often difficult, with ship-to-shore technical difficulties and large time zone differences to accommodate. So having them in the States -- and usually just a 3 hour drive from their condo south of here -- has been much better.

They've been in the States since they dropped everything, stashed their boat in some unintended and obscure port in the Med, and high-tailed it to DC. When Ma Chere was hospitalized after Blueberry (temporary blog pseudonym for Baby Girl) was born -- and then Blueberry herself was hospitalized -- they came a-runnin'. Of course, we were thankful for that. And somehow we all survived an explosive, mutually detrimental stomach virus around the same time.

But here were Pop and Oma for a brief visit on Easter Weekend. Easter egg hunting fun was had by all. A road crew left a steamroller parked on our street a few blocks away over the weekend, so steamroller driving fun was had by Boom. And making use of my parents' time during my day at home from paid work, I put them in charge of the kids and quickly recoated our 100-year-old roof this morning.

The plan was for Oma to take Boom to the park around the same time that Blueberry started her morning nap. With both kids out of the way, I could apply myself on task with the roof coating, about a 90 minute job if you do it slapdash fashion (as I did). With Oma working with Boom and Pop manning Blueberry's baby monitor for her awakening, everyone had a job.

And this plan was also aimed at giving Pop & Oma some special time with Blueberry. One of her endearing qualities is the sweet way she wakes up. She squawks for a while to let you know she's awake. And then she greets the first face she sees with the sweetest smile you can imagine. Over to the changing table, the sweet smile and laughter continue. Getting dressed is more smiles and laughter. It is some really enjoyable play time, as sweet as can be. I was happy my dad got to experience that.

My parents prolonged their visit by a couple of hours, hitting the road a bit late. That meant Oma could give Blueberry her lunchtime bottle and put her down for her long nap. (As an auxiliary purpose, Pop could make Easter eggs into egg salad sandwiches, which were good.) Giving Blueberry a bottle can be a little challenging, because she can be a little fussy and sensitive to stimuli right before bed. But Oma was able to work through it, serving up all 7 ounces of "white gold" that Ma Chere pumped before leaving for work this morning. Oma drew out the necessary burps, and Blueberry slept uninterrupted for a full nap. And once you get past the fussiness, giving Blueberry a bottle and putting her down for a nap is a very peaceful, restful sensation.

And while Pop and Oma each got to spend some special time with Blueberry, the past few months have seen Boom forge a nice relationship with them. He enjoys them, trusts them, plays with them, eats with them, and generally recognizes them as falling within his circle of care.

Here's hoping that the delivery of their boat back to the New World will make visits and communication easier and more frequent.

Happy Easter

2008-03-21T18:56:00.000-04:00

Ma Chere was planning our Easter.

I give her lots of praise for having the strategic vision required to look up from the daily grind of raising two kids in diapers and find opportunities to mark occasions with meaning. That includes finding time to spend with friends, but also celebrating holidays in festive style. I support her 100 percent, and I do my share either by contributing to the festivities directly, or by watching the kids to give her the space she needs to operate.

But sometimes -- okay, often -- Ma Chere gets carried away. Discretion is occasionally the better part of strategic vision. Especially when we are still feeling the ripples from an especially busy work period I had at the beginning of the month. So when the general topic of Easter came up, and Ma Chere ventured "Let's have an Easter open house and invite a lot of friends to brunch," I got exasperated.

I exclaimed, "Sweet Mary on the cross!"

Now, our religious observance is a little hard to describe, and two kids in diapers makes any acts of devotion irregular at best. In fact, I think I would have to describe our current status as "lapsed Unitarians" -- which is tripping over a pretty low hurdle.

But even then, I'm not sure that's the way the Story goes. (Maybe they were just being thorough?)

"Two moons!"

2008-03-16T18:57:00.001-04:00

Boom said, "I want to be the moon."

"But there's only one moon."

"There's two moons. The big moon, and I'm a moon."

Moving constellation

2008-03-16T18:56:00.004-04:00

The return of warmer brings many good things, but it's tough to beat grilling. Tenderize some chicken breasts, bag them with garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, and parsley...then grill them a few hours later. Good stuff.

I did the marinating, then we put the kids to bed, and then I fired up the grill. It w as dark despite daylight savings (which came early this year).

It was a clear night with a waxing sliver of a crescent moon. So despite the city lights, I could see quite a few stars, at least dozens. As I scanned the southern sky for more stars to add to the count, my eyes sort of shifted focus or depth of field. Some of the stars were moving.

A band of faint but steady stars was pulsating, changing its amorphous shape but moving coherently and getting slowly brighter.

Except that they weren't stars. My eyes shifted focus again -- to a much nearer depth -- and I construed them as they really were, as a flock of birds.

And just then I heard the faint honking. The birds were calling to one another, shifting in and out of formation. It was not a well-ordered group at all, with no "V" shape or letterable formation whatsoever. But the faintness of the honking was an indication of how high up the birds were flying. Even as they passed overhead, they were hard to make out individually. Their bright white shapes -- only slightly bigger than stars, and only slightly noisier -- ghosted past.

Despite the chaos, it was a beautiful sight that brought peace to my heart.

I asked a colleague at work who happens to be an avid birder, and he guessed that it was a migrating bevy of swans.

Swans!

"It's a chicken!"

2008-01-29T00:26:00.001-05:00

My daughter and I were home alone today while the Boy and Ma Chere were out at music class. Her basic needs were met. And although the weather outside was little chilly, the temperatures weren't too bad and we always get sun on our front stoop. So I threw a hat on her and walked out the front door.

Maybe she could have used a coat, but when you're hanging with dad, you get exposure to the outside world...and outside temperatures.

Just then, Ma Chere and the Boy pulled up and walked up the stoop. The Boy made it half way up, and then decided to walk out onto our patch of pre-rowhouse grass to indulge his idea of yard work. This involved brandishing the hose at some point. It nearly involved grabbing the 240v service line where it enters our house from the power meter.

And suddenly, it involved picking up a dead housesparrow that one of the neighborhood cats had left in our yard, brandishing it at us, and yelling "It's a chicken! It's a chicken!"

Since I was in stocking feet and holding our baby, I was glad to let Ma Chere take care of this situation.

Big Boy Panda Bear

2008-01-29T00:09:00.001-05:00

The Monkey has a way of bonding with his parents while injecting some whimsy.

He approaches me and says -- for example "Hi, Dada Panda Bear." This is my cue to say, "Hi, Big Boy Panda Bear."

He is affirming the Dada/Boy connection, but at the same time taking the conversation in a decidedly panda-y direction.

He approaches his mother in the same way. In fact, I think they invented this game together.

And of course, the formula applies not just to panda bears, but to any creature under the sun. I am trying to think of some of the more outlandish creatures for which we have been Dada/Mama/Big Boy...dinosaur? anteater? There really is no end.

Puzzling

2008-01-28T23:58:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, you want to tidy up the house.

And sometimes, you want to do a puzzle.

But when your toddler has scattered the pieces to several puzzles across one or more rooms, and you want to tidy up the house, you often find yourself putting together puzzles. Which makes tidying up the house rather slow going.

Of course, puzzles are good for the kid. And it would be nearly impossible to estimate the joy that puzzles of dinosaurs, tools, or earthmoving equipment have brought him.

But sometimes you do want to tidy up the house, but you don't want to do a puzzle.

New Deal

2008-01-28T23:47:00.000-05:00

I am considering a New Deal for pseudonyms on this blog.

For those just joining us, the cast of characters has been:

Me: Monkey Daddy
Wife: Monkey Mama
Son: Monkey

Then our daughter was born. I canvassed the World Wide Web for a nickname for her, but thought all along that "Little One" would suit.

...But the "Little One" herself is quite physically robust, and the name seems demeaning in its way.
...And "Monkey Mama" does not span the full set of her activities, as she is Mama to more than one Monkey. (And an extraordinary one at that).
...And now that the "Monkey" has learned to talk, I am considering going a new direction with that nickname. (Also, he adopts the personae of so many different animals in any given day, it's hard to keep track.)

Proposed new pseudonyms:

Me: Still "Monkey Daddy", but with the "Monkey" referring to my own quirks rather than the antecedent being our firstborn
Wife: "Ma Chere"
Son: ???
Daughter: ???

Everything is wide open.

Resubmergence

2008-01-28T23:33:00.000-05:00

We're getting close to another milestone: the Monkey Mama is going back to work.

Our Little One is almost 6 months old. We've made some allowances and some sacrifices to make those 6 months count. The biggest ones -- financially, anyway -- have been to keep the Monkey Mama at home (away from her good-paying job) and to keep employing our daytime caregiver 2 days a week. Of course there are complicating factors: career, continuity of daycare for the Monkey, and many others. But we have made it a priority that the Little One gets access to her mama every day, and full access to her mama at least 2 days a week.

Moreover, I've been at home one day per week (foregoing 20% of my salary) to be at home with our little ones. It's been great to share that one day per week with the Monkey Mama.

But now that she is heading back to work, I have to make preparations. I will be home with both kids every Monday...with no help from grownups.

Of course, the Monkey Mama has been confronting this challenging scenario two days per week for some months now. (And when she does, it takes it out of her.)

I've been steeling myself, quizzing the Monkey Mama for eating, napping, and pooping schedules, and the other sundry details of raising a wee person.

I am reclaiming the stay-at-home dadness that made my life so interesting (to me) that I had no choice but to start this blog.

But I also feel like I am submerging, heading under water for 10 hours at a time. Every Monday.

Sweet Dreams

2007-12-21T17:34:00.000-05:00

To close out bedtime, I was telling the Monkey some stories about Alexander the Great as a young Macedonian prince. You know, the tutelage under Aristotle, the taming of Bucephalus, and the Gordian Knot (but not so much the drunken altercation when his father remarried or the mass slaughters he allowed at Massaga and Ora).

At some point, the Monkey said "I can be king, you can be king, and we can have adventures together." It was such a generous, lovely thought.

When the Monkey Mama puts him down, she often says "Sweet dreams." To which he replies, "Sweet dreams...of mama."

It's really quite touching.

Rhymes with comet

2007-11-09T15:24:00.000-05:00

Spit-ups, he's had too many to count.

And once he disgorged a bottle full of milk immediately after drinking it. (It surprised him.)

But last night was his first experience of a full-on vomit.

As it happens, I was sleeping in bed with the Monkey at the time. A couple of hours earlier, he woke up and walked to his gate crying for me, so I put on some sweats and joined him in bed.

Then he wakes up writhing, screaming, crying...and choking. Although I could feel it and smell it, I wasn't sure what was going. I slapped his back against the choking, and then moved towards soothing and comforting.

Then the Monkey Mama came in, and we started cleaning.

Lighthouse

2007-11-09T14:01:00.000-05:00

Sorry that posting has been light around here. You know I'm busy...and will be for the next couple of decades.

Also, I've been channeling my excess creativity towards improvising bedtime stories for Monkey as I put him to bed. Lately, I try to draw inspiration from something that came up during the day, come up with a twist to drive the story, and then try to remember to use lots of adjectives.

As an example that maybe only an economist might appreciate, my research at work has touched tangentially on public provision of non-excludable goods. A classic example attributed to Paul Samuelson is that of the lighthouse, which casts light that provides a benefit that seafarers would be willing to pay for...but it's hard to stop a scurvy sailor from gazing on your lighthouse if he's tight with the pieces o' eight. (The case for public financing of lighthouse may have been partially debunked -- by Coase himself? -- in that user fees assessed in nearby ports and harbors can fund operation.)

Anyhow, I told a lighthouse story. The lighthouse aided navigation around a port whose principal export happened to be the bestest toys for boys and girls ever! I tried to make the public good financing overcoming the market failure for non-excludable goods into the plot twist, but that (obviously) fell flat. The Monkey was still awake, so I veered into a story about the lighthouse keeper. The plot wandered, and then I fell asleep.

One story that I will recount here later was "The Hospital Story," which is how I explained the Monkey Mama's post-partum hospitalization to the little guy. The stakes were high, and he hung on every word. I think it helped him cope.

Graybeard

2007-11-09T13:59:00.000-05:00

As I am a fair-haired Monkey Daddy, it's difficult to determine whether the whisker pulled from my chin earlier this week was gray or exceedingly blond.

But the beard is the first thing to go. Then the temples. Then the mind.

Daughter smile

2007-10-21T08:57:00.000-04:00

The Little One has been quicker to smile than her brother: at around 4 or 5 weeks old, you could expect to see one. Now, the smiles are pretty frequent. Sometimes the smiles occur in the midst of a crying jag.

The baby is almost 2 months old now. We have only begun to provide the care and assistance that her life needs. This is especially true in my case, because I have been mostly wrangling the Monkey while the Monkey Mama cares for the Little One. And after those early, urgent days of hospitalization, I'm only now starting to give her care.

Of course, our love and care for her is unconditional. But her smile gives a sense that she appreciates these things, and that we can share joy in our common journey. It is a wonderful, joyful sensation that holds every other feeling in suspension from the corners of her mouth and eyes.

All is well

2007-09-19T16:29:00.000-04:00

Just a note to readers: everyone in the household seems to be doing fine. Monkey, Monkey Mama, and Unnamed Little One are great; the Monkey Daddy is well past his stomach bug ailment; and the Monkey Daddy's parents are almost at the same point in their respective stomach bug ailment recoveries.

Third Sense

2007-09-12T22:14:00.001-04:00

Everyone is familiar with the effects of an adrenal surge, the so-called "Fight or Flight" reaction.

I'm here to say that fathers of newborns have yet another option: Grow a Beard.

(Actually, it's not an option: it's mandatory.)

New Name?

2007-09-11T00:35:00.000-04:00

The new addition to the family needs a blog pseudonym. So far, all I've got are: Little One, Baby Girl, and Monkerina. Any suggestions?

Bedtime now

2007-09-11T00:32:00.000-04:00

Tonight I put my two kids to bed. First, the Monkey, in his bed. Next, the new addition to the family, in her hospital crib. Both times I nodded asleep with them.

It's time for my real bedtime now.

2007-09-11T00:25:00.000-04:00

A week ago, the Monkey Mama was spending the night in a hospital with an acute but still undiagnosed ailment. It got better.

Tonight, the Monkey Mama is in a different hospital,and for a different reason. The newest addition to our family was admitted with a fever as a precautionary measure. The fever broke yesterday or the day before, under the unwavering vigilance of the Monkey Mama. The little one will be released tomorrow if all goes well. It was a very unsettling dark cloud, but not without its silver linings.

All things considered, hospitals are very uncomfortably furnished places, full of people who are employed to wake you up at short intervals to take vital statistics. Hospitals are not restful places for new moms to recuperate from childbirth.

Terrible

2007-09-05T23:19:00.001-04:00

The less said about the last two days, the better.

Suffice it to say that the condition of the Monkey Mama must have been most dire indeed that she agreed to be hospitalized for pain for a condition that developed five days post-partum. (Pain worse than natural labor?) Although it is better now, she has been discharged, and she is on the mend, I had fleeting widower thoughts that were very discomfitting. (My discomfort was not so acute as to require narcotics, so I guess that's where we differ.)

Anyway, she is getting her first real rest in a week, and we will treat her royally in the days to come.

Shecky Monkey

2007-09-02T23:00:00.000-04:00

The Monkey laughed at his first pun today -- a polyglot pun at that.

You first thing you have to know is that "shu shu" (?) is a Chinese term of respect addressed to a middle-aged males, possibly but not necessarily related. It means "uncle," but I first heard it applied to the "shu shu" who visits our house every day around 4:30pm and delivers items through the door slot, i.e. the USPS letter carrier. Then, "shu shu" meant every construction worker in our neighborhood -- of which there are many.

The second thing you need to know is that the Monkey has a wooden wheel loader, about 15" long, with a string figure driver. The wheel loader recently ceased to be the generic "scoop" in Monkeyspeak, and is now referrerd to as a "wheel loader" in the Monkey's increasingly refined speech (which distinguishes, for instance, "backhoe" and "bulldozer.") The driver is known, as befits a string construction worker, as "shu shu."

The third thing you need to know is that the Monkey typically wears bright yellow Crocs, plastic shoes with air holes in the tops.

It just so happened that I was tickling the Monkey's toes through his Crocs with the string figure wheel loader driver. So I said "shu shu shoe."

When he saw what I was getting at, he laughed like his dad just got hurt or something. (Tip to dads: pratfalls == comedy gold.) I mean, belly laughs. Guffaws. Requests for more. Tears in his eyes. That was a good one, dad..."Shu shu shoe," he says! Killing me!

It felt good to see him laugh so well.

Anyway, as the play progressed, it just so happend that a toy panda bear mauled the shu shu and drove away in the wheel loader. That made me laugh, and I think my right as a parent is to be entertained.

ALERT!!! EQUAL TREATMENT -- NO SIBLING RIVALRY -- SHARING OF ATTENTION REPORT!!!

The new baby had her first poo today. That's just as good as a first pun!

(It felt good to get that off my chest. I'm still meditating on what sibling preference must feel like as it's experienced by my own children.)

Resting

2007-09-01T22:10:00.000-04:00

It is such a pleasure to lie in a darkened room holding my new daughter.

There is so much to do around the house, and the Monkey needs his Daddy at this critical time, so I rarely get the chance. And who knows if I will ever have the chance again to hold a three-day-old baby, especially my own?

As I reclined earlier tonight, she resting on my chest, my mind was free to roam to her future. I tried to see out to her horizon, but all I know for certain is that it stretches out beyond my own.

I was also free to rest and doze, and that's mostly what I did.

2007-09-01T13:51:00.000-04:00

It's amazing to me how quiet everyone can be when they're trying not to wake the baby.

Also amazing:
- Doorbells ringing
- Dogs barking
- Monkeys crying
- Phones ringing
- Toilets flushing
etc. etc.

Don't take this as a suggestion not to call -- by telephone or in person. I don't think any of those sounds has ever startled the baby, even a full-on bark at the terrible intrusion of the USPS letter carrier.

It's just a matter of perception, like shouting into a stethoscope or looking at the sun.

Joyful news

2007-08-30T23:28:00.000-04:00

The Monkey Mama gave birth to a beautiful daughter yesterday.

I don't really feel like blogging about it, but I thought regular readers would want to know.

We are very, very happy.

"Should I have said 'Monk'? How about 'Mingus'?"

2007-08-26T20:40:00.000-04:00

The Monkey and I ran to the Petworth Library this afternoon to grab a few books. With no Monkey Sibling born to date, the time can only be drawing closer when the Monkey and his Grandma will spend a nice long visit together downstairs, while the Monkey Mama -- with help from the Monkey Daddy -- labors upstairs. I figured that a few fresh books would make their time seem to pass more quickly.

It was shortly before the library closed, late on a Sunday afternoon. So we ran straight upstairs to the children's reading room. The only person upstairs was a librarian, who was listening to some very cool jazz. It was a drum solo, but as the sax broke in I identified the player right away.

Just then, the Monkey pulled out a book with Thomas the Tank Engine on its cover. He said "Train!"

The librarian asked, "Did he just say 'Trane'?"

I pointed at the book and said, "I think he meant this. He's only 2 years old, which is old enough to love drum solos, but not quite old enough to pick out John Coltrane."

But wouldn't that have been cool?

Seventh sign of the 7th sign

2007-08-26T20:35:00.000-04:00

The Monkey spontaneously ran off the letters "A-B-C-D-E-F-G" today.

Later, he counted "1-2-3-4-5-6-7."

Although he can spell/count along with some of the higher letters and numbers, that is the highest of each that we have heard him go all by himself.

But is there some special significance that "G" is the 7th letter? Was he speaking in code?

Feathering the nest

2007-08-24T23:52:00.000-04:00

I came home from work today only to find that the Monkey Mama had re-reorganized the house.

I think the baby can come any time now.

Expiration date

2007-08-20T20:13:00.000-04:00

So I'm riding down Rhode Islande Avenue approaching Connecticut, racing along the shoulder past two rows of cars backed up at the light 100 feet away. A blue BMW sedan makes a left turn from the opposite lane, crossing the rows of stopped traffic to enter his parking garage. I see him first, yell as loud as I can (which is Very) and squeeze my breaks in a panic stop. I don't know if he sees me, or if his burst of acceleration exceeds his reaction and braking time.

He t-bones me. I am knocked from my bike. I land on my right side. My helmet takes the hardest shot I have ever received in over 13 years of bicycle commuting. The only harder shot I can ever remember -- at least since high school football -- was scouting rapids along the Big South Fork in Kentucky, when receding flood waters left a broad, muddy, slick rock for me to slip on.

My right brake handle is bent, but the rest of the bike seems ok. We exchange telephone numbers and proceed on our way. He says the right things, about how at least I'm alright. I'm still a little dazed, and have kind of a hard time putting my sentences together. Maybe it's the adrenalin, or maybe it's the blow to the head.

The vanity plate on his car - now askew - proclaims that he is a lawyer by training. Well, good for him and his BMW. There are a few scratches on his hood now.

I've got a stinger in my neck, but I'm eating ibuprofen, massaging it, and resting it.

Frankly, I could use a day or two of rest if I am to be of much assistance during our expected home birth.

But all things considered, not too bad. Today is the expected due date for Baby August.

I am glad it is not my expiration date.

Stream Story

2007-08-14T20:50:00.000-04:00

The last thing the Monkey hears before bed every night is a story. Usually it is improvised by the Monkey Mama. But tonight she is being fêted by playgroup moms, so it was my turn to come up with a story.

Our stories often have quite a bit of verisimilitude. For instance, a popular one is "The Baby Story," which goes into considerable depth in depicting a home birth. (We are relying heavily on The Baby Story quite a bit to orient the Monkey during the upcoming birth of Baby August.)

Here was tonight's story, essentially a recapitulation of our trip to Spring Park in Takoma Park today:

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named [Monkey]. He went on a drive with his mommy and his daddy to a playground. There were stairs to climb up, and slides to slide down. There were tunnels to crawl through, wheels to spin, see-saws to ride, and little boys and girls everywhere.

"After a while, [Monkey] noticed something out of the corner of his eye: a rocky stream running through the edge of the playground. The stream carried water from the top of the park to the bottom. He wondered to himself, 'Where does the water come from?'

"He called his daddy over to go exploring. They climbed up a hill, over some stairs, along a path, by some benches, under some trees, and through some bushes...until they came to a little well. The well was behind a low brick wall set into the hillside. It was full of cool, clear water that seemed to come from nowhere! In fact, the water was coming up from under the ground, because this was a natural spring.

"His daddy helped him climb over the low wall. The well was just big enough to wade around in. At first, the cold water felt tingly on his feet. But it was a warm, sunny day and the water actually felt very nice.

"While wading in the well, he noticed a small pipe leading out through the low wall. It was just big enough to fit his hand. He felt water running down through the pipe. 'Where does this lead?' he wondered.

"His daddy helped him back out over the wall, and down a path, until they saw a small pile of granite at the mouth of a seep of water. That must be where the water comes out! There were sandy parts of the seep, green parts of the seep, and plants growing all around it. In one corner of the seep, they saw a square drain with water falling down all four sides. It made a cheerful noise. But where did it lead?

"At an angle to the path, the stream reemerged in a rocky stream bed that rambled across the hillside. The footing was a little unsteady because of the large, rocky cobbles. But holding his daddy's hand, [The Monkey] was able to follow the course of the stream. He pushed some rocks out of the stream, and pulled other rocks in. Some of them made a splash in the shallow running water. The bigger the better!

"They turned a corner with the stream, and then another corner, until they heard the sound of falling water. They came to a square drain grate, where the stream spread out and descended through some holes. [The Monkey] squatted by the grate, and his eyes followed the water until he couldn't see anymore.

"They watched like this for a while. And even though cool water ran through their shoes, they felt the sun warming them up. Looking over his shoulder, [the Monkey] spotted his mamma -- who was sitting on a bench near the playground, never that far away at all -- and waved her over. Then mamma, daddy, and [the Monkey] got in their car and drove away."

I told him the story, and he asked to hear it again. Then he asked to hear it a third time, but instead we just listened to each other breathe until he fell asleep. After the air conditioning compressor hummed loudly for a while, I made a stealthy exit, went downstairs, and made myself some dinner.

No baby yet

2007-08-12T13:34:00.000-04:00

Baby August has not arrived yet. Could happen anytime now, though.

The Monkey Mama's Mama arrives from California in three days. It's a race!

2007-08-12T13:28:00.000-04:00

The family was up at Silver Sprung yesterday, taking in some dinner, the children-play-in-it fountain, and some live outdoor music.

The Monkey stood alone, front center of the stage, and danced. The bass player even copied some of his moves.

Then the Monkey played some air guitar.

Then he stopped...but only for an air drum solo fill.

Virtually a chip off the old block, I say. It hearkens back to a game of Quarters I played once as a lad. The pernicious rule that was instituted was that I personally could in no way sing, percuss, air accompany, or in any way emulate music. It applied only to me. It was impossible to follow.

I tried to teach him how point with his index and pinky fingers while tucking his thumb underneath his middle finger, but he's still working on it.

Busytown!

2007-07-30T22:06:00.001-04:00

Here is a list of some of the things the Monkey saw on the short drive between our house and the house of some friends in Alexandria (about 5 miles away as the crow flies):

* A tower crane
* The underside of a stone bridge
* A creek (Rock Creek)
* A river (Potomac)
* Another tower crane
* A tunnel
* Sailboats
* Kayaks
* The presidential helicopter, buzzing down the Potomac at approximately eye-level to the bridge we were crossing, and possibly containing either the President or the Prime Minister of the UK
* A large passenger jet on final approach
* A large passenger jet on take-off
* A dock
* A backhoe
* An ambulance
* A freight train
* A subway train

Sometimes I wonder if he is overstimulated. In a sense, no. It's all real: the various stimuli are really Dinge an sich, not some digital simulacrum of reality. It's hard to argue that he's getting too much reality.

But what would he do in the country? Could he ever build his own log cabin and fulfill the Great American Myth of the Self-sufficient Bootstrap-Hoisting Individualist? Or would rural life hold just as many stimuli, but in the unbuilt environment?

Maybe we'll move to the country when Baby August is born, and do a controlled experiment. Or maybe we should build a Skinner box. That would certainly be cheaper.

Bomb's Away

2007-07-23T21:58:00.001-04:00

I took the Monkey to the Air & Space Museum the other day. A big hit. Not quite as big a hit as the large cranes that seem to be popping up all around Petworth, or the occasional unguarded small backhoe ("baby backhoe") or skid loader that the Monkey Daddy is forbearing enough to put the Monkey into for a brief visit. But a big hit nonetheless.

Now the Monkey has been in Skylab.

One thing struck me, as we climbed down a ladder to tour the base of some rockets, cruise missiles, and other large pointy things that go boom. The actual people in charge of launching the rockets are not actual rocket scientists. (A good friend of mine was the leader of a missile launch crew on a naval cruiser, and he confirms that this is true.)

All these missiles have things like "HOIST HERE" and "TOP OFF LOX [liquid oxygen] ." Y'know, things the average forklift operator might forget as he loads a nuclear payload. Don't believe me?

I am a child of one of the last generations to be born during the Cold War. If there is anything profound I drew from the mundane markings on the missiles, it's how simple it would have been to end human life on earth. It's easy! Just hoist here, and don't forget to top off the lox. I mean, LOX.

For all the perils of the modern era, we're better off now than we were when I was born.

Power outage

2007-07-22T09:36:00.000-04:00

Friday night, half our power went out. The same thing happened about a month ago. One of the two 120V service lines to our house was down. And judging by the location of the PEPCO crew that showed up on Saturday, the problem was located between two manholes slightly closer to our house.

The crew was laughing and laughing, waiting and smoking cigarettes, and generally speaking not working very hard. By this time, they had shut off all power -- and air conditioning, and bathroom lights, and power tool outlets, and all manner of useful (cum useless) items. Laughing and laughing. Ha ha.

Then it dawned on me: these guys were making time-and-a-half.

And sure enough: power was magically restored at around 5pm, when the guys thought it would be nice to eat dinner.

I don't think labor should be trusted with labor any more than I think capital should be trusted to capitalists. This is probably one reason why I am an economist, a wonk instead of a hack.

A contrasting example came from the construction pit near our house. A giant excavator was digging away. A giant piece of capital, constantly depreciating, with a rental rate of maybe $1000 per day. I happen to know that the operator of said lump of capital is unionized. The guy is also a consummate professional: his bucket was in nearly constant contact with the earth, pushing it this way and that: smoothly, efficiently, safely, and under control.

At one point, his excavator was on a tricky grade with an awkwardly placed pile to move. He planted his bucket on the ground, spun his treads in opposite directions, and effected what can only be described as a 10-ton diesel-powered pirouette.

Labor and capital, working together complementarily, moving mountains.

It tickles!

2007-07-22T09:31:00.000-04:00

I finally got around to restoring the phone outlets in the house. Mostly they've been down since the kitchen remodel of 2003; they took another hit in early 2006 when a significant wire was inadvertently severed while we installed new hardwood flooring. And since we're relocating the office to the top floor, it would be nice to have a phone and DSL router in easy reach of the computer.

While the Monkey (and Monkey Mama) napped yesterday I got to work.

Everything was going well, except for the fact that I elected to use hand tools instead of power tools to preserve everyone else's slumber. I even used an old hand drill that belonged to my grandfather. (Power drills work so, so much better.) I fished some wire through the wall and down into the basement, where I set to making connections in earnest.

The thing about low-voltage wiring is that the wires are so slender that my wire stripper can't strip them without cutting them. I found that my teeth worked very well. Until I found that the last wire I stripped was a live 20 volts.

It tickles!

Shade your guesses early

2007-07-16T22:38:00.001-04:00

If the Monkey Mama and I were the type who gambled, we would place a wager that Baby August will arrive before the due date of late August.

At this rate, we'll be lucky if the Monkey Mama can hold her contractions in check for a couple more weeks. The midwives won't do a homebirth outside of a "normal" window of 37 to 42 weeks of gestation. If the Monkey Mama were to go into labor today, she would have to go to the hospital, which we would like to avoid.

Also, we are still putting our house back together after playing musical chairs with bedroom furniture to accommodate the installation of wall-to-wall carpet in the kids' rooms. (My back hurts a lot; I'm taking naproxen.)

Also, our work schedules expect us to work for a little while longer.

So cross your fingers and hope for the homebirth.

RIP Shadblow, 2002-2007

2007-07-13T23:02:00.000-04:00

I think I killed my tree.

I planted it, with lots of friendly help, on the drunken evening of my 30th birthday. The selection of the tree was far from dissipated, however: a good friend recommended the tree drawing on his training and experience as a landscape architect. It was a Shadblow Serviceberry, Amelanchier canadiensis. I bought it from a nursery the day before, and planting it was the climax of the evening. (That, and knocking the stuffing out of a monkey pinata.)

It was always the happiest little tree. Small, star-shaped blooms in the spring. Edible berries in the summer. Bright foliage in the fall. Architectural limbs in the winter. Thanks to its low situation, it always had wet feet and seemed to like it that way. It seemed to thrive ahead of other specimens I knew about: my landscape architect friend's Shadblow seemed slower to grow and slower to bloom, my sister's Shadblow is in relatively hostile New England; my co-worker's Shadblow had disease pressure.

But part of the landscape redesign we did of the backyard required me to relocate the tree to the opposite corner of the yard. Only 25 feet away, but still too far! We got a later start than I would have preferred, but it was still before Memorial Day (almost 5 years to the day since I planted it, in fact). Maybe the root ball I dug out was too small. Its roots were so happy where they were, I think I left a lot of them in their old spot. And maybe the day laborer who dug the hole for its new location did a lazy job of preparing a new home for it, while I wrestled with the rototiller just a few feet away. Or maybe I didn't soak its roots well enough during a week or two after which I though it had turned the corner.

I still hold out a little hope that our tree will survive the transplantation. Maybe this is just not its year. But I know from several years of tending to this tree that it sets its initial growth for the next year depends on the buds it sets in the previous year...and there are no new buds on its dessicated branches. Just brown leaves that are slowly falling off.

The Monkey himself is aware of the problem. He communicated the fact that he wanted to eat some berries off the tree. But looking at the dead tree, he said "No more." I told him how sad I was that the tree might be dead, and how much it meant to me. He gave me hug and a pat on the back.

Big Huge Crane

2007-07-13T22:45:00.000-04:00

Around the beginning of July, the construction crew down the block from us spent a Saturday erecting a huge tower crane. The time was ripe: they've been 55 feet deep for a while. Much deeper, and they're at risk of opening up the local Metro station to the great outdoors. Through conversation with the work crew, I found out that unexpected groundwater necessitated a lot of pumping.

Anyway, they're not wasting time anymore. Since that crane went up, there are usually 30 people or more working down in the hole. Form work has already been taken down, revealing concrete foundation slabs running up the side of the hole.

I will try to take more pictures this weekend to give readers a better idea of what's going on.

Contrast the recent photo with one I took in August 2006. Or look at this site for more information on how tower cranes are set up (hat tip: Jack Shafer, slate.com).

Local Thai food

2007-07-05T22:38:00.000-04:00

Wow. Just...wow.

What this guy said:

Thai X-ing

Four chairs, one table, A+ decor, and the best Asian food in D.C. Nothing nearby comes close. Staff = 1, so you must call not only for reservations, but indeed hours in advance with an actual order so he can start making your food. I loved the salmon in red curry sauce, the pad thai, the larb, and some amazing chicken dish with the guy's last name on it; the drunken noodles are recommended as well. But I am not not not saying the other dishes are worse. 515 Florida Avenue, NW.

I'll never view the theory of the firm in the same light again. Monitoring doesn't work, and who needs division of labor anyway? The coolest place in DC right now, by far. Here is the menu.

So true.

A skinned knee

2007-07-05T20:10:00.000-04:00

The Monkey has a skinned knee: a real classic of the genre. It's a beaut.

He got it from running, then tripping, then falling down directly onto his right knee. A thread of bright red blood welled up in the up-and-down running central scrape, but there were dirty abrasions all around.

Yesterday, he was sitting on a cardboard box, pretending to ride it a like a horsie. The box buckled, sending the Monkey onto his back...but not onto his head. His back and neck muscles were strong enough to keep him from a shrewd knock on the back of the noggin.

Long time readers of the blog might remember that the Monkey often equates falling down with bumping his head. After his fall from the cardboard box, he was a little upset...but I reminded him that he didn't bump his head after all. I told him how he used to fall down and bump his head all the time, but now he his all grown up and only falls down and skins his knee.

Soon he'll be all grown up and barely fall down at all.

Happy 4th of July!

2007-07-05T19:02:00.000-04:00

Here in the Petworth neighborhood of Washington, DC, there are amateur fireworks exhibitions on every street corner that last until 1am. Other people celebrate the spontaneous nature of these displays. I like them for the public safety:

Happy 4th of July from Petworth...when you can be pretty sure that wasn't a gunshot!

On our way to friends' house for Independence grilling, I had to do some combat evasive driving: my preferred route led through a crowd detonating a shockingly, profoundly loud explosion...so I changed routes. Then in the search for parking in Ledroit Park, I happened down an alley, where a sparkling blaze had just been lit...which made me swerve rather sharply within the confines of the alley, and then swerve back again to punch it out of there.

If I were a returning Iraq War vet, I'm not sure I would like this holiday.

(Oh well, at least Scooter has his independence; see comments from this earlier blog post.)

Transformations

2007-06-24T22:24:00.000-04:00

So we're down to about 8 weeks until Baby August is born.

The backyard has been successfully transformed. But now it is time to turn inward, to renew the inner core of the family, to transform ourselves intrinsically.

Long story short: I painted the nursery. I finished Saturday afternoon while the Monkey napped.

The Monkey Mama was out getting a pedicure with a girlfriend. Except they didn't get pedicures, they got lunch instead. Which means they might have rescheduled their pedicure date. Oh well.

This is part of a pattern lately, where I try to make time for the Monkey Mama to sleep in, go swimming, attend yoga practice, meet girlfriends, or work late at the office. Sure, it means shouldering a little more of the parenting burden. But here's the reality: things are about to get unreal for the Monkey Mama. She is about to re-enter the land of the 24 hour day. She is going to have to metabolize an extra 500 calories a day...or be depleted by nursing. She is going to have an attention-seeking older child to engage. I can spot her a few weekends of breathing room.

Another transformation: we ordered some wall-to-wall carpeting for the kids' (!) rooms. The wood floors are 100 years old and showing it; the carpet should make floor time a little more comfortable. For me. The carpet is wool, so there are fewer nasty chemicals offgassing, a longer useful life, and a more sustainable presence in the landfill to which it is ultimately destined.

Another transformation: the Big Boy Bed is in position. The safety rails didn't come yet, so the mattress (natural latex foam) is on the floor. But the bedframe is in the basement, waiting to be assembled.

The crib is disassembled and waiting for the new carpet, the new room, and the new baby.

Poo-poo in the potty

2007-06-24T22:08:00.000-04:00

There were loud rejoicings at our house a few weeks ago: the Monkey went poo-poo im the potty. Seeing that faraway look in his eye, I prompted him to go to the potty for his bowel movement -- instead of concluding bathtime in a particularly unwelcome way. The timing was right, the location was right, and the result was long hoped for. Rejoicings!

Some days later, he communicated to the Monkey Mama not only his desire to go poo-poo, but to go poo-poo in the potty! This was even better: cognition and communication to go along with elimination. A very good day indeed.

Of course, we're not batting 1.000 -- nor do we expect to be, not for another year or for however long it takes. No pressure, Monkey Man!

Scoring a point for each respective parent depending on whose hand he is holding at the moment of elimination, I am currently leading the Monkey Mama 2 to 1 (with one tie).

But who's keeping score anyway?

The Mulberries Were Sweeter Then

2007-06-10T20:49:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago was mulberry season in DC. There's no mistaking it: find a piece of sidewalk stained purple with dropped berries, look up, and there is a mulberry tree with berries so ripe that their own weight pulls them off their branches. And since I walk the dog and the Monkey every day, we have every possible opportunity to wander under the mulberry trees along our way. I reach up, gently pinch a thin-skinned berry, and give it to the Monkey. Or maybe I eat the berry, to make sure it's safe...and to taste it.

His clumsier fingers break the berry, but he gets it into his mouth and warbles "More!"

This year, the big mulberry bush near our alley had been cut back. That's great for everyday passage down the sidewalk, but it's a drawback during mulberry season. I reached up as high as I could, but I could only snare a few berries. I tried being a little crafty, tugging the highest branch ends I could reach to bring the berries along the middle lower, but there will still few I could reach. And maybe the weight of the Monkey -- so much greater than last year -- keeps me closer to the ground.

Another mulberry tree on the next block was similarly out of reach.

It was better last year. The Monkey and I had stumbled upon a giant mulberry tree in the middle of a marshy forest overlooking a river. The thick, swampy air lent a little spice to the sweet, inky juice of the mulberries. There were so many that the Monkey had his fill, and my own shirt and chin were stained.

And before I knew it, most of the mulberries in the neighborhood were on the ground or gleaned by birds.

Fireflies

2007-06-10T20:45:00.000-04:00

I was worried that tilling the soil and laying down sod would kill this year's crop of fireflies. (They lay their eggs in the ground, you know.)

Not to worry: there are like a million of them in our little 500 square foot back yard.

Porchblogging: Vegetative Edition

2007-06-09T13:56:00.000-04:00

I've got a number of posts I want to write in the near future, but for now I will attempt to content the readership of this blog with some pictures of the backyard project.

Also, I have posted a rare (for this blog) picture of the Monkey himself.

I finished the walkway, amended the soil, and installed the sod. Then we slipped away for a nice Memorial Day weekend.

The sod looks great, but sometimes I miss the meditative, uniform, Zen garden-like quality of the brown mulch. I think I will especially miss it when I have to start mowing.

What The Monkey Saw

2007-05-30T22:31:00.000-04:00

Things that the Monkey saw in the Tidewater area of Virginia over Memorial Day Weekend:

Sailboats, a hummingbird, two great blue herons, propellers, minnows, crabs, large frogs, a rabbit, a wagon, a swimming pool, kayaks, dinghys, toys, a bee, a wasp, a rain gauge, and a hose.

Monkey Daddy Scallop Succotash

2007-05-30T22:13:00.000-04:00

I made this recipe with stuff I bought from the Ware Neck Produce Market, in Gloucester, Virginia. In fact, we fed ourselves for four days almost strictly on a Ware Neck diet. (Do I smell a book deal/diet plan coming on?)

It's a dish of native ingredients and fun colors. The starch from the corn thickens the natural broth from the scallops. Then you're eating good. Serves 2-4.

1 vidalia onion
olive oil
1 lb fresh scallops
1 or 2 yellow squash, cut into 1" dice
1 yellow (or orange) bell pepper, diced
1 ear of fresh corn
1 lemon
fresh herbs

Cut the onion into coarse dice and saute it with the olive oil in a large skillet. When the onions are translucent, add in the scallops and brown them (both sides) over medium high heat. Brown the scallops rather quickly, or they won't get their appealing color before they give up their broth. Add in the squash and try to sautee them; they require slightly longer cooking time then the pepper, which you add next. By now, there will be a fair amount of liquid in the pan if you are using fresh scallops. With a large chef's knife, slice the kernels from the ear of corn directly into the pan. Cover, and simmer until the scallops are cooked to the desired temperature: an even, consistent white color, but not overcooked or they will be rubbery or tough. Squeeze the lemon and throw some fresh herbs in for a minute or two as you finish cooking. Salt and pepper to taste.

Little Hammers?

2007-05-22T09:52:00.001-04:00

Our pediatrician is an MD, but she is also a credentialed homeopathist. The Monkey Mama and I learn a bit about homeopathy theory and applications. As nearly as I can tell, the theory is that if the body is suffering from an ailment, giving the body a miniscule amount of medicine that exacerbates the condition is enough to kick-start the body's normal processes that enable it to revert to normal, thus harnessing the body's ability to heal itself. After all, the root words of homeopathy mean "same as the disease." This is in contravention to normal medical practice, where treatments tend to combat the ailment.

So in practice, vaccination might be a paradigmatic homeopathic remedy, while antibiotics stand in for normal medicine. (Of course, vaccination is part and parcel of modern scientific medicine too.)

So here's my ailment: in the course of laying out the walkway in the backyard, I pounded the knuckles of my left hand with a 4-pound sledgehammer.

Is the homeopathic remedy to tap my knuckle with a tiny hammer?

Unless a homeopath leaves me a comment saying I should, I'm not going to try it.

Porchblogging: Victory, Sweet (Hollow) Victory

2007-05-20T22:12:00.001-04:00

I finished paving the walkway today. It looks great. Victory! In the game of Man vs. Nature, we're scoring it 1-0 at the end of the weekend.

This victory was a bit fleeting however. We had hoped to lay out some sod, and presto! instant backyard. And in fact I fertilized the ground and raked out some clay-busting soil amendments. But before I went to the trouble of renting a rototiller and lawn roller, I checked to see if Home Depot had any sod in stock. No dice. I let my fingers do the walking to two other stores, showed up at a local nursery, and eventually found some sod at Lowe's. But it was so picked over and dried out, and only came in small 2 sq ft "tiles" (instead of nice, long rolls) that I didn't even bother.

I did the bulk of the work Saturday, working hard from about 8am to 4pm. The Monkey Mama was in charge of the Monkey nearly all day, until her massage in the afternoon. This morning, I felt like I had been in a car accident: very sore.

So maybe the actual score should stand as 1-1.

"No-No"

2007-05-20T22:07:00.000-04:00

Most kids might give a name to a special stuffed animal, or maybe a blanket. The Monkey has given a name to his favorite...cell phone charger. And what did he name it? "No-No." As in, "No, don't touch the electrical cord."

Note that the word for "No-no" is distinct from "Na-na" (which describes our dog) or "Nee" (which the Monkey uses to describe himself).

The charger itself? It's not much. It doesn't even work with any of the phones we currently use.

Porchblogging: Patio progress edition

2007-05-15T22:44:00.000-04:00

Here are a few pictures of recent progress on the patio and walkway I am building in the backyard.

The first picture is taken from above, and shows the begining of a little patio/landing outside the porch door. At this point, I wasn't sure how I was going to cut the concrete/faux stone pavers -- let alone how to miter them around a corner. Visitors to Chez Monkee will note the new location of the Shadblow Serviceberry in the northwest corner of the lot (upper left). Also: a mountain of pavers stacked in the middle of the yard, along with gravel and sand for the paver bed.

The second picture shows the completed landing area. The pots are in the future location of a wrought iron railing and gate. Note the well-mitred corners! I ended up using my tile wet-saw, until its motor burned out...naturally in mid-miter. A hammer and cold chisel worked badly. An abrasive disk in my circular saw, coupled with a few sharp raps with the brick chisel, seems to be the winning combination (although the 7" disk is now about 4.5"). Note also the hastily fashined makeshift handle for my 6 lb sledge head, necessary when I couldn't for the life of me find my 4 lb mini sledge. (File that under the categories of "if it's not one thing it's another" and "is this trip really necessary?").

The last picture shows progress made to date. This is the walkway running along the porch, until it turns a corner and heads to the pedestrian alley gate via the trash cans. I am excited about "turning the corner" (literally). I shouldn't have to cut many more blocks, and no mitred angles whatsoever. It's a pretty clean run to the end. I am also pleased with my workmanship in the corner, including a stone "pivot" flush to the pavers, and many, many miter cuts.

The "pivot" is one of those fancy garden design elements that invite you to pause in your journey through the garden (most likely on the way to the trash cans, but whatever) allowing you to explore and reflect. Plus, it's a little more room for the double-stroller turning radius. (With all the stones I have piled up, two birds pose no problem.)

I had cut all the miters the previous day, and quit when I was just too tired to lay them properly. I mean, all that leveling and pounding and checking takes patience. At some point today, I became very confused and missorted the cut blocks. It took me a while to figure out which stones went where. And since I was essentially stealing time while the Monkey took a nap, it was stressful and frustrating rather than amusing.

All in all, the end of this project can't come soon enough. My hands are rougher than sandpaper, my back and shoulders are sore, and spending every spare daylight hour on my knees peering at bricks isn't fun. On the plus side, my hands and forearms are getting stronger, and I am very pleased with the results.

Next stop, laying sod, planting some shrubs, painting a nursery, having a baby, ordering carpet, moving some furniture around. (Ahem...what was that middle part again?)

Libraries

2007-05-15T22:37:00.000-04:00

OK, I've been to two other branches of the DC library in the past two weeks, and I've never been less proud to call Petworth my home. Even under renovation, the Mt. Pleasant branch is a much, much better library than the Petworth branch. And the Cleveland Park branch was pretty nice, too.

In short, the Petworth library has very few books I want to read, and a very weak children's department.

Other than that shocking revelation, I enjoyed my morning of Monkey-Daddy Day (Tuesdays, when I stay home with him). We read a lot of books, explored the library, and saw a steamroller and asphalt paver laying down a new surface on 16th Street...moments after reading a picture book about building a new road! (I pride myself on connecting the dots for the little guy.) The resulting traffic was less than jolly, and I just managed to get some lunch in the boy before he fell asleep.

While he napped for 2-and-a-half hours, I got some sound work done on the patio I am constructing in the backyard.

I also gave him a haircut this morning. I think it's my best one ever.

It's all about the head

2007-05-14T00:02:00.000-04:00

When we tell the Monkey about some new danger, he usually signals to us that he understands by patting his head. Sometimes he pats his head and says "ouch."

He is miming a repeated sequence from his own life experience, one where he falls down and hurts his head.

Point to the street? Pats his head. ("Cars could come by and give you a big ouchie!")
Warn him away from climbing the bookcase? Pats his head. ("The whole thing could come tumbling down on top of you.")
Reprimand him from the light socket? Pats his head. ("No electrical cords.")
Seeing a scooter? Pats his head. (I never had to say a thing; it probably reminds him of the notorious skateboard incident of two weeks ago.)

You get the idea.

Today in the grocery store, we saw a kid with a bike helmet that probably rode there on the back of his dad's bicycle. (The weather has been gorgeous lately.) Nico saw him, instantly divined the helmet's purpose, and patted his head.

I worry that if we get him a helmet, we will undo a year's worth of safety awareness. Oh, the paradoxes of parenting...

What's wrong with doctors?

2007-05-08T22:16:00.000-04:00

We recently had an ultrasound of Baby August. Everything seems to be developing nicely. We didn't ask the sex of the baby. All in all, normal (if tending toward the large side).

The experience with "orthodox", even fully insured care within the U.S. medical system made the Monkey Mama and I even more thankful for the attentive care we receive from the midwives at BirthCare. I felt like the radiology office treated me like a dollar sign until I was in their office, at which point I became a nuisance.

The doctor who reviewed our sonogram was the worst. He entered the room and said "I'm Doctor [unintelligibly fast speech] and I'm going to take a quick look and then get you on your way." We actually had a few questions, and weren't in a rush...but our time was his money, the way he looked at it I guess. He was nerdy, no charisma.

He said (to the Monkey Mama) "I'm just going to measure the distance between your placenta and your cervix." --Why? "Because if they're too close, you can't have a vaginal birth."

There's another way to get the same point across, while simultaneously educating the parents and not alarming them. The fact that he was only looking for trouble, rather than doing an holistic examination, is part of the whole interventionist/God complex that characterizes most U.S. medicine. ("Eek! There's a baby inside her! We've got to get it out, or they'll both die!" instead of "That's nice. She's pregnant, like 100 million other women right now, and like billions of other women before her.")

Then he wanted to do some kind of vaginal exam. We raised some concerns, because we weren't exactly sure about the timeline of when vaginal exams might introduce bacteria to the baby. Talking over our concerns, he said "We do them all the time. Practically every woman in here today got one." All of which has precisely nothing to do with why such an exam would be necessary for the Monkey Mama. We asked him about the potential benefits and risks, and he literally threw up his hands and said "Fine, we won't do one." Which isn't right, either: we weren't opposed, we just wanted to be knowledgeable. We weren't trying to second-guess, we were trying to be informed consumers/patients.

The care we get from our midwives is so much better. I won't try to do justice to the treatment we get from that practice in this post, which is already too long. Let's just say we're grateful for the midwives at BirthCare.

And imagine if we were one of the 43 million Americans without health insurance? I recently saw a link to a study that found that uninsured people pay more for services that they eventually receive.

How is it that the American health care system spends 15-35% more (per GDP) on healthcare than other countries, has demonstrably worse health outcomes almost across the board, and still manages to miss 15% of the population entirely?

And what kind of a system funnels people to this clown of a doctor, who can't explain the benefits and risks of a procedure to a patient?

Porchblogging: Great Outdoors edition

2007-05-08T21:53:00.000-04:00

Long-time readers know that last summer and fall were consumed with the effort to get a screened-in porch built in the back of our house. I thought I would post a picture or two to give some closure to that effort.

If this blog were "Better Blogs & Gardens" I would have probably picked up around the porch before taking the picture. Maybe set out a vase of flowers. Or at least put away the garbage. But it's not, so you'll have to take my word for it that we are satisfied with the porch and find it to be lovely.

This spring, we are shifting our home improvement focus to the great outdoors. We are putting in some permeable pavement walkways, a few planting beds, and some sod.

Progress is well underway:

*The lot has been graded
*I transplanted the Shadblow Serviceberry (planted on my 30th birthday) into the opposite corner of the lot (just days before my 35th birthday).
*I moved over 2 tons of paving stones, gravel, and sand into the backyard (via wheelbarrow)
*I have compacted, marked, and graded most of the paving areas
*About 25% of the pavers are in place

Setting pavers in place is kind of addictive, like Tetris. Today was my day at home with the Monkey, and during his nap I graded a walkway and set a bunch of bricks. After he was up, I made him sit in the porch and watch me work. Which he was glad to do (for a while, anyway.)

It's on.

2007-04-29T21:57:00.000-04:00

I remember a few years back, about to start a meeting at work. A colleague burst in and said "My daughter used the potty for the first time today!" Everyone in the meeting room ceased their conversations and said "Yay!" and applauded.

Even though I had no prospect of being a parent anytime soon, apparently the need for positive potty reinforcement is universal.

For the Monkey, the time is now.

Yesterday, we let him pick out his own potty from the store. At home, I took it out of the box and let him carry it around the house. But today it was down to business.

For his normal pre-bath time urination, instead of standing him up on the grown-up toilet seat and hoping his aim is good, I sat him down on the potty. #1.

It's on.

No pressure, though. Maybe we will encourage him to use it once in the morning before the first diaper, and once in the evening before bath. But there will come a day when he asks to use it. And that day will be called "a very good day indeed."

(May the Monkey forgive me for doing exactly what I didn't want to do.)

A Mother's Advice

2007-04-29T21:49:00.000-04:00

Overheard today around the house:

"Don't touch that. Especially not with your mouth."

Believe me, it was sound advice.

Nashville Cats

2007-04-22T21:13:00.000-04:00

It was great to visit with my friends in the city of my alma mater. Even though the weekend went virtually unplanned until the day before our arrival, there was plenty to do; and even though a 4-day weekend is a fair stretch of time, we could have used more time with good friends; and even though we covered a fair bit of ground, it was impossible to show the Monkey Mama the city I love in the depth that 10 years of connections brings.

I was presented with a new challenge. I am accustomed to "managing" the Monkey's naps, so that he gets the rest and relaxation he needs while we get to move through the day's agenda. And we managed his nap relatively well Friday. What I didn't count on was that the Monkey Mama (now with Baby August on board) needed a nap, too. So instead of touring with the family and showing them some favorite places and friends, I was home alone with a lively Monkey while the Monkey Mama caught some Z's.

A sign of things to come?

Heavy Construction

2007-04-11T22:16:00.000-04:00

On a recent day off with the Monkey, we walked 4 blocks to the public library. My mom was a librarian, and I spent many a youthful hour in the children's section. So I guess you could say I'm partial.

On that short trip, we saw no fewer than 4 construction projects: (1) the major excavation/construction illustrated below, (2) a road resurfacing project, (3) some underground gas line work, and (4) construction of a playground/tot-lot in the area.

A friend's young son is heavily into airplanes. But his father is a pilot, and they made a point to get him interested. I always wondered if they were leading him along. And maybe I am leading the Monkey on through my mild interest in engineering and construction equipment.

But maybe part of it is the environment he lives in, too.

Below are a few random pieces of contruction equipment from the neighborhood.

It's like living in a freaking Richard Scarry book. What do people do all day, indeed?

What makes him tick

2007-04-05T22:33:00.000-04:00

I have already posted that our Monkey enjoys a daily tour of the construction site in our neighborhood. But what explains the lack of pictures? Parental sloth.

Note that the Monkey has possessed distinct sign language words for the following, all for some time now:

Front loader ("scoop")
Bulldozer
Crane
Cement truck
Auger/Crane-mount drill
Air compressor
Jack hammer
Hammer
Screwdriver

...and many others.

In the larger scale picture, I estimate that they have dug about 25 feet down. I reach this estimate because the deepest point has 25 boards acting as retaining walls between I-beam pairs, and they look to be 4x12s (or at least 8/4x 12s). The assistant superintendant of the site tells me they're going down 50 feet. I guess what makes it tricky is that there is heavy rail and a metro station directly beneath them. (Don't go down 60'!)

In the smaller picture, note that the scoop in the photo is quite large. I have seen large dump trucks drive away with four scoop-loads of dirt, and they looked almost full.

Referring Posts

2007-03-28T21:44:00.000-04:00

If you click on the "Sitemeter" icon at the bottom of this web page, you can find out a lot about the traffic that this site gets.

In particular, you can find the referrring page that directed traffic to this site.

In one case, the referring page was a Google search for "the monkey that talks with his hands."

Fair enough.

UPDATE: Another reader found this blog by Googling "sweet little monkey baby carrier." Exactly!

UPDATE2: Another reader was searching for tips for first time dads, but found the tips on ironing posted below. That's a shame: I have posted advice for new dads.

UPDATE3: For the person who found me while searching for the "rug doctor that leaks all over the upholstery," I can't help you there.

Ironing tips

2007-03-27T22:13:00.000-04:00

I'm heading out of town the day after tomorrow, to give a presentation of my research at a conference in a desirable location. I think it will be my first presentation since the end of my leave-of-absence to watch after Monkey. I am sure it will be my first airplane flight in almost two years where I won't be encumbered by a car seat, a diaper bag, a lot of luggage, and a Monkey.

Out of fresh shirts and clean underwear. Today I did laundry. Tonight I iron. Tomorrow night I pack.

I am also ironing a few shirts for the Monkey Mama. She does her best to maintain a professional wardrobe, on a budget, wearing maternity clothes, during the change of seasons. Especially since she'll have her hands full during my absence, I don't mind helping her out a little while I have the iron hot. (Even though they are maternity blouses, they seem so tiny compared to my shirts. Harder to iron, too.)

A few ironing tips, for those of you landing here from a Google search for "ironing tips":

1. Iron while listening to your iPod. (This was my first time; how did I ever iron before?)

2. Use all three corners of your ironing board.
* The pointy bit is for the "yoke" of your shirt: where the sleeves and collar meet. Pull the sleeve over the pointy bit, iron what you see, and you're on your way.
* Put the armpits of the shirt into the left and right square corners of the ironing board, and you'll have a clean run at the front and back of your shirt.

3. Like so many other forms of tedious labor, it helps to have a system or sequence. Sequence is everything.
A. Do the tricky bits first: Collar and sleeves
B. Then the yokes, using the pointy end of ironing board
C. Then the fronts and backs, working your way around the square end of the ironing board. These are the easy parts.
D. Finish with the arms.

Sweating a Petworth home purchase

2007-03-25T20:47:00.000-04:00

[I left this post in a comment thread at www.petworthnews.com, called Sweating a Petworth home purchase]

For years in graduate school, I didn't make any money. Then I moved to DC and got a grown-up type job, and earned a grown-up type salary. Then I paid grown up taxes, and I thought, "Wow! I need a homeowner tax deduction and first-time-buyer-in-the-District federal tax credit!"

Living in Adams-Morgan, I perceived the value of the durable transportation infrastructure (read: Metro) that had just opened, especially when coupled with the transit oriented development strategy that the District set out to pursue.

I was cool with the green line, although houses I checked out in Shaw and Pleasant Plains skeeved me out. (A girl I was dating stepped on a dead rat in front of a "for sale" sign. No sale.) Petworth seemed like a nice, unassuming place to be. I rode my bike all through the neighborhoods, at all hours of the day and night. Plenty of good houses, with pleasing repetition, and a few oddball blocks with architectural interest.

Also, the year before a friend had purchased a 3-story 6BR rowhouse in Columbia Heights (Harvard St.) for short money. Six months later another friend bought a 2-story 5BR rowhouse about 5 blocks north and 5 blocks east for the same money. The time was right for me to buy a 4BR 5 blocks north and 5 blocks east of him; if I waited, I would have to go even further north, further east, get fewer bedrooms, or pay more. So my motives were primarily financial.

Then my girlfriend -- now my wife -- relocated to DC and moved in with me. So did her dog. Walking that dog around Petworth helped me understand that this is the friendliest place I have ever lived. "How you doin'?" is truly the Petworth anthem if ever there was one: a civil greeting, complete with eye contact.

Now I have a son, who was born in the back bedroom of our Petworth house. We have another child on the way, who will be born in the same Petworth bedroom. I've lived here for several years, and I feel like I belong to the neighborhood. I like my neighbors. I like the other families that I see sprouting up around here. I like my nailgun, and all the other tools I used to renovate my somewhat-creaky centennial house. I like the prospect of a Mocha Hut a few blocks away. I like the greenspace of the RCC cemetary, the water of the Warder Reservoir, and the triangle parks that appear on every corner.

I like Petworth.

Bilinguality

2007-03-24T15:08:00.000-04:00

At a playground in Adams-Morgan the other day, I overheard hipster parents comparing notes about which foreign language their little precious children were being immersed in. "She's in French school." "His nanny speaks English, but we only let her speak Spanish to him." "Their grandparents are Russian." So trendy, maybe kind of elitist and overprogramming, but possibly in keeping with the cosmopolitan nature of a world capital like DC.

But holy smokes! The woman who looks after Monkey two days a week while his parents are working -- OK, she's his nanny, although the word seems snobbily Victorian and weird to type -- is a pediatric nurse originally from China. She speaks Chinese, and not much English. When I get back from work, we manage to communicate about how the day went, how and when the Monkey ate and slept, and whether there was "poo-poo." She adores our little Monkey Man, and when he does something especially novel or cute, she gets excited and speaks in flurry of Chinese that I cannot understand.

This week she was excited to show me the words he knew how to say. He rattled off a dozen or so of them, in context, by naming indicated objects out the window or in pictures in books. When I tried to repeat some of them, I could already tell that he was grasping the tonal nature of Chinese pronunciation in a way that I was not. (My years of kung fu training are no help, maybe because I learned kung fu with Tennessee twang.)

I know that he understands many, many more Chinese words than he can say. I am amazed at how many that is. I ponder what it means to have a parallel language thought process available at such a young age. (Does he think they communicate in a secret nanny language? How much of his gibberish is really cogent Chinese?)

The Monkey Mama and I are considering enrolling him in a Chinese immersion program when he is old enough. It would be thing to do, after all.

Notice

2007-03-13T21:09:00.000-04:00

Light blogging has resumed.

I don't have any particular reason for doing so, nor do I have any goals or expectations. Maybe it will be nice to contemplate the space we are going to make in our lives for Baby August.

March madness

2007-03-13T20:54:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was the first day of Daylight Savings Time, and the first warm day of spring. "Time to bust out the jogging stroller," I said to myself.

It's a double-wide, purchased in anticipation of Baby August. We already had a single-monkey stroller, and no stroller with jogging capabilities, so the double jogging stroller seemed like a good way to go. It took some figuring to determine which doors of our house can actually accommodate the girth of the thing, but that hurdle is passed. (Hurdles? Those would be very tough in a jogging stroller.)

Gratifyingly, the Monkey spoke the word "Fast!" for the very first time to describe our jog together. He also probably learned how to hack up half a lung and spit it out. That will not be gratifying.

I ran again with him this afternoon. On both days, I worked a playground into the route to give him some reason to come along -- other than the thrill of sheer "Fast!"

Today at the playground, I ran into the neighborhood playgroup that I used to see regularly on Thursdays while I was a full-time stay-at-home dad. All the kids are bigger, and walking better, and talking better. I was immediately busted with the double stroller (not that we're keeping Baby August a secret). Add that to the playdate that the Monkey enjoyed with two friends at the JP2CC earlier today, and it's a good day at home.

All it lacked was a nap (for him or for me). That means he was dog tired and cranky at the end of the day, and I didn't get any work done on the paper I'm writing for work.

Square peg, round hole

2007-03-11T14:10:00.000-04:00

You know that game with the different shaped pegs and the different shaped holes? The Monkey is not especially good at it. He's better when he's fresh, not tired. And he can get a peg through if it happens to start at or near the correct hole. But if he gets one through, it's random chance as far as I can tell.

I'm not concerned: the kid is pretty good with his hands and shapes and things. But at 21 months, I was expecting a little more.

Hiatus hiatus

2007-02-24T13:42:00.000-05:00

The lack of recent posting fulfills my prediction that returning to work would reduce the time I have for blogging.

Soon the Monkey Mama and I will embark on a new adventure: siblings. She has just started her second trimester. We don't know if Baby August will be a Leo or a Virgo; it's all about timing.

Anyway, we heard Baby August's heartbeat for the first time earlier this week: 152 beats per minute, strong and steady as a metronome. We're aiming to have another home birth.

Good times.

Porchblogging: Dinner for Two edition

2006-11-11T22:32:00.000-05:00

The Monkey Mama and I ate candlelit dinner out on the porch tonight.

It's not finished or anything. But the weather has been unseasonably warm (70s) and we impulsively decided we might as well enjoy it.

Because it's (mostly) there.

Porchblogging: Functionality edition

2006-11-09T22:16:00.001-05:00

We have a back porch. The Monkey can run on it. The dog can walk past it to relieve herself in the back yard.

It still needs railings, a roof, and screens.

The crew of two has been working on it almost every day (including Saturday) since they started 8 days ago. They took a half day to thru-bolt a ledger board to the brick siding. Then they framed out the joists. Then they erected three 8x8 posts that will support some weight, eventually. Next they framed out the bump-up over the basement stairs. Luckily I was home for that: they had set the bump-up height at 23" over the deck, too high to be usable as a bench. I caught them in time, and they dropped it down to a comfortable 19". Then they put decking over the joists, and started in with the ledger board that will form the 2nd level/roof portion of the deck. There are a few rafters connecting the upper ledger board to the roof rim joist, but it is still a work in progress.

But at this rate, I should be sipping lemonade from my back porch in no time. In November, but soon.

Why I (Don't) Blog

2006-11-09T21:57:00.000-05:00

A friend recently wrote me: if you treat the blog as a chore, you'll never update it.

In truth, blogging has never been a chore for me. Here's why I do it:

* Above all, as a space to reflect on my experiences as a parent generally, a stay-at-home dad specifically
* A creative outlet
* A way to update distant family and friends about a very special little boy
* A vanity project (it's a blog, right?)

I think my drop-off in posting has a lot of reasons. Now that I'm working 4 days/week, there is less time for reflection. It's back to the grind, so to speak, and moreso than I wish. My work demands a lot of my creativity (that's good, I think). The day I spend at home with the Monkey is usually somewhat more regimented than it used to be, with chores and errands. There is less time for a creative outing, like the Zoo, the Arboretum, a museum on the Mall, or others. It's hard enough to carve out space for me and the Monkey Mama, and I make that a priority over blogging. And sleep, precious sleep, is still too elusive.

Another reason is the Monkey. He is hard to keep up with, literally and figuratively. Literally, because he is walking. Figuratively, because he is developing so much and in so many ways. He is on the cusp of speech. His sense of humor is manifesting itself. His ability to imitate behaviors is growing (and cute). He is so evidently enjoying himself in the world we share together that it is harder for me to obtain critical distance, to separate myself from him for reflection. And as the externalization of his development continues to accelerate, I don't know how my words could keep up.

Monkey Daddy

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School of Rock

Flowering trees from a bridge over waves in the rain

How do you spell the 3 Rs in Chinese?

That tears it

Our 'ting

Inauguration

Christmas Cheer: Greed, Lust, or Gluttony?

Van lettering we can believe in

Overheard

Meanwhile...

Dry Underwear

Caring

Wings to Fly

Foxtrot, Swing, Cha-cha...those are steps

BRANHH BRANHH!!!

Day of the Perfectly Dry Diaper

Overheard

Metablogging

Sick parents

Blueberry

All around the mulberry bush...

First word

Mr. Ambassador

Blueberry

Pop and Oma

Happy Easter

"Two moons!"

Moving constellation

"It's a chicken!"

Big Boy Panda Bear

Puzzling

New Deal

Resubmergence

Sweet Dreams

Rhymes with comet

Lighthouse

Graybeard

Daughter smile

All is well

Third Sense

New Name?

Bedtime now

Terrible

Shecky Monkey

Resting

Joyful news

"Should I have said 'Monk'? How about 'Mingus'?"

Seventh sign of the 7th sign

Feathering the nest

Expiration date

Stream Story

No baby yet

Busytown!

Bomb's Away

Power outage

It tickles!

Shade your guesses early

RIP Shadblow, 2002-2007

Big Huge Crane

Local Thai food

A skinned knee

Happy 4th of July!

Transformations

Poo-poo in the potty

The Mulberries Were Sweeter Then

Fireflies

Porchblogging: Vegetative Edition

What The Monkey Saw

Monkey Daddy Scallop Succotash

Little Hammers?

Porchblogging: Victory, Sweet (Hollow) Victory

"No-No"

Porchblogging: Patio progress edition

Libraries

It's all about the head

What's wrong with doctors?

Porchblogging: Great Outdoors edition

It's on.