Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
From the Portfolio of our Budding Young Artist
On a normal day, I feed Reilly breakfast and then head out to Lake Seminole Park to visit the playground there. If we are lucky, we’ll run in to Samantha, a four-year-old who has made friends with Reilly.
The last time they played together, Samantha showed Reilly how to put mulch in her pocket, and how to go down the big kid’s slide. I am always surprised at the moxie that Reilly displays when approaching a tall slide. She’s positively fearless (which is not necessarily a good thing).
Later, Samantha invited Reilly to ride the purple dinosaur with her, and then after a snack of pretzels and some time on the swings, it was time to head home for lunch and a nap. Samantha gave Reilly a hug and a kiss, and then as we walked away, Samantha yelled, “Bwye Weilly!” every few steps.
On a day like today, when Tropical Storm Ernesto washes out any chance for outside time, I start to really miss the playground. Keeping Reilly inside is akin to caging a Tasmanian devil. As I write this, Reilly is rifling through her diaper bag, emptying it of its contents. A few moments ago, she was shrieking at the dog and then tackling her in a bear hug. Before that, she was trying to climb over the back of the couch.
To kill half an hour, and to restrain my wild child, we did some finger painting. In keeping with her fish theme, Reilly started with this painting, which I have titled, "Bear gets Salmon."
Soon, we ran out of room to dry her artwork,
The last time they played together, Samantha showed Reilly how to put mulch in her pocket, and how to go down the big kid’s slide. I am always surprised at the moxie that Reilly displays when approaching a tall slide. She’s positively fearless (which is not necessarily a good thing).
Later, Samantha invited Reilly to ride the purple dinosaur with her, and then after a snack of pretzels and some time on the swings, it was time to head home for lunch and a nap. Samantha gave Reilly a hug and a kiss, and then as we walked away, Samantha yelled, “Bwye Weilly!” every few steps.
On a day like today, when Tropical Storm Ernesto washes out any chance for outside time, I start to really miss the playground. Keeping Reilly inside is akin to caging a Tasmanian devil. As I write this, Reilly is rifling through her diaper bag, emptying it of its contents. A few moments ago, she was shrieking at the dog and then tackling her in a bear hug. Before that, she was trying to climb over the back of the couch.
To kill half an hour, and to restrain my wild child, we did some finger painting. In keeping with her fish theme, Reilly started with this painting, which I have titled, "Bear gets Salmon."
Her second painting, a quick little sketch, I titled, "Ernesto."
Soon, we ran out of room to dry her artwork,
so, we just fingerpainted right on the tray of the highchair.
We finished the session with a post-painting bath, which Reilly seemed to enjoy just as much as the fingerpainting itself.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
From the Archives: August 30, 2002 - Age 26
The thing about a pedestrian city is that one is exposed to his environment. In yesterday’s case, I was unsheltered from the elements, and my eyes were unshielded from some homeless guy’s balls. Exposure has two effects: one, is that a person grows numb to otherwise significant events: drug deals, two men kissing, dog shit on the sidewalk. The other effect is tied in with the sun. Exposed to the sun for too long, skin will burn. With the sun, I can wear sunscreen. But there is no screen in The City—nothing to shield me.
Today as I walked down 6th Avenue, I came upon a scene: three people waving frantically in the street, flagging down a wailing ambulance. As I sped closer to them and the crowd that had gathered outside a restaurant, I was interested in the situation only in finding a path around it. Someone must have choked, or had a heart attack, I thought. Nevermind though, the scene didn’t interest me, and the stairs to the 14th Street subway station were on the other side of the crowd. I weaved through them.
At the bottom of the stairs was a cop crouching over a man in tattered clothing. Underneath the prone man was a dirty crutch. At the crown of his black head was a thick pool of blood the size of a dinner plate. I was on the third step when the numbness sloughed off and I became cognizant of what I was witnessing. The paramedics passed me as I backed up the steps.
At about 11:00p this evening, Brittany and Mike arrived. The six of us (Drew and Sara were there too) sat around and drank some wine and Sam and I swear we were all talking at once. A short time later we hit the street, walking down Bleecker to Mercer and then south until we arrived at Bar 89. In a rare move, the doorman loosened up with us, commenting on our two friends and their Georgia licenses. I forget the joke, but in the end we were all laughing as he ushered us in.
Since this is a holiday weekend many NYkers have left town, and for this reason we spent only 10 minutes at the bar before we were seated at a window table near the front. The boys settled in with their beers and the girls with their ‘Tini’s, and we just talked and talked—with occasional breaks in the conversation to visit the coolest bathrooms in The City. We celebrated the arrival of our friends with much good cheer and laughter; raising hell and turning heads to our little corner table. And with the arrival of my friends a flux of old memories flooded my brain, finally pushing out the image of the man at the bottom of the stairs.
Today as I walked down 6th Avenue, I came upon a scene: three people waving frantically in the street, flagging down a wailing ambulance. As I sped closer to them and the crowd that had gathered outside a restaurant, I was interested in the situation only in finding a path around it. Someone must have choked, or had a heart attack, I thought. Nevermind though, the scene didn’t interest me, and the stairs to the 14th Street subway station were on the other side of the crowd. I weaved through them.
At the bottom of the stairs was a cop crouching over a man in tattered clothing. Underneath the prone man was a dirty crutch. At the crown of his black head was a thick pool of blood the size of a dinner plate. I was on the third step when the numbness sloughed off and I became cognizant of what I was witnessing. The paramedics passed me as I backed up the steps.
At about 11:00p this evening, Brittany and Mike arrived. The six of us (Drew and Sara were there too) sat around and drank some wine and Sam and I swear we were all talking at once. A short time later we hit the street, walking down Bleecker to Mercer and then south until we arrived at Bar 89. In a rare move, the doorman loosened up with us, commenting on our two friends and their Georgia licenses. I forget the joke, but in the end we were all laughing as he ushered us in.
Since this is a holiday weekend many NYkers have left town, and for this reason we spent only 10 minutes at the bar before we were seated at a window table near the front. The boys settled in with their beers and the girls with their ‘Tini’s, and we just talked and talked—with occasional breaks in the conversation to visit the coolest bathrooms in The City. We celebrated the arrival of our friends with much good cheer and laughter; raising hell and turning heads to our little corner table. And with the arrival of my friends a flux of old memories flooded my brain, finally pushing out the image of the man at the bottom of the stairs.
Five more things you might not know about Reilly
1) Reilly’s eating habits continue to evolve. She now understands how to position a hard piece of food (like a pretzel) between her back molars in order to break it up. So, instead of sucking on the pretzel for five minutes in order to soften it up, she can now crunch away on her snack.
2) Reilly is also learning how take bites of her food, instead of stuffing the entire thing into her mouth. For example, yesterday I gave her a whole wheat hot dog bun to eat, and after taking a few bites, she then used her fingers to tear off smaller pieces to pop into her mouth.
3) When Reilly is done eating she will wave her hands back and forth while also wiggling her fingers. Though we never taught her sign language, this clearly means, “For the love of God, dad, please stop putting Cheerios on my tray!”
4) Reilly has been teaching herself to walk backward. She is very tentative, taking very small baby steps in reverse, one by one. Her learning how to walk backward has had the following two effects: One, she will make anything into a seat. She will sit on the dog, her toy piano, your foot, anything that happens to be in the path of her bum. Two, she will walk up to me, back up, and sit down in my lap to read a book, or to just have a little snuggle.
5) Reilly has learned how to ask for a bottle. If she is hungry for milk, she will walk over to the stove, pull on the handle, and say “Bot?” She chooses this location because the stove is directly below the microwave, which we use to heat up Reilly’s bottles (5oz for 30 seconds). I believe that this is the first real “conversation” Reilly has had with us.
Come to think of it, she also will go to the front door and say “Bye!” when she wants to go outside. This new ability to communicate with us has already cut down on the number of tears required to get through a day, and that is a development that is good for everyone.
2) Reilly is also learning how take bites of her food, instead of stuffing the entire thing into her mouth. For example, yesterday I gave her a whole wheat hot dog bun to eat, and after taking a few bites, she then used her fingers to tear off smaller pieces to pop into her mouth.
3) When Reilly is done eating she will wave her hands back and forth while also wiggling her fingers. Though we never taught her sign language, this clearly means, “For the love of God, dad, please stop putting Cheerios on my tray!”
4) Reilly has been teaching herself to walk backward. She is very tentative, taking very small baby steps in reverse, one by one. Her learning how to walk backward has had the following two effects: One, she will make anything into a seat. She will sit on the dog, her toy piano, your foot, anything that happens to be in the path of her bum. Two, she will walk up to me, back up, and sit down in my lap to read a book, or to just have a little snuggle.
5) Reilly has learned how to ask for a bottle. If she is hungry for milk, she will walk over to the stove, pull on the handle, and say “Bot?” She chooses this location because the stove is directly below the microwave, which we use to heat up Reilly’s bottles (5oz for 30 seconds). I believe that this is the first real “conversation” Reilly has had with us.
Come to think of it, she also will go to the front door and say “Bye!” when she wants to go outside. This new ability to communicate with us has already cut down on the number of tears required to get through a day, and that is a development that is good for everyone.
Monday, August 28, 2006
From the Archives: August 27, 2005 - Age 29
Shawn and Reilly flew home to Florida on Wednesday of this week, and will be gone through September 5th. I’ll join them on September 2nd for a quick trip home. The nine days that I’ll be apart from my wife are, without question, the longest time we’ve been apart since we were married. Obviously, this is also the longest period of time I’ve ever spent apart from my daughter.
As a boy, I did not mind spending time alone. I was shy, true, but I also had such an active imagination that I could fritter away hours by myself, absorbed in some daring rescue or swashbuckling adventure. A vestige of that old self remains. The first day Shawn was gone, I enjoyed a sort of euphoric freedom. I was emperor of the apartment, free to hang out in my boxers, have chips and beer, and flip between football, Sportscenter, and a Yankees game on TV. Yet with all that freedom, when it came time to go to bed, I found myself staring up at the ceiling, studying a crack in the plaster that snakes from the window to the kitchen.
When we first moved to The City, I remember returning home to our apartment on Ludlow Street and finding it surprisingly empty and quiet. What we were missing was our dog, Leia, who we had grown so accustomed to greeting us each time we set foot in our Tallahasee townhouse. Leia lives now with the Tewksbury’s, and is trying to get used to her new visitor—Reilly. (Shawn reports that Leia likes to lick her feet.) My second day alone left me with a similar sensation. For the last few weeks, I have rushed home from work, burst through the door of the apartment and announced, “Dad’s home!” Now, I linger at work a little longer, and walk a bit slower back from the subway, knowing that when I unlock the door, the only thing to greet me will be the hum of the air conditioner.
By the third day, a certain amount of longing had set in. I spent fifteen minutes at work forcing a co-worker to watch as I browsed through a few weeks of Reilly’s pictures. Later that day, I found myself humming the “Robbers Song,” a tune I made up one day when I was alone with Reilly for the first time. Shawn had been away from the apartment for a quick errand, and when Reilly would not stop crying, I began to panic, trying every position and nursery rhyme to cheer her up. Finally, I set her on my knees, and made up the “Robbers Song” on the spot. It goes a little something like this:
Verse 1 – (Jog baby’s legs)
You’ve gotta run, run, run, run from the robbers
Gotta run, run, run, run from the robbers
Gotta run
Gotta run
Verse 2 – (Jump baby’s legs)
You’ve gotta jump, jump, jump, jump from the robbers
Gotta jump, jump, jump, jump from the robbers
Gotta jump
Gotta jump
Verse 3 – (Grab baby with both hands around ribs)
And then the robbers catch us!
So…
Verse 4 – (Punch with baby’s fists)
You’ve gotta fight, fight, fight, fight with the robbers
Gotta fight, fight, fight, fight with the robbers
With a left and a right
You’ve gotta fight
Verse 5 – (Tickle baby’s face with fingers)
And then you chill…
The song kept Reilly calm for twenty minutes, until Shawn returned.
As I sit here in my apartment, remembering that day, I’d trade the quiet and calm of her absence for an hour of crying, just to get her back in my arms. I miss my girls.
Can you tell?
As a boy, I did not mind spending time alone. I was shy, true, but I also had such an active imagination that I could fritter away hours by myself, absorbed in some daring rescue or swashbuckling adventure. A vestige of that old self remains. The first day Shawn was gone, I enjoyed a sort of euphoric freedom. I was emperor of the apartment, free to hang out in my boxers, have chips and beer, and flip between football, Sportscenter, and a Yankees game on TV. Yet with all that freedom, when it came time to go to bed, I found myself staring up at the ceiling, studying a crack in the plaster that snakes from the window to the kitchen.
When we first moved to The City, I remember returning home to our apartment on Ludlow Street and finding it surprisingly empty and quiet. What we were missing was our dog, Leia, who we had grown so accustomed to greeting us each time we set foot in our Tallahasee townhouse. Leia lives now with the Tewksbury’s, and is trying to get used to her new visitor—Reilly. (Shawn reports that Leia likes to lick her feet.) My second day alone left me with a similar sensation. For the last few weeks, I have rushed home from work, burst through the door of the apartment and announced, “Dad’s home!” Now, I linger at work a little longer, and walk a bit slower back from the subway, knowing that when I unlock the door, the only thing to greet me will be the hum of the air conditioner.
By the third day, a certain amount of longing had set in. I spent fifteen minutes at work forcing a co-worker to watch as I browsed through a few weeks of Reilly’s pictures. Later that day, I found myself humming the “Robbers Song,” a tune I made up one day when I was alone with Reilly for the first time. Shawn had been away from the apartment for a quick errand, and when Reilly would not stop crying, I began to panic, trying every position and nursery rhyme to cheer her up. Finally, I set her on my knees, and made up the “Robbers Song” on the spot. It goes a little something like this:
Verse 1 – (Jog baby’s legs)
You’ve gotta run, run, run, run from the robbers
Gotta run, run, run, run from the robbers
Gotta run
Gotta run
Verse 2 – (Jump baby’s legs)
You’ve gotta jump, jump, jump, jump from the robbers
Gotta jump, jump, jump, jump from the robbers
Gotta jump
Gotta jump
Verse 3 – (Grab baby with both hands around ribs)
And then the robbers catch us!
So…
Verse 4 – (Punch with baby’s fists)
You’ve gotta fight, fight, fight, fight with the robbers
Gotta fight, fight, fight, fight with the robbers
With a left and a right
You’ve gotta fight
Verse 5 – (Tickle baby’s face with fingers)
And then you chill…
The song kept Reilly calm for twenty minutes, until Shawn returned.
As I sit here in my apartment, remembering that day, I’d trade the quiet and calm of her absence for an hour of crying, just to get her back in my arms. I miss my girls.
Can you tell?
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
The Things She Carried
A few days ago, we went over to Papa Bear and Granny's house for Reilly's fourth celebration of her first birthday. (Spoiled much?) While we were there, Reilly had a fantastic time playing with her Aunt Morgan's doll stroller. So, in keeping with our rule to never buy pink plastic crappy toys for our daughter, I ran right out to Target and bought Reilly her own doll stroller.
Self-loathing aside, Reilly loves the thing. Though the stroller is not exactly a development toy, at least she walks around a lot with it and gets her exercise, which should help our daughter (who is already in the 4th percentile for weight) keep from getting fat.
First thing every morning, Reilly will wheel the empty stroller around the house, looking for items to add to the seat. It always interests me to see what she chooses to carry with her. In the photo below, you'll the results of Reilly's day-long process of filling the stroller. In the seat, you will find: a sippy cup, Harrison the teddy bear, a purple bath cup, two rubber ducks, 1/2 of a page from Parenting Magazine, a yellow plastic stacking ring, a spray nozzle for the hose outside, a magnet for the local pizzeria, and a black and silver pair of her mother's sandals.
She's a funny kid.
(For those astute readers who closely analyzed the photo below, yes--that is a rash on Reilly's face, most likely caused by the hummus I had given her for lunch.)
Self-loathing aside, Reilly loves the thing. Though the stroller is not exactly a development toy, at least she walks around a lot with it and gets her exercise, which should help our daughter (who is already in the 4th percentile for weight) keep from getting fat.
First thing every morning, Reilly will wheel the empty stroller around the house, looking for items to add to the seat. It always interests me to see what she chooses to carry with her. In the photo below, you'll the results of Reilly's day-long process of filling the stroller. In the seat, you will find: a sippy cup, Harrison the teddy bear, a purple bath cup, two rubber ducks, 1/2 of a page from Parenting Magazine, a yellow plastic stacking ring, a spray nozzle for the hose outside, a magnet for the local pizzeria, and a black and silver pair of her mother's sandals.
She's a funny kid.
(For those astute readers who closely analyzed the photo below, yes--that is a rash on Reilly's face, most likely caused by the hummus I had given her for lunch.)
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