Sunshine

Living in the Pacific Northwest during the spring and summer is glorious. The constant rain of winter creates such lushness and just a cacophony of blooming flowers once the sun emerges. A bike ride home during the spring is a treat as you smell fresh cut grass and jasmine on one block with roses and lilacs on the next.

The sun comes at a terrible price, though, which is this:

YOU MUST GO OUT IN THE SUN!

What's with the green carpet?

This is usually not a problem for the first day or even the first week. After a while, though, the burden of feeling required to enjoy the sun can get a bit much. I also learned last week that despite being a northwest native, Cleo does not have this slogan encoded into her DNA.

I've kind of kept track and it seems that Cleo averages about two good days out of three, or about two to three bad days a week. To be honest, Cleo's bad days really aren't that bad, but she does require extra attention and is super fussy. Tuesday was looking like a bad day despite the sunny 70 degree weather, so I wanted to stay in.

Then I began to feel the Call of the Sun. It's a peppy and optimistic call, kind of like Rob Lowe's character in Parks and Recreation, urging you to partake in all of the goodness that a sunshiny day can offer! However, I was still suspicious that Cleo was not having a good day, so I put off making plans for the day despite the call. I then felt the Nagging of the Grey, which is much more powerful than the Call of the Sun, less considerate of your needs, and sounds a lot more like Aubrey Plaza's character in Parks and Rec with a dose of disapproving Nick Offerman stare. It was whispering into my ear that by not taking Cleo out, I was being a bad father. So, sighing to myself, I decided to head out.

Cleo "enjoying" the good weather

Portland has a lot of parks to choose from, but I'm not sure which one is best for a baby. The only one I know for certain that I can rule out is Mill Ends Park since it's about the size of a large potted plant (Portland weird at it's best before Portland started trying too hard to be weird). Other than that, I've judged parks in the past based on access to fun stuff. I have no idea how to judge which one is the best to put a baby on a blanket in.

The other is sunscreen. Like many things involved in parenting, the internet is one big infestation of conflicting opinions ranging from accusing you of being a heartless bastard for putting toxic chemicals on your baby to being an ignorant Luddite for exposing her to the deadly radiation of the sun with no protective exo-layer developed by men in labcoats. I find this all confusing. I'm not opposed to using sunscreen, but I'm also pretty sure that people were having babies for thousands of years prior to the invention of sunscreen and I'm like 99.9% positive that there was a sun back then. So as with many of these dilemmas, I read stuff online written by overly polarized people frothing at the mouth from agenda rabies who shortly after writing their articles are then put down by animal control when they would run outside snarling and biting people while terrorizing the populace, I then get massively frustrated, and finally I say "Screw it" and leave after dressing Cleo for the weather as best as I can, figuring I'll learn as I go.

Thank Jeebus that's over!

Of course, the problem with learn as you go is that I have to make mistakes to learn form. Cleo remained fussy (wrong day), I picked a park that was overly laden with shirtless hipsters playing frisbee (wrong park), I went out in the middle of the day (wrong time), I set up in an under-shaded area and after five minutes I realized this and moved (wrong place) and despite her fussiness I insisted on trying out the baby on blanket in the park (wrong... everything).

It was pretty much an unmitigated disaster. After a calm beginning allowing me to get the blanket set up with all of her toys, it then became a scream fest. Realizing I should have set up more in the shade, I then had to, while holding her and trying to keep her sun hat on, kick all of her toys and the blanket into the shaded area. Still cranky, I bottle fed her for a bit which worked briefly, but then she started back up with the screaming. Keep in mind that the park was crowded and Cleo is LOUD. I don't give up easily, so I tried distracting her with toys for a while before packing up in defeat. She also screamed during my entire retreat from the exercise; possibly even louder as if me giving up somehow enraged her more than me trying to keep us there. It was all mildly traumatizing for me but I feel like I learned a lot. Hopefully when the sight of the picnic blanket stops giving me flashbacks, I'll be willing to try it out again!

One Year

Exactly one year ago, I posted here for the first time. In all honesty, I didn't expect to keep up with this. The internet is riddled with blogs that have a few months of content, then sporadic posts, then nothing. This was started on kind of on a lark, so I'm pleased to see that it's become a fixture in my life despite all of the things I and my family have endured.

The best part about this is gaining the knowledge that I AM a writer. Not in the sense that I've published anything or gotten paid, but that it's a part of me. For example, I mentioned to a coworker a few months back that I write a blog and her question of "Why?" left me a bit speechless. I mean, it's nice to be able to keep friends and relatives updated on what's going on with my family, but if that were my only objective, this would be one of the many orphan blogs on the net. The only answer I had for her is that it's just something I do.

That said, I'm still struggling to figure out what kind of writer I am. My brief foray into sports writing took a back seat to my desire to write about my kid. Tuesdays with Cleo keeps me to a regular deadline, but figuring out what filler goes in between Tuesdays is something I still ponder. I've also been going through my old posts and it's interesting how much things have changed and evolved. This started out as a place for me to be zany and silly first with some insightful stuff packed in. The more I've written, the more I've found that I had the ingredients right, just that they go the other way around for me; less zaniness, more insight.

Should I live another 37 years, I would hope that I don't have another year as eventful as this last has been as it has truly taken me to the extremes of emotion. I've lost one of the people I was closest to in my life and yet also gained one; gone from witness to the first breath of life and then on to witness of the last. At times it's been painful and even overwhelming to write about these things, but all of the posts, even the silliest of them, have been cleansing for me. I'm glad I took the effort to start this project. Thank you for tagging along with me for the last year and let's see if I can keep this up for another.

Play Date

I've been more sociable than H in the past and I've usually had a larger amount of friends than her. Honestly though, this has more to do with my interests. The things I like to do are group or team activities and you simply can't do them on your own. When we move to new locations, I will spend an evening hanging out at an indoor soccer arena to see if people are needing an extra player not because I enjoy it, but because I need a freaking team to be on. I'll go to gaming meetups despite my anxiety because I can't play D&D by myself. It's all a means to an end and I eventually end up with more friends.

I've had a sneaking suspicion, though, that H would really trump me with the parenting community. I like to socialize with people who like gaming or soccer. If you don't like either, I'm probably not hanging out with you. H is much better at actually wanting to be around people where the factors are more arbitrary. She is much more likely than me to hang out with people who live close by or with people from work who don't necessarily share any commonalities except proximity.

Now that we have a baby, we have instant membership into a community of parents; a disappointing amount of which have no interest in soccer or gaming. This has made gatherings difficult for me, but not an obstacle for H.

From my perspective, here's what it looks like for H: "You have a baby? I have a baby too! Let's hang out and let the babies hang out together!"

For me it's more like this: "Um... sure we both have babies, but do you like board games? What do you own? Oh... Monopoly and Life... Yeah... I think my kid is sick and might be contagious. Probably best if we reschedule or something."

The result of this is that Cleo has been on a lot of play dates, none of which I have been a part of. I would get funny videos from H with Cleo laughing with other babies, but I had never actually SEEN Cleo interacting with another baby. I was determined to correct this.

Cleo demonstrating the art
of nonviolent resistance

First Step: How? Luckily, I do have a friend named Mike who I had played D&D with who has Tuesdays off AND has a kid almost the same age as Cleo. He's also a more experienced parent than me as he already has a three year old kid and I was hoping to get some pointers. He was open to the idea of trying this out and we were both not-so-secretly thinking we might squeeze in a game at some point.

Second Step: Meet up. I dragged  a fussy, protesting Cleo out to Mike's house. Due to her fussiness, I packed for the worst day ever including: a dozen diapers, portable rocker, tons of toys, about a pint of frozen breast milk, ukulele, juggling balls, and games. I'm pretty sure that when Mike's wife came home later that day, she thought Cleo and I were moving in.

Third Step: Hang out. The morning was pretty chill, with Mike and I taking care of the kids and catching up on stuff. We then went for a walk to the local game store. I would imagine the sight of two guys decked out in baby carriers strolling through the aisles and geeking out about RPG supplements is a novel one. Appearance be damned, though, because it was fun to gawk and gab about the games and RPG stuff we are currently only rarely able to play. Then back to the house.

Fourth Step: Game on. During nap time, we attempted to play Dominion. We ended up getting about 3/4 of a game complete, but honestly, it was still really, really nice to be able to play at all.

Ha! Try again noob!

Fifth Step: Leave the car lights on. What's more awkward than realizing you killed your car battery after you said goodbye to everyone? Toting a screaming kid around while you problem solve! We tried jump starting it, but I killed that battery good, so I had to call AAA.

Sixth Step: Realize when you come home and are asked by your wife how the babies liked each other that you and your friend never actually put the babies together. At least this means we'll get another shot at playing a full game of Dominion!

Age

So in the last week, Kobe Bryant ruptured his Achilles tendon and had a massive, pain med fueled rant on Facebook that was pretty genuine. Any athlete who's played at a competitive level knows the angst of an injury derailing your plans and ambitions. There are two things I learned form this, though:

1) He did this doing a step he's done "millions of times" in the past. Why did it fail him this time? Because:
2) He's 34 years old!

I had NO idea Kobe was that old. In my head, he's still the teenager the Lakers signed who was Michael Jordan's "successor"; a bold statement especially since Jordan was still playing. Now he's at the tail end of his career!

This hits home on a more personal level. I've been in a malaise for a while so my friend Chris was coming down to hang with me and Cleo. We've been friends for about 20 years (he's the godfather of Cleo), and Chris has always been, in my mind, the big tall athlete. Back in the frat pledge days, I remember fondly when some of the "alpha male" upperclassmen would fume when they could not beat Chris at sports. Since then he's continued doing stuff like running marathons and doing triathlons. I was really looking forward to him coming down on Monday, but sadly I received this phone call:

Chris: Hey man, I might not be able to come down today. I hurt my back.
Me: Are you alright? What happened?
Chris: Yeah, I'm okay. I was making the bed and I pinched a nerve.
Me: Wait, so you were flipping the mattress or something?
Chris: No I was... (slight pause)... Folding a blanket.

To my shame, I laughed, but at least Chris laughed along too (Thankfully he was still able to come down on Tuesday.)

One of the things I love about Chris is that he is not only young at heart, but he has a talent for drawing this out in others. However, I was worried that his back pain plus me having to tote a baby along with us everywhere would seriously crimp that ability; one guy bent over and hobbling along and the other wearing a Baby Bjorn and pulling a stroller as we roll up to a club.

Thankfully, there's a huge difference between young at heart and arrested development. The evolution of still feeling like we're both teenagers hanging out and yet being able to tend to things like childcare, work, and relationships was refreshing.

For me, it all came together on a trip to the zoo. Chris and Emily, H and Cleo and I were all strolling, still goofing around, still making fun of the monkeys, all while tending to the baby and taking time to stretch. It really felt complete. Trust me though, no matter how young you feel, remember to stretch!

Falls

For kids of Cleo's generation, this metaphor will be so archaic, but remember when you had a failing tape deck in your car that would jam, leaving you with one tape, constantly playing over and over and over again?

That's kind of what the grieving process is like for me. Any day now I'm hoping I'll snap out of the grief cycle, but until then, it's just this constant rotating playlist of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression... then a realization will wash over me and bring me acceptance... then start over.

For instance, my mom came up to visit last week. We all had a good time, but there were moments when my mother was holding Cleo that I thought "Wow. I will never be in a room with two people to whom I'm more genetically similar to than right now". This would then drag me down a bit.

My father and mother had been separated for nearly twenty years, and as much as I love the people who entered my father's life since then, it was a panacea to be able to grieve with someone who knows him from back in the day. He was raw back then, and I've struggled in recent weeks to reconcile the raw man who raised me with the refined man who recently passed from my life. It's something I thought I had dealt with, but it's weird how these issues come back out of the ground like zombies, forcing you to fight them again one last time like some Final Fantasy boss who just won't die.


Hearing my mom tell stories about the vacations on the lakes in California, the camping trips to Mount Rainier, or the hike where I got blisters on my feet and my father ran down to the bottom of a mountain to get the van and meet us at a road accessible area along the way all serve to remind me that while he was not always a gentle man, he was ALWAYS a noble one. Something about this realization has helped me put this issue to rest for now (though next week I will probably be writing about the next zombie issue... If there's one thing "The Walking Dead" has taught me, it's that there are always more zombies.)

Thankfully it hasn't been all gloomy. Just moments of it.

It was absolutely exhilarating to demonstrate my "parenting skillz!" to my mom. Remember that BOB stroller I spent a whole post writing about for just getting down the block? Well last week, my mom, Cleo, and I went to Multnomah Falls. I popped open the trunk, flipped that badboy out like it was a pocket knife, and tromped up the path, over steps, up the path to the bridge. I actually wanted to go further, but truth be told, we were chancing it as is. BOB and I are getting along better, but Cleo and BOB are not really friends yet and she gets fussy quickly. So we hung out in the outdoor dining area, eating sandwiches, drinking coffee, and reminiscing while taking turns entertaining Cleo. My competitive nature won't allow me to admit that it was better than reaching the top of the falls, but I suppose I'm willing to say that it was AS good as reaching the top.

Speaking of waterfalls,have
you checked my diaper lately?

The best thing about the trip was to see Cleo's love of nature. She was wide eyed and staring, taking everything in as we walked the path. I expected crying as we got near the falls since they are so loud with mist and spray everywhere. Not the case though. She was fascinated by it.

In truth, though, she is still a bit small for the journey. I find myself frequently conflicted about this. I want to do stuff with her, but many things come with recommended age limits: Stroller jogging (6 months), hiking with her in a backpack (6+ months), or biking with her (12 months!). I get impatient since I want to do this stuff with her NOW. The flip side of this is that it's crazy how much bigger she already is! I can't say that I don't want her to grow up since I enjoy every new ability that she gains (for example: I heard her laugh briefly for the first time today!), but it is startling when I look at pictures of her from not long ago.

However, I find solace in the waterfall, and this one is special to me. It's the same falls that my father and mother and I would stop at on our trips up from California when I was a toddler, the same falls where H and I had our first picnic back when we were dating, and the same falls my daughter gaped at while my mother held her. All of the water is long gone, and yet, it is also still falling. I hope that someday, Cleo while find peace in that as well.

Photo Shoot

So the photo they ended up going with for the photo shoot doesn't feature Cleo. Can't say I'm surprised since the last few pictures they took were definitely from the right angle and little C was done with all that nonsense by that time. Good news is that we got the individual shots. We're going to order prints but here's a link back to the post I wrote with these photos inserted in now.

Routines

Last Tuesday was the first day back home after my father's memorial service and our house was a disaster.

Hmm. Can I convince her that folding is a game?

Being gone was rough and even when we were home for a bit last week, I wasn't really "there"; I was distracted, shell shocked, and/or pondering what I felt was best to say at my father's funeral. Then for days after the funeral, I felt raw. The way I explained it was that I felt that I had lost a layer of skin during the process and the world just "felt" like too much. I needed time to grow it back.

Unfortunately, the house was just so massively chaotic that I felt it was doing the opposite of healing. I felt off... like I needed my routine back and all the mess was in the way. So Tuesday became cleaning day so I could revive some sort of structure in my life.

I felt bad taking one of my precious Tuesdays and allowing housecleaning to share priority status with my daughter, but returning to a familiar environment and routine (10:30 am feeding, 11 am nap, 2 pm feeding, and so on) seemed to be very comforting for Cleo. I forget sometimes that she's not just "some baby", but she's MY baby and possibly shares a lot of the same needs as me.

Yes, that is actually me.

Case in point: Juggling. I've gone through multiple phases in the past where juggling was my go to hobby. Balls, clubs, rings, contact juggling, juggling things on fire, uni-cycling... I've given all a whirl and gotten to the "adequate but not ready for performance" status in most of them. People with kids find out that I juggle and are often like "Oh! Juggle something for my little Jimmikins (or whatever the kid's name is)!"

So I juggle and Jimmikins really doesn't give a crap about it and is MUCH more fascinated by what he just found in his nose. For the most part, I assume that kids aren't really interested in juggling unless it's part of a show with noise, bright lights, costumes, and trained dogs. It's an ADDITION to a spectacle for most kids, not the spectacle itself. (The lone exception I've found to this is fire juggling.)

So while I was putting away the laundry, I grabbed some of the tennis balls we throw into the drier with the clothes and did a basic cascade with them. I kind of felt her gaze on me, so I looked over to the boppy where Cleo was propped up and there she was, eyes wide open, jaw dropped. So despite my rustiness, I did a little routine (columns, reverse cascade, Mill's Mess) expecting her attention to drop off.

Obviously has goofball DNA

Not one bit. Her eyes were fixed firmly on what I was doing the whole time and smiling.

I was stunned that a kid would actually pay attention to this, but I suppose I shouldn't have been since it makes sense. I LOVE juggling and have always been drawn to it, so why wouldn't a tyke who shares my DNA not share some similar fascinations?

The house is still kind of a mess, but next week I'll adventure into storage, find my old juggling gear, dust it off, and give things a whirl. To tell the truth, I already feel good about this. I find it funny that I was searching for comfort in routine and I ultimately found it... in a little juggling routine and the joy my kid got out of it.