P and People

I should get another shot tomorrow (since the thing was so much more obvious tonight) - but you can kinda see the immense shiner popping up on P's face, above...

I get the biggest kick out of hearing P interact with other people.  And this week has had a couple of good ones....

When the neighbor lady came over to pick up her boys she grinned, "Phoenix is like a story book character."  Me, "Wha?"  Her, "Yes, yes!  He came over and said, "I just smashed these bells by hand, and they have these tiny balls inside.  Want to come over and try?"  Apparently, her boys couldn't get out the door fast enough for this sort of invite. One point for totally random child and his constant cockamamie projects....

We went to the dentist the other day (P was long past due and he'd recently complained about a sensitive canine).  Score for Portland, we actually landed an unschooling father as our dentist!!!  P was (surprisingly) pretty excited for this experience and was such a pal during his visit that the technician kept looking at me in shock and saying six year olds aren't usually so good.  I was chuckling inside at how extensively the child seems to have picked up on social expectations without any explanation and how well he played the game.  I mean, it was full. on. charm.  (Because we all know, darling or no,  he's an expert at bouncing off of the walls too:)  When he was finally chatting with the dentist, he said, "Well, basically, I've been having some uncomfort with this tooth right here.  (Point to top left canine and continue talking with finger still slightly in mouth.)  Basically, I think the enamel is worn off of the bottom of my canine."  The doctor backed up the hypothesis, but assured the Little Man that his teeth are tip top, well used or not :)

What's really funny to me is how he seems to have absorbed some social expectations (be an angel at the dentist), but totally missed others (privacy).  Like with his tush.  Its been red for weeks, since eating some foods he has reactions to.  Strangely enough, it didn't disappear by itself after a few days, and then weeks, so I suggested we see a doctor.  He was adamantly opposed.  We chatted about it occasionally over a period of weeks.  He, staunchly saying that he would go to no one that would prod, poke or pry or give him some shot or something.  (Between his eye surgeries and then that doctor botching my spider bite diagnosis, the child has developed some, erm, opinions :)  We finally landed on a naturopath and he was thrilled with how his visit went.  The drops she gave him to take are kinda timed, so I had to call him away from his neighborly yardtime the other day for a dose.  I was very discreet, feeling tushie rashes might be a private matter for a six year old boy.  Oh, nope!  When he reached the door and understood what was going on, he ran back outside and shouted to his friends, "I'll be right back!  I just have to take some drops for my red tushie!"  Oh the innocence of it all, it just kills me :)

And last week, we went out to dinner.  P has been longing for a pizza akin to Anthony's, rather than the Cali style pizza, seemingly popular here.  We hit the jackpot with Ken's.  Everything was amazing, from the ceasar to the roasted veggies and, most importantly, the wood fired pizza margherita.  I thought we were all super satiated as we emptied our plates.   So, imagine my surprise when the waitress asked how we liked our meal and the Little Man spoke up, "It was good, but I didn't like my pizza as much as I liked my Mama's.  There was a slight fennel flavor to mine.  Her's didn't taste like fennel at all."  The waitress was awesome.  She (after laughing, of course) told P that there is a fennel pizza on their menu and perhaps his was in the oven beside one of those, absorbing some of the fennel flavor.  The child figured she was right.

And last, but not least, is the neighbor girl across the street.  P loves older girls.  Like, l.o.v.e.s.  He has watched her play with friends in the driveway, watched her set off fireworks from his bedroom window, and even met her Mama a few times.  But, alas, he has yet to actually meet her.  And he told me that he wants me to arrange that.  Yeesh.  Asking me to talk to a stranger is about the worst thing he could request.  I find it amazingly, ridiculously painful.  The child seems to be catching on to my lame limits and, when we are in a store and can't locate an item, it is he that marches up to a sales person to ask for help.  Pathetic, I know, but true.  And, honestly, the fact that the child doesn't quite understand social customs doesn't help any.  He has suggested we invite them all over for dinner, suggested we go over and ask them to just come to our house to play, suggested we see if she wants to come play in the sprinkler...

After avidly avoiding all of these scenarios for the last two weeks, my time was running out.  So I suggested we bake something and take it by.  We picked a ripe zucchini, made some muffins and then the child methodically wrapped them in wax paper, a pink bit of yarn and then some gold glitter strands ("I'm just decorating it a bit, Mama.  Think I should add some of my stickers?")  We marched across the street and knocked on the door.  To the child's great dismay, they weren't home.

The neighbor boys came over later that afternoon.  As they headed home, P, ever the gift giver, grabbed the carefully constructed package and handed it to their Mama.  I guess you snooze, you lose :)

Of course, today, he was ready to bake something new and walk across the street again.  Thankfully, for the wussy Mama, we had plans to swim...

Hot enough to burn a hole in you.

 P, with a few of our first zucs and our outrageous corn, pumpkin, tomato and zucchini plants in the background.

This almost seems mean... but I'll do it anyway ;)

So, its been a bit, well, warm, in our home states.  I can only imagine what that fourth floor walk-up feels like right now in NY.  And I can only too easily imagine the suffocating blast encountered when walking out the door in Kansas.  What we never imagined, moving here, is tossing on a cardigan... in July.

Now, I hear that this is an unseasonably cool summer.  So, we could expect a little more warmth next year (assuming the winter isn't so morosely dark in penance for such summer perfection that we flee in tears before then...), but it still won't touch the humid misery we're used to in July and August.   It is, in a word, glorious.

The nights are so cool that an open window leaves us peacefully sleeping under sheets, despite the daytime, sun warmed second floor bedroom.  The main floor is cool all day, I've even used, gasp, my oven.  In July!  Painlessly!

After a lifetime of hot summers, E and I are, honestly, shaking our heads in wonder every day.  It just doesn't seem right.  Fair.  Possible...

And gardening (one of the things I most looked forward to after so many years with just a window ledge or fire escape) couldn't be more different here than in Kansas either.  Our lovely rental yard, that, according to our neighbors, has been ignored for the last three years, is bountiful.  The coolest things keep popping up, without any encouragement:

Found:  climbing the fence.  

I've been hacking back the grapes so that they don't take over the entire yard (literally).  Ditto the catmint, the flowers, the raspberry bushes and the hops.... I'm used to pampering plants, watering every other day due to drought like summers, covering for crazy summer hail storms.  Here, I've turned the hose on... once.  We'll have a few days of sunshine, then maybe a cooler day for a break, then, just as the plants seem like they might need a sprinkle, we'll wake to a light drizzle that sends down just enough to satisfy for when the sun emerges later that day.  Its eery, really, to get such bounty from so little effort.  Its also a blessing, since bending over to weed or water is so very undesirable right now :)  I worry its planting unreasonable gardening expectations in the child though :)  Who is Loving the idea that he is growing his own food.  In fact, he thinks there's so many zucchinis and pumpkins coming in, that we should start selling them to the store across the street ;)

As a side note, the child is still enjoying his outdoor access immensely, especially with the lovely (sorry, Mom!) weather.  So much time is spent at the fire pit its almost silly.  If its not with matches, its with his trusty magnifying glass (thanks, Aunt Alicia!!!)  He's coming up with all sorts of experiments.  My favorite from this week was his attempt to build a contraption over his homemade fire that would boil water :)

His least favorite was his experiment with BB.  Would BB burn if the magnifying glass was pointed his direction?  Yes indeedy, the pink polyester monster does burn.  And, despite P turning the pointed rays away from the monster as quickly as possible, the poor thing was still left with a large (enough) burnt ring.

I can't express how much the child loves this creature.  Were I not so tired, I would do a sweet little BB photo montage here, since he's been in so many photos over the last four years.  Out of laziness, I'll just use the one P shot the other day, after sitting all of the BB's together.  He said they looked so cute together, he just had to get a picture.  Unfortunately, I think he was bouncing about too much for the phone to focus;)

Each has a purpose.  There's Wet BB, he's the larger lumpy one on the right.  He enjoys long walks in the surf, being sprayed by the sprinkler and the occasional bath.  There's Little BB, who enjoys riding in trucks.  There's Medium Sized BB there in the back, who enjoys being drug along on long walks (by a string) and attached to P's pants (with his permanent safety pin accessory).  And then there's just BB.  He's the star of the show, the main monster.  He gets the most attention, but when he's nowhere to be found, the others play back-up.  Notice, the missing mouths, the mangled arms, the paint splotched ears, the shaved fur and the lumpy bodies.  That all spells l-o-v-e.

It was Wet BB that was burned.  And P was mortified.  He tried to be tough.  He tried to problem solve it (call the company and ask them to send us some regular BB fabric?  Use the not-quite-right pink fleece we have and get it really dirty, shave it free of its softness and then sew it on?)  Eventually, he grew pretty mad at himself.  That's a new thing.  For the longest time, P was pretty sure he was perfect.  In fact, this last winter, he heard a children's song that said something about how nobody's perfect and he was (I'm not even kidding here) quite confused :)  This time, he was confused about why he would do something so dumb.  Yuck.  Its hard for me to watch him lose his perfect innocence :(

After plenty of processing, we did surgery.  He got out his trusty doctor's kit, gleefully, yet worriedly, gave BB a large shot of anesthesia, right in his new hole... and half looked half covered his eyes as I stitched up his best buddy. (I heard him ask the neighbor boy the other day, "Do you want to meet my best friend?  His name is BB.  You can meet him and my mom will play with us.")

After a few more "shots" and some "medicine,"  the monster was saved.  P said he'd learned an important lesson.  And I secretly ordered one of the last BB dolls around off of Amazon that night....

Big Brothers and other stuff

My little brother texted me today and P, suddenly ignored (hehe;), busied himself with the baby.  I overheard him telling her to not grow anymore, that he thought she might be hurting me.  And that he was ready to play.  And would she wake up and kick, please?!  He "plays" with her each morning as he wakes up and yells into my belly regularly.  He also sings the Harry Potter theme song to her daily, to, you know, make her happy :)

Just a couple of "pink" thoughts tonight, since E brought up the whole "girl" thing today, saying he was really looking forward to experiencing a little girl this time around.  I'm very curious to see how the sex difference plays out here.  Personally,  as much as I love my manly man, I love the gender free role approach some parents (I'm thinking of that Swedish couple from last year who's preschooler is completely unlabeled by sex) and even schools (where is my link?!?!  I'll find it...) are attempting.  I've freely remarked on how much bullshit I feel American gender roles are, and E and I are doing our damndest to give P the chance to be P, whether that be while wearing (gasp) pink and cooking or doing sit-ups in the mud (both of which can happen, almost simultaneously on any given day :)  And I find it highly offensive that either would be blinked at or labeled.  I won't go all soap-boxy here, but will say that the recent victory in NY has me hoping for the erasure of gender/sex inequalities, in all its nasty forms, by the time my kids are of age....

Nevertheless, I'm curious if the husband, who is so not into striking the manly pose or talking the manly talk (and is beautifully comfortable with his son in long hair or buzz cut) will feel the same way about..... daddy's little girl?  While he doesn't try and "toughen" P up at all, I'm not sure the reverse will be true...  For example :)  I recently teased him that I hope he doesn't pamper the future Little Miss, like he does the freaking cat, who he has always babied (as he watched me give her, gasp, tap water and said, "oh, I always give her filtered water" - hint hint:)

What, the cat not quite enough of a future predictor?  Fair enough.  How about our conversation on kid carrying.  The Little Man, staidly six and a HALF, still loves to be carried.  Due to his bouncy nature and Brooklyn's busy streets, we often swept him up as a toddler when he would have been happy to stretch his wee toes (but was typically happy to be carried, too.)  This became an entrenched ideal and he figures being carried as a true act of love.  Looking ahead, with the infinite wisdom that all second-borns are tortured by, I mentioned to E that as soon as she was walking, we'd, by gawd, let her walk.  Even if this meant infinite patience (the kind only city parents, whose kids walk everywhere, slowly, know the mind-numbing pain of).  To which E replied, oh, no, I'm going to carry my little girl.  I'm reallllly looking forward to that.  Awww, melt, sweetness... mixed with a simultaneous... shit!  Case in point? We'll see...

So, when I was expecting P, rather than reading birthing books (denial), one of the parenting books I read was on how to raise emotionally healthy boys ("Raising Cain").  An eye opening book for a '70's raised midwestern girl, to be sure.  After all, I wasn't a boy, had no idea how boys truly experienced life, and had internalized a lot of the pressures and expectations placed on those wee shoulders culturally to boot.

But now, I am a female.  And a liberated, feminist one at that ;)  It hadn't really crossed my mind to read a book on how to raise a girl, I feel a little more experienced in that area ;)  But, delving just a level deeper, I'm realizing there is a LOT to think about and question, just like there is with boys....  In an ideal world, everyone that ever meets this little girl will have at least read this sweet little article, as a small and partial introduction to aiding the emotional health of the world's future women.  I agree with her wholeheartedly.  Little girls in little dresses are adorable.  And editing those ooohs and ahhhs are really freaking tough.  But I'm nothing if not fabulous about pretending to live in an ideal world ;)

The second "big social issue" I've had fleeting thoughts on, as B-day finally approaches, is public lactation :)  Or, hell, even home lactation with family or friends around!  With P, it was all so new, my comfort level was so tied to what I felt were societal expectations.  We were living in Kansas in the beginning, not a real hospitable place for the breastfeeding movement ;)  I had only seen a nursing mother, like, twice, in my life.  Fast forward years of nursing and seeing hundreds of women feed and comfort their babies and... it finally feels like the second nature that it should.  

But, back to that ideal bubble I like to promote in my mind ;)  Seeing fabulous ideas like this remind me that not everyone is comfortable with boys with long hair or babies eating the way babies are supposed to eat.  And, honestly, after cringing under hot nursing covers and leaving meal after meal to feed my baby in a bathroom stall (rather than, gawd help me, raise some old biddy's eyebrow), Little Miss will benefit from yet another second-born bounty: boobs on demand without Mama mortification.

And if she grows up to be a beauty pageant addict or P becomes a hairy, pro-football player (just to culturally generalize;), so be it.  They will have (hopefully) followed their bliss, rather than some culturally defined do's.  And I'll have (hopefully) helped someone see nursing as natural, while getting to eat my food, still hot :)

(Scary thought, but, I think, though not a clueless first-timer like last time, that I just may be veering towards that same clueless idealism experienced just before the reality of it all comes crashing in....  Oy :)

Baby Update: birth planning and stuff

That fire pit just doesn't get old, apparently.  It turned too cool for swimming today (a slight difference from that heatwave smacking Kansas) so the child played with a different element for the afternoon....

I realized last week that I haven't said much about the baby or baby plans, so just wanted to journal that a little bit.  Feel free to skip this post, it will most likely bore you, dear (all 5 of you) readers :)

Apparently, I'm in my 8th month (yes, Mom, that is EIGHTH, with emphasis ;) and the baby updates have started saying things like, "your little one will be here in just a few weeks!"  Ummm, I'm not so hot with numbers, but there's still about 8 weeks left here...

Nevertheless, it has helped me really realize that I think things are going to go down and a baby will be born.  Yes, its been many, many months of denial, with just a few moments of clarity.  After thinking it wouldn't ever happen again, and then miscarrying and such, I think my defenses were high and my expectations low.  But I'm feeling pretty darn attached to this Little Miss now, and awfully excited to meet her.

So, this week, the diapers (P's adorable kissaluvs - oh how they are the sweetest little things you've ever seen!! and some organic prefolds) have been washed.  The little kimono shirts (the better to not pull her wee head off with) folded.  The tiny baby leggings (the better to EC with) gently stored.  Some soft sherpa squares for wipes are stacked.  The wrap and sling are ready to hold her sweet sleeping form and free my hands for P.  The blankets are waiting to warm her.  I still need to get a wool pad for her to sleep on by me and a pre-fold belt for ECing, but otherwise, I think her bodily needs can now be met.

And speaking of her body!  She's, apparently, almost 4 pounds now.  And packing on about half a pound a week.  Her lungs are finally mature and her skin is pink rather than red and translucent.  She's, basically, fully cooked, minus the fat, some bone solidity and some brain folds.  This, of course, means she's taking up a lot of real estate.  My stomach is finally cramped into my ribs, providing me with nightly heartburn (something I never, ever experience otherwise.)  My quick shots of apple cider vinegar to combat this burn so beautifully that I briefly feel almost pre-child, but without the spins ;)

I think she is head down already (P was staunchly breech almost to his due date, so we had to have external version performed - yuck!  But it worked!!!)  because it seems her feet are getting into my ribcage regularly :)  I feel like I'm carrying her high too, but who knows ;)  And, unlike with P, I can feel her hard, squirmy body parts really well.  Sometimes shockingly well!  As in, oh, that's her upper thigh and if I follow that bump there's a butt - and her back!  Maybe P hung out more towards the back of my uterus, maybe it was because it was just his huge head constantly bonging into my bones rather than smaller body parts flailing around, but I definitely notice her moving more than the Little Man did.  I mean, he was active enough, but there were long hours when there would be nothing (and of course I'd worry and have to drink something cold and sweet:)  With her, there's little downtime, she seems to be noticeably flip flopping all. the. time.  And she, apparently, practices her tango, religiously, every night from ten till twelve thirty.  She's also good about waking me a few times a night with swift kicks and big flops, and then typically adds a nice right punch to the bladder, just to get my attention, around 4:30 each morning.  Her bumps have grown so big that I had a dream the other night she was pushing her way out... right below my ribcage.  There was soft brown hair and eye's like E's and she asked if she could come out now.  No, no, I told her, not quite yet, and I pushed her back in and closed the flap from which she tried to escape.  Ahhh, pregnancy....:)

Now I have to focus on getting the birthing supplies ready.  I'll know more after Thursday, when the midwives come for their home visit, but I think the general gist is to have lots of towels and some spare sheets?  I'm soooo glad E agreed to a homebirth this time.  I can't imagine what the last birth would have been like in a hospital (well, actually, I can, I just don't want to.  Can anyone say C-section?) and I'm glad we won't even have to mess (fingers crossed, that is;) with a midwive's clinic this time.

When we were expecting P, I read a million parenting books.  We were clueless, I like to do research.  Of course, before you have a kid, you are the best parent on the planet and the research just gives you philosophical backing to your brilliance.  You don't officially suck and have any idea of your supreme suckdom until the kid is out.

This time, knowing of my infinite suckdom already, and having covered and re-covered from all of those books, I'm focusing on what I adamantly ignored last time around.  The basic fact that the baby must come out.  Somehow or another :)

Sure, we went to childbirth classes at the midwives' clinic last time.  And I still felt infinitely able... and, simultaneously, completely clueless for about 30 hours of extreme intensity.  Granted, this time it isn't my first rodeo. But, since I fear age (read: comparatively shitty shape here, 7 years later ;),  SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction - basically, a fucked up pelvic this time around) and this wretched vein issue I'm having (all likely due to P's birth) will infringe on that "infinitely able" feeling I had before...   I'm hoping to combat that by eradicating the "completely clueless" bit.  Hopefully book-smarts will make a difference here :)

At the very least, my reading has helped me feel less fear.  I finally realized a month or so ago that I was scared shitless to give birth again.  While I have quite fond memories of the amazonian abilities I acquired during P's birth, I also have a very distinct memory of driving home a couple hours after his birth.  I turned to E and said something like, "I need to tell women everywhere that they should, under no circumstances, Ever Get Pregnant.  Never.  Ever."

He agreed.

So, I've had to do a lot of soul searching, to figure out what, exactly, I was scared of this time.  The labor I could handle.  I didn't really notice the dreaded "transition."  The length, though not my exact favorite, was fine.  Last time, that is.  When I was still walking miles before birth, climbing ladders to paint the house, and just generally comfortable.  I realized I'm worried I won't be able to go that long this time, for the aforementioned reasons.  I didn't experience the "ring of fire," since poor little P had to be vacuumed (and therefore, I sliced.)  So, that one is more just a curiosity at this point.  So, after lots of thought, I think its the endurance worry coupled with the memory of my midwife holding back a cervical lip.  For over 6 hours.  The contractions felt like ice cream compared to that.  So, I've basically made my midwives swear that they won't touch my freaking cervix.  Let me go even longer, chillax on the couch and stare, just don't yank on my insides during my contractions.  That is hell realized.

So, half of my fear is shaken.  They will be creative and patient and I will be at home to relax and do my thing.  That will hopefully not take quite as long this time :)

And when I was reading (another) birthing book the other night, I read just what I needed (I love it when that happens:) to help with the other half.  The author said something to the extent that we are still ourselves when we are giving birth.  That how we approach our days and our lives are symptomatic of how we approach our births.  And it hit me.  I feel capable (except when driving:) and strong in my life.  And that's exactly how I felt during P's birth.   I never said I was ready to give up - that thought didn't occur to me.  I do distinctly remember telling E, once, after the whole cervical lip thing started, "I don't like this part."  But that was my only complaint for the two days.  I didn't plan that, or read about it to do it, it was just how it was.  So I have to trust that it can be that way again this time.  That I can do this, old and wonky-walking or no :) There's that, and I'm banking on a smaller baby :))))

During the week

Just wanted to toss up some pics of what our weeks have been looking like.  I'm finding myself more and more drawn to just hanging out close to home these days (natural nesting?  simple contentments?  driving freaks me out?  (don't even bother asking me about that street that was one-way and then... suddenly, it seems, was not... d'oh!) Typically, back in Brooklyn, the child often had to be cajoled for a jaunt.  Back when I was lively and willing (er, dying to escape our flat for some fresh air).  But life is fu-u-nny.   Now, I'm pretty content to just walk into the yard and dig a bit (or sit on the couch with my feet up and read to him;), and its the kid suggesting stuff he wants to do :)  I love, luuuuuv, his excitement and ideas and just his genereal joie de vivre. (Speaking of, in accordance with his newfound language fascination, dinners often begin with him asking, "Mama, do you have bon appetite for sugar snap peas tonight?  I sure do."  Teehee)  First, the close-to-home stuff:

Speaking of good appetites...  Oranges are too fun...  P's been juicing for E.  He loves the chopping and whirring...

Owl Pellet Dissecting.  P went through a whole period of reading books about owls (mostly fiction, but with supplemental stuff:) and he became fascinated with owl pellets.  When he found out you could actually DISSECT one and claim the bones within, well, the little collector was sold.  Mama, however, never got around to ordering the damn things (blech;)  But just days after Grams found out it was on the long-term wish list, the child was holding owl puke in his hot little hand, rodent skulls and all.  Oh the joy of it all!

The park up the street from us.  We're kinda in love with it.

E and P watch the tall trees blow in the wind.  It sounds different here.

And then, P announced last week he was desperate to swim.  Desperate.  Shoot.  Public pools in Brooklyn intimidated me.  Beyond the great schlep, there were all of the rules.   Like, white t-shirts only (gang issues.)  The child, nor I, even own white t-shirts.  You are allowed nothing but a towel into the pool area.  Well, this kid doesn't travel lightly, so...  The list went on, but, fortunately, the kid never really needed more than the sprinklers there, so it was a non-issue.  With this sudden longing popping up here though, I hoped it would be a bit easier, kinda like everything else has been so far ;)  And, um, yah, it was :)

The free pool time today lasted for three hours.  You can tell from the shots, it still wasn't that busy.  Pool time in July, to a NYer or Kansan with red hair (and a blonde child) means one thing, really: sunburn (or stroke;) The typical high 70's here during the summer made that a non-issue.  I was neither hot nor cold, sunstruck nor miserable.  When I was hungry (duh, pregnant;) there was a nice chair for me to sit in by the pool and eat my snack.  There were a million eager lifeguards on duty so that my son, were he to somehow start to drown in the balmy, 84 degree heated, gradually deepening wading pool (that never got higher than his chin), I needn't worry about being fast enough on my fattening feet.  The bathrooms were so clean I would have eaten off of the floor and the after-shower had the child proclaiming he is now a "shower lover."  Honestly, I was shocked, shocked at how delightful of an experience the whole thing was.  We plan to go back tomorrow.

 And all of this, while surrounded by towering trees and a gorgeous park (minutes from our house)!  I keep pinching myself...

 He even got to do a water slide.  

The kid also decided he really, really wanted to check out the science museum.  OMSI is not AMNH (sob) but, its pretty darn cool.  And really close to our house.  And the kid didn't say anything about the missing dinosaurs...  Of course, they had a huge sand area, so, really, he could have given a shit less :)  We also met up with some fantastic unschooling friends, so P had a blast.  (Its the only shot I thought to take - sorry for the lame photo:)

I think one of the reasons we're so happy to hang at home now is due to the luck we had with this rental.  P is reeeeally enamored with the neighbor boys and they play a Lot.  The younger one may not be the best match for P, and the older one is introducing the Little Man to more "typical" kid behaviors (I'm so used to being around unschooled/consensually parented kids that mouthy, sarcastic or judgemental chitchat is vividly surprising to me) but, they climb back and forth over the fence to bang sticks and such and I try and stay out of it lest my Mama Bear-ness fuck up his fun :)

The other big boon to home happiness is this yard!  What was basic when we moved in has blossomed in the last month of sunshine into a wonderland. As P and I enjoyed (3-D!!!) sidewalk chalk tonight, I looked around the front yard and, once again, couldn't believe I actually live here.  Its kinda fun feeling lucky :)

 Its a small yard, but its shockingly pretty to me!

Drove the Chevy to the levee, Papa, don't let Mama die...

P wanted some beach time last Saturday, but we (I;) wasn't up to the long hike into Crescent.  E hoped we'd hit low tide and sneak into Crescent Beach from Cannon Beach.  It was a perfect plan, if not for the fact that tight timelines aren't really our specialty :)

The Little Man could have cared less.  There was a large dune to run down along with ample sun and surf at Cannon.  But the beauty of leaving a very busy metropolis and furthering our options beyond Coney Island, is not being amongst a lot of people :)  So we found a secret-ish spot just off the main beach and its bustling tiny town, had a great picnic and tried to race across the sand in time to hit that low tide...  My waddle and P's crawl (he was busy being Woof-Woof) may have slowed us a tad bit ;)  As we rounded our hopeful spot, waves sprayed, announcing our lateness.  Whoops.  Well, there was this lovely rock-face we could climb over....

E and I had barely glanced at one another to confer before the child, sensing the solution, was already scaling the wall.

It was steep, but there were plenty of handholds and good footing and the rocks were, ahem, rock solid (har-har), with no slide.  I figured it would be totally doable.  And, really, it was.  But, about half way up, that silly little thing called pregnancy (8 months now!) gave me vertigo (I never really have issues with heights) and I closed my eyes and leaned into the wall to regain equilibrium.  No sweat.  E, who really treats me like an equal, no babying or bothering (which I appreciate) noticed and used his frantic voice (this guy is soooo not cool when worried that its actually funny).  This, alerted the child who, apparently assessing the situation (E was closer to me than he was) shouted out, "Papa!  Don't let Mama die!"

Broke. My. Heart.  And made me chuckle :)  But, lesson learned.  We're done climbing until this baby comes out.  There is no more denying it, I am very pregnant :)

Atop the rocky face was a lovely incline of wildflowers.  The boys, full of hope, raced to the top... only to find a sheer drop off on the far side.  No Crescent Beach for us!  And no wonder it was so vacant when we were there the other weekend.  Its a wee challenge to get to.

The view was lovely.

Back down we went.  P figured any beach was still a beach :)

He chanced upon a tidal pool and went into discovery mode.

Then, sand play.  Poor BB, he was buried.  Alive.  A feather was used to mark his grave.  P malevolently chuckled as he bounced and danced above the buried monster, saying the sand, mysteriously, was extra sproingy...  BB, where are you?  Check out this bouncy sand!  BB?  Mwahahaha.

Per request, Ethan dug P another huge hole.  The child wanted to check it out and was lowered in. 

Right side up, he wasn't as impressed with its depth....(though the dedicated father had dug till he hit water)

The poor pink monster was eventually unearthed and taken for a nice dunking, er, swim...

P bouldered for a bit after his sand and water needs were met.  Then we had another picnic and headed home for an early evening.  En route, P discovered his other new favorite song (since E required a brief break from Akufen's "Train to Barcelona":), Don McLean's "American Pie."  The child sang the chorus over and over and over this week, trying to work it out.  Not knowing what a lot of the words meant, he filled in what he could with repetition.  So, for the first few days, it went something like this, "drove the levee to the levee but the levee was dry.  And good ol' boys, whisky whisky and die, this will be the day that I diiiiiiiieeee."  Now, he's also become really interested in foreign languages in the last couple of months, requesting tutors and the whole nine yards.  He spends inordinate amounts of time speaking in "foreign tongues", trilling his letters and rhyming (he typically sounds very Italian).  So he incorporated this into McLean's work with the bestest rolled "r" in the world in "dry."  E and I had to work overtime not to chuckle at the cuteness, as this is highly insulting to the child.  Finally, around Wednesday, he nailed the lyrics and told me he was proud of himself :)  Now, if I could only find a way to catch a performance on a video....

Real Work

P, experiencing his first, very own backyard sprinkler moment.  He sprayed it straight in BB's eyes.  He was very pleased with himself.

My dad sweetly reminded me today that I still have a blog :)  P has been going through some (seemingly) rapid changes and challenges the last week, gobbling up my every last bit of energy, patience and problem-solving pride.  I'm not sure what's wonky with him, where its coming from (developmental?  the rash?  growth spurt?) but, true to Little Man form, he seems to feel best when smothered in luuuuuv.  Result?  Me, off radar ;)  Sorry, dad :)))

Working some compost into his garden.

One of my favorite things about living out of the city (hahaha!  I think of this as living "out of the city," but our neighbor was just saying something about her "poor little city kids"!  I thought, this is the freakin' boonies!  But, seriously, the boonies don't have traffic (or foot traffic) and a grocer across the street, so...  obviously its all quite relative :)  At any rate (oh, could I be more rambly tonight?!), one of my favorite things here is that P can experience "real work." And how much he loves this.  Now, don't get me wrong, I luuuuved Brooklyn.  But the closest thing he saw to human work there was... E coming home from a long day.  Or dishes and mopping.  Or going to the market.  And though he did dig mopping, most of our bill paying parental parts were not so kid friendly.

 Harvesting (and eating;) our raspberries.

One day's "crop."

Here, he is our little shadow.  Trim the grape vines up?  Lemme do it, Mama!.  Mow the yard?  I'll push the mower, Papa!  Plant the garden?  Water the garden?  Sweep the porch?  Pull the weeds?  Harvest the berries?  Mash the jam?  Feed the compost pile?  Double, triple check.  He wants to do it Alllll.  Hisself.

Helping the neighbor shovel her mulch (with her sons, P's new BFFs:)

Of course, for two perfectionists who like to efficiently finish a task, this extra set of helping hands can feel more hinderance, less help... But that's our issue ;)  So, as the occasional bunch of grapes were lost to an extra-zealous trim tonight, I took deep breaths of humus-y earth and told myself not to snatch the clippers.

With the cooler weather, the garden rarely (from a Kansan's point of view) needs a tap top-off, but one warm day, the lettuce and peppers looked kinda wilty, so I dug a sprinkler out of the cellar.  Oh the joy of the child.  He had grabbed his rain boots and stripped down before I blinked.  So we aimed it towards the grassy spot... much to the melon's dismay, and relinquished our petty "perfectionistic" wants :)  The child, he quickly decided he loves to "help water the garden" ;)  In these moments, E and I give each other loooong, meaningful gazes.  The ones that say, "Don't fuck with the kid!  He's anxious to help, we don't want to squash this love of doing... even if it ruins the freakin' xy or z...."  Oh that we (and our garden, lawn and compost pile) have some small measure of success...  At the very least, the kid is having a blast doing some real work :)

Crescent Beach

We totally hit the beach jack-pot this weekend!  I was less swollen, the kid was psyched, the picnic cooler was packed and we were ready to roll...

To a dead halt.  We're guessing now it was an accident.  But the highway to the beach came to a stand-still for a bit and we crawled across the countryside.  Not wanting to plant worried seeds in little minds, E and I just exchanged "this does not bode well - holiday weekend" glances.  Then, just like that we were zooming through the mountains...  Phew.

We're (in our limited experience;) used to empty Oregon beaches.  And while it was reassuring that we could easily find a place to park on the July 4th weekend, I dreaded our quiet escape had converted into Coney Island for the summer.  The smaller lot we had planned to visit was full and there were actual other humans mulling about...

So, we picnicked and tried to put together our new plan.  We spied a trail sign for Crescent Beach, warning hikers that it was an advanced trail, muddy and steep.  Hmmm, this seems like just the sort of thing that would send the flip-flopped tourists another direction...  I suggested we do it.  It was only a mile and a half in.  The kid was game.  E reminded me I sometimes have trouble walking these days :)

The scenic overlook.  The big bag?  Almost entirely dedicated to digging toys and water...  The beach beyond the lookout?  Our destination...   P's bag?  BB of course!  With his favorite (real) dog (his imaginary one, Woof-Woof, is always with us...) Poodlena.

 The hike was gorgeous.  It alternated between canopied forest and little meadows with breathtaking views. 

The high cliffs both called to P and made him a wee bit nervous.

(Belly shot, Dina!;)

The child has been hiking on his own two heels really well lately, but this one tuckered him out.  Super Papa carried him some.  And the bag :)  Super stud.

 The final downhill run of switchbacks.  The child sprinted through them.  Here, we passed one family, leaving the beach.  

The Little Man immediately set to collecting, talking to himself and the objects he found.

E planted our stuff behind a rock, ran in the water, and then pointed out his plan.  He thought he spied some tidal pools (P's favorite) just beyond the only other family on the entire beach.   The hike was worth it;)

A lovely waterfall fed a small stream that ran into the ocean.  Tiny fish skirted around our ankles.  P was so alive it was adorable.

The tidal pool promising rocks in the distance, with lighthouse!

Bingo!  

Then we rounded bend after bend, fortunate for the low tides, and found a series of caves.  That connected to one another!  E mentioned the Count of Monte Cristo :)

Examining cave walls.

Checking out starfish and crabs

Playing with the tide and Papa

And finally, it was evening.  Fortunately, the one other family had mentioned a, erm, shortcut.  The hike back would have been pretty arduous, and definitely cut into our beach time, so we were excited to see about this trail that supposedly led straight up to the parking lot.  Well, come to find out, it wasn't really a trail.  This family had basically bushwacked through a protected area to make it down to the beach that morning :)  But it was really too late for us to attempt the other hike and chance getting caught in the dark woods, not to mention that once we'd made it up the super steep, sandy embankment and realized the folly, I had no idea how I'd backtrack back down!  I believe Ethan's exact words, as he hovered behind me as we climbed almost straight up were, "If your mother could see you right now, she'd tar and feather me."

All I could think was how happy I was that the child was so sprightly and I could comfortably let him climb ahead of us.  And the view was unbelievable.  Not to mention how great it felt to feel capable again for the day.  But I didn't stop to take any pictorial evidence, knowing my mother is coming for a visit ;)

P takes it all in before we start our return climb.

We picnicked again, watched some elk walk around and then took off into the sunset, supremely happy.  And listening to, of course, "Train to Barcelona"...    The child, he's nothing if not consistently obsessive ;)