Earth to the Librarian

Continued as:

2008-05-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

we are three.

2008-05-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

If you are not visibly pregnant or holding a small infant by your child's second birthday, it seems that the completion of the second year is considered the appropriate time for onlookers to needle you regarding future reproductive plans. In our case, add to the second birthday an impending move to France and you will solicit the following reactions:

"So are you going to create a little French citizen?"
"What will you do while C's working? It'd be a great time to ..."
"So-and-so's kid is having their second...I'm sharing not suggesting."

Am I guilty of some of the same thoughts? Yes, of course. I have considered giving the gift of EU citizenship and I have considered whether or not to pack maternity clothes, but I have also considered what it would be like to equate pregnancy with Paris. I am not prepared to avoid wine and runny cheeses, to be more tired than I already am, to negotiate the whole baby-creating experience in another language while I am limited to questions like where is the Rue St. Jacques?

Were you wondering too? Possibly, but I write this more as a reminder for myself because when we're finally settled over there and T. still refuses to wear a diaper or use the potty confining us to our minuscule multi-story walk-up and I think why the fuck not, I want to remember why not.

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In other news from the what will I do in Paris department, I'm working on a new enterprise. Hopefully things will be in place by the time we leave. More on that soon.

2

2008-05-05T20:18:00.000-07:00

T., I think everyone present would agree that your party rocked.

You weren't so sure at first as you watched the bouncy elephant rise to its full glory. You were clearly questioning all of your lobbying efforts.

But, you came around quickly, and the rest of the day was grand. I don't know how to describe it except to say you went into the bouncy castle a baby and emerged hours later a little girl. It was truly incredible. You were thrilled to have everyone sing to you and you blew out the candles like a pro. You smiled the whole time, played with your friends and cousins, and even took a nap after eating chocolate cake. I've seen some of the challenges that 2 will bring already, but on your big day, my girl, you rose above it all.

Still, there's one aspect of the day that's really hard for me to understand: I barely saw you. I'm sure you know this already, but we've spent just one night apart since the 3rd of May 2006. We hang out a lot. Sure, we do our own thing 4 out of 7 days, but we see a lot of each other. And more than that, when we are together, you could measure our distance in inches. What looms largest in my mind about your party is that it was your party. I can only piece together your experience of it based on photos that other folks took.

I can see you bouncing in a way that has revolutionized your sleep habits.*

And, I can see that you ate your cake, and that someone thought to stuff a napkin in your dress to keep you clean.
I know you had a good time because you still look out the back window and say "bouncy elephant," you name the people who were at your party, and every fifth word out of your mouth is "birthday," but I also know this because you didn't scream "MAMMMAAA" every 3 minutes. You were this gracious little independent being, raising the roof on the bouncer and spreading the love to all your guests.

T., you're a wonder. I'm can't wait to take on Paris with you.

*I highly recommend renting a bouncy castle as the antidote to all toddler sleep problems.

birthday acorns

2008-05-01T21:46:00.001-07:00

It turns out that there's a developmental skill called threading. This seems like the kind of thing an eight year old would do, but apparently not. I spotted this, and its variants, while "researching" potential birthday presents the other day. Then I remembered that I had ordered a pack of wooden acorns back in the winter when I really want to make my own little people. I've been undecided about T's birthday present for a while--I churned out a bunch of doll clothes in April, but lately I've felt like she's not quite ready for that. And so, what to do with only two days to go?

We broke out the drill last night and got to work. C. drilled holes in all 25 acorns and I painted them. I got some cord from a bead store today so she'll be ready to go when she opens them. I'm not sure if T's really dexterous enough to thread the acorns herself, but I'm sure she'll be glad to wear the finished product even if some help is required. So, hopefully she'll be as excited about them as I am. I think they'll be a nice union of T's many interests: acorn collecting, necklaces, colors, counting.

I made extra orange ones just so she has many opportunities to use her favorite expression of late, "another orange ______!"

Two more days to two.

23 months

2008-04-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

My girl,

Twenty-three months already. It seems so long, yet we still have food in the refrigerator older than you.

The past month has presented an epic fork in the road for your parents, but you are still oblivious to that decision. You have been focused on other things. Mostly I am talking about the singing. Your little voice is remarkable--you do not inherit this from me. I am not a singer, but you know this already. You, on the hand, have the sweetest little voice I've ever heard. After you sang yourself to sleep last night, your dad and I spent a while trying to imitate you. Neither of us could hit the pitch, but we realized that our approximations failed on a deeper level. Your singing voice is like pure innocence in audio and we are too tainted to replicate such sweet murmurs.

You are just a little girl and no one has burdened you with the weight of feminism or marxism or vegetarianism, those ideologies that seem like a given when you're fresh out of college. No one has told that leaving your job and following your husband to France won't be a career killer because employers still expect women to behave that way. No one warned you that you might experience a complete meltdown when you realize that you are indeed fulfilling the prophecy of the professor on your hiring committee who asked you if your husband would "whisk you off somewhere " when he finished his degree.

T., I'm trying to let the promise of Paris shake off my fears of unemployment, and today when the latter feels very real, it's your little voice singing noo-night to rabbit and tiger and frog and penguin and the eight blankets you must have layered precisely upon you that makes it all seem okay.

Almost-doo, indeed.

Love,
Mama

the season

2008-04-01T16:03:00.000-07:00

Friends, welcome to my birthday month. It's really a wonderful time of year, don't you think? It is off to a very unproductive start here in the geobibliosphere, but plans are afoot.

We've begun to chip away at our warehouse-of-obsolete-possessions and for once the local hipster consignment shop deigned to pay us for some of our clothes. I always find such transactions to be really demoralizing, but it wasn't so bad this time. Will do the same with some of T's belongings next.

So the reality of our departure is slowly sinking in--the fact that we will move--but the manner in which we will move is still very foggy. It's hard for me to imagine anything less than an transatlantic ship's passage involving steamer trunks, or maybe something tweedy? It's more likely that we'll be leaving with too many oversized, overweight duffel bags, but the whole idea of evocative travel gear is enough to make me consider revisiting my long-abandoned PhD thesis while we're over there. Hm.

rage against the librarian

2008-03-26T19:30:00.000-07:00

bird dress.

2008-03-24T19:54:00.000-07:00

Easter was equal parts fun and trauma. The fun included T's first egg hunt, a nice walk to one of our favorite bakeries, and visits with friends and family. The trauma was brought on by a skinned knee on the way to the car to see said family. The skin knee brought on wailing, vomiting and other forms of discomposure. Somehow my dress stayed clean, but by the time we made it to Easter dinner, T. was on her third.

She must have been extremely exhausted by it all because she took her first nap for me in about 3 or 4 months today, a real nap at home that last over 2.5 hours. She woke up chirping like the little birds on the new dress I had time to make her during my extended respite.

The bird detail is hard to see, but the pattern is this.

Red sweater, already snug.

2008-03-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

This sweater is in conversation with stepintomythimble's toddler pullover. I'm pleased with the results, although based on the fit and the fact that the recipient finds it too "itchy", I don't think I'll bother with buttons. I really have to remember not to rely on old measurements when making clothes for T., and by old I mean those taken two months ago. A growth spurt can really mess with a knitting project.

For sale: cradle

2008-03-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

The first of many items we're going to part with in the coming months. The picture below represents the ten whole minutes T. ever spent in this cradle.

It's really beautiful, and I made a little foam mattress for it, but it was clear pretty early that she preferred to sleep with us, not next to us. I imagined that one day she'd use this for dolls, but space is limited and so it goes.

The lady we bought it from regaled us with its Romanian origins, but I doubt it. The lead test came out negative which made me doubt the story even more. Still, it's a nice piece. If you know anyone who might want it, send them my way.

cannot focus

2008-03-14T13:23:00.000-07:00

because all I can think about is how much fun we had last summer and how freaking excellent it will be to step jauntily through European parks--Parisian parks in particular--if you were wondering.

Decidedly.

2008-03-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

I never intended to stay this long. I've given you 9 years, California, every one remarkable, so it is with great hesitation that I offer you my letter of resignation. Here are the keys. You'll notice that I'm departing with a lot more than would fit in the Nissan Sentra that brought me here back in '99. Are there related fees? In particular, may we cross the border with one of your Native Daughters of the Golden West? Please advise as to relevant paperwork and departure procedures.

Yours,
Geobrarian

-------------------------------------

C., it's really hard to wrap my mind around this week. It feels like you've been off on another planet, the one we've been calling "Dada Air-pane Dip". I've been toying with the idea of ditching work to meet you at the airport, but I really can't, so I'll see you tonight. Also, I promised T. that you would pick her up, so if you take a nap or something, set an alarm so you don't sleep until morning, according to the Planet Dada Air-pane Dip time zone. Suddenly there's so much to do, but for now, I'm just glad to have you back.

2008-03-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

C., you have gone to sleep because it's nighttime where you are. When we talked earlier, T. and I were in the midst of nap battle #362. It has ended in detente. T. is asleep in her stroller in her room and I am doing this. I'm trying to adopt your style and not be so stressed about the whole nap situation, but T. knows that I am not dada and so we butt heads like two [d]oats.

We had a nice adventure this morning. We took the bus out of the flats up to that new fancy playground. It was the perfect place to be around 8:30. It was a little loud because there was some city worker power-washing eight feet of sidewalk next to the park for about 20 minutes. It's too bad we didn't drive, because he washed the cars next to it too. (I wonder why they never come to our neighborhood and do that? It'd be so great to get the rest of that human fecal matter off the front of our building.) Anyway, it eventually got really crowded and hot, so we got the next bus home. She really likes the bus.

We got home, had lunch, there was yawning and everything seemed on track. I'll spare you the details of what happened next because you know how it goes. In the end, I downed 3/4 of one of those emergency chocolate bars you left me, grabbed her from her crib, put her in her stroller and she fell asleep in about 4 blocks. We came back home and now she is, like I said, asleep in her stroller in her room.

I can no longer nap because of the chocolate, and unfortunately my knitting is in the basket of her stroller, but I can think of a few other ways to wile away the time.

We miss you. I'm going to send you links to a few wool shops you might pass in your travels tomorrow, just in case you're looking for souvenirs...

what happened today, a brief report for the traveler.

2008-03-09T20:16:00.000-07:00

C., we left you at the airport 6 hours ago. The long nap you made T. promise to give me did not materialize--she slept for about 40 minutes in the car. We were parked in a shady spot next to Buena Vista Park. I was knitting and listening to the radio; she was snoring. Then there was a loud siren and she woke up. I drove laps around the park (this was actually more fun than I expected) and she seemed like she was about to nod off again so we drove up through Ashbury Heights and around Twin Peaks. I kept checking the rearview mirror and she had the classic pre-nap blank stare, but as we rounded our way back to the park, I heard "Dog" and then, "Dada?" from the backseat and knew it was over. We tried the Randall Museum but it was closed (door. locked. door. locked. door. locked.) and then went back over to Buena Vista.

That's when you called so you know most of that already.

T. played with some older girls in the playground and had fun. She went on the swing and the view was not unlike her first view of San Francisco. We should only go to playgrounds with views from now on. Then she played in the sand and said "dig, dig, dig." We had a snack and then went on a walk to look for flowers (walk mama fractics). There were about five paths we could have taken and she chose the steepest. We saw a baby bird (or maybe just a small one) and T. liked that. It flew away and she said (for real) "birrr fly, t. fly" and she pretty much floated up the rest of the hill. We came to another junction and she chose the unpaved sketchy path through the brush. There were big railroad ties placed to form steps. I dreaded her choice when I remembered that you weren't there to carry her down, but I agreed anyway. She started saying something as she walked up the steps and I didn't understand at first. Then it clicked. She was saying "Big Step" with every big step. Have you heard this before? I held her hands and we climbed the whole way. We found some flowers, first ceanothus, then dandelions, and she sniffed each of them equally. We made a big loop and on the way down she decided to "jump" down the big steps and she pretty much jumped, like a kid, each one sprouting a new grey hair on her poor mom's head and a few of them leading me to wonder if I would bother with the car or just run to the hospital with her in my arms.

We survived, made it back to the car, and drove over to Mel's for dinner with your aunt, uncle and cousin. It was an unexpected suggestion from them, but the way T. lit up when she saw the balloons, it was obviously the right choice. She practiced all of their names on the way over, but never let on that she knew them once we were there. Still, she was very sweet and really excited to be in a venue with crayons and food served in car-shaped boxes. She touched the buttons on the jukebox (orange butts, orange butts) and pointed out every bus that drove past on Geary (orange bus, another orange bus) and chose an orange balloon (actually red, but whatever) to take home.

On the way home, I heard her teeth rubbing against the balloon and told her about how balloons pop and all. She didn't care and kept doing it. I couldn't handle the thought of the balloon popping in her mouth so I reached into the backseat PopPop style and tried to grab the string. I swear she was moving it from side to side to keep it away from me. I looked in the mirror and saw the grin--my grin--and got more irritated. She relented and I brought the balloon up front telling her she could have it back when we got home.

So we got home, scored a spot on our street, and when we got out of the car (can you see where this is going?) T. held on to her balloon for about 20 seconds before it came loose and floated up, up and got stuck on the wires overhead. This did NOT go over well and there was a prolonged and very distraught farewell. When we made it to our house, she turned and bolted back down the street screaming "BALLLOOOOON." I picked her up, made for the house and went about looking for that deflated balloon from Trader Joe's.

She eventually recovered (there were a few intervening incidents which I'll spare the general readership) and rested her big-stepping-legs in a nice bubble bath, even suggested that I clip her nails. It would have been a regular evening at the spa, except that there were a lot of sirens in the distance causing her to declare "Fire Trucks!" The conversation continued like this: "Oh, no fire truck." "Airplane." "Dada airplane." "Fire truck, airplane." "Dada fire truck," followed by a very, very worried expression like she thought something was wrong with your airplane and the fire trucks were coming to help you. Then I started to worry, because what if she was on to something?

I hope your flight is going smoothly and you're enjoying travels without a lapsitter. I was so caught up this weekend worrying about having the laundry and dishes done before you left that the meaning of this trip is only just beginning to hit. Even if this goes nowhere, I'm really proud of you for pulling off this "big step, big step."

Speaking of, can you believe T. flew a kite this weekend?

Overheard at the farmers' market/reason #9 why it might be okay to move away.

2008-03-08T18:53:00.000-08:00

Z: Have you two met? X, this is Y and her daughter Eva.
Y: Nice to meet you. Actually, it's Ava.
Z: Oh, sorry.
X (to wife): This is Y and Eva.
Y: Ava.
X: Sorry, our daughter is Evie.
Y: (to daughter): Ava, this is Evie.
X (to daughter): Evie, this is Eva, I mean Ava.
Y: We were going to spell it E-V-A and pronounce it Ava like in Spanish, but that seemed too confusing.
X: Well, Evie is really Eva, for my mother. It's Swedish.

2008-02-29T08:46:00.000-08:00

(Note to self: going to Parents' Appreciation day at former daycare will be awkward, and going sans bebe will be even more awkward.)

T.'s old teacher called me the other day to remind me of the party and she really insisted that I come. It seemed easy enough to drop by on my way from work to the airport to get my mom, but I wasn't prepared for the extreme sadness I would feel until I walked in and saw all of her little friends. There was no way I could bring T., as that would involve driving 35 miles home to get her, 35 miles back to work and then turning right back around to go home, but somehow they expected her to be there, instead of just me, awkwardly making small talk with the parents I never talked to in the first place and picking up her half-used bottle of sunblock and various laminated projects.

I had a lot of time to doubt our decision to withdraw her as I sat in terrible traffic on the way to SFO. Thoughts going through my mind included: you can re-enroll her, you totally can; and that place rocked; and stupid, stupid, stupid; and the train ride with T. wasn't so so bad. Then my thoughts wandered to all the people we've ever left T. with including:

the various daycare teachers
her regular babysitter
her new sharecare nanny
various parents from the babysitting coop (including N + R, M + Y, K + L)
H
H's parents during J's wedding in Ojai
Uncle G and Aunt S during D's wedding in LA
C's "Aunt" J
N in Bequia
that one time with O's nanny when C and I were both stricken with a stomach bug
Chantal, the hotel babysitter in Utah
York, the receptionist of our hotel in Utah who stood in as babysitter for T and her 4 cousins when the proper babysitter failed to materialize. He also called T, "best baby ever," probably because she opted out of the mayhem and went to sleep.

You'll notice that the list includes about 2 relatives, and not any of T's grandparents. Today will be the first day she's alone with my mom and for 8 hours. I think it will be all right. My mom seems up for it. T. was really happy to see her even though they haven't seen each other since October. T. has started to call her "Daggie." My mom prefers "Grandma" and only Grandma. I'm sure this won't be the only language-related confusion today.

pockets

2008-02-25T15:26:00.001-08:00

apres sled

2008-02-18T18:30:00.001-08:00

Just back from a family gathering in Utah this weekend. This child will be doing very scary things on skis far too soon. If I hadn't been there from the beginning, I'd have a hard time believing we share any genes. This year we got away with her riding in the back of the "chariot" as her wonderful father skied her up and down the trails. As I tried not to spill, I heard them sailing downhill and T. shouting "More! More!" The desire for speed on a mountain is not my contribution. I don't understand it, but somehow I'm proud. And it was incredible to see this creature walking around in her anti-paparazzi shades like she owned the place.

I look at this photo and think, "where did this five year old come from?" Suddenly our baby is a kid, screeching like a manic almost two year old on the airplane. We are those people and we can't make her stop. We had a really hard time convincing the Southwest agents that T. is under two and after seeing her with her cousins and "snow, other snow, snow, other snow" this weekend, I understand why, but seriously, making us have her birth records faxed from her pediatrician was a bit extreme. Parents of lap-children beware.

single parenting

2008-02-10T20:01:00.001-08:00

C. is out of town. The nap strike continues. In today's edition, T. talked for about an hour and a half in her crib, talked for another 30 minutes in the car after we abandoned the at-home nap, and then totally passed out just as we arrived at Alamo Square.

I brought my knitting and we sat in the car, her passed out and drooling, me knitting, listening to the radio and wishing I'd gone to the bathroom before we'd left the house.

After mocking it the other day, I'm all over ravelry. The only upside to C's absence is the extra free time after T's gone to bed to obsessively upload old knitting projects. That's where I'll be.

bubble jacket

2008-02-03T22:29:00.001-08:00

This is the bubba-jacket. T. wouldn't wear it for the longest time, and then one day, she wanted to. I'm pretty pleased with it. it's actually corduroy, but the camera could barely handle how red it is, let alone the texture, so use your imagination. I think it looks fetching with striped pants.

the last ride

2008-01-31T19:44:00.001-08:00

Thanks for your support, loyal reader(s). Maybe you sensed this, but things have felt very first-day-of-rest-of-life around here lately, and there is some truth to that. T. and I have closed the door on an era, just nano-wink in geologic time, but very significant for us nonetheless. Today was her last day at employer-affiliated daycare, and our last train ride together.

Here she is hugging her buddy,

this morning on the train,

and illustrating why our commute was no longer feasible.

My friends met up with us for a train party on the way home. We drank beer and she drank milk. C. picked us up which was a good thing because I don't think I've finished a *whole* beer in under 30 minutes since the girl was born. When we got home I had to lay on the floor for a while and use durtle as a pillow. T. very kindly went to her room, pulled a blanket out of her crib, covered me and allowed me a few minutes of fake napping before dinner. That one is a trooper.

This would be a good place to say how sad I am to see this era end, but I'm not. I'm sad that she won't see her friends (she's been with these kids since she was 4 months old) and her teachers anymore, but I can't deny how excited I am to read and knit and nap and reclaim my personal space for a couple more hours each day.

updated thoughts on home

2008-01-30T12:43:00.000-08:00

I've been suffering from craft blog malaise lately. My reader is overwhelmed by them and while they used to be inspirational, now they're just demoralizing. Of course it's not a competition (it's never a competition), but all of these people seem to manage multiple children, make beautiful things, photograph them as the perfect sun beam shines into their extremely organized craft rooms, and then blog about them, flickr them, put the projects into ravelry. Where is the time?

My hypothesis is that there is more time on beautiful islands (and maybe Portland, Oregon?). I wish C. and I had lucrative careers to abandon so we also could open a textile mill on a beautiful island. That seems ideal. I think we would really enjoy that and so would little T.

I'm also taken with the idea of being a rural librarian, turning a small town library into a salon of sorts, the center of things. This also seems ideal, until I remember that there are not many take out options in rural lands. This will limit my options.

But perhaps there is a small library on a beautiful island up in the San Juans or someplace where there is also a tasty bakery in town and some land for sale with a historic bungalow and some outbuildings? And maybe there's a small unpretentious college that needs a thoughtful environmental scientist just a ferry ride away? I think there would be many more hours in the day in such a place.

2008-01-22T11:13:00.000-08:00

T.'s not doing so well in the friend department these days. She upset O. yesterday by taking a game of chase to the next level, and (gasp) pushing her. O., please accept T.'s sincere apology. She tells me that she really just wanted to hug you (tightly and a lot), but she got a little carried away. That's what she tends to do. Ask the cat. She hopes the marmalade made by her dad banishes any lingering sadness.

And this couldn't come at a worse time, because T.'s friend, L., moves away today to SoCal. We'll miss him and his parents greatly. I always feel an ache when friends abandon the Bay Area, especially friends who live the unrelenting toddler schedule, friends who will meet you at the park at 9 am because we've all been up for 3 hours, friends who will eat lunch with you at 11 am and dinner at 5.

Aside from the recent commiseration regarding the babies, these friends have been with us since the era that will come to be called the golden age. I met C., L.'s mother, in a graduate school seminar back in the day. We became friends. We made a mix tape (yes, mix tape) for our professor. We were that cool. We talked a lot about how we missed out on the golden age, but I see now that graduate school in Berkeley will always be it's own kind of golden age. I rarely think about it anymore, but their departure does foretell the end of an era. They're gone. We're next.

I envision L. and T. meeting up years from now wondering how we all could have left this idyll. Right now, my only answer is this: "T., I went to our cafe at a non-baby hour on Friday and was stunned. I was stunned that proximity to hipness doesn't make you hip, stunned that all of these people live in my same city and manage to call said cafe their office, and stunned at how much I feel passed over by this town." The bubble bursts.

O., we'll need you to keep us in the loop in our exile; you can come visit us in the country any time. I promise T. will be gentle.

Banner.

2008-01-18T10:37:00.001-08:00

T. is leaving her daycare at the end of the month, and aside from the other concerns we have (like where she'll go next), I've been stressed out about finding/making the perfect gift for her teachers. I'll give something personal to each teacher, but I also like giving something that makes the room more homey. When she left the infant room, I made them a bunch of bibs, and I toyed with the idea of doing something similar, like little aprons, but the kids are older now and there's too many of them. I went with the flags above.

I've seen variations of the banner on various blogs and I'm quite pleased with the end result. Hard to see all of the fabric, but it's made from various bits I had around along with felt backing to make it a little more sturdy. Each room in the center is named for a tree--hers is Cypress. I can no longer look at the word Cypress without wondering if it's spelled right.

I think they'll like it.

overheard on campus

2008-01-16T15:22:00.000-08:00

"You guys think myspace's gonna help us get a good president next time around?"