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.

Wow! Two weekend trips in a row! I haven’t written about the last one yet, which was super-fun, but I will soon.

Tonight we head up the hill to Strawberry, just west of the Tahoe Summit. We’ve been invited by Grandpa Glen’s girlfriend, Miriam, to stay with them at her cabin. It’s lovely and nicely situated near a small river and within short driving distance of those sapphire Alpine lakes. I’m really looking forward to hearing the wind whistling through the pines.

Ian’s planning to barbecue some of his extra-fancy steaks. We have loads of organic produce from our CSA (Farm Fresh To You) to take with us, including gorgeous cherries, grapes, heirloom tomatoes, and more zucchini than a CRV full of Wilsons could possibly eat!

I have an empty CF card and I’m not afraid to use it.

P.S. Today, Asher is two and a half, or in the proud parent vernacular, 30 months old!

Glowing
Originally uploaded by SarabellaE

We like to take evening walks after dinner. Sometimes the light is crazy-brilliant, slanting into our eyes and gilding everything it touches. I’ve uploaded some photos of a recent evening walk with a golden superhero on my Flickr.

I fear my inevitable evolution into a Soccer Mom has begun.

Today I bought Lucas his first pair of cleats, shin guards, and soccer socks. Big 5 had a deal on the shoes, shin guards, and a ball for $29.95, which was timely, as tonight Lucas starts a four-day soccer camp. From 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. he’ll be learning soccer skills. Ian will be taking him to camp tonight, and will do that meet-the-coach thing.

I am hoping that this will be the first soccer experience for other kids, too, as it is Lucas’s first. I figured this short camp might be the perfect introduction to the sport—give him a taste of it without the long commitment and competition of games. If he takes to it and loves it, well … then I guess we’ll become a soccer family.

He is a sporty boy, and loves all manner of games. But he basically plays a kind of Lucas Ball—no matter the size or shape of the ball—wherein he makes up all the rules to his benefit, based on the little he knows of each sport. I think it’s important for him that he learn the all-pervasive boy vernacular. I feel it’s our job to give him enriching experiences of all types, and sports is one of them.

Inside I am silently screaming NOOOOOOOOOOO! But I know there are all kinds of good things to be gained from participating in organized sports. I just have no first-hand experience of them. Hopefully, Lucas will get something fantastic out of it.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself stuck with nothing to do (except housework). I’m sure it’s a momentary problem. I’m waiting on a small handful of colleagues and clients to do their things and send them to me, so I can then do my things.

Lucas is away at a birthday party this afternoon.

Asher is asleep.

Damn! I should be reading! But first I’ll say this:

I’M SO EXCITED TO GO OUT OF TOWN TO SAN FRANCISCO AND SEE GORGEOUS FRIENDS AND STAY WITH BLUE AND HEADRA AND GO TO THE CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES AND SEE THE KING TUT EXHIBIT AND VISIT THE OAKLAND ZOO AND SEE ELEPHANTS AND HAVE FUN AND EAT AT NEW RESTAURANTS AND GET THE HECK OUT OF MY HOUSE!

OK. Thanks. That felt awesome. This is our first weekend out of town since … February, I think. Mama needs a change of scenery!

Seriously, I’m thrilled to be going on this little adventure finally! We have been promising Lucas for years that someday we would go to SF and see dinosaur bones and visit a zoo that has elephants (The Sacramento Zoo doesn’t). We were surprised to learn that the SF Zoo doesn’t have elephants either, but no worries—because we can swing by the Oakland Zoo to see them on Sunday.

Asher keeps asking me, "See elephants now? See animals?" And I keep having to say, "Not yet. We’ll see them in a couple of days. Soon!"

Blue and   are putting us up (THANK YOU), which is wonderful because we don’t get to see them nearly often enough and they are making this weekend affordable by doing so. We get to see   and hopefully other darlings we love. We get to escape the valley heat, which actually isn’t bad at all today.

Ian and I are both looking forward to seeing the King Tut exhibit because we both went to San Francisco to see it with our families when we were children. If Lucas likes it even half so much as I did, I will be very pleased. And if by some miracle the magic of Ancient Egypt should capture his imagination away from Star Wars (which he is still too young to see but obsesses about anyway) I will be over the moon! … Ahem. So to speak.

And here are a few words to the fearmongering harpy slave-drivers screeching in my mind about the perils of taking the weekend off work:
"Screw you, girls! I deserve this trip!"

Nursing Johnny Depp by Molly Remer

Speaking of Voice, which I did a day or so ago, my toddler has found his! The place in Asher’s brain that controls music is now ON and he wanders around singing to himself constantly. His repertoire is small, and his lyrics are liberally splashed with baby talk and made-up words. What is interesting is that he intuitively knows that some songs have the same tunes, and he slips from one to another and back again without a hiccup.

For example, "Where Is Thumbkin" and "Frère Jacques" are the same tune.

And the first part of the classic English "Alphabet Song" is the same tune as "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," which is the same as a French song called "Ah! Vous dirai-je, Maman" (but neither of us knows that one). I’m not writing anything new here.

Anyway, Asher’s constant singing was enough to get on my mother’s nerves on Sunday when she babysat the kids all day while we went rafting. And I admit it’s a lot to listen to, after awhile. My eyes cross after the fiftieth rendition of "A, B, C, D …."

But I’m inwardly reveling in it because for so long he wouldn’t let me sing at all ("No Mama! NO SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNG!"). Last night, when I was putting him to bed, I whispered to him in the dark, "Do you want Mommy to sing to you "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"?

And he said yes.

I’m a Gemini, and They say that makes me easily vacillate between two opposing extremes. When They’re feeling generous, They say that Geminis can embrace the two sides to every story, can be of two minds about issues. Whatever. I doubt my wishy-washy nature has much at all to do with the stars.

I blame my fantastically large and flexible brain.

How would I describe this little blog I write?

Well, I suppose I’m a little bit country and I’m a little bit rock ‘n’ roll. I’m a little bit sci-fi geek and a little bit Waldorf mom. I’m a little bit Dooce  and a little bit Soule Mama, although I’m not as accomplished or as popular as either of them. And I admire them both tremendously, for very different reasons.

Dooce is crass, bold, and outrageously honest. She is unapologetically writing about her world, without qualms, without worrying about who’s getting pissed off. She writes about depression and poo, hate mail and her frustrations, her dogs and her kids, her successes and failures as a person in the world, an employee, and a parent—all with the broad stroke of a brush that’s glopped with her own favorite color—and too bad if you don’t like it. She cusses like a sailor and lives bravely, as an ex-Mormon in Utah whose job is to write to the Internet. She is a little too focused on style and stuff for my taste, because frankly I don’t give a damn who designed what light fixture or wallpaper she likes, but when she writes about motherhood—personhood—she is raw and regal. She has made me laugh uproariously and cry—both in the same post.

Soule Mama is a creative, soulful mother of four. She lives in Maine and writes books about making things from scratch and doing it with children working beside her. She preserves foods, sews, knits, and creates things constantly. Like Dooce, Soule Mama is a great photographer, with a completely different style. Her blog about family life and mothering is idyllic; she writes about the good stuff because that’s what she wants to remember, and that’s what she wants to focus her energy on. She doesn’t complain online or pull out her hair (and with four children, I imagine even she wants to do so once in a while). I appreciate the way she has embraced living simply, and the way she seems to love every day of mothering. She is inspiring and I love her for embodying a kind of patience and grace that I long to possess.  

I think it’s interesting that these two blogs are the two I read faithfully. And I admire how they’re both living/writing.

So, no. I’m not either of these women. I am myself—struggling, rusty, insecure, jubilant, loyal, full of both yearning and love. I have my own voice, although if you asked me to describe it, I’d be hard-pressed to do so. I am both bold and staid. I love and sometimes despair at what I am doing with my life.

Sometimes I want to make my living writing to the Internet, too. I just don’t know how to go about it. Nor do I know if anyone beyond my lovely circle of friends would care to read what I have to say.
 

OK. So I admit I was scared. I am scared of a lot of things, so in those instances I do my best to jump in head-first; I am what you might call a studious thrill-seeker! I was probably a little quiet during my second rafting trip down the south fork of the American River yesterday. I was content to enjoy the banter going on around me. I laughed at jokes and enjoyed the beautiful California foothills scenery. The wind was hot. The sun, hotter. The river was deliciously cold.

About halfway through the trip, a rapid bounced me out of the raft. I remembered my training: nose and toes up! “Swimmer’s position,” as it is known, is meant to keep your head up and your feet from entangling in underwater hazards, which can push your face underwater. (Just because your body becomes entangled and you stop moving downstream, doesn’t mean the river stops rushing on. This is how it’s possible to drown in a shallow river.) Anyway, I went over some rocks, scraped my leg a little, and experienced first-hand how the river sucks you down underwater and pummels you from above. But, I popped out of that gripping current after a short moment and got back into the raft with help from my friends. I’m glad I didn’t drop my paddle or lose my hat!

Justin went over at the same time, and soon he was pulled into another raft full of companions, then moved back to his place behind me in our raft. They were some exciting minutes, but I kept my cool and didn’t get scared. When it was all over, I felt wonderfully alive. Afterward, I paid better attention to how my weight was distributed, keeping it more over my feet and thus prepared to fall into the raft, rather than out if it came to it. (It sounds dumb when I write it, but that is the idea—to stay in the raft.)

I think it’s fascinating that all the various river currents and eddies have names and a whole science of hydraulics behind them, just as the different types of ocean tides and waves do. But I can’t write about any of that with expertise.

After the Sara Overboard incident, I was able to relax a little. The harder rapids appear near the end of the run, so that’s nice. We got to practice on the easy ones first. There is so much to pay attention to all at once. I watched a raft ahead of us almost lose a man who was sitting in the exact position that our guide, Dock, just finished saying was the risky spot. That’s where nonosays  was sitting and she was warned. Seeing that guy nearly fall off minutes before we entered the rapid was trippy. It gave me new respect for Dock, and NoNo managed to stay in the boat, although the river tried to do the same to her.

I saw other rafts with smallish kids on them. The kids were riding, and not paddling, I think. But, darn, they were little! I don’t think I’d take my boys out there anytime soon. It’s a fantastic, empowering experience. And Lucas and Asher can have it when they’re physically up to the challenge and no sooner.

I’m so grateful for the opportunity to be out in the world surrounded by beauty and beautiful people. My thanks to Andrew and jaleenafied  for making this happen for newbies like me, and to Dock and Daisy (and Andrew) for being great guides. I enjoyed my shipmates immensely. It’s so good to be alive!