There are milestones big and small in every child's life. Learning to walk, to ride a bike, losing a first tooth, to name just a few. But there are also hidden milestones-- those moments that no one notices but you.
Reya said 'good morning' to her teacher this morning.
No big deal to most people. A lot of the other kids have been doing it for a while now. But with Reya it had become quite a challenge. Every day her teacher would say good morning to her, and Reya would respond by wrapping herself around my legs, and burying her head in my thigh. We talked about it at home, telling her the importance of saying hi to teachers and friends, of acknowledging those who are close to you, even suggesting a wave as a compromise. She gave the same answer every time: she was too shy.
For Reya, the great meaning and importance of things is always at hand. She is a deep river, with strong channels and high banks; a force of nature with the softest, sweetest hugs you can imagine. I bargained, pleaded, yelled (not proud to say it but I did), and when nothing worked, came to the conclusion that we would wait and hope that this was a stage she would eventually grow out of.
Months went by.
And this morning we walked into class as we always do. And I took off Reya's coat and backpack as I always do. And I knelt down and said 'can you say good morning to Ms. Yvonne?', as I always do. And Reya took a step back, looked at Ms. Yvonne and said 'good morning'.
No big deal to some. Momentous for me. Milestone for her.
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Monday, August 17, 2015
Turning 5 and Feelin' Alive!
Dear Mr. Looca-Tooca,
You are a creator of loud sounds and silly noises; a splasher of big puddles, puller of dogs tails and eater of cucumbers.
You are a creator of loud sounds and silly noises; a splasher of big puddles, puller of dogs tails and eater of cucumbers.
You are a bouncing ball of
light and energy, jumping and spinning and shouting and dancing and falling
down and getting back up again. You live your life OUT LOUD and it's a joy to watch.
You are a lover of beaches, and a fighter of scary monsters.
You are a lover of beaches, and a fighter of scary monsters.
You are a generous brother, a budding artist, and a lover of animals. You are an intrepid explorer and you will have many adventures in your life. In fact, your life is an adventure... and have I mentioned that it's a joy to watch?
So go forth my good boy and build a skyscraper. Travel to distant lands and
talk with spooky aliens and make friends. Fly a rocket ship to the moon. Discover ancient
secrets and dig gigantic holes and sail through epic storms on a giant pirate
ship.
And keep jumping and spinning and shouting and dancing. Keep eating cucumbers and being a generous brother. Keep falling down (because you must) and most importantly, keep getting back up again.
It's truly a joy to watch.
Happy Birthday Mylo.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Aunt Carol
My Aunt Carol died on Tuesday, December 16 in the late afternoon.
On Wednesday, December 17 at 8:19am, my father emailed me this one-line message:
"Could be life on Mars, just methane for now."
He was indirectly referencing a NY Times article that had just been written on the subject. There was no direct mention of the article in his email but I knew what he was talking about.
And then at 9:23am he emailed again to say:
"Sorry to tell you that Carol died yesterday."
Basic communication follows a very strange path on my father's side of the family but this example actually explains more than I could in a fifty-page tome. Saddled with the emotional weight of his sister's death, my father was reluctant to dredge up the feelings that would inevitably be stirred by writing me an email on the subject. I understood. Forty-one years of communicating with my father made me understand. The Mars email was a warm-up of sorts. A dabbing of the big toe in the water, if you will, to test his emotional temperature. And once he had successfully pulled that off, he moved on to the Carol email.
Despite my understanding, however, I can't deny that there is still something bizarre about the delicate tip-toeing here. After all, what's the reluctance to jump right in? Fear of being overwhelmed by emotion? Of losing control? Of exposing oneself? It is a quality (perhaps the quality) that has shaped, defined, and molded so much about my father's side of the family. And in the worst possible way, it is the quality that defined Carol.
There are an infinite number of ways to live a life. And no matter the hand we're dealt, everyone has choices they must make. Carol chose comfort and safety. She chose to spend her life within the guarded walls of her parents house, eschewing adventure and love and danger. That was her choice and, in the end, it was her undoing.
The doctors were apparently unable to provide a cause of death for Carol. When the aide in her assisted living facility opened the door to her room to check on her, she was on the floor, unconscious. They were unable to resuscitate her.
There is a famous quote by the writer Anais Nin:
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage".
In Carol's case I think her life had shrunk to such an infinitesimally small size that one afternoon it just vanished. Her heart and her muscles and her soul had atrophied to such a tiny, weakened state, that whatever life-force was left within her just withered up and blew out the window. And she fell to the floor.
Perhaps there is life on Mars, but there was very little of it ever discovered (at least as I recognize it) in Carol's sixty-odd years on Earth. And few things are more disheartening than a life unrealized.
Today is January 1, 2015. The start of another year. The start of another chance to get it right. So here's another famous quote. It's largely attributed to the hip-hop group Cypress Hill, but it likely was around much earlier:
"I ain't goin' out like that."
On Wednesday, December 17 at 8:19am, my father emailed me this one-line message:
"Could be life on Mars, just methane for now."
He was indirectly referencing a NY Times article that had just been written on the subject. There was no direct mention of the article in his email but I knew what he was talking about.
And then at 9:23am he emailed again to say:
"Sorry to tell you that Carol died yesterday."
Basic communication follows a very strange path on my father's side of the family but this example actually explains more than I could in a fifty-page tome. Saddled with the emotional weight of his sister's death, my father was reluctant to dredge up the feelings that would inevitably be stirred by writing me an email on the subject. I understood. Forty-one years of communicating with my father made me understand. The Mars email was a warm-up of sorts. A dabbing of the big toe in the water, if you will, to test his emotional temperature. And once he had successfully pulled that off, he moved on to the Carol email.
Despite my understanding, however, I can't deny that there is still something bizarre about the delicate tip-toeing here. After all, what's the reluctance to jump right in? Fear of being overwhelmed by emotion? Of losing control? Of exposing oneself? It is a quality (perhaps the quality) that has shaped, defined, and molded so much about my father's side of the family. And in the worst possible way, it is the quality that defined Carol.
There are an infinite number of ways to live a life. And no matter the hand we're dealt, everyone has choices they must make. Carol chose comfort and safety. She chose to spend her life within the guarded walls of her parents house, eschewing adventure and love and danger. That was her choice and, in the end, it was her undoing.
The doctors were apparently unable to provide a cause of death for Carol. When the aide in her assisted living facility opened the door to her room to check on her, she was on the floor, unconscious. They were unable to resuscitate her.
There is a famous quote by the writer Anais Nin:
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage".
In Carol's case I think her life had shrunk to such an infinitesimally small size that one afternoon it just vanished. Her heart and her muscles and her soul had atrophied to such a tiny, weakened state, that whatever life-force was left within her just withered up and blew out the window. And she fell to the floor.
Perhaps there is life on Mars, but there was very little of it ever discovered (at least as I recognize it) in Carol's sixty-odd years on Earth. And few things are more disheartening than a life unrealized.
Today is January 1, 2015. The start of another year. The start of another chance to get it right. So here's another famous quote. It's largely attributed to the hip-hop group Cypress Hill, but it likely was around much earlier:
"I ain't goin' out like that."
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Mad Hatter
There's no denying it, the girl knows how to rock a hat.
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| A Christmas Classic: The Reindeer Antlers |
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| The Backwards Giraffe Hat |
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| The Fairly Straightforward Knit Cap |
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| Another Christmas Classic: The Elf Hat |
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| And lastly, The Purple Owl Hat, accompanied by the I'm-really-not-enjoying-this face. |
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Friday, November 7, 2014
Halloween 2014
It's safe to say that holidays are more fun when you have kids. And that holds especially true for Halloween. And probably Christmas too. And while we're at it, better throw Thanksgiving in there too. And yes, Easter. But without a doubt, it's especially true for Halloween.
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| I am Batman. Hear me roar. |
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| More candy, less photos please. |
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| Cute farmer. Cute pumpkin. |
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| Did I mention the cute farmer? |
Friday, October 24, 2014
An Open Letter to Ebola
Dear Ebola,
No one likes you. No one. And if I wasn't writing a blog about my kids, I would probably be using stronger language to express that, but I'm not going to do that here. Suffice it to say that you're kind of a jerk.
However, I've come to the decision that stewing over that single, unchangeable fact will do nothing to make the world a better place, or I a better father. No matter how deeply I sink into the mental quagmire of anger and anxiety that is the byproduct of your work, you'll still be going around acting like a jerk and getting people really sick and everyone else really anxious. So I'm not going to do that. My energy is much better spent on other things.
The kids will wash their hands when they come home from school or the playground. And so will I. And that's pretty much where my family stops thinking about you.
Just wanted to make sure we were clear about that.
Sincerely,
Me
PS- the same goes for your friend Enterovirus D-68
No one likes you. No one. And if I wasn't writing a blog about my kids, I would probably be using stronger language to express that, but I'm not going to do that here. Suffice it to say that you're kind of a jerk.
However, I've come to the decision that stewing over that single, unchangeable fact will do nothing to make the world a better place, or I a better father. No matter how deeply I sink into the mental quagmire of anger and anxiety that is the byproduct of your work, you'll still be going around acting like a jerk and getting people really sick and everyone else really anxious. So I'm not going to do that. My energy is much better spent on other things.
The kids will wash their hands when they come home from school or the playground. And so will I. And that's pretty much where my family stops thinking about you.
Just wanted to make sure we were clear about that.
Sincerely,
Me
PS- the same goes for your friend Enterovirus D-68
Monday, October 13, 2014
Happy 1st Birthday Reya!!
Following in the long, rich tradition of parents who combine their children's birthdays together in order to save energy, time and/or money, or all three, I am squeezing out two birthday blog posts in one night. And in so doing, I willingly accept the possibility that great swells of resentment will be visited upon me in future years. So sue me.
My baby girl is one year old! They say it goes fast, and it really, really does. She is growing into a sweet, sensitive, playful, affectionate, determined, opinionated, beautiful little girl, and I really can't get enough of her.
On a warm day in September we celebrated her first Birthday with friends.
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| The Birthday Girl |
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| Cake!! |
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| I kinda like cake |
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| All cleaned up post-cake |
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| Not their birthday, but still damn cute |
Happy 4th Birthday Mylo!!
Approximately two months after the actual event, I am finally getting around to posting pictures of Mylo's Birthday. Shameful, indeed. Nonetheless, the day itself was a great success, best exemplified by the fact that Mylo was shirtless for almost the entire day (if you can't be at least partially nude on your birthday, then when can you, for God's sake), as well as the ample amounts of pizza and ice cream eaten, the balloon-twisting artist, the giant pool, and the throngs of screaming four-year-olds laying waste to our abode.
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| Mylo and Kody ham it up |
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| Cars Birthday cake |
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| Balloon-Twisting Expert |
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| The Pool |
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Contents of Mylo's Pocket
On the 7th of October, in the year 2014, the following items were discovered within the pocket of Mylo's sweatshirt upon his arrival home from school:
A twig, two red berries of undetermined origin, several plastic doo-hickey's of varied colors, a paperclip, and a section of green straw. Conclusion: one very curious and adventurous four year old boy has been hard at work collecting valuable treasure.
A twig, two red berries of undetermined origin, several plastic doo-hickey's of varied colors, a paperclip, and a section of green straw. Conclusion: one very curious and adventurous four year old boy has been hard at work collecting valuable treasure.
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