October 27, 2007: Fun with Daddy

In Washington, DC, it was the traffic. In Madison, electrical storms. California treated us with rattlesnakes, wildfires, and biting flies. We have moved so many times in the past five years, I barely have time to uncover the dangers of one climate before I must re-acclimate my mind and body to a new set of trials.

As I sit in Toby's office writing this, no fewer than eight wasps buzz at the window just a few feet from my face. Occasionally, one makes a lazy reconnaissance flight around the room, hovering near my scalp for a moment before returning to the Sisyphean task of crawling repeatedly to the highest point of the window frame. I have seen countless bees and wasps flying around the house lately, but those have all been outside. Something about colds night and sunny, crisp afternoons is as delicious to the stinging insects as it is to us humans.

So, I will conclude prematurely with some happy photos of Eliot and Toby. Most of you all come for the photos anyway. I'm no dummy.

Eliot has yet to make the connection between his new buddy and the feta cheese in this morning's omelet.

This chair is just the right size for a bug and his dad.

Sharing your ratty, old Red Sox cap with your kid on the eve of the World Series is one of the great joys of being a dad.

October 17, 2007: We Get Up Again

We are finally nearing the end (knock wood) of a particularly nasty, family-felling tummy bug. Two weeks of yucks and misery and velcro-baby have taken their toll. Even dear gramma Genie, who so generously came to visit before Eliot's birthday, ended up stretching a 3-day stay into a week-long recuperative holiday. We made the most of our brief spurt of moderate health, though, cramming in all of the fun activities we had planned into the final 48 hours of her stay.

Genie likes the down a heck of a lot more than the up.

Rock on, Mama! No queasy tummy is keeping me down. With quaking knees and a few long, uncertain pauses, I made it to the top of the rock wall. It helped having the fastidious and patient Toby belaying and applauding me from below.

The ever-generous Eliot was happy to share his gramma's french fries with the resident peacock at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.

Although he survived our two-day excursion marathon to the zoo, Flourissant Fossil Beds, and Castle Rock Outlets, Eliot clearly was not operating at full capacity. Intermittently sleepy and clingy even after Gramma's departure, he followed up his GI woes with a new molar and eye tooth, then managed to pick up a head cold from some random piece of playground equipment or rug rat. Making friends with moms and toddlers certainly carries a degree of risk.

The babes and tots of the Woodland Park Baby Boot Camp group came to Camp Shady Brook last week to suffer through a series of sprints and squats in our rugged patch of woods. Taryn (top row, second mom from left) is our fierce and fearless leader. Strollers in hand and our kids along for the ride, we jam through any number of contortions to keep in good shape and great spirits. Awesome opportunity for moms of young 'uns. Check out www.babybootcamp.com.

The Baby Boot Camp menagerie at the pumpkin patch this morning. Hay rides, apple pie, and gusts of a crisp, autumn wind welcomed in the new season.

My heavens, that's one lovely ladybug there in the punkin' patch! No cold or flu is any match for this shiny little guy. Health and happiness win again!

October 7, 2007: You've Come a Long Way, Babe

This is you. One squished up, squirming, squalling surprise.

This is you. Our Eliot, too. Our solid, playful, tumbling boy.

This is Eliot. Curious and cruising. Saying "da-da." Rolling trucks over the carpet with the b-b-b-r-r-r  roar of an engine. Crawling across the living room floor with a backwards glance and a grin, then taking off with a squeal. Chase me! Communicating with an ever-expanding range of noises, points, cries.

You cling and flirt from the safety of mommy or daddy's arms. You are still ours, you still sob when we leave you with a sitter or a relative. But the reports come back that you adapt. You often find a way to settle in with others, sometimes by sitting tight on a new lap, sometimes by shifting your attention to the curious textures of a different environment. This is you, recognizing friends and family, sometimes even willingly leaving my arms to explore a new person or place.

Sitting still for an intense 10 or 15 minutes, focused on fitting a wooden ring over its post or on separating and turning the pages of The Very Hungry Caterpillar without any help. Pushing away offered assistance or snacks when you are busy. Then, when you find yourself stuck, holding out your project to mommy or daddy with a frustrated cry. This, too, is Eliot. Letting us give you a hand. Watching, practicing, mastering.

We are parents of a one-year-old, an almost-toddler, a busy little man. Your are taking it all in, making sense of the jumble of noises and faces and changing seasons. Every Wednesday, the blue garbage truck roars into camp. You hear its noisy approach and become very still, listening. We stand out on the porch and watch together as it claws its way into the dumpsters. You absorb every move. In the evening when Fenway barks and howls at visiting coyotes or deer, you point at the door or window. "Dah," you say, grinning. "Dah!" Yep, that's the doggie. Your doggie. And when Mozart strolls into the living room, you buck and race over to her. "Het," you say, pounding her with far too much gusto. "Het," you grin at me while she submits to your attention. Yep, that's the cat.

When you are tired or ill, you are still our baby, nuzzling close and resting your head against the familiar rhythm of mommy or daddy's heartbeat. This is you, nursing for comfort, keeping the bond between us tied up in a soft knot. Your daddy has begun taking you at night more often so that I can have a little room, a little re-introduction to my own body. We have discovered that you fall asleep just as easily with him as you do with me. It seems we all know and need each other. You and daddy rest well in a comfortable, hours-long embrace. Beside you, I count my blessings. You belong to us both.

We celebrate you, our Eliot. Our son. A grandson and great-grandson, a nephew and cousin. A friend and playmate. Dozens of pathways of love and connection met to create you, to nurture you, and to accompany you as you venture out from this comforting center, as you begin to blaze your own trail.

A whole year of you, the surprise and wonder of Eliot. You are your own birthday gift. We look forward to everything that comes next. The loud, the busy, the toddly, the demanding, the curious, the fearless, the clingy, the unknown. The totally unexpected. Bring it on, birthday boy. 

This is you. This Eliot. Our boy. Our son. Happy first birthday!