One of the things I don’t like about myself is how far ahead I get. There are advantages, of course. I usually plan in sufficient time. I am seldom taken unawares by the next step. But in children and summer, you give up a lot by pushing to be further along than you need to be. So I pause and take seriously this feeling in the air, to make sure it is not just because I am pushing.
But no. I came back from Istanbul, the heat of summer in the Mediterranean, to discover one flamboyantly yellow birch on my commute home. It has since been joined by several maples in scarlet on quiet roads. Being that it’s mid-August, I suspect drought has advanced the season, and not just my perspective. But still. The days are hot and humid, but shorter. Night arrives earlier, and lacks the sultriness of July. A tell-tale crispness creeps over the window panes in the early morning hours. We are, by no means, into autumn, but we can see it on the horizon. Summer child
As for the other season? I am passing out of the baby time of life. I nursed a child for the last time nearly a year ago. One dark night when I laid Thane into his crib… that was the last night. And tomorrow? Tomorrow they are bringing my baby a bed, with no sides. He will lie unrestrained and tiny on rocket-ship sheets with a blanket and a pillow — faithful Puppy still firmly at hand, golden curls pressed against the unfamiliar mattress.
And it’s not just the bed. It’s been a while since I’ve given you a proper Thane update, but oh! What a big boy he is. At the farmshare pickup after Istanbul, I ran into a friend from church. “It was fun to see your family all in tie-dye,” she said, “But who was the curly-headed kid? And did you bring Thane with you?” She wasn’t being sarcastic, or joking. She literally didn’t recognize my Thane. He does so many big boy things. He climbs, jumps and runs. He’s very good at puzzles. He sits and reads books. He organizes his cars by colors and carries them throughout the house, lining them up. He speaks in full sentences now: “I found it!” “Car mine!” “Yummy pancakes” “Cereal and milk, please” “No, thank you”. He even comes up with new sentences. For example, the other day in the car when I started in on the “ABC” song, he said, “No! Daddy ABC!”
He can recite his numbers to ten. He sings about 90% of the ABC song. He knows “Ring Around the Rosy” and “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and sings them to himself. He tells knock knock jokes (endlessly!) at dinner. He can correctly identify all the basic colors.
He eats cereal in a bowl with milk. He snitches his father’s ice tea. He climbs into his high chair and car seat for himself. He follows instructions (when he chooses to). He will come lay his head on your knee and say “Nuggle”. He has two kinds of kisses: real kisses and “all tongue” kisses, and thinks it’s hilarious when he can give you one of the latter. Whenever he sees a cell phone, he demands to speak to “Gamma! Gamma! Gamma!” He can correctly identify our two cats by name.
He pours sand on himself first thing when he gets to a sandbox. I’ve brought him home and put him on the changing table, and had rivers of sand fall out of his pockets. He can tell you when he wants a new diaper. I’ve started him sitting on his potty chair, to begin that years-long process.
In a word, he’s not a baby anymore. He’s a toddler, a child, a boy, a curly-haired blue-eyed delight… many things, but not a baby. That season has passed. Too big for his crib
August 4 Adam enjoys some turkish coffee
Today was a day for indolence. We slept in until nearly noon (which I’m paying for now with an inability to go to sleep). Then we managed to haul ourselves all the way to a cool and shady cafe, where we spent the next four hours reading. Which, as memory serves, is more or less how we spent our honeymoon, minus thank you notes.
After our protracted lounging, we went to the Grand Bazaar. One is never quite sure how one did. I’m pretty sure I paid too much for the strings of stones I bought to have my mother-in-law string together for me. I think we paid the right price for the beautiful and finely made leather purse I bought, which when prorated over the next six years was quite reasonable. Dickering in the Grand Bazaar
We walked home, had dinner in this great cafeteria type thing which is teaching my husband to love aubergine, read in the shadows of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, and then played a board game before bed. Which was like two hours ago. Possibly the best food in Istanbul
Now I’m valiantly resisting the lure of my book, which is excellent, and in which I have about three hundred or so pages left to go.
Tomorrow we are planning on visiting the Church in Cora, followed by the Fortress of Europe. The last must do that remains undone is to set foot on Asian soil. There are no compelling excuses for this in easy reach, so less compeling excuses will have to suffice.
Istanbul is lovely, and a delight in all ways. We miss our boys, but are revelling in every minute of the friendly and exotic city. I hope you’re all having fun!
Brenda
Meanwhile, back in the states…
It was our stated goal to return the children in the pristine condition we found them. Sigh. Today Thane met the sidewalk during the picture taking and has a very mild abrasion on his forehead, lip and knee. Less than 1 minute of crying and no blood, but I suspect it may be a bit bruised tomorrow. We are sorry.
Otherwise, the picture taking was great. I was for taking the pictures at the house where the crew could be contained, but Coe (pronounced as in Co-operate) had looked up the stuff for the Fells and was for out doors. It was more fun and the pictures are really great! She took about 100 pictures — the kids together, the kids individually, us together. Then she stayed for lunch — what a brave woman. She will give us CDs and post the pictures on line at a site where we can get copies. This was the best photo session we have had. She will get the things to you in the next two weeks.
This afternoon I made good on a promise to the older kids. We went back to Revere Beach while Papapa stayed with Thane. He and Thane had a nap and then a competition free afternoon. A great time was had by all. The kids played about two hours building sand castles and playing in the waves. They were very cooperative and none of them threw themselves in the water like someone did the last time we were there. On the way to I noticed construction on Northbound 93 so decided to take a different route home. I am soooo smart. Don says the delay out of Boston was 2 1/2 hours. I took 16 to 28. 28 was difficult for a while, but then flowed fairly well. I got on the freeway just after the blockage and the traffic was wonderful! 45 minutes home. Not bad!
It was too hot to cook so we took them to the 99. They were wonderful — not upset by the upset glass of water or any of the rest of the nonsense. Our waitress even laughed at the boys jokes. Thane ate 2 hot dogs, some chips, a Sundae. Baz had a steak which looked great. I have never seen steak on a children’s menu for $5.99 before. I was jealous. Kay had a hot dog and Grey fish things. That takes care of Wednesday.
Tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter == which I am having trouble imagining. I think we will go to the children’s museum.
In Istanbul:
Adam and I have been in Istanbul for about 24 hours now, and we’re having a blast. Our hotel is lovely and very close to the cool stuff. We switched rooms and now also have working AC… A distinct improvement. Yesterday we had dinner and wandered.
Today was Hagia Sophia and the Basilica Cistern.
Hagia Sophia (pronounced Haiya Sofia) was the real final reason I wanted to go to Istanbul. Anyone who has read anything of Constantinople in the age of the Emperors has read of Hagia Sophia. Perhaps it was Justinian’s glimmering mosaics reaching up to the heavens, or the crowning of blinking emperors still dressed in the chains of captivity. Perhaps it was stunned awe of barbarian emissaries who wondered if they had actually died and gone to heaven. Maybe it was the astonishing plunder and despoiling of this great cathedral by the Christian Crusaders. Or that last, desperate mass when the Christians of Istanbul crowded Hagia Sophia to pray as newfound “cannon” technology destroyed the walls that had protected them for over a thousand years, against countless hordes of would-be invaders. Regardless, Hagia Sophia stands at the center of Constantinople as it was. The domes of Hagia Sophia
I had seen what I considered to be copies — St. Marks in Venice foremost among them. St. Marks takes your breath away, a glittering gem reaching with gold tessarae to the impossibility of Pentacost. I couldn’t WAIT to see the original. Ah, Hagia Sophia! You break my heart! There are still glimpses there, of what was. A mosaic of Jesus and John the Baptist with wild and unruly hair catches the imagination. The porphyry columns stand magnificent in their purple. The tops of the pillars are carved with impossibly delicate vines. The expanse of the dome is breath-taking. But for the most part, the mosaics are gone. There is peeling paint and plaster where there were once endless rich scenes. The dome echoes hollowly. There is no music or incense left. Giant 19th century Islamic calligraphy changes the flow of the building. But mostly, there was little left of the beautiful lady on the hill but her shell. I knew better, but somehow I expected to be able to see more. John the Baptist and Jesus in Hagia Sophia
We left a little disheartened, although perhaps we shouldn’t have been. The vast streaming hordes of tour groups didn’t help, I think. But from there we went to the Basilica Cistern. Istanbul is dotted with cisterns. This one was build by the Romans, around the age of Constantine. It was dark, cool, and very mystical. The portrayal was well done, with dim lights highlighting the lovely symmetry of the ancient cistern. The Basilica Cistern
It was discovered by the Ottomans over a thousand years after it had been built when people had wells in their homes — from which they drew living fishes. We wandered through the cistern, to the cool drip of the subterranean waters. At the very far corner were two enormous Medusa heads, set askew. There are theories as to why they are there, but no certainties. Under normal circumstances, they would be hidden below the water, menacing the fish who still swim there. The craftsmanship, age, mystery and loveliness of the cool cistern combined to make it one of our favorite spots. Ancient Medusa in the Basilica Cistern
We’re planning to round out the day with a visit to the Turkish baths.
We went to the 300 year old Turkish baths at Cagaloglu. (Pronounced Jailalu.) I have a lot to say about the experience, from my point of view. Perhaps surprisingly, I found it an intensely feminist and liberating experience, as well as a very nice massage. Unlike American massages, you actually do get cleaned. There’s something quite amazing about being soaped and scrubbed. It was a profound and moving experience for me, although that may have as much to do with what I brought to the experience as anything else.
Tomorrow, I think Topkeki Palace.
The food is excellent, the weather lovely, the city is bustling and ancient, and the carpet salesmen are persistent, to understate the
case.
The food was really, really excellent. Really. YUM!
We love you guys. We miss you, but not enough to wish we were home. Mom, give those boys of ours kisses. Do they miss us?
Meanwhile, back in the States:
I am reminded of the Christmas story about the person who spent a small fortune on the toy and the kid wanted the bike. I took the kids to the beach this morning. Let me say up front that Brenda warned me not to do that, but did I listen? Thane is, indeed, a lemming — “water” — Wow, can that kid move. But note, I made it to Revere beach and back. That is to be lauded in the navigating area. The bad news is, Thane slept on the way home. The knowledgeable know that means he did not sleep when he got home.
The afternoon task was to make the Camp Gramp shirts. Tie-dye. However, that was for doing when Thane was asleep. Even I wasn’t dumb enough to do that with Thane awake.
Right now they are entertaining themselves with no adult imput — they are fascinated by the baby monitor system. They dash from room to room sending messages on the system. I hope it wasn’t supposed to be a secret!
Time to put some water in the swimming pool.
I have beautiful grandchildren!
Love, Gramama
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning has dawned on Full Day One of Camp Gramp. Last night we ate mac and cheese with hotdogs and grapes. Then the troops watched a Scooby movie and an episode of Sponge Bob and went to bed, but not to sleep right away. In fact, talking and giggling happened long enough that people were hungry again. I put on my frowny face and told them to go to sleep — which sort of worked.
One cannot complain about 7 a.m., I don’t think. I am sorry, Adam and Brenda, Thane is watching TV with them right now. I am really trying not to corrupt the youth, but …
Today we will go to the beach in the morning, and this afternoon, when our little helper is asleep, we will make our Camp Gramp shirts with tie-dye! How is that for gay dissipation!
Thank you for sharing your children with us!
Love, Gramama
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was smart enough to do the dyeing in the basement and the dye will wash off little hands before you see them. A fun time was had by all. We can open them and wash them out tomorrow night after Thane goes to bed. Call me a coward, we did the tie dye after the 20 month old went to sleep.
Dad had a wonderful day — almost $400 and lots of good information (Note from the Editor: my dad runs a historical picture business called Memories Made Digital. He stayed behind for the local old-timer’s picnic). He sounded excited. He will be here tomorrow morning and an extra set of hands will help.
Oh yes, if you have to go to the bathroom and it is DESPERATE, you can go to the Police station even though you are terrified. And the police officer will come out and give you a badge to stick on your clothing. Then you can discussion how police officers can help you.
How peaceful it feels. I think I will go take my shower and read for a few minutes before I check out for the night. Right now they are sleeping, getting ahead of me on the energy front!
I’m headed to Merced, California with my sons on Wednesday. My grandmother lives there, and her children and great-grandchildren will all be there. I’m very much looking forward to seeing my family. I was last in Merced when I was pregnant with Grey. We’d come out to California for a wedding and took the extra few days to take the train in to Merced. I recall sleeping a lot. When I was a child, I lived there for about a year. We visited often when I was growing up.
I’m not really looking forward to two transcontinental redeyes in four days with a 4.5 year old and 21 month old, by myself. They’ll sleep, right? Of course they will. No doubt. Heaven help me.
Anyway, in preparation for this great gathering of great-grandkids (ok, there are only five of them, but I did my share), I have cleaned off my memory card. It’s a challenge taking pictures of these kids. Neither one is very interested in, you know, looking at the camera. And they move fast. But still! We have camping. We have the park. We have the town pool. We have the back yard. And we have our pastor with a donkey and a sheep. I like to keep you on your toes.
Thane is getting old enough that I forget exactly how old he is. I believe he’s a day shy of his two month (8 week) birthday. I love him dearly. He’s doing a great job of sleeping at night — usually only waking up once or twice after I get him to bed. He’s packing on the weight — the only time of life when it’s great if you just pack on the pounds. His thighs are a delight in dimpled plumpness. His smiles are rare but exceptionally brilliant. He seems to be gaining control over his body and those weird appendages called “hands” and “feet”. He’s started looking more at things which are interesting. He LOVES tummy time — especially when he gets to have it on my lap. He has the most charming collection of coos and goos.
But that child wants to be held ALL THE TIME. It’s like he’s some sort of cute helpless infant who just wants his mommy’s arms. I mean, it’s not like anyone can hold him. Just mommy. I forgive him because he DOES go to sleep when I do. Also, it’s the most eminently reasonable thing in the world; for a child to want to be safe in the arms of his mother. But man is it wearying. I spend my days trying to figure out what I actually did with my time. In truth, it’s hard to do things when your child is in your arms almost all your waking hours. But at the same time, doesn’t Thane deserve to be held as much as he wants? He’s a baby. He’s been in the world a grand total of 8 weeks. You probably have Netflix videos older than that. The world gets hard soon enough.
It just makes it hard to: play with Grey, do the dishes, do the laundry (OMG the laundry), clean the house, wrap presents, exercise, stretch my back, cook, write blog posts, upload pictures, or generally do anything that isn’t watching “Avatar: the Last Airbender” (Note to world: we loves our new DVR we does) or read Anne McCaffrey novels.
Coincidentally, I have declared that every single Avatar character is my favorite so far. For reals I think it’s Toff. I wish they’d rebroadcast more of Season 1. I’ve missed almost all of it. And I’m nearly through with all the “Dragon” novels Anne McCaffrey has ever written, including most of the crappy ones. (“All the Weyrs of Pern” — I’m looking at you.)
Also, Thane has perfected the art of figuring out when my bedtime is. I keep TRYING to put him down at like 9 to see if I can shift his schedule a bit and have (GASP) an hour or two to myself or to spend with my husband. But Thane knows that bedtime is 10:30 (my bedtime) and no earlier.
Also, also, he cried more for anyone who is not me, even when he’s fed. It’s really, really hard to listen to your infant cry and not step in.
This time of life is short, I know. I’m far more aware of how finite babyhood is this time than I was last time. And frankly, 1 ain’t much easier than 1 month. (Ah, the dreaded mobility. Thane is already managing a scootch when put on his belly. I tremble.)
Lazy and weary is just an unsatisfying combination of emotions. Also, I find it very hard to be a good parent to both boys simultaneously. I feel like I’m always shorting one of them.
My mother once gave me a very valuable piece of advice: You don’t get through parenthood without guilt. Oh, is she right.
When I was singing that I wanted a white Christmas, I meant six or seven inches of fluffy white snow that feel after all expected guests had arrived.
Right now it’s so cold here on Boston I’m not willing to go out without good cause — not with the baby. It’s only December 22nd and my parents are warning that they may not be able to make it out of Seattle on Christmas. Worse, I fear they’re right. I want my mommy and daddy!!!! Waaaaaa!!!!!
Also, I’m getting cabin fever. This never ends well.
Eight years ago, I was a newly wed in a grownup apartment with a grownup job and a grownup husband doing the grownup thing for the first time. I had just turned 22. And being a grownup, I volunteered to host Thanksgiving dinner for my extended family of inlaws. Having been raised in a Protestant-and-turkey family, I just could never quite get behind the idea of going to a restaurant for Thanksgiving. Still can’t, truth be told.
There was just one problem: I didn’t know how to cook. I’d never cooked a turkey before in my life. Thanksgiving day, with my new inlaws arriving, seemed like a bad time for a first turkey, especially since my mom (whom I had on speed dial) would also be busy that day. A second problem presented itself, however. Two people cannot eat a turkey by themselves and stay married. Since I was (am) fond of my husband, I invited a few friends over to help us eat it, and broke out my still-new wedding gifts to serve the turkey. I think there were 13 of us for that trial, or “mock” Thanksgiving. We had a fantastic time. We ate, drank, told stories, and celebrated together. By the time the evening was over, we decided we’d had so much fun, we had to do it again next year.
I ended up not hosting Thanksgiving for the family that year. I don’t remember why. But every year since, I’ve hosted Mocksgiving. It’s a huge annual event. People ask me about the dates months in advance. People fly in. (I have a friend from DC here now.) It even engendered a spinoff holiday — Piemas. (Which merits its own post in March at the appropriate time.)
Tonight is Mocksgiving Eve. Usually for Mocksgiving I make: 5 pies, a batch of bread, a turkey, 10 pounds of mashed potatoes, a significant amount of butternut squash, stuffing (in the turkey and outside) and gravy. (It seems like there’s usually something else too. I used to make salad, but no one eats it so I gave up.) It is potluck, so in addition to the vast amounts of food I provide, most folks bring something else too. There is a LOT of food. This year I trimmed down to one pie. I was going to make a lemon merangue too, but my crust collapsed (must remember not to use that pie pan for lemon merangue — this is the second time this has happened). On Mocksgiving Eve, I used to spend a lot of time panicking, cleaning, polishing silver (yes, I actually have silver), and er, panicking. Now that I’ve been doing this for NEARLY a decade, the panic is significantly diminished. I know what I’m doing.
As I sashayed around the kitchen, with a candle lit above the sink and my music in the background and the scent of yeast rising in the hot water, I felt very happy and where I belonged. I love Mocksgiving.
It occurred to me this year that this is one more way in which my children will grow up warped. Piemas is fine — it is a standalone. (Plus, there is no such thing as too much pie.) But after cooking for up to 30 people a week and a half before Thanksgiving, I’m in no mood to cook a proper Thanksgiving dinner. And since we have no family remaining in the area, we don’t usually end up doing, well, anything for Thanksgiving proper. I wonder how old my sons will be before they figure out that not everyone does Mocksgiving, and moreover, most people do more on Thanksgiving. They get the Thanksgiving experience, only a bit earlier and with a slightly less great-aunt-heavy crowd.
There is one thing I hate about Mocksgiving. It is a sit down meal. We all sit down at proper place settings at the same time and eat together at table. And it is inherently important to me that Mocksgiving be held in my HOME. Therefore, there is an upper limit to the number of people who can be invited. I think I topped out at 28. Twenty-eight people in your house is a LOT of people, in case you’re curious. But I have more friends than that. I invite more people than can fit because there are always people who can’t make it. But I hate hate hate sending out the invitations. I can never invite all the people I’d like to. I know there must be friends of mine who feel left out — maybe hurt — that everyone else is talking about this fantastic affair to which they have not been invited. I wish I could figure out some way that it wouldn’t happen that way, but I don’t know how to make that work. Ah well. Generally, I invite everyone I invited last year, minus people who haven’t been able to make it for a few years or whom I haven’t heard from in quite a while, plus a few new folks with whom I’ve become closer. The first few years I was able to throw it open to everyone who wanted to come. I miss that.
But the bread is made, the pie is cooling, the largest-possible-turkey is in the fridge. Tomorrow I will wrestle with it (cursing) in the morning. My friends will arrive with hugs and casseroles. There will be the hard half-hour after the turkey comes out when everything must be done simultaneously. My kitchen, immaculate at the moment, will look for all the world like a hurricane hit it. We will retell stories, contemplate our very full bellies, stay up too late, catch up on gossip and generally have a fantastic time. I can’t wait.
The attendees at last Mocksgiving
Table 1 - the 'Grownups' table The kids table -- I always ended up here. This year I think we'll be able to do one long table. We usually end up with one or two (or 13) desserts. What my kitchen looks like afterwards -- I believe this was the year the sink broke.
Spring is taking it’s sweet time this year. Part of me doesn’t mind at all. April is the time for spring to be spring. It shouldn’t try to be summer. Part of me is grateful for the grateful amnesia about winter creeping over me, even if it does dull my appreciation of the now. Part of me wants to wander outside in my shorts and tank tops and be warm with every window in the house open and pollen blowing through.
Pregnancy seems to be affecting my sense of self-worth and self-esteem. Part of it is looking pregnant, I think. Part of it is that my pregnancy wardrobe isn’t very good. I’ve gotten accustomed to feeling like I look good in whatever I’m wearing, and I don’t feel that way right now. Part of it is almost certainly hormonal. I’m feeling all unimportant and minor right now at work for no good reason. The accuracy of that feeling might be up for debate, but I doubt I’d feel this way six months ago.
I need to get serious about preparing to have a baby come. So far I have: bought nothing, rearranged nothing, prepared nothing. This is a little on purpose. There’s no need to jump the gun. Why set up a nursery 6 months before you might have a baby to put in it? Alpha is still two months from viability, even. I should save money now to buy outfits for when I need them — when I know what I need. (What if I give birth to a 9 pounder who’ll never fit in 0 – 3s?) But I need to start the process of realizing and accomodating for the new person who is going to join us in our home. This would be easier if I wasn’t tired/lazy.
I feel disheartened and small. I’m sure this is passing, but it seems increasingly frequent as my pregnancy progresses. It is not an accustomed sensation for me, and I don’t think any amount of external validation will make it go away. Although maybe a huge clothes shopping spree would.
We had the fetal scan yesterday. For those of you who have never been pregnant, that’s the only “scheduled” ultrasound in a pregnancy. (Most of us end up getting quite a few more, as evidenced by the fact this was my third ultrasound. I’m hoping it’s my last, because that will mean that my pregnancy is wildly uneventful!) They do things like check to make sure the baby has a skull and brain (no encephaly), see if there’s a cleft palate, check for numbers of limbs and fingers, evaluate chambers of the heart, etc. They evaulate the baby’s age based on size. This is when we would’ve found out the baby’s gender if we were going to.
Alpha was not particularly cooperative. It sort of looked like s/he was sitting on my spine. S/he also kept moving around, so every time the ultrasound tech would go to take a picture… whoop! Baby’s in another location! Apparently Alpha doesn’t approve of the paparazzi. There was one moment when she was showing us the head, and Alpha sort of waved us off with his hand and promptly dove down into a completely different position. It was awfully cute. If not helpful to the poor tech.
The tech can’t tell me if anything is wrong (that’s the doctor’s job) but it looked and sounded perfectly normal. She said that the heartbeat was perfect, and that according to her measurements, the due date is September 22. So we have a range of dates between 9/22 and about 9/27. Since a due date is nothing more than an estimate of the perversity of a child, I’m perfectly content with the range. I think I’ll continue to say the due date is 9/23 (my birthday) since that’s nice and easy to remember — and as true as anything else.
I’m now out of doctor’s hands for like nearly a month. I’m glad I have a normal pregnancy.
My Truant Pen 