New Digs, New Stress...

The past month has been a little crazy, to say the least. For starters, we've moved-- not far, just a few blocks over. However, moving, while always stressful, has brought an inordinate amount of chaos and turmoil this time around. Here's a brief rundown of all the constructive things I've been doing over the past month rather than writing blog posts:

-The 'moving company' we hired off of Craig's List (which can be more accurately described as two angry Russian guys with a truck) walk out on us the morning of the move. The inciting incident? I dared to question the line in the contract stipulating that I start paying them a half-hour before they arrived and continue paying them a half-hour after the move is complete. Crazy me.

-While every room in our new apartment has a cable and internet jack, I'm told by the building's developer that he has no idea what those jacks are connected to. What ensues, between panicked sprints to Starbucks to use their wifi for work emergencies, is a deeply humbling, two-week long marathon of phone calls and visitations from, first, Direct TV, and then Time Warner. My life was shortened by several years on this one.

-My back, citing irreconcilable differences with my body, has informed my brain that it no longer wants to be associated with us. Refusing to grant the divorce it seeks, I have been living with nearly constant pain from my tightly clenched, angry-as-hell lower back. I tip-toe around like a pregnant geriatric in order to avoid tweaking it again. (screw you back, I'll never let you go!).

My list of complaints shall end there but suffice it to say that I could go on. A long ways on. For example, my broken iPhone replaced with a refurbished and equally broken iPhone, the Post Office unable to deliver my mail for two weeks and counting because they can't get into the building, the stress-induced psoriasis developing on my left eyelid... dear God, I can't stop!

The fact that I'm even writing here, however, is evidence that things are maybe returning to some kind of normal state. Ahh, how I've missed normal.

I'll end with a few photos of Mylo dressed as a lion for Halloween.

Reunion

My mom just returned from two months in France with some concern, on her part, over whether or not Mylo would remember her. I'm happy to report that, upon her entrance, Mylo put his head on her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her neck, and gave her a long embrace.  It was a nice reunion, to say the least.

This video is from a little later in the day, during mid-afternoon bottle time.

Birthday Video

I've been MIA on the blog lately mostly because I've been working on this video. I intended it to be finished by Mylo's birthday on August 9th, however, it took a little longer than expected. Dirty diapers, work deadlines, my ever-needy handicapped pitbull, and a host of other daily travails held me up. 

Aside from marking Mylo's first year of life this video also marks my evolving use of cameras. It was started in 2010 on my Blackberry phone, it progressed into 2011 on my iPhone, and it was finished this summer with my Canon 60D HDSLR. In the end, it's more of a slideshow than a video, but there's not much I can do about that. Unfortunately, Blogger only allows video uploads of 100Mg or less, so this video is seriously compressed. If you want to see a higher res version click here.

Lastly, it's been a true joy to put this together. A labor of love. People always tell me how quickly time flies when you're watching your kids grow and if this first year is any indication, that is frighteningly true. As I look back at early photos of Mylo, I can hardly believe how fast he's developed. Putting this together has allowed me to go back and savor many of the sweetest moments that flew by with the speed of life.

Happy Birthday!

Happy First Birthday Mylo! You are the apple of my eye, the chip off my old block, the skip in my step... and I couldn't be prouder of you!

 

Back to Hastings

On a beautiful, late-July afternoon, Mylo and I ventured back to Hastings, my hometown, for a joint, belated Dad's Birthday/Father's Day celebration. Aside from the festivities, the trip held special meaning because it was Mylo's first time in Hastings, and I was anxious to show him all my teenage hangout spots-- the high school, the town pool, the diner, etc. As it turned out, after a good romp around the park, Mylo was ready for a nap, after which we returned to Brooklyn. So the sentimental journey down memory lane will have to wait. But we had a great time just the same.

 

 Grandpa teaches Mylo how to tickle the ivories

 

 The park by the river

Happy Birthday Dad/Grandpa!

It's Official!

We knew he was close. We knew it was coming. Well, it's here... in his eleventh month of life, Mylo has started walking. Incredible.

It started the week we got back from Montauk-- the second week of July-- with two or three steps. The next day he took seven. And by the following week he was walking throughout the apartment.

These are the legs that may one day scale Everest, and swim the Dardanelles. These are the legs that may circle baseball diamonds, or run marathons. The legs that will take him down an aisle. And while he walks like a drunken sailor right now (or as Reedu says, like Michael Jackson in Thriller), these are the legs that will grow strong and carry him through his life. 

Montauk

Montauk. The location hasn't been a secret for some time, and supply-side economics have transformed its once mystical-sleepy-fishing-town atmosphere, at least partly, into something of a more homogenous commodity. Which is to say that hotel rooms are wildly overpriced, people who work there are outwardly resentful, and there's an unfortunate amount of garbage lying around. It's not an uncommon story these days. But the word still holds some cache for me: Montauk. It's the eastern most tip of Long Island and I've always appreciated the idea that, in order to get there, one could simply hop on a train, take it as far as it would go, and then get off. Montauk. Beneath the throngs of angry vacationers and vapid drunks, there is still a pulse, still something breathing, still something that refuses to be handled or shaped or reduced into a mere vacation spot. And for that, I love it. Montauk. I simply say the word and I'm transported there.

 

This year we took our second annual post-4th of July vacation to Montauk. On last year's trip, Reedu was pregnant, so it has special meaning for us to come back a year later with Mylo. I've also realized in my wise old-age that going on vacation just after a big holiday weekend (as opposed to going during the actual weekend) holds all sorts of terrific benefits-- among them, space on the beach, lighter traffic, and general peacefulness. All of which have become, in my cantankerous old age, increasingly important to me. So on the glorious 5th of July (sorry Founding Fathers), we packed up the family and headed out to Montauk.

 

Standing on the beach, I hold Mylo in my arms and point out at the great Atlantic. Mylo grasps my shoulder a little tighter and, with unusual seriousness, peers out at the vast expanse of space before us. The waves pound the beach so ferociously that, even from a distance, we feel their intensity and strength. A fine salt water mist slowly coats our faces. Reedu and I love the ocean, and we were eager to introduce Mylo for the first time. Nothing fosters such disparate senses of awe and calm as the ocean. Nothing creates such an immediate sense of humility. Or connection. And I have a hunch that, on some level, Mylo's eleven month old brain is processing all of that. Which is a beautiful thing to watch.

We set up an umbrella and lay our towels down in the sand. I attempt to build some sand castles with a bucket as Mylo shouts with joy and smashes them with his hands. Good fun. This goes on for some time and with each sand block destroyed I start to imagine the boy as a future force to be reckoned with, as a leader of men, a smasher of evil empires. I wonder if Ghandi ever smashed sand castles as a little boy? I'll bet he did. Before long, every inch of Mylo's body is covered with sand. And, for that matter, so is mine (observation: having sand in your shorts is not nearly as fun when you're 37, as it apparently is when you're 11 months old).

The next day we go to a section of Montauk called Ditch Plains, which is a little further east. It is probably my favorite part of Montauk, and when Reedu was pregnant last year, this is where we had some professional pictures taken. The waves break further out and are gentler on this beach, which makes it a popular surfing spot. We take Mylo into the water and he loves it. It's great to be back.

Later that evening, after we've showered, I walk Mylo up a large sand dune and, as a cool breeze blows through our hair and the sun goes down, we say goodnight to the ocean.

Bathtime!

Living Large with Rubber Ducky

Good Day

The new Brooklyn waterfront park is a thing of beauty. And I say that as a person who has his fair share of grievances with the city (don't get me started about the MTA). However, the city has scored big with the park, and, even though it's not complete, it's popularity is evidenced in the shrieks and laughs of kids at play, and the satisfied smiles of watchful parents.

Mylo is a huge fan of sandbox village, where his grandma Claire frequently takes him, and of the water lab, where his grandma Claire also takes him, but where Reedu and I took him this afternoon-- sorry to move in on your turf Ma!

And after a little late-afternoon nap, we finished off the day with a Trader Joe's mini-hold-the-cone ice cream cone.

Now that's a good day!

New Photos

Alright, I know I'm biased but is the kid naturally photogenic or what? I wanted to post just one or two of these and I couldn't! I had to post all four! Ridiculous.