1990 … August 11 … There was a party in Steve and Bryn’s parents’ backyard. There were friends and food, performances, and Greek garb. The stars were out and falling in showers; we drank honey wine and ate grapes. It was a magical beginning for the most magical relationship of my life. Later, in a new town there was a dorm room with pink cabbage roses and white lace on the bedclothes.

1991 … Our long-distance love affair involved letter-writing every day and much driving between Sacramento and Santa Barbara. We shared precious walks on the beach and expensive phone bills. We enjoyed Ren Faire adventures with new friends and poor breathing. Sacramento pulled me home, but I couldn’t come back yet.

1992 … I started a new life in Berkeley. Ancient Greek and Latin studies for me, Bio and sciences for you. The distance didn’t hurt so bad and we saw each other much more often.  We designed rituals and challenged ourselves. We studied magic of many types.

1993 … We broke up, kinda. You needed to leave and see something new. We got back together after a wild run through the snow. You worked construction and sold your car, and we drove to LA together to put you on a plane to Sweden. I wrote a book for you and kissed you goodbye. Later, I left for Scotland. We met again on foreign soil and walked through a candlelit cemetery. We were handfasted one eerie night on a glowing beach by the North Sea. We had the sweetest, loneliest Christmas together in Scotland.

1994 … You surprised me on a Friday evening by winging your way across two countries via trains, planes, buses, and automobiles. We got engaged accidentally when you knocked on my door at midnight. We traveled across Europe together, sleeping in a tent, in trains, in hostels, mostly apart. We argued and figured out how to work together. We graduated college and I lived with you and your father for a while. We made Reggae on Sunday mornings. We didn’t know what we wanted in life, but we knew we wanted to be together.

1995 … We finally moved into our own apartment together!  It was perfect. P Street friends and many shared meals were fun. We were married on June 3 and it was so good. We honeymooned in Oregon. You were getting your teaching credential. I lost a job and got an internship. We had no dough for six months; we lived on kisses, I think.

1996 … I began working at Prima—a lot. You taught a grade 1-2 class full of disadvantaged kids. It hurt and you wanted to bring them all home with you because they weren’t getting enough love, or food, or dental care. I fell in love with you that much more.

1997 … We became fencers, briefly. We ran at Hiram Johnson High School track together. You attended classes at Rudolf Steiner college, thinking that teaching Waldorf kids would be better. Then you started working with technology and we got a little richer. We locked our TV in the garage and didn’t watch it for two years.

1998 … We worked hard, long hours and saved every dime we could. We lived at my grandmother’s house on 15th Avenue. We went to Hawaii with my parents and the house almost burned down. Technology was better for you in some ways and worse in others.

1999 … We hosted a wedding in grandma’s backyard. We bought our home in June! We attended Burning Man for the first time, but just for two days and it blew our minds. We started planning for more trips to the playa. We were happy and free to move and pursue our interests. I learned to weave. You studied a lot.

2000 … We froze at Burning Man and nearly lost our shelter! Prima layoffs happened and some friends were affected. We built a geodesic dome in our backyard from scratch. We talked about kids and I was scared. We went to New Mexico with your dad to visit family, and then struck out on our own to explore. We read lots and lots of books.

2001 … We went to Burning Man with many friends. Some boots talked to you. Weird times followed, including 9/11 and a pregnancy. We waded through hormones and anxiety together. Would we be decent parents together? What if our marriage changed? We left Kaiser for midwife care instead. We both dreamed we were having a girl. We madly painted fish onto bedroom walls.

2002 … Birthing classes, new friends. Oops, didn’t finish the class because on May 1^st, Lucas baby arrived. Everything changed. I turned 30. This year was hard and lonely for both of us, but also exquisitely beautiful and extraordinary. We didn’t sleep. We struggled to find our places in this new three-part family. I worked from home. Your high-paying job laid you off when Lucas was 4 months old. Now what? You investigated autism.

2003 … You went to work for TAC helping disabled kids. I was so proud of you! My employer asked me to come back and I got so, so sad. We employed a nanny until we realized that I couldn’t be away from home for 55 to 60 hours per week. I left in August after 6.5 years and went freelance. Freelance? What the heck does that mean? We struggled and little Lucas toddled. We visited Hawaii again, with a baby in backpack.

2004 … We took two-year old Lucas to Burning Man and he got pneumonia! We left, feeling like the worst parents ever. He started preschool across the street. You taught little kids to talk, both at work and at home. And we felt so grateful to have this perfect child.

2005 … I started writing on LiveJournal, recording our daily victories and struggles. It helped me stay connected and made me saner. You untangled many knots at work. I began making more money freelancing and we started feeling comfy again. Lucas attended Treasure Garden preschool after some weird hiccups. He spent his days playing outdoors. He was wild.

2006 … Lucas turned 4 and we looked around and thought, “Oh, weren’t we going to have another baby?” And then suddenly there was a bun in the oven. We joined the PSA and the three of us went to Burning Man for one last fling before baby. Mommy got depressed. Lucas started kindergarten. We waited. You worked on a master’s degree.

2007 … Asher arrived in a rush. Oops! We had a baby in the shower. I got sick. Really sick. Hospital and terror. You were mommy and daddy to our kids for a short time. And then there was a slow healing, with a newborn at my side. He eventually got the OK to breastfeed and then I proceeded to fatten him up. You and I both suffered from a little PTSD, I think. Dreamy, sleepy days and nights dominated that first year.

2008 … Asher turned 1. I finished my textbook. You became an executive. Weird. Lucas turned 6 and went to first grade! I experienced my slowest year ever, which gave me lots of time with the kids, but it was also worrisome. We worked hard, ceaselessly supporting this family of four. You were unflagging and lovely and became a brand-new BCBA. I didn’t sleep enough.

2009 … Stressful work for you, easier times for me. Lucas turned 7 and we threw him the most amazing birthday party. Asher learned to talk and made us laugh every day. We lean on each other, as we always have. We love faithfully and intensely.

To Be Continued …

Last week we gathered at grandma and grandpa’s house to celebrate DiDi’s birthday. Grandma marked Lucas’s height on her Great Doorjamb of All Kids’ Growth.

He is now 48.5 inches tall. In January of 2009 he was 46.5 inches. Wow. Two inches in seven months.

Dear Asher,

You are now two and a half years old! Somehow, this fact is stunning to me. Where did the last six months go? Well, let’s see …

You have learned to talk! To sing! To fight with your brother!

I gave up trying to write down all of your words several months ago. The floodgates of language opened up and I and my notepad were swept downstream in the river of your many expressions. It’s so exciting, hearing you communicate, perhaps most when you tell us firmly and in no uncertain terms that you are not happy with what’s going on, or tell us exactly what you want: “No Mama! Baby wants more chocolate ice cream! You’re in trouble, Mama!” I respect the way you stand up for yourself. I laugh a little, of course, but I respect it.

You mostly maintain a sunny disposition. You’re always game to jump in the car and go “bye-bye.” You like visiting people, especially your grandparents. You don’t even really mind it when I drag you out in the heat of the day to pick up your brother. Your laughter is contagious and nobody can resist your goofy grins. I worry about your dad because you seem to have him wrapped around your little finger. He would lasso the moon for you if you asked him.

This morning, before breakfast, you and Lucas began playing a new game. Our new sofa was instantly transformed into a spaceship. Lucas was piloting the ship and you were both navigator and gunner. You are so cute and funny when you follow your big brother’s lead. I see you watching him, striving to repeat his exact words and facial expressions. I know he is teaching you every day because I see Lucas in some of your behavior.

I don’t really like seeing you running around the house shooting monsters with imaginary guns (or pieces of toast), or sword fighting with any sticklike thing you can find, or chattering on and on about Pokémon creatures, but you are hard-wired to do it. I worry sometimes that you are learning things that are too sophisticated for your age, and that you are too attracted to big-boy things and games when you are still only a little boy. But I cannot stop it. It’s the way of older siblings to initiate younger siblings. I must try to remember to cherish every moment you are little because I think you will fight your way out of babyhood and into the world as fast as possible to keep up with Lucas.

Swimming has become one of your great loves this summer. At first, you were skittish and only wanted to put your toes in the water on the swimming pool step. Soon, though, you were leaping into my arms to be carried around the pool. You avidly practice your kicks now and don’t mind if you get a little water on your face. You’re jumping off the side of the pool to me now, but you don’t like it if I move too far away. As in all things, you enjoy telling me where in the pool to take you by pointing imperiously. “Where do you want to go?” I ask. “RIGHT THERE!”

I’m embarrassed to say it: You’re really into TV—of any kind. In the evenings when I am putting Lucas down for the night, you’re in with daddy watching shows. You have an impressive working knowledge of classic “Star Trek” and new “Dr. Who.”  I’ve tried shifting the routine, but you and your dad are both resisting, I think in part because daddy likes sharing these relaxing evening moments with you. He likes having a Star Trek buddy who joyfully exclaims “There’s Mr. Spock! There’s Captain Kirk!” when they come onscreen. Lucas really doesn’t care for any of the shows daddy likes.

And speaking of likes, we are presently witnessing the birth of the train and Thomas the Tank Engine obsession. I don’t really know if you will love them as much as Lucas did—or for as long—but they have definitely caught your eye. Now you pretend to be a train, choosing to be Gordon and saying “I’m a train. I’m Gordon. I puff away.” You scuff your little feet, preferably in dirt or dust, to make little clouds lift after you. We were recently near a baseball diamond in a park to watch Lucas play soccer on a nearby field and you refused to leave the hard-packed dirt of the diamond. There were terrific white chalk lines for tracks and the “smoke” you kicked up satisfied you much more than listening to a bunch of parents yell encouraging things to mini soccer players. You clutch the wooden toy trains and carry them around; so far you cannot be bothered to place them on the tracks. Lucas recently replaced his old porcelain Thomas bank because he outgrew it. You want to play with that big Thomas soooooo bad!

Meat is still your favorite food, followed closely by Strauss vanilla yogurt. You have recently tried noodles, which you call “noonoos.” I’m happy to see you eating some things of plant origins: carrots, sweet mini bell peppers, watermelon, and rarely, broccoli. I am grateful that you are going to preschool because I think your friends are helping you warm up to trying new foods. You like crackers, quesadillas, sautéed chicken, meatballs, tacos, hot dogs, rice, “chewy bars,” and cheese bunnies.

And now I must share a story about the cheese bunnies. These are organic cheesy crackers shaped like bounding bunnies. About a week ago, you crammed so many bunnies into your mouth—as is your habit when eating anything—that you choked. I was by my computer when you came toward me, flapping your arms and making the most alarming sound—but now that the excitement is over, I cannot remember what the sound was. Anyway, it wasn’t normal and I recognized that immediately. I hopped over the baby gate and realized you are too big for the infant-over-arm position and too small for the regular Heimlich position. I hooked you into my arm, lifted your body off the ground, and shoved my fist up into your diaphragm. You sputtered and I made three sweeps of your mouth with my finger to get all the cheesy-cracker goo out. Another moment passed and then you were coughing and crying. The first thing you said was, “Too scary!” I completely agree! Since then, we have talked a lot about taking little bites, not big bites because big bites can make you choke. Too scary, indeed.

I had hoped that you might show some interest in toileting by now, but mostly you haven’t. I think you are being encouraged at school to give the potty a shot, and we certainly urge you to try once in a while. But you really don’t want to yet and it makes you mad when we suggest it. You now wander off by yourself when you have to go “number 2” and tell us “Go away. I’m pooping,” if we come to investigate why you’ve become so quiet. OK, kid. You’re entitled to your privacy. I like that you now ask for a diaper change when you’re done, so that indicates you’re maturing and moving toward potty training.

You now know the names of most of your body parts. You enjoy telling people you have nipples, or they have nipples. “I see your booty!” you told me this morning. I asked you if you really just said what I thought you said. Yep. Then you immediately mentioned dinosaur booties. “Really BIG,” you said. And I tried not to follow your line of thought from my own naked derrière to giant dino butts.

We have taken two weekend trips this summer: one to the Bay Area and one to Strawberry, near the Lake Tahoe summit, to Mimi’s cabin. I am very happy you’re a good traveler. You adapt well to new places, and enjoy the adventure. In fact, you troop along beautifully, preferring to move under your own power rather than in the stroller or baby carrier. You try so hard to go everywhere Lucas goes, even up a mountainside, scrabbling over granite boulders! Your sweet nature seems to open doors for us. I hope this quality stays with you because I have hopes that someday we’ll be able to travel afar as a family.

I could write a lot more in this letter, like how you are fascinated with your brother’s big-boy things, like to imitate the sounds of animals, love to swing in your seat on the swing set in the backyard, would like to eat ice cream every day, prefer to draw and scribble directly on top of someone else’s writing, “work” on your “computer,” and strangely don’t seem to mind how your Play Dough is a now disgusting rusty brown color where it was once bright red, blue, and yellow. For now, though, I’ll sit back and let you bloom before my eyes.

I love you, Asher. You’re a treasure of a little boy.

Mama

The baby blanket I started knitting back in March is now finally finished. I made it for my friends’ Gordon and Cindy’s new baby boy, Liam, who was born nearly six-weeks early in March. I was originally hoping to have it finished by his real due date, but alas, life and work and mothering got in the way. Then it got hot and it wasn’t quite so nice to knit in the heat. Liam is now four and a half months old, and unfortunately, August in Sacramento isn’t typical blanket weather. Nevertheless, I’m thrilled to have it completed before he entered college.

This is my biggest knitting project to date. It’s also the first project I’ve ever done that required perling. The blanket is 130 stitches across and countless rows. (I may actually try to count them so that I can know how many thousands of stitches I put into it. Sometimes math IS fun!) Every stitch was made with love and prayers for health and happiness, especially during the first few weeks of his life, when he was in the NICU.

Welcome Liam! Hope you like it.