Velo Baby

Back on the Bus

2009-05-06T16:35:00.005-05:00

I wrote this back in March--when it was still winter jacket and fleecey headwear weather.

Parenting involves many sacrifices: sleepless nights, mountains of laundry, the invasion of primary colors. But the true measure of my dedication to my son is that I have been willing to get back on the bus, even for—shudder—short trips.

When my husband, a fellow cyclist, and I became parents, we dutifully parked our bikes in favor of slings, strollers, walks and busses. But as soon as Miguel’s neck could handle a helmet and Chicago’s potholes, we returned to our bike-dependent ways.

We expected Miguel to share our enthusiasm for the pedaling lifestyle. Alas, bus, not bike, was one of his first words. Given a choice, he picks four fat tires over two skinny ones every time.

He’s on to something. In many ways, hauling him by bike is no better for his development than sticking him in a car seat. While we exercise, he’s sitting. While we focus on traffic, he’s ignored. By contrast, transit journeys involve walking, talking and a huge, loud, interesting vehicle.

If we want Miguel, now 2 ½, to become self-propelled, we need to let him use his legs. So, we are slowing down and mixing up the modes. We bike to day care, but let him walk a few blocks back. We walk to a friend’s house and incorporate a bus on the return—even if only for two stops. For a trip downtown, we sprint ten blocks to the train, using the bike trailer turned jogger, and meander home at his pace.

Slowing down is not easy. But transportation choices with kids are about more than getting to destinations, they are about helping them become strong and independent. All too soon, Miguel will be pedaling to his own adventures. Until then, I am savoring holding his hand at the bus stop.

Yes, bikes belong, even at 8:30 pm on Kimball with my kid in a trailer

2009-04-30T23:46:00.007-05:00

In all fairness, 87% of our biking journey today had a puppies and rainbow quality to it. Smiles and yielding: “No, you first” “No, you!”

Maybe it was the warm break in the rain, the baby leafed trees and Miguel’s cheerful yellow slicker that put a kind step into the traffic dance as I pedaled him in a trailer from day care to a friend’s house and back home--a good seven mile round trip journey.

The ride to Lisa’s was friendly and mostly on side streets because we could zig and zag from day care. The trip home after sunset was tense but manageable--a straight shot down “mid tier” Kimball with car and bus traffic liberated from rush hour.

We were so close to home when the positive vibe was broken: “You are going to get you’re a** run over” yelled a man in a maroon SUV. I eyed the just turned red light two blocks ahead and briefly accelerated, hoping to catch him for a talking to.

On my own, I am an assertive but polite cyclist, but I will chase down drivers when goaded with trash talk or in response to egregious violations of law or civility. (I pick these battles carefully—I make mistakes too.) Alone, I almost always catch someone at a red, unless they freak out and turn.

With Miguel, it’s so different. I am still polite, but the assertiveness is sharpened into a mix of extreme care and confidence. I come close to 360 degree, anticipatory vision, especially with the trailer. I make few mistakes. Maybe I need a big sign that says, “Relax, I know what I am doing.” When drivers spew the anti-bike rhetoric when I am with Miguel, I get angrier than usual. But when I am hauling 45 pounds of kid, trailer and care, I don’t usually have a chance to catch up and continue the conversation, which is probably for the best.

I did not catch tonight’s antagonist. If I had, I might have said:

“Hi! Is there a problem? We’re just trying to get home. Do you think my a** should be in a car instead, taking up more parking spaces, adding to traffic jams and slurping down petroleum? Or do you think my a** belongs on the bus, atrophying while my fingers tap impatiently at each slow, lurching stop? Or maybe you just think my a** should get out of your way, no matter what. Regardless, could you please use better language? My 2 ½ year old son is listening to everything we say.”

Miguel picks up on everything. Earlier in the evening, I had yelled, “Heads up, heads up, heads up” as a driver was getting out of his car without looking back. I try not to ride close to parked cars, but the door zone and travel lane can be a tight squeeze. I don’t like taking chances, or startling drivers, so I do yell in a firm way sometimes. Miguel has heard the heads up refrain before. Today he told me he didn’t like it. Of course he doesn’t. It’s the same tone I use with him when he gets too close to the stove or inexplicably puts a nickel in his mouth.

If I have to be so arch-backed vigilant, scanning, scanning, barking here, scowling there, should I just stop biking with him? I’ve already mixed transit in more than usual to honor Miguel’s need to walk and enjoy big machines. But biking is my main form of transportation! Sometimes it’s a question of either biking or staying home. I don’t want the answer to be get a car or go back to transit dependency. Sure, I understand why people drive and I love transit, too. I just want there to be room in the streets and in people’s hearts for me and my family to pedal quietly along when we need to. What’s so crazy about that?

bike seat or trailer? Yes!

2009-01-15T21:26:00.003-06:00

Like many parents who eagerly wait for the day their baby’s neck can handle both a helmeted head and potholes (doctors recommend 12 months), Michael and I debated: bike seat or trailer? One and a half years into our family biking adventure, we’ve learned that the answer is: “Yes!”

Disclaimer: For us, biking with Miguel is an easy choice. We don’t have a car, and are used to hauling all kinds of things by bike, from groceries to a washer and dryer set (which messed up the trailer hitch, but that's another story.) Our basement is easy to access, our foyer is large and we are the landlords of a bike-friendly building; we have the room and permission to stash our two-wheeled accoutrements where we please. We also only have one child. So, the biking-with-kid learning/logistics curve might not be as steep for us as for others.

Sometimes I worry that we paint too rosy a view of our bike-dependent lifestyle. It takes time, skill, patience, a sense of humor and a tolerance for Weather. But so do all forms of transportation. For example, I have the patience to spend a few minutes at a bike rack, puzzling through the “Ooops, I bought too many groceries” pannier challenge, but would claw my eyes out in a car circling for a spot in the Whole Foods parking lot. No way of getting around is perfect, which, to get back to what I started writing about, is why we use both a bike seat and trailer.

The bike seat gives Miguel a better view and is less cumbersome in traffic and when parked. It's our choice for shorter, fairer weather trips. Our model came with a highly engineered red poncho that fits over the helmet, kid and seat, so we do not fear summer cloudbursts.

I had been initially reluctant to use a seat, worried that the bike would tip over with Miguel in it. But so long as I have something to lean my frame against, getting him in and out is no problem. One downside is that it eliminates rear rack carrying capacity. We compensate with a front basket or pannier, and could hitch up one of our cargo trailers, but usually I just don’t plan to carry or buy a lot during bike seat outings. (Who wants to do big shopping trips with a 2 year old anyway??)

The trailer has been invaluable during the last two frigid, snowy winters and for longer journeys when we want Miguel to be able to take a nap. The rolling cocoon provides weather protection and room for snacks, books and toys while liberating the rear rack for carrying other gear. But it can be cumbersome to park and store.

Another challenge of trailers is that they extend behind you, which can make turning, going through intersections, even changing lanes a little nerve-wracking. You have to be hawkeyed about clearance and signal your intentions assertively. You get used it though, and drivers tend to give a wide berth.

Our trailer is just for one kid, so it has a narrow profile, which I like for urban commuting. But it does not have a "helmet well" in the back, so Miguel's head is pushed forward a bit by the back wall. This is a feature I would look for if buying a new trailer.

Michael and I have attachments for the seat and trailer, so it’s easy for us to switch off. For example, when Michael drops him off at day care, he leaves the trailer or bike seat there. That way I can pick him up (though I haven’t done that in a while—thanks, Michael!) We are grateful that our day care provider lets us and another biking family store our trailers in their gangway and the bike seats with all the other strollers.

I suspect that we’ll be biking a little less in the near future though. For while it’s a great choice for us, Miguel’s answer to bike seat or trailer is: “Bus!” or “Train!” And he’s right. While we’re pedaling, he’s sitting behind us. Our focus is more on traffic than on talking with him. By contrast, transit journeys involve walking, talking, observing, and, of course, a very exciting bus or train with big wheels, loud noises and interesting people. I want to say that I look forward to the day that he can ride a bike with us. . . but I don’t think I am quite ready for that level of independence! For now, I don’t mind slowing down and mixing up the modes (and modes within modes) a bit.

Humboldt Park Mountain

2009-01-10T15:15:00.008-06:00

Being a winter cyclist means you’re always ready to pounce on a 30 degree day that’s gift-wrapped in six inches of still falling snow. This morning, Karen, Lisa, our toddlers and I didn’t have to waste time digging out gear or working up stamina for a sledding adventure in Humboldt Park.

Karen rolled up to our house around 10am, and helped me and Miguel hitch up his bike trailer while Hazel started dozing off in hers. There was something soporific in the air—Miguel was rubbing his eyes too--but we persevered knowing that an investment in Time Spent Getting Ruddy Cheeked Outside would make the rest of our day more pleasant.

The side streets were impassable so we kept to the snow calmed mains, 2 blocks east on Armitage, six blocks south on Kedzie. We skirted the edge of the park until we found what looked to be more an undulation than a hill, a white bulge barely noticeable against the park’s expanse and gray sky. “It’s smaller than I remember,” Karen observed. But other sledders were there, so we knew we were in the right-enough spot.

Before the kids came, a snowy night would sometimes end with crazy bike rides down, up and around the “Humboldt Park Mountain.” Perhaps it was the whiskey or the moonlight that exaggerated the contours. I am tempted to sigh and think, “Those were the days. . .,” but these are fine times too, just with different rhythms and more daylight. We’ve got no lack of capers ahead of us, so for a little while I don’t mind settling into the drift.

We trudged toward some poles to secure our bikes and left our bags in the trailers, figuring that anyone out in this weather would either be sledding too or hurrying home, not thieving. We joked about having brought diapers along. There was no way we were going to unbundle our kids in the middle of a snowstorm. Easier to just pedal home in an emergency.

While Karen closed up the trailer, Hazel stood still and wide eyed. Two feet tall in a rose snowsuit, she made the hill behind her look like a mountain again. Miguel, not used to his new boots, or walking in half a foot of snow, stumbled twice before I opted for efficiency, scooped him up and charged.

Once we all reached the top, Karen unfurled two thin, slick sheets of plastic, one neon green, the other neon orange. Miguel scrambled onto her lap and they made it about halfway down, a cacophony of arms and legs. One of the snow encrusted older kids, perhaps not trusting our maternal instincts (maybe because he had seen us pull up on bikes?), warned us about the fast sections, which I promptly explored with Hazel. We proceeded to have a good 10-15 minutes of sliding, spinning, snow eating chaos, which was amplified by the arrival of Lisa and Violet. They also helped the bikes almost outnumber the parked cars.

Miguel, being researched minded, quickly scouted the other sleds. “You don’t really need this right now. . . ” his quick hands would say as I scampered behind him, first needlessly apologizing (everyone there either had a two year old or a big kid who had once been a two year old), then marveling as he charmed one dad into a free ride back up the hill in his exersaucer-tuned-sled and another dad into lending us his fancy orange contraption, which ended up being a bust.

Our experiments suggest that the simple sheets of plastic Karen brought were the most fun (and easiest to carry by bike) and that toddlers only have about 20 minutes of sledding time in them. Once the cries of “again! again!” turned into just cries, we rolled up the sleds and rolled out, though by then poor Violet had changed her tears to a rebuke of leaving.

Once home, Miguel helped me shovel the sidewalk, which had accumulated 4 inches since Michael’s early morning scrapings.

And the Time Spent Getting Ruddy Cheeked Outside worked as planned: Miguel took to his nap quickly, happily and deeply, which allowed me this indulgent writing time.

Sestina Attempt #1

2008-12-24T14:18:00.005-06:00

My exploration of poetic forms continues with the sestina. The same six words are used to end the lines of the six line stanzas. The order of the words changes according to a patterm that I struggled to understand until I recalled the "inverted sock" of Brown's commencement tradition, where all grads and alums walk past one another. I'd explain better, but Miguel is about to wake up from his nap. Anyhoo, I chalk this effort up to "good for the brain" and recording a memory rather than literary aspirations!

About bug bites, winter and typical parental fear and hope. . . .

More than others in our party, I itch.
We didn’t know it would be such a risk
Taking the plunge from our Andean home
Close to la selva, down two thousand feet.
Legs bare, guard down, we swam and took a walk:
Invisible swarms attacked us with ease.

Our constellations of welts scream for ease.
John and I were the first to howl “We itch!”
Children and spouses seemed spared by the walk
Then their bites reddened and revealed the risk
Of a night spent clawing raw legs and feet.
Still, we are glad to be here instead of home.

Miguel likes to say “Home away from home.”
His joy and exploring has been our ease
Where there’s no snow in cold inches or feet
Or my sigh when he gets that itch
To breathe and kick the drifts, stir up some risk--
And piling ten layers hinders the walk.

To be fair, we thrive on brisk winter walks,
Or at least take pride in the seasons of home
Where blizzards and black ice offer some risk.
Can you build character in a climate of ease?
Creo que si cuando bugs make you itch.
I think I’ll stay above five thousand feet.

For now, at least until my restless feet
Crave the harsh chill of a toe wiggling walk
I will accept an inconvenient itch.
Where we can soften and slow, will be a home.
Miguel needs to see us open, at ease.
Where slips and bruised lips are benign risks.

He has our heart, our hope, now that’s a risk.
Too soon he’ll control the fate of his feet.
Do we wish him a life of quiet ease
Or brambles and bites, a strenuous walk?
Or just that he will always call us home.
And know how to handle an itch.

Where there is an itch, there will be a risk.
Where there is a home, there will be restless feet.
May we walk long, and return without too much ease.

Villanelle Attempt #1:

2008-12-11T14:04:00.002-06:00

To get out of a thinking rut, I am going to experiment with making poems according to various forms. Lisa P made me promise to write while in Ecuador, so here is a villanelle, in response to Miguel’s habit of 1) sleeping perpendicular to his crib (and here, in his little tent) and 2) waking up before dawn and being unable to go back to sleep unless he can “snuggle” with us, which for him is a contact sport.

Villanelle Attempt #1:

Once again you are perpendicular.
The thrashing has finally eased.
You have hurt nothing in particular.

The days have become slow and circular.
The nights leave us reeling and squeezed.
Once again you are perpendicular.

You are squirmy, compact and muscular.
When the rooster calls, we are kneed.
You have hurt nothing in particular.

But our frustration stirs the vascular.
“It’s still night-night!” we shift and plead.
Once again you are perpendicular.

You pop up and grin—it’s spectacular.
We groan and forgive. You are pleased.
You have hurt nothing in particular.

Through another night you have traveled far
Flopping and kicking sheets with speed.
Once again you are perpendicular.
You have hurt nothing in particular.
**
Here are some first stanzas of villanelles from poets who really knew what they were doing! Follow the links for the entire poems.

Elizabeth Bishop’s One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212

Dylan Thomas’s Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377

Two Year Letter

2008-11-25T12:19:00.026-06:00

(excerpt from a letter to Miguel's birth parents)

In early November, we had a wild dance party to celebrate Miguel’s second birthday and the near completion of the rehab of our “new home” on the first floor. The little ones spun and hopped below a disco ball illuminated with a bike light as the amused adults swapped stories about the joys and challenges of parenting. Taking advantage of the last balmy evening of the year, we spilled into the back yard for more dancing and a chocolate cake that Miguel had helped Gin bake earlier in the day. It was decorated with an airplane and “toenail” moon, two of Miguel’s favorite things to spy in the sky.

Later, as we swept the crumbs from the floor (you know how toddlers aren’t the tidiest eaters!), we thought about how Miguel has simultaneously changed and deepened our relationships to each other, our friends, our values and our community. We’re still working on our home, riding our bicycles and taking trips, but we have slowed down—the parties end a lot earlier than they used to, and that’s just fine by us. The most significant “slow down” has been Gin leaving her full time job to spend more time with Miguel and to pursue other creative projects related to our building, the garden and writing. Everyday, we feel so grateful to be sharing our life journey with Miguel; he gives us so much joy, and helps us keep our priorities straght.

Miguel is also changing so much, while still retaining the qualities we’ve noticed since he was a newborn. Aside from the occasional squall associated with growing pains or asserting his independence, Miguel is still an incredibly good natured boy, jumping into each day with both feet and a laugh. He gets along well with other kids and loves meeting new people. After a play date, he will gleefully rattle off all the names of the children and adults he saw. Full of sweetness and enthusiasm, he went through a phase of literally hugging trees and saying, “I love you, tree!” When someone cries, a look of grave concern falls on his face and he will rush over with a hug or a kiss. . . and sometimes his special bunny (though he usually decides he doesn’t want to share Bunny afterall.)

Of course, he has his moments of frustration, when he kicks and flails and screams NOOOOOOOO so loudly that all the dogs on the street bark in sympathy, but these moments tend to pass quickly. We try to be firm, calm and loving, frequently using phrases such as, “We are sorry you are upset, but . . . “ and “Please use your manners to tell us what you want. . .”

He has a keen sense of humor. Since his birthday, whenever we ask him how old he is, he’ll say “One!” and then laugh before admitting he knows well that he is two years old. During bath time—which he loves—he likes to make a bubble beard, like his dad. Then he’ll ask about Mommy having a beard, and quickly reply to himself, “That’s silly!!” He loves to play around with his emerging understandings of how the world works and what is normal.

He continues to be quite verbal, and has an impressive vocabulary.

Lately, he’s been experimenting with pronouns. Often he’ll request that we “Carry you” when he means to say, “Carry me” because of course he hears us asking “Do you want me to carry you?” He’s also very polite, peppering his dialogue with ‘please,’ ‘thank you, ’ ‘excuse me,’ and ‘may I?’

His memory also dazzles us. He talks about events that happened weeks ago. He still repeats with perfect pitch the way Gin angrily reacted to a driver who got too close to them. “Mommy said, ‘Oh no, no, no, no, no! to the mean lady in the car!’ Thankfully, he also picks up on our friendlier interactions, “Mommy said, ‘Have a nice day.’

Miguel is an enthusiastic assistant chef. He pulls his ‘helping chair’ to the counter, and offers Gin assistance in tasks such as mixing and breaking eggs, with only occasional splatterings of batter on the walls. He also loves vacuuming, which is good, as our floors seem to need constant cleaning!

Music is one of Miguel’s greatest joys. He is fascinated by guitars and is captivated by a friend of ours whom he sees play frequently. Miguel also loves to pull out Michael's guitar and strum away on it with care. Michael has put together a couple of music mixes (with songs ranging from the Popeye theme song, to the Beatle’s “Yellow Submarine”, to Gnarles Barclay’s “Crazy”). Miguel will ask for songs by name, and knows many lyrics. When he gets really excited about a song, his eyes light up and he starts shuffling his feet. His dancing usually quickly devolves into lots of giggly spinning, interspersed with lopsided hopping.

Seeing new places and meeting people continue to thrill Miguel. This year’s big trips included travelling to Washington, DC for a wedding and Moscow, Idaho for a weeklong visit to college friends and their young children. We also took some weekend bike and camping adventures, and visited his grandparents in Maryland a few times. Miguel greeted each new experience with wide eyes and a mostly good mood. We have also learned to adjust our expectations about what we can accomplish—no more 10 mile hikes or lingering late night dinners!

In a few days, we leave for yet another series of journeys: for Thanksgiving, we travel to Seattle to see Michael’s family (4 aunts and uncles and various cousins for Miguel to play with) and we’ll be in Ecuador for most of December, staying mostly in the town of Baños at a country inn owned by two friends. After a very busy two years, we’re really looking forwards to an extended period of time where we are all three together without the (knock on wood) distractions of work and managing our building.

Miguel will be thrilled about taking a plane again, but his favorite way to get around remains the bus. While we're out for a walk, he excitedly announces each passing bus (he can usually distinguish the Armitage from the Kimball) and he's down right giddy when we actually ride one. He also seems to enjoy the bike seat (his major mode of transportation) and the occasional car ride when we're chauffeured somewhere by a friend. We want to make sure he gets enough exercise, so he’s also walking more, even though it often means slow going for us as he wants to open and close every gate on the block, or point to all the blue “M for Miguel’s” on the sidewalks, which are actually upside down W’s noting where the water pipes are.

After his busy days either at day care (he goes 3 days a week to have time to socialize with other children and give Gin time to work on projects) or home with us, we usually have “family dinner,” complete with a cheers to some part of the day, followed by a regular bedtime routine which begins with brushing his teeth. He's insistent about taking off the cap himself and slathering the paste on the brush. He’s getting better at doing the brushing himself, but we still help him with the teeth he misses.

Next, he patters off to his room to choose bedtime stories from his bookshelf —usually three books to be read with Gin and/or Michael. Good Night Moon, Only in Dreams, and Maisy’s Bedtime are frequent picks. He sometimes turns back the pages to linger on a favorite picture, such as three pigs taking a bath, a bumblebee or a banjo. As we read out loud, we pause to let him finish the sentences, which he does especially well when there is a rhyme pattern. Gin is so excited to tap into her knowledge of children’s literacy to help him learn to become an independent reader and writer. It thrills us to see him sitting in a pile of books, turning the pages, even when the books are upside down.

After reading and snuggling, we put him to bed and play a final, often elaborate, game of peek-a-boo. Sometimes he’ll stay up for awhile and prattle about his day. Most nights he’s fast asleep within minutes, with Bunny tucked in his arms.

It’s been an amazing year. Miguel’s hugs and smiles warm each of our days. We look forward to more adventures and continuing to discover the world through his eyes.

special delivery

2008-08-12T22:25:00.003-05:00

At 5:35pm today, Miguel barrelled down our hallway with an envelope in each hand, yelling "special delivery!" Michael had picked him up from day care and, truth be told, had coached Miguel in this mail collecting and delivery exercise. Still, it was the most amazing burst of sunshine to hit our hall since we moved in.

After completing his job, Miguel looked plaintively at the upper cabinets on the west kitchen wall and said, "Pretzel please!" How could I resist? He then proceeded to try to feed me a pretzel I didn't really want, but, again, it's hard to resist, "Mommy's turn."

He learned about pretzels during our recent, wonderful, trip to visit Jess, Chris, Sasha and Acer in Moscow, ID. Jess assures me that pretzels are neutral foods. Chris tells me not to worry unless they are "salt licks." All I know is that Miguel has a new favorite snack. Whether it's the food or the act of fishing it out of the bag that delights him is not clear to me.

raising a glass

2008-06-26T23:21:00.005-05:00

Not a picture from the night in question, but it's recent.

If I start blabbing about why I haven't written in the last four months, I'll never get to spearing this moment I want to remember and share.

Last night, we sat down to a family dinner. We don't have this routine figured out yet; sometimes we can't get our act together fast enough for his appetite and so he eats dinner while we are cooking our own. Sometimes we give up and go out to dinner. But yesterday we did have our act together and so we all snugged to the table to share a simple meal of black bean and roasted red pepper quesadillas and a strawberry, avocado, pine nut salad, whose garnishes had been Miguel's appetizer.

"Chrs," proclaimed Miguel as we started to eat. We nodded pleasantly, but confused in his direction.

"Chrs!" he insisted, grabbing his Kermit water cup.

"Oh, cheers!" we finally comprehended. We hoisted our cups in his direction, laughing and looking at each other in amazement. We had clinked classes with him once before, a few days earlier. While he's surely witnessed this ritual so many times, it was still surprising to see him remember, and to notice our lapse in adhering to it.

As with most of his cherished activities, he responded with, "Again! Again!" and we obliged once more, but then had to explain that it's really just a beginning of the meal kind of thing unless you are at a wedding or retirement party.

Cheers to you, Miguel. I am so thrilled to watch and hear your mind grow. Whether you are grasping the concept of "another" ("Another bus! Two buses!!!" you exclaim with the joy, perhaps, of someone who spent his first summer waiting for the #82 with a twitchy, bike-dependent mother) or learning your letters, (ABCDEFGZZZZZZZZZZ), you deepen my curiosity about and appreciation for language and learning.

breaking the language barrier

2008-02-24T12:53:00.007-06:00

Miguel’s vocabulary has exploded (apple! toofu! cup pease! uh-oh!). I understand that, as a 16 month old, breaking the language barrier is his job, but, still, it’s amazing to witness. He loves saying people’s names: Ben (day care playmate), Sheer-a (his Godmother), Char-y (easier to say than Nana), Gra-pa. He has even started to say Mama (Finally. He’s been saying Dada forever. Of course, now that M is in reach, he has started up with Mii-kle.)

He’ll try to repeat nearly any noun you say. After we got a wedding invitation in the mail, he walked around with his “tation.” Last week he was on his tip toes lunging at the counter saying “Fow-er! Fow-er!!!” It took me a few minutes to realize he wanted the pink carnations I had bought from my school fundraiser on Valentine’s Day. Who knew this lowly flower would be so appealing to a toddler?

This afternoon, he was rattling the gate asking for “tar, tar, TAR!” Befuddled, I opened the gate and he led me down the hall to the master bedroom. Lo! On the bed was Michael’s guitar. How did Miguel remember that his dad had left it there this morning?

“Gasses! Gasses!” He’s pointing at the sunglasses Nana/Char-y gave him. “Music! Muuuu-sic!” He’s pounding at the door to the study, demanding to hear Farmer Jason or Springsting’s take on Pete Seeger. “Dance, dance, dance” he smiles as he spins or stomps his feet, once the muuu-sic is on.

He’s not just talking, he’s communicating. His hyper verbal mama couldn’t be more tickled. I just want to trail him with a tape recorder (without hovering, of course).

messy times and 47 stairs

2008-02-13T20:32:00.006-06:00

This picture has little to do with this posting but it is recent and symbolic of messiness, which IS somewhat the subject of my get off yer arse and do some writing post for tonight.

We are better at maintaining our sidewalk than our inner commons. During this top 10 Chicago winter, we (mostly Michael) have diligently scraped away each blizzard and dusting from our 25 foot ribbon of walkway. One weekend, I shoveled all the way to the intersection, knowing that the Head Start next door only plows on weekdays. This was early in the season, when I was delighted to finally have a proper winter. Three feet of the white stuff later, and there's less pep in our snow relocation efforts. We clear to the property line and no more.

Our entryway and stairs are another matter. Out front, we are concerned about safety, so we swing into action at the first flake. Inside, we're waiting until spring to bust out a mop. Between the never ending snow, our first floor rehab and our utter exhaustion, the depression-era white, gray and black tiles in the foyer and oak stairs are suffering.

Miguel's bike trailer is stored in the front entry. The tiles under his parking space are covered in dark gray sludge from commute drippings.* The second entry has a thin layer of silt from when we blew insulation into the ceiling. The stairs are daily abraded by salt, plaster, and neglect. We and our guests have to traverse a 3 story moat of grime to get to our apartment, which is one reason we have been horrible about inviting people over lately.

Despite the sub-par conditions, today I let Miguel climb all 47 dirty stairs to get home. He had his snow suit and gloves on (actually, Mommy's wool socks were on his hands, up to his elbows, since he can't keep his gloves on), so I figured, why not? For now, Miguel's stair-climbing tools are his shoes, knees and sock-gloved hands. As long as he didn't lick the stairs (or Mommy's sock-gloves), what did it matter that the stairs were dirty?

I wonder what Miguel was thinking as he finally completed the long journey that he only knows from my or Michael's arms. For 15 plus months--his whole life--he has been swept upstairs. Was he tired? thrilled? unencumbered by analysis? as he crested the last landing? We don't know. I *can* say that I was proud. "Maybe we shouldn't move to the first floor after all," Michael mulled.

*****
*I nearly got stopped by the police yesterday during yet another 5:30pm snow. As I hauled Miguel south on Kimball, I was slowly passed by a squad car, windows rolled down. I looked at them, they looked at me. I sensed. . . .something, a judging maybe, and I didn't like it. I had half a mind to speed up to them at the next light to see what the problem was ("What?? Ya got a problem with me???"), but as I was carrying my son, I instead opted to keep my careful slow and steady course. I needn't have raced anyway, as they stopped for me to catch up to them.

"Is that baby cov. . . " Before he could complete the sentence, he saw that Miguel's trailer DOES have a cover, so no officer, I was not feeding my son a salt and motor oil smoothie for dinner! Somewhat indignantly I explained, "Yes, it's just like a covered stroller, except that the STREETS ARE CLEARER THAN THE SIDEWALKS so it is easier to get home.”

Free Ride

2008-02-11T19:41:00.001-06:00

A bus trip back in August (10 months)--before Miguel caught the waving bug. . . .

Today’s Guest Blogger is Michael, Miguel’s dad.

Gin has blogged about CTA troubles she has endured with Miguel—who really needed to get the pool before it closed, anyways? (see previous post.)

While most of my day-to-day travels with Miguel involve towing his bike trailer to and from daycare, I do find myself on the bus once or twice a week, usually running the odd errand with an agreeable travelling companion.

Since I’ve had a number of good bus experiences with Miguel, and since CTA has successfully averted ‘doomsday’, I thought I would extol some virtues of busing with baby.

There’s nothing like a free ride to stoke customer satisfaction. Although there’s been a lot of hype around CTA’s new seniors ride free policy, kids under six have always gotten a free pass at the farebox (when accompanied by a fare paying adult).

There may even be a way for Daddy to avoid the fare, too. My friend Josh --a parent, cyclist, and CTA rider--has hypothesized you could put your toddler on the bus, hop on your bike and meet your son or daughter at your destination bus stop. He reasons that the bike will always beat the bus, so there’s little danger of your toddler having to wait for you to catch up at your destination.

Though I generally prefer biking to the cramped confines of a city bus, Miguel’s latest developmental advance has made riding the bus loads of fun.

Miguel is going through a gregarious stage where he indiscriminately approaches any stranger with an enthusiastic wave and a hearty “Hiyee!” He is down-right gleeful to have a captive yet ever-changing audience to try out his newly-learned salutations.

Few riders can resist Miguel’s charms. After waving and smiling back to him, bus passengers are often very generous in offering me free parenting advice. Yesterday, an older Eastern European woman told me how once Miguel becomes a teenager, he will constantly beg me to buy him expensive designer clothes.

“Pierre Cardin, Tommy Hilfiger . . . he’ll want you to spend $200 on his pants and you’ll just have to tell him no,” she prognosticated. An older African Amercian gentleman a few rows back chimed in, “And don’t forget the Michael Jordan shoes--$150!”

I was tempted to inform all passengers within earshot that no, I wouldn’t have to worry about commodity fetishism in Miguel’s teen years. He doesn’t watch TV and he’s seldom seen the interior of a car. Miguel will be attending socialist summer camp, we read to him every evening from Das Kapital and we’ve been careful to only use red diapers.

Instead, I nodded my head and deferred to the wisdom of my fellow passengers. Wisdom I would have missed were I waiting with my bike at the next bus stop for Miguel to catch up.

Oh Boy--Look Who's Walking

2007-12-17T20:03:00.001-06:00

We took these videos yesterday. I am not sure why a picture doesn't show up on the second one, but the video does work fine. They capture not only Miguel's new walking skills, but also his mother's verbal tics. Ack!

We need a story about when Miguel learned to walk. Other parents have these sun ray bursting through the clouds memories about the precise moment their child entered the exclusive club of bi-pedalism. My folks talk about the way I strode towards a blue jay and never looked back (adding symbolism to precision). A friend's daughter suddenly started walking at a pool this summer, which must have been joyous as well as slightly scary!

For the last few months, we have been ready to catch Miguel's first steps and weave them into some kind of tall tale. But we have been hampered by a lack of consensus on what counts as walking.

One mid-October evening, as Michael and I were leaving for a date, I saw Miguel take 2 stumbling steps forward to Jessica, his beloved babysitter, who was holding his bottle. I clapped and cheered (while briefly allowing myself to secretly wish he had walked to us) and figured he was well on his way to running circles around us all.

In the weeks that followed, he would repeat this two step every now and again, but it was more spatial miscalculation than walking. Some time around Thanksgiving, my dad, who was on a mission to facilitate and witness this milestone, got Miguel to lurch to his favorite new "toy," a tape measure. My dad retracted the tape, which had a magnetic and distracting effect on Miguel. He stumbled forwards, but then swayed back and landed on his bottom instead of letting momentum pile him in a face first heap of frustration. According to my dad, this was progress.

After Thanksgiving, we were back into the day care routine, and it is there that I suspect Miguel started taking off. On Thursday, Nov 29th, Kelly mentioned he had taken about five steps, and that he was really starting to walk. Really? I was a wreck dropping him off the next day. How could we be letting ourselves miss out on so many of these memories?

But he is not a wreck. Every day he wakes up with a smile on his face, ready to explore, love and be loved--by us as well as his relatives, friends and care givers.

And I am not convinced this walking story is finished. He tends to drift to the right instead of walking forward and he still has to pull up on something to come to a standing position. I think it's related to the torticolis. His physical therapist asked that we call her when he is routinely taking 10-15 steps at a time, which I will declare as having happened this weekend. Or maybe it was last week. . . .All I know is that it's getting harder and harder to keep up with him!

Snowstorm!

2007-12-16T21:45:00.001-06:00

Miguel and Michael were up early this morning, being good neighbors. Michael shoveled and Miguel helped by nibbling down the snow drifts. He's teething again, so it was probably a good strategy.

I was out with Miguel yesterday for a stroll and more than one female elder suggested I shouldn't have him out in the cold. Now, I tend to second guess pretty much every breath I take, but it seems to me that human beings have been mucking around in winter for thousands of years. Taking him out for fresh air is far preferable to crackling in the dry house all day.

Our biggest challenge so far is that we can't seem to get his new boots on correctly--his heel just won't snuggle in all the way even though the shoes are plenty big. We even went to a fancy local shoe store to get fitted because we had no idea what we were doing! I would have loved plenty of unsolicited advice then. . . .

Click here for pictures of last week's snow frolic with Violet.

October 22, 2006

2007-12-04T21:33:00.001-06:00

I finally wrote down the poem that has been kicking around my head since Miguel was born. I'm not sure I am done fiddling with it. At this rate, he'll be in college before I write another one.

You slipped into our world
Early
While sun and moon
Still slept, snug

The phone rang
We raced to meet you

Short cut through the park
Where the long, pale fingers
Of your first sunrise
Flicked dew from tall grasses

The new moon
Followed close behind
A gentle witness

Have you met your baby?

The day arced
We held you
And listened
Breathless catching up

We tugged at your blankets
Trying to mimic
The nurses’ snug swaddle

Night fell
Still, we held

You wore an orange cap
That traced new orbits
As we swayed and swirled
in a tiny hospital room
for hours and hours
until dawn.

One Year Letter

2007-11-14T21:33:00.001-06:00

This is the one year letter we gave to Miguel's birth parents, with loads of photos from the last few months.

It’s hard to believe a year has already passed since Miguel was born. We feel like we are just starting to catch our breath. Just as we think we have something figured out, he moves to an exciting new stage. Everyone assures us that that is what it means to be a parent! He is leading us on an incredible journey and we think of you often as we watch him grow.

We visited the pediatrician in early November for Miguel’s first year check up. We came equipped with a long list of questions and were reassured by the doctor that he is thriving. We were most concerned about the lead test since we live in an old building and were very happy when the results came back just fine.

The doctor also confirmed that most symptoms of his torticollis are gone and that he is on track physically and cognitively for his age. She was impressed by the variety of foods he’s willing to eat. We asked if we needed to start giving him a multi-vitamin as we have transitioned him to whole milk instead of formula. But since he eats fruits and vegetables (including kale!) with such enthusiasm, she said we are OK for now.

Miguel is almost always on the go. In the morning, he will cuddle just long enough to gulp down his bottle. Then he pushes it away as if to say, “Check, please. . . I have things to do!” He loves to dart for doors so he can open and close them, especially if someone is playing peek-a-boo on the other side. As he scoots down the hall, he glances back with a smile before ambling out of view—for just a second. “Don’t forget to write!” we say, as we sneak behind to make sure he stays in eyesight. He laughs and squeals when we catch up to him.

He also loves to cruise, drifting from the coffee table to the sofa, or among the dining room chairs. He sometimes will take a step or two between chairs or will take a couple steps towards us when encouraged, but he hasn’t taken fully to walking yet and seems happy enough for now.

We continue to monitor the fact the he strongly favors his left leg for coming up to standing position and crawling--he gets around lighting fast by pushing off on that leg in crab crawl fashion. It’s related to the toricollis. So far, his physical therapist is not concerned. She just asked that we come in for another visit once he starts walking.

Miguel is also making strides with his fine motor capabilities. Recently, he started puzzling with different shapes and is sometimes able to put triangle and star shapes in the correct slots on a toy. He can also clap his hands, give a high five, point to his nose and shovel tons of whole grain bread, chicken, tofu, cheese and fruit into his mouth. (He much prefers finger foods these days to us spoon feeding him, though we do make sure he gets his cereals and greens.)

His vocal repertoire is expanding too, with his happy babble sounding more and more like words every day. We’re pretty sure he has mastered dada, mama, gentle, baba (bottle), caca (cracker—we were a little panicked when we first heard that word until we figured out what he was trying to say ;-) and ta too (thank you). We’re sure there are all other types of things he’s trying to tell us if only we could understand. Fortunately, he seems very patient with our slow learning of his language. His actions tell us that he loves turning lights on and off, spinning wheels, pushing chairs and hugging his long limbed bunny (an easter present from Nana.)

It’s been an awe inspiring, sometimes tiring, often invigorating year, always joyful year. We hope to spend more time with you in 2008, sharing and making new memories.

Happy Birthday!

2007-10-22T20:54:00.001-05:00

Dearest Miguelito,

Today we took you to Lula's to celebrate your birthday. We wanted to do something a little more special than usual, but you were tired from all the fun at Doodlebug (and getting up at 4:30am this morning!) so we cut dinner short. We three quickly shared a mushroom quesadilla appetizer, and our entrees were packed up before they even hit the dinner plates. The bike ride home was dark, chilly and misty--our first real fall weather--but you were warm and snug in the trailer with the rain flap down.

Once home, you played with the dining room gate for about 10 minutes: open, close, open, close, open, open, open, CLOSE! Then you crawled on to the kitchen. You stood and played with the sink cabinet lock for awhile, then tried to cruise along the garbage cans ("No--that's icky!") The kitchen tour ended abruptly when you unsuccessfully transferred your open/close routine to the Tupperware drawer. The drawer slid shut on your finger and you wailed with conviction. We should probably keep you out of the kitchen, but then you wouldn't be able to bang on the never used heat diffuser that hangs near the back door. (Or, we could do a better job toddler proofing, but as the plan is to move downstairs soon, we're holding back on a few things.)

We whisked you back to the dining room to take some pictures, but the light dimmer switch was dominating your attention. You not only figured out how to make the switch spin, you instantly figured out the connection between that action and the lights 5 feet away. On, on-er, off, off-er. . . .I could have held you forever, watching you figure out and control your universe.

But, there is no way you would let me hold you forever, no, not you, my go, go, go baby. You have wheels to spin, chairs to hide under, corners to play peek-a-boo in (my heart cracked the first time I realized YOU were the one initiating peek-a-boo), socks to pull off, books to chew, and doors to open, open, open.

letting go

2007-10-01T20:34:00.000-05:00

I realize now that our home used to be both tidy and clean. Dirty dishes were dealt with after each meal. The living room was always ready for entertaining. Even our office, which does double duty as holding tank for all uncategorizable items , was never more than 30 minutes away from clutter free horizontal surfaces, or at least tidy piles. No wonder visiting friends would roll their eyes when I would exclaim with embarrassment, "Oh, the place is a dis-a-ster!" just because the morning's newspaper was still out, or our bed wasn't made tight enough to bounce a quarter on.

When Miguel crashed into our lives, many people warned us that we would need to let go, that, for example, there was no way we could maintain all of our domestic standards. True enough, many intentions of home cooked meals yielded to delivered pizzas. But we clung to our desire to have a serene, clean home. Always equitable in house chores, we carried on every night after Miguel went to bed, robotically picking up his toys, scrubbing down the kitchen counters, putting the laundry away, resetting the day.

Now we are both back to our full time work schedules. The transition has been brutal in many ways. I can't begin to write to the core of the matter, so I'll stick with clutter for now.

It is acreting. The office is no longer 30 minutes away to serenity. I am typing amidst piles and piles of paper, books and demands. The mounds have started to colonize the dining room, which used to be an altar of clean, teak surfaces. The whole situation makes me twitchy.

But Miguel is not twitchy. He wakes up joyfully each morning, somewhere between 5am (!!!!) and 6 am (much preferred), eager for a new day, unencumbered with expectations about how the house should look. As long as we keep the piles 5 inches away from the edge of our tables, we're OK.

velobaby is rolling . . . and chewing on his helmet

2007-08-20T20:55:00.000-05:00

Sometime in early August, I staged a bit of a sit-in with Miguel. I was done relying on public transit to get us around, and figured we'd just stay home and wilt in the summer heat until we rigged up something for my bike. Perhaps the final straw was our unsuccessful bid to go swimming with our friends, referenced with optimism in the previous, "sleeping, butt in air" post.

Holstein Park is a mere 1.5 miles away, but its hours are tricky. We needed to be there before noon. Miguel's nap went very long, so we didn't get to the bus stop until a little past 11am. "No problem," I thought. "Even a few minutes of splashing in the kiddie pool will be fine."

Alas, we waited over 20 minutes. I could have biked there and back while we sat and studied the etchings on the bus shelter. In fact, we could have just walked.

The pool was closing up when we finally arrived, but we did find Julie and Zoe, who is 2+, at the neighboring park. They are unconstrained by the bus, because she is big enough to be carried on a rear bike seat. I eyed the seat lustfully.

We salvaged the excursion by playing at the park and going out for lunch. Then, we took the Armitage bus back home. The ride did not last long, as the driver saved time by literally careening into each stop with an open door: "Let's go, let's go!" he barked.

As we sped closer to Kimball, I rang the bell, and flexed my muscles. Miguel clung to me in his backpack, and I clung to the backs of seats as we fought whiplash and made our way to the doors. "A bicycle has to be safer than a lurching bus," I thought.

Before the day was over, I had resolved to move forward with plan Bike. Our pediatrician gave us the green light even though Miguel is under one (the standard OK age for biking), since he is big for his age, and can hold his stiff neck up with no problems.

We are mighty grateful to Josh and Krista who lent us their Cougar Chariot while we decide if we want to stick with a trailer (which stresses me out when crossing intersections, but is weather protected, allows us to keep rear rack cargo capacity and contains our go, go, go guy while we are transitioning) or use a more nimble bike seat like Zoe's.

So far, the trailer is working out fine for the short trip to day care. We are having problems with his helmet though--he just wants to play with it and chew its straps. It also keeps sliding down, so until we can that figure out, we'll still be on CTA for the grander adventures.

pool bound!

2007-08-03T09:11:00.001-05:00

Miguel woke up at 5am to tell us he was feeling much better, thank you very much. He played, drank, ate and peed just like the good old days. As it has been 24 hours since he last had a notable diaper, I think we can lift the quarantine and join our friends at the pool.

Getting up so early exhausted him. He was napping by 8:30am. He usually rolls around a lot to sooth himself to sleep. Sometimes he's so tired he crashes mid-roll, leaving his butt perched up high.

languorous play

2007-08-02T22:00:00.000-05:00

We stayed close to home, wishing to facilitate intestinal healing and avoid additional public blowouts. It was another scorcher, so playing outside didn't seem appealing, though I did set up the pack and play in the yard during his morning nap, just in case we got motivated to go downstairs. I also turned on the soaker hose for the tomatoes.

But he awoke in a fretful mood (I don't blame him-our 3rd floor apt was 90 degrees before noon. Thankfully, the ceiling fans really do make it feel like a breezy 82, and the new silver paint on the roof reduces the broiling in masonry skin feeling to a simmer), so we just played languorously in the living room. Hide and seek with the phone was a big hit, as was crawling back and forth over Mommy's legs, and pulling up on everything in sight.

It was a slow, uneventful afternoon. We listened to the Cubs attempt to climb out of an early 7-1 hole and sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame during the stretch. I then remembered the soaker hose and ran downstairs after plunking Miguel in his crib (Mommy will be right back!!). The tomatoes and basil were quite perky.

1st place

2007-08-01T22:47:00.001-05:00

A sherbet moon is perched above the Hancock Tower, its lunar chill a tease on this muggy August night.

The Cubs clawed their way into first place on a wild pitch.

The Kimball and Foster buses clicked perfectly for a very frazzled mama, who was glad she packed an extra outfit, 4 diapers and plenty of wipes for the journey to Andersonville.

Miguel remains in a fine mood, despite the riot in his intestines.

His favorite new toy is the handle of a gray bucket.

7th and 8th month letters--in photo form

2007-07-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

Our open adoption agreement included a promise to send a few photos and a letter to Miguel’s birth parents for the first six months, and yearly after that. From the beginning, we planned to exceed these minimum expectations. We cherish our open relationship and work hard to keep the lines of communication flowing through phone calls, tons of photos, visits, and—for the first six months—detailed letters.

Even though it was sometimes difficult to get those letters done, the monthly prod forced us to write and reflect on Miguel’s progress and adventures. We are grateful for the words; they help us remember the feelings and details that photos sometimes miss. Alas, I need a sharp pronged deadline to keep writer’s block from creeping in. Without it, I rely too much on the camera to filter our days. I haven’t written a letter since the last one was “due.”

We continue to be in touch with Miguel’s birth parents. A few weeks ago, I biked to their house with photos spanning his 7th and 8th months. His birth mother and I sat on their front stoop for nearly an hour, just catching up and continuing to get to know one another.

It was a calm, early Saturday morning—everyone else in her house was asleep. She showed me pictures of her maternal grandparents. I told her how Miguel was finally starting to push himself up. She told me a funny story about when her oldest son finally learned to call her Momma. We talked frankly about our hopes and fears for our relationship. We compared music tastes and what we do to relax, then laughed about there being no time to relax. I didn’t feel too bad about not having a letter. But I promised to get writing again for the next batch.

In the meantime . . . below are some photos from his 7th and 8th months, when he took his first ride in a swing, learned to sit up on his own, started solids, took control of his bottle (and spoon), continued his newspaper fetish, went on a hike, dipped his toes in the Pacific (and other local bodies of water), got his first tooth, dished with Ms. Violet about being in the 10/07 baby cohort, helped his mom feel OK about turning 35, and finally got his substantial noggin off the ground.

During this time he took some big trips. One was a very sorrowful visit to Warren, MI, after his grandfather was tragically killed by a drunk driver in Florida. He is the 11th grandchild on Michael's side, and he got to meet 8 of the other 10. It was a week of grieving mingled with deep, loving appreciation for family. Miguel teased out some smiles under the tears. At church, he was awed then enticed by the high ceilings. He tested his vocal chords once or twice before the service. My knees buckled while carrying him to the casket for the final offering to Grandpa--a floppy sunhat, something Donald seldom walked without. Miguel carries on the tradition, sometimes a bit fussily.

Two weeks later, we headed to San Fransisco for Laura and Tom's wedding. They asked their guests to wear something red and or orange--Miguel's favorite color! It was a splendid event--rich in hue and meaning. Miguel finally got to meet Amy, who, with Jess, had been visiting us the weekend he was born. She did so much to help us prepare, and how did Miguel thank her? By swiping a champagne glass off a table all over her party dress. Just like his dad, who once
managed to dump beer on a bride, at a wedding where he was best man. In both cases, the doused ones were quite forgiving.

Hmmm, I seem to be a bit unblocked . . . .

Still Can't Write a Poem

2007-06-22T21:17:00.001-05:00

"Are you going to write a poem about him?" asked one of the fifth grade students 8 months ago, when I suddenly became a mother. It was quite shocking for all of us. One week I was wacky, distracted Ms. Kilgore, the writing teacher with a soft spot for poetry. The next week, I was insanely distracted, confused Ms. Kilgore, the writing teacher and now Mom who replied, "Of course I will write a poem about him!"

With the exception of the "biku" on the main page of this blog I composed at a Bike Winter poetry reading back in March, I have not followed through on this promise.

I want to write a poem about Miguel. I want to write about him in a way that doesn't duplicate the baby books that disclaimingly tell you what to expect at certain times.

I had thought all our letters to Miguel's birth parents were incredibly rich and illuminating:

"News Flash!! This month, Miguel started tracking objects with his eyes." Never having spent any time with babies, every change was press release-worthy to me.

Looking back, I feel I could have just said, "Please consult page so and so of such and such book." Despite some problems with torticollis, he seems to be meandering through the developmental milestones like most babies.

So how do I capture Miguel instead of "8 month old?"

I want to write that poem, but I can't. Maybe it's because I can't even clean the kitchen, or finish a book, or water the sad basil hanging from our sun-baked 3rd floor porch.

Perhaps it's still too soon, the earth too moist. I learned the hard way that you are not supposed to dig in the soil after a hard spring rain. Maybe I just need to let it be, wait for the drying out period, before I can bloom the dearest parts of his personality on my words.

Have you seen a green purse?

2007-06-19T11:30:00.001-05:00

I mugged Lisa on the bus yesterday. In fact, I held up the entire bus. I escaped with surprising speed, wresting two tens from her wallet with one hand while the other 180'ed the stroller down the rubbery, grooved aisle to the sighing doors.

Seconds before, the driver had waved us on as I requested a moment to dig out my fare card. Which was odd--my wallet is always in hand when the bus comes, because I fear that my clumsiness with boarding Miguel and his accouterments will cause a delay and contribute to dreaded bus bunchings down the line.

My wallet?? Where was my wallet? It should have been in my purse which was????

Somewhere on North Avenue beach, where we had spent the afternoon with our babies. My panicked eyes grabbed Lisa's. I needed to get off, retrace our steps, and I needed some cash for a phone call, for a cab ride, for food--as though I imagined that, purseless, Miguel and I would become hungry, urban wanderers, circling around, never quite able to make it home.

"Stop the bus!" I yelped. Passengers rolled their eyes as Miguel and I made our exit. Storm clouds crept from the west, the direction of home, which at this point felt very far away.

We retraced our steps. First, we swung by the restrooms--had I left my purse swinging on a stall hook? I stalked the stalls, waiting for people to leave each one. No luck. I rolled the stroller down the plastic boardwalk to our patch of sand. Barren. We slumped to the concession area where I had bought a berry smoothy. The young crew looked heartbroken for me. On to the life guard station. Same story.

The inky clouds inched closer, kicking up the wind. I desperately repeated the circuit, giving good Samaritans some time to turn my purse in to the life guards. We hit the beach again, my eyes straining for a lonesome green lump.

I wondered if Miguel knew I was freaking out. Stress sends me into silent frenzy. Did the halt to my normal chatter and the briskness of our movements alert him to the shift in mood? How old will he be when he can read me, just as I was reading the sky? Can he already? Is he learning how to react to situations by my example?? Was I setting a good example????

I crouched down and kissed him. "Mommy's having a rough afternoon. Thanks for being so calm. It really helps!"

After another kiss and a tickle, we were off again, back to the concession area. I bought a lemonade to break the 10 for bus fare. One of the smoothy vendors offered the use of his cell phone. I called Michael, embarrassed.

"I, uh, lost, er, my purse is missing, I don't know if I left it somewhere or someone took it, or both. It's just gone." I was nearly in tears. How could I be such an idiot? Who brings the unabridged version of their purse to the beach? In addition to the basics, I was carrying too much cash, my debit and credit cards, my teacher ID, the lime green iPod nano Michael had given me for Christmas in support of my jogging efforts and the good luck crystal we had found on last year's trip to Colorado.

It was just starting to rain as Miguel and I again boarded the North Avenue bus. I couldn't believe I was paying in cash. "I need to remember to call CTA to block access to my Chicago Card account," I sighed to myself, starting the epic to do list.

The rain started just as the bus pulled away from the beach. For the final 5 block walk home, I draped a blanket over the stroller. Miguel conked out quickly. We got home before Michael did, so I crouched in front of our door, letting the warm rain collect in the brim of my sunhat.

Pass the Hose

2007-06-14T10:03:00.001-05:00

Mealtime used to be a predictable, pleasant, bonding affair. How could we lose? Baby is hungry, we feed baby, all is right with the world. Even the introduction to "solids" went exceptionally well. Miguel, always eager for new experiences, has attacked each spoonful with gusto--regardless of the glop going into his mouth: pale rice cereal, bright green avocado, orange (his favorite color) carrot, mauve apple/plum emulsion, and even stark white tofu.

But since figuring out how to hold his bottle high enough and with enough precision to actually feed himself (as opposed to sucking on air or poking his eyes with the nipple), he is starting to assert himself around other food. No longer is he content to be spoon fed at our pace. Yesterday, when I brandished his beloved oatmeal in front of his face, he responded with a defiant scowl and insistent, reaching hands.

I settled in for a long messy meal, gave him his spoon, and let him go at it. He didn't at all mind that I had to load it for him between bites. He just wanted to be in more control, to shove it into his nose, his chin and eventually his mouth. I was surprised by how much actually made it in. As a final treat, I gave him the empty bowl to chew on, and serenely waited for its spectacular flipping fall from the chair.

He napped long and deeply in the morning, and then again in the afternoon (after splashing off the leftovers in the bathtub.) Which left me plenty of time to wipe down the base boards.

Cooler by the Swimmin' Hole

2007-06-07T21:47:00.000-05:00

When I think beach, I think Lake Michigan. Back in the growing up days, I was never more than a brisk 20 minute walk to Chicago’s calming eastern edge. Now I live 34 blocks west, in a neighborhood where cooler by the lake means nothing—which is great in April. But now the temps are pushing 90, and my feet ache for sand and cool water.

Since leaving Hyde Park, I rarely make it to the beach, even though it’s only 30 minutes of biking away. In theory, that’s just 10 minutes farther than what I grew up with. Maybe it’s the return trip I dread, all relaxation evaporating as I pedal home into the sizzling asphalt sunset.

Still, the beach calls. This week, I tried to organize an outing with some other families, but the plan almost collapsed as we tried to work around non-synchronous nap-times. (You have to budget a good 40-50 minutes of bus time there and back.)

Then Julie suggested a sandy retreat that requires no buses, that, in fact, is a brisk 20 minute walk from my house: Humboldt Park Beach. It’s tucked into the jewel of a park just south of Logan Square. So what if it’s so small and shallow that a sudden cold snap would shrink it to a skating pond in minutes. So what if there’s no skyline view (hey—there’s no annoying hum of Lake Shore Drive either!) So what if one of our friends refers to it as “Diaper Beach,” because it seems to be favored by people with small children, like, er, now, me. The hovering lifeguard and jaunty rowboat lent an air of authenticity; he even assured us that it does get deep in the middle.

Zoe, who is two and some, seemed perfectly content to splash around in the freezing water. Miguel and Violet, each 7 ½ months, seemed content to rake the sand and yammer at each other. The adults seemed content to just be in the sun, nibbling on manzanas and dulces. And the slow 25 minute walk home felt just right.

Running Home to the Babysitter

2007-06-05T21:09:00.000-05:00

Miguel received his great-grandfather Kilgore's watch for Christmas. Will he be more on-time than his mother?

Tonight, belly and bladder full, I sprinted the final 4 blocks home to avoid returning late to the babysitter. On Tuesdays, Jessica watches Miguel 10:30am-8:30pm. It is the day that I do errands, wash my hair and have a date with my husband. Since she started in January, she has been late (ever so slightly) only twice. One of those times a huge snow storm was clogging up the entire city. The other was due to an emergency family situation. Usually she is early or right on time.

When I complimented her about her timeliness, she explained that she learned in high school that 15 minutes early is on time, and on time is late. Wow. I tend to live my life by the premise that if you haven't missed an airplane at least once, you're probably wasting time by getting to the airport early.

Usually, despite stellar intentions, I tend to run a little late. I do not mean to disregard the people who might be waiting for me. It's just that, like a toddler, I struggle with transitions. Whatever I am doing at any given moment fully engrosses and cements me--whether it's reading the vapid parts of the newspaper in the morning (making me late for work), or over-embellishing a grant application at the end of the work day (making me late for my family.)

I recall a conference I was organizing with a co-worker, someone who was slightly below me in terms of the "org chart" (and age), but years ahead of me in terms of professionalism. We had to be somewhere very early for set-up. I was late. Not wickedly late, maybe 15 minutes. But, when everything is tight, that's a long time, especially considering that I had vowed to be on time--and that it was my event. When I rolled in, I felt her frost. Later, after all was successfully, though stressfully, executed, we debriefed. She let me have it--in a professional way. At that moment, I realized I was the kind of person you could rely on--to be a little late. Ever since, I have worked to change this habit with little success and ever greater feelings of guilt.

Tonight, Michael and I pushed it by ordering dessert. We asked for the check with the tiramisu, but it didn't come. I kept looking at my watch. Michael, who is reliably on-time, and not nearly as fretful about all things, suggested we just call to say we might be a few minutes late. But we did that a few weeks ago. I don't want to keep being the type of person who can be relied on to be late. And so we power walked home along the bus lines. We weren't lucky--catching a mere 3 block lift on our final leg west.

So I broke all the rules about exercising after a meal and ran down Kimball in a desperate attempt to be home by 8:30 for for the wonderful woman who is always on time and who provides such loving, attentive care for our son.

I failed. The clock said 8:34. She was forgiving, Miguel was sleeping, and all I can do is try to be better next week.

Layers

2007-06-03T21:31:00.000-05:00

A new baby just arrived in our circle of friends (welcome Hazel Bee!), causing me to ponder this difference between winter babies and summer babies: layers.

I'm remembering the not so distant days of piling on the clothes for even the shortest trips: onsie, footed one piece (what do you call those??), jacket, gloves, hat, snowsuit. . . Ah, how quickly I forget Chicago winters, which is probably for the best. Now it's June, and Hazel Bee doesn't need Miguel's bear outfits from when he was a wintry infant. Just the thought of putting a tender wee one in anything furry or fleecy right now makes ME break into prickly heat.

During his first three months, Miguel also spent plenty of time in a swaddle. (In the picture, I am literally following the step by step instructions from The Happiest Baby on the Block--Miguel was 3 days old.) When he cried or needed to be soothed to sleep, we yanked a blanket around him with vigor, recreating a snug, presumably womby environment. It always seemed to work like a charm. But what would I do with a flailing wisp of a person now? When it's warm outside, it's toasty in our top floor apartment; when it's toasty outside, it's broiling here. Swaddling a newborn in our home during the summer would verge on child abuse.

Perhaps this is why my mom was always bemused by our obsessive bundling of Miguel. I was a June baby born in Virginia--apparently I spent my first few months nearly nekid (prickly heat and all). No womb reenactments for me!

Squeaky Floors

2007-06-02T22:10:00.000-05:00

Miguel has outgrown (in interest and size) his small, jungle-themed activity mat. We keep it in his room as an emergency floor holding area.

So far, his room serves four purposes: sleeping, bedtime book reading, changing clothes and changing diapers. It is not a place for playtime and exploration. . . except when things don't go so well on the diaper table.

Today was one of those days. I had to plunk Miguel down on the undersized mat so I could regroup, slap myself in the face and run to the bathroom to soak his crevice befouled diaper cover.

As I walked back to his room, I heard a strange squeaking noise. "A new vocal achievement?" I wondered. His placid face revealed nothing. Then I looked at his legs. He had turned himself halfway off the mat and was kick-sliding his sweaty feet against the wood floor. Squeak, squeak, squeak. . . big smile. Squeak, squeak, squeak. . . big smile. I kicked off one of my clogs. "Squeak, squeak, squeak," I replied, with a questioning smile. He answered. "Squeak, squeak, squeak," big smile, eyes on me. Back and forth we went, 5 minutes? 10 minutes? an hour? I don't know.

What was he learning? Curious raw sensations? How to take turns in a conversation? That I can watch him for 5 minutes? 10 minutes? an hour? without getting bored and that that's a form of love? I don't know.

Protective Stance

2007-06-01T21:49:00.000-05:00

It was a hot, muggy, stir-crazy day. The yard and window boxes called for tending. Instead of staying in to overponder the "master garden plan," or bemoaning my inability to hop on my bike and do a big trailer haul, I loaded up Miguel's diaper bag and searched the phone-book for a garden center that would require no more than one bus transfer: Farmer's Market Garden Center near Irving Park and Elston.

We took the Kimball bus 20 blocks north to Bell Plaine and walked 6 short blocks west until we saw a micropolis of greenery shimmering across Elston. I assumed my protective stance (body between oncoming traffic and stroller, arms stretched to keep the stroller going straight--why I think this helps, I don't know. I just hate pushing my child into distracted car traffic in front of me), and picked my way across the busy street.

I crammed his stroller with herbs and flowers for our window boxes and arranged to have a huge load of soil, mulch and compost delivered. It was a flat (and not inconsequential) fee, so I kept upping my order to get my purchase amount to delivery fee ratio in harmony. It's all stuff we need for the "master plan" anyway. I think.

Miguel was in a fine, but sleepy mood, for which I was very grateful. After waiting 30 minutes in the midday sun for the bus, I gave up, realizing the last place I wanted to be was on a very crowded bus (which it would be once it rolled around) with a stroller bulging with sleeping baby and plants. So I walked the final 20 blocks home, assuming another protective stance: trying to keep the stroller angled so the sun wouldn't bake his little legs. He napped the whole way.

6 month letter

2007-04-22T10:09:00.000-05:00

Every month we write a letter and give 20-30 pictures to Miguel's birth family.

Miguel opened the month with a roll. Having finally mastered this feat, he feels no need to continue exploring the floor-world from his belly. Before we even have a chance to lay him down, he starts clenching those core muscles and folding into his “rolling stance.” He digs both feet and his right shoulder into the ground and hoists his bottom in the air, creating a sort of sideways, almost upside down V shape. He teeters back and forth a bit until gravity pulls him down on his back with a thud, which is followed by a huge, self-satisfied smile. We have learned that this is an “immature” rolling strategy, but he seems happy with it. His left rolling style is more “advanced” but not nearly as charming.

We continue to visit the physical therapist, even though Miguel’s head shape and neck flexibility is much improved. She shows us many ways to play with him, and keeps us on the lookout for developmental milestones. Given how much he loves to stand (with help) and hates to be on his stomach, we wonder if he’ll skip crawling and go straight to walking.

He is definitely starting to assert his likes, dislikes and needs! We think his favorite color is orange. Out of a choice of 4 colors, he always picks the orange rattle ball to play with. On a recent, warm walk, he kicked off one of his shoes and kept thumping the stroller until we removed the other one. The sight of his bottle literally makes him wiggle and quiver with happiness. When he’s hungry, he smacks his lips. When he’s full, he tells us by starting to wave his hands in protest (curiously, before he stops sucking).

The world and his own body seem equally interesting to Miguel—one minute he’s whipping his head around to investigate the source of every sound, breeze, shadow and flash of color, the next minute he’s twisting around his hands for some home grown entertainment. He’s suddenly aware of things he’s always ignored: our green vase full of peacock feathers, Mommy’s earrings, the sound of keys in a door lock (which always seems to startle him a bit), the ceiling fan in our living room. . . it makes us wish we could get behind his eyes and ears to see how his senses are evolving.

As he works harder and explores more, he’s also starting to have his first aches and pains. The bottoms of his big toes are a little rough from pushing off the floor to roll or bounce. The chilly weather dabbed his cheeks with eczema; he looked like a pink faced boy in an old painting. We think he picked up his first cold last week—while his mood was fine, his nose was stuffy and his babble was wheezier and higher pitched than normal. But at his “6 month” doctor visit this week, the doctor assured us that he’s doing great. He’s still at about the 50th percentile in weight and height for his age (18 pounds/26 inches).

As we expected, being a parent is joyful and challenging. What we didn’t expect are the kinds of joys and challenges. For example, before Miguel, Gin had a total phobia about diaper changing. Whenever any of her friend’s babies needed a change, she was the first to duck out of the room. So she’s surprised to find that some of her favorite times of the day are at the changing table with Miguel, taking care of his most basic needs. And while Michael has never particularly been a morning person, he enjoys waking up to Miguel’s happy 6am babble and feeding and playing with him before heading off to work.

The never-eroding mountain of laundry is one of the challenges we were not prepared for! He goes through spitting up phases—just when you let down your guard and leave the burp cloth in another room: “Blurp!” Yesterday, Miguel somehow managed to deliver a warm load down the front, inside of Gin’s shirt—she got soaked to the skin, but he managed to stay dry and smiling, clever fella. We’re definitely dressing more casually these days. And now that he's moving into solids, we expect the laundry pile to keep growing.

5th month letter

2007-03-22T09:08:00.000-05:00

The baby books don’t lie when they describe the 4th and 5th months as golden—a magical time when your little one is interactive but not mobile. The last few weeks with Miguel have been incredible. When we swooned at his fleeting 2 month smiles, now we understand why people said, “Just wait until he smiles with his heart, not his digestive system!”

He greets each day with happy babble, content to let us sleep in a few extra minutes while he entertains himself with vocal experiments. “Ah goo” is a sign of relaxation; “ah ging gee!” is the signal of distress. We’re also hearing some l’s and b’s.

Everything’s bigger: smiles, cheeks, poops, screams and eyes—eager to take in every detail. And where his eyes land, his hands follow. He’s grasping and grabbing and trying to shove as many things as he can into his mouth. One of his favorite tricks is to rub his gums with his thumb through the fabric of his sleeves. We won’t be done dressing him, and already there will be a wet spot on his shirt. He looks up like, “Yeah, Daddy, you gotta roll my sleeve down faster than that! Heh, heh, heh!” He’s also gnawing on the ears of stuffed animals, sucking on frozen washcloths and chomping on people’s fingers. His biggest oral fixation is a brightly colored atomic looking rattle. It’s easy for him to pick up with one or two hands, and there are plenty of noodley surfaces for him to clamp his mouth around.

Not all of his handwork is geared towards the gums. He’s also into making noises. Any toy that has crinkly paper inside is a hit. He loves to rustle the newspaper, especially while Mom is reading the sports section. So many things make him laugh: dabbing his chin with a burp cloth, sweeping hair across his face, blowing on his belly, sucking air through his knuckles, making goofy sounds, repeating words, imitating his facial expressions. . . We went through a hilarious lip smacking stage a few days ago.

He adores his jungle themed bouncer. It combines many of his favorite things—making noise, bouncing, and touching. He is less enthusiastic about tummy time, but he tolerates it. We suspect he’s not yet rolling over on his own because his mellow personality leads him to be fairly content wherever he is.

We’ve been seeing a physical therapist every week or so to monitor his development. The flat spot on the right side of his head we noticed at 4 months is nearly gone, but he still prefers looking to the right. She has taught us stretches and exercises to help balance his neck muscles—he often protests, so we have to be sneaky about it. She’s also given us tips on helping him develop the muscles (and the desire!) to roll over.

Miguel is still a member of the jet-set. In mid-March we visited snowy mountains in Colorado for a reunion of Gin’s family. Her aunts, uncles and cousins were delighted to finally meet him and to learn more about the miraculous way our family was formed. . .

4th month letter

2007-02-22T08:35:00.000-06:00

It’s hard to believe that already a month has past since we sent the last letter and batch of photos. Each day Miguel seems to be doing something new, whether it’s making new sounds (lots of goo gaa’s and excited happy squeals lately), getting better at using his hands (he likes shaking a bell rattle and playing with animals in his floor mat activity center), mimicking our faces or laughing at our silly games.

We traveled with Miguel in early February to Arizona to meet his grandfather (Michael’s dad). Miguel is still an agreeable traveler and even seemed to enjoy the plane ride. Grandpa and Miguel were both very happy to meet each other. During the trip, Miguel passed an important milestone—he rolled over twice from his back to his tummy! We learned later that that floor he was playing on was sloped, which no doubt helped him. Nonetheless we were very excited and proud about his accomplishment.

Miguel has also gotten very close to rolling over from his tummy to his back. He had rolled over a few times when he was tiny (maybe by accident), but hasn’t lately. We‘ve been coaching him, cheering him on, and helping him through the motion during tummy time. It’s fun to watch his excitement in inching towards being able to roll over on his own.

We’re getting closer to following a set daily schedule with Miguel. We usually put him down for sleep around 8pm, and then give him a last feeding of the day before we go to bed at 10:30pm. He typically sleeps through the night until about 6am (but not always). He then eats, chit-chats and plays for a while and takes a mid-morning nap. By noon, he’s ready for lunch. He plays some more, but by 1:30pm (almost on the minute!), he gets a little cranky, so it’s naptime again. We usually feed him before our dinner and he joins us at the table for supper either in his rocking chair or in his new “high chair” (it’s a seat that attaches to one of our chairs). He likes to follow our conversation, often chiming in. After dinner, he’s typically active until his evening feeding, after which story-time leads up to his bedtime.

Every day, we give thanks to you for bringing our family together. . . .We hope all is well and we look forward to talking with you soon.

3rd month letter

2007-01-22T09:11:00.001-06:00

What an amazing three months! We are settling into our roles as parents, and loving Miguel more and more every day. The nursery is finally coming together--just in time, as he is outgrowing the bassinet. We worried that he would resist the transition to the crib, especially because he likes kicking the bassinet to make his beloved lion mobile jiggle. But he greeted his new surroundings with the same wide-eyed, patient curiosity he reserves for all new experiences.

Every day he seems heavier, firmer and more in control of his limbs, which are quite fascinating to him. (We need to phase out the swaddle; his arm will not be contained!) We’ve caught him staring at his outstretched hands with a mixture of awe and trepidation. In the last few days, he’s been wrapping his fingers around a rattle (with help) and holding on tight for minutes at a time—watching closely to see what will happen, perhaps not realizing that he’s the one in charge. He’s also smiling and talking a lot (lahs and heys), especially in the mornings. Sometimes we take turns with our utterances—we love these “conversations.”

He was 11 pounds, 12.5 ounces and 23 inches long at his Dec 28th doctor’s visit; all that gobbling of formula shot him up to the 50th percentile for weight and height. What does it feel like to double in size in 2 months??? For the last few weeks, he’s been eating about 30-32 ounces a day, but we think he’s entering another growth spurt. Yesterday, he was both sleepy and hungry. He snoozed through the entire NFC Championship Bears game, then woke up, slurped down a bottle and cried for more, resulting in his first 7 ounce dinner!

Happy New Year!

2006-12-31T19:21:00.000-06:00

When Aunt Janet sent Miguel a mini-tux to ring in the new year, we knew we had to dress up for the Handlebar's 12/31 fundraiser for the Bloomingdale Trail. We hope the trail is open by the time he is old enough to ride a bicycle!

2nd month letter

2006-12-22T10:06:00.000-06:00

It’s hard to believe Miguel is almost 2 months. He’s already outgrown some of his outfits. We think he’s nearly 11 pounds. He still likes to eat every 3 hours, between 3 and 5 ounces (though on one hungry afternoon, he gobbled down 6!) He’s usually very calm, with bright and wide open eyes, except of course when he sleeps, which he still does quite a bit. But every now and again, he’ll belt out some ragged cries—proving that he does have terrific lung capacity. He also seems to be experimenting with other noises (aaah!, ehhh! aaaay! oooo!)

Lately, he has been working hard to get his right thumb into his mouth. He doesn’t get too upset when his thumb strays to his eye instead—he just keeps plugging away. His legs are getting strong—he likes to practice standing on mommy’s tummy. He’s also lifting his head, and “working out” during tummy time. He can be quite the wriggler.

Miguel’s a hardy traveler. He didn’t whimper once on the airplane ride to Gin’s grandparents’ house in Baltimore, and he loves going on walks and taking the bus. It’s a thrill to have him along for our big and small adventures. He has many admirers—from the check-out ladies at the grocery store to Michael’s co-workers who line up to hold him during visits to the office.