Yuletide sushi, and it's free!

Okay, I had to squeeze out this post before the New Year. Intuit, where I work, held their holiday party in SF's city hall this year. It's a fancy event (the dress code was "fabulously chic" -- if someone can tell me what the heck that means, I'd be grateful) with amazing food and dancing. Sheila and I are all over that sort of thing. In fact, we love weddings (dressing up, dancing, food), and consider ourselves to be amazing wedding guests. You might think otherwise if you watched us inhale sushi at the party, but certainly from a dancing perspective, we really like to cut a rug.

Oh, wait, back to the kiddos. So what does this have to do with them, you ask? Well, a couple of things come to mind:

I was hoping to post a picture with Sheila and me in our fancy clothes and Roel (Susanna was asleep by the time we were ready). But I don't have one with the three of us. We tried, but the little guy was uncooperative. If we had better anticipated his behavior, and perhaps employed some reverse psychology, it might have worked. But instead, the photo session went something like this: Sheila's sister Chris and her husband Rich were on baby-sitting duty (more on that later). When Sheila and I finished dressing, we wanted a picture of the two of us in front of our Christmas tree. As Chris got ready to snap the photo, Roel comes running in between us to get into the action. Normally that's great, but in this particular instance, we wanted a shot of just the stunning couple in the fancy duds. We did manage to get the shot (I can't remember exactly how we got rid of him -- either we bribed him or pulled something else out of our rapidly shrinking bag of get-the-kid-to-do-something tricks), but then we wanted another photo with him in it. So when we asked Roel to get in the shot this time, OF COURSE he now doesn't want to be anywhere near us. To recap: we don't want him in the photo, he tries to crash; we want him in the photo, he runs away. What's up with that? You gotta ask yourself, given the schizo behavior, what exactly are his motives anyway? And in some ways, this is not unusual behavior these days. If he weren't four years old, and if we didn't already know that Roel is really a lovely, compassionate, well-mannered kid, wouldn't you think that a person that acts this way is kind of, well, a jerk? Sheila and I have this joke between us that whenever Roel acts out in a similar, but perhaps more egregious way that ends up in either his stomping off crying or us sending him to his room, we turn to each other and and say under our breath "what an a**hole!"

To be absolutely clear, of course we're kidding and we totally love our son, and we recognize that this kind of behavior is not uncommon for little kids as they test boundaries and discover their independence. And we know they eventually grow out of it (please, God, tell me they do indeed grow out of it!), but can you imagine if they didn't? An adult that acted this way really would be a jerk. There's other kid (or baby) behavior that would be pretty funny if we didn't grow out of it. Like staring directly at people, even after eye-contact has already been made. Kids can get away with that. When adults do that, it can be kinda creepy. Another example is stomping your feet from sheer delight. I love it when little babies or toddlers do that, especially when accompanied by shrieking. We lose that one pretty early on, though I'm not sure if it's because we think it's no longer acceptable to do that in public, or if it's because we just stop being that delighted by anything.

The other kid-related thought I had during the holiday party is that the second child thing is great. Specifically, the relative lack of anxiety that had been a big part of many experiences with the first born. We waited until Roel was 2 and 1/2 years old before attending the first Intuit Holiday party, partly because prior to that, the thought of leaving him alone with someone else for such an extended period of time was a bit nerve-wracking back then. This time, even though Susanna was only 6 months old, there was no way we were going to miss this party. We even considered driving to Oakland to dump the kids off at Sheila's sister's house if need be, but fortunately Chris and Richard very generously agreed to watch the kids at our house (thanks guys!). As it was, we kinda pushed the baby sitting to the limit by arriving at the party shortly after the doors opened and staying to just about the very end. But can you blame us -- fancy clothes, free sushi, free booze, dancing -- Mommy and Daddy wanted to have some fun!

That said, one of the best kid-related moments of the evening was when we got home. Both kids were fast asleep (and I suspect one or both of the sitters might have been too). Peering into each room, and watching how peaceful each one looked, seeing Roel all curled up, and Susanna with her arms spread wide as she slept -- you want to hug them, but even more, you don't want disturb something that is just so perfect, so you just stare at them for a bit. It's hard to describe the feeling, but as trite as it sounds, basically there's nothing else in the universe that you love more. How can anyone say that with a straight face, you ask? Just wait until you're a parent -- it makes you do and say all sorts of crazy things!

Whole wheat diapers

A week ago was the one year anniversary of our very good friend Betsy's passing away. She had an amazing way with kids, and we were lucky enough to experience it first hand. She also had such an easy laugh, and I'm remembering some of the things we laughed about. One of them was our choice of disposable diapers. We try to be somewhat environmentally conscious with our purchasing decision, and it's almost impossible to do that with diapers. I won't get into the whole cloth vs disposable debate (for the record, we used cloth for Roel most of the time, but are using disposable for Susanna, but if our plumbing situation weren't so scary, we would definitely be using gdiapers instead -- http://www.gdiapers.com/). Our choice of disposables is Seventh Generation. They're unbleached, so they have a sort of natural, rustic tan-ish color rather than the standard white with the requisite cartoon character to grace baby's tushie. Anyway, we pulled one out in front of Betsy once, and she laughed and called it a "whole wheat diaper". I thought it was the perfect description.

We all miss Betsy. In fact, Roel still asks about her, which surprises me, given that he was only 3 years old the last time he saw her, and you can imagine the amount of growth and change that's packed into an entire year for a kid his age. But I think it's a tribute to Betsy's ability to engage and connect with all people, and with kids in particular.

I also remember two meals that Betsy provided for us. One was at her apartment -- it included roasted chicken and potatoes, but it was the brownies at the end that Roel recently reminded us of. (Why does food always come up in our kid stories!) The other was a meal that Betsy delivered to us soon after Roel's birth. We have an amazing set of friends, many of whom delivered home-cooked meals to us during the time immediately following the birth and between visits from in-laws where we were all alone with our first child, sleep-deprived and shockingly inept at completing even simple household tasks. Betsy brought us a "Mediterranean Salad" (or something like that), and I kid you not, Sheila and I thought it was the best meal of the bunch.

Anyway, I just wanted to mention Betsy and to let her know we're still thinking of her. As I mentioned in my inaugural post, one of the great outcomes of a blog is you get this archive of memories that might otherwise get lost (or at least fade) over time. As we re-read this blog in the coming years, and as our kids (hopefully) read them later in their lives, I hope this entry helps us (and anyone else in that large and lucky group of Betsy's family and friends) to have memories of Betsy that are that much more enduring.

This Little Piggy

There's nothing quite so lovely as a chubby baby, and Susanna does not disappoint. While she was positively petite at birth at 6 lbs. 4 oz. (probably because she arrived two weeks early), she quickly packed on the pounds, doubling her weight in less than 2 months. Her stats at 4 months put her in the 50th percentile in head size and height, and a whopping 90th percentile in weight. In other words, a short, obese pinhead. :) She's slimmed down since then to 75th percentile in weight and remains 50th in the other areas.

Sure, she's got these butterball cheeks that take up much of her face. But what's astounding on that "little" body lies a little farther south. The girl's got thighs. (Well, so does her mother but I've been working on it longer.) When she stands, gravity kicks in and whoa! Her legs are barely recognizable as legs--folds over knees, rolls over rolls. It's hard to find an anatomical landmark to orient oneself. In fact, I think it best that anyone tripping on acid avoid looking at Susanna's legs altogether. It might just send you over the edge.

She's now 7 months old and just shy of the 20 lb. mark. Why is our little gordita so ample? My mother claims we Cahill women produce pure cream, and given the amount of butter and other saturated fats I consume, that doesn't seem so far-fetched. But now that Susanna is eating solid food, I have another theory. She's a Pig. I'm not insulting my infant daughter here. She is born in the year of the Fire Pig or Golden Pig, depending on what system of Chinese astrology you follow. Pigs, like all the animals of the Chinese zodiac, repeat every 12 years and the modifying elements (Fire, Earth, Water, Metal, and Wood ) rotate with each cycle, e.g. Fire Pig, Earth Pig, Metal Pig, etc.

Pigs, by nature, are known to be easy-going, tolerant, and well, gourmands. They love to eat, and more broadly to delight in all things sensual. Though Susanna's only been eating baby food for the last 6 weeks, she's already bored with it, pining for something beyond mush on a spoon, preferably whatever the rest of the family is eating. Frankly her stares are a little unnerving. The Fire aspect gives our porcine darling extroverted, outgoing, and risk-taking attributes that may come in handy if she's going to mooch food as a regular practice.

Being born a Golden Pig is considered especially auspicious, as these lucky individuals tend to have great prosperity and happiness in their lives, and this combo only comes around once every 60 years. Supposedly there is a bump in the birth rate in China as couples try to time births to fall within this year. Who knew? We just decided we'd better go for it before my eggs did their swan song.

If she's anything like her brother, Chef Roel, or her foodie mom, Susanna's got a lot of culinary living to do. But first she has to grow some teeth.

Funny, like haha?

A quickie for today (or tonight -- if you've read my last posting, you'll appreciate the timing of this one). As Roel was going to sleep, he tells me that "toots smell funny" (I won't get into how the subject came up). Then he thinks about what he just said, and starts talking about how the word "funny" can mean different things. He mentions the case where it means something that makes you laugh, as in "toots are funny", and then he says "it also can mean weird", as in "toots smell funny". He then says in that authoritative voice of a little kid who has made up his mind "the same word can have different meanings depending on how you use it." I admit that I tend to underestimate what kids can do at certain ages, but I thought it was pretty cool that Roel could understand, and aptly articulate, that particular concept. Plus, I just LOVE the fact that he was able to use "toots" in both examples.

A typical weeknight

I'm starting this post at 1:30 AM. I'm sure my writing suffers quite a bit from these late night, sleep-deprived sessions, but when you have a couple of kids, including a baby, you just have to grab the free, quiet time when you can. Because work is also pretty busy for me these days, my general pattern during weeknights is:

• Come home in time for dinner (thank you, thank you, thank you Sheila for feeding us! I don't say that nearly enough), which may or may not include little Susanna. Depending on the day she's had, she may be down for the night at that point. That reminds me, that phrase of "putting the baby down" for the night. Where did that come from? Tim, my brother-in-law, had this joke about that phrase. I'm sure I'm about to mangle it, but it goes something like this: One parent says "Can you put the baby down?" The other parent says "Sure", then turns to the baby and yells "You're fat, you're bald, you sleep too much, ..." Ummm, I guess you had to be there.
• Roel typically greets me with "Did you bring me home anything from work?" I really shouldn't complain that he doesn't say something like "Daddy's home!" and then runs and jumps into my arms. It's really all my fault. I brought home a big chocolate chip cookie one day, and suddenly the precedent is set, and he *never* seems to forget stuff like that (though, conveniently, he seems to forget stuff like washing his hands after eating meals without the utensils, which he's also forgotten how to use). And actually, to be fair to Roel, I do occasionally still get the big hug, and there's no better transition from the work day to home life.
• Interestingly, as we sit down to dinner, we often have to tell Roel to put his pants back on. I'm never sure what events transpired immediately before my coming home that would cause Roel to go pantless, and while I do have some theories, frankly, at that point, I'm just too tired to ask.
• We eat dinner together, which hopefully includes Susanna, who by now is sort of squawking between bites because she's so darn tired. I'll ask Roel "How was school today?", and he'll answer with a decidedly unenthusiastic "Good." And that's it for that conversation. He refuses to give any details beyond that. Not sure why that is exactly. Maybe he thinks I just won't understand, or maybe it's because I can never describe my work day to his satisfaction. I mean, I'm a software engineer, and I seem to have trouble describing what I do on an every day basis to Roel, to my mother, and to most people outside of Silicon Valley, for that matter.
• Sheila and I try very hard to have an adult conversation, with varying degrees of success. It depends on how chatty, or moody, Roel is that night. Sometimes he gets engrossed in his food, and Sheila and I can actually have a sustained conversation. But there are definitely time when he tries to monopolize the dinner conversation. I suppose we should try to enjoy those times. I imagine there will be phases during childhood and adolescence when Roel won't want to speak to us at all.
• After dinner, Sheila will put Susanna down, and I'll give Roel a bath and get him ready for bed. He usually gets a couple of bedtime stories, brushes his teeth, flosses, empties his bladder, and then it's off to bed. I'm waiting for him to notice that I don't floss nearly as regularly as he does. It will likely lead to some kind of "do as I say, not as I do" conversation, which is really a lame and hopeless argument, so I better think of another plan before it happens. I suppose I could actually floss everyday, but why start now? (Sheila is gonna kill me for that.)
• Our latest bedtime tradition is I that I then tell him a story (not read one from a book). Tonight it was about a little girl who loved flowers, found a seed on the floor during a visit to the Conservatory of Flowers, went home to plant it, it grew and ended up being corn, which the family grilled and ate, and it was the best corn they had ever had. Sorry, that was the best I could do tonight -- did I mention how tired I've been lately?
• Inevitably, I'll then fall asleep with him, wake up a few hours later, and emerge from his room. If Sheila is still awake, we can actually spend some time together and talk (though, not surprisingly, a lot of time the talk centers around the kids). Often, however, she'll be asleep, and I have some quiet time to get some work done. Or write a blog entry. :)
  

I actually intended this post to be about the night of my company's Christmas party. But, I think that's all I have the energy for. I'll save that topic for the next time.

Space drawing

Just wanted to post this really cool picture that Roel drew recently.


It's a picture of outer space, mostly our solar system. You might be able to figure everything out, but I'll provide a description, just in case. To the left is the sun, of course. It's a fairly happy sun. We've all seen the sun depicted with a happy face, but I think the legs and arms are a bit more original. You can see the planets in the upper right. You can probably guess which one is Earth. It's the large one with the land masses drawn. It's also the only planet without a happy face. I like to think it's Roel's way of making some sort of political statement, perhaps a commentary on the climate change issue. He then has two kinds of stars -- the little dots are your basic, garden variety stars. The other ones, with happy faces and tails, are shooting stars. (I could have described them in another way -- to me, they look like, well, I'm sure you can use your imagination...) Overall, a pretty happy system. Not a frown in the sky. I like to think that it reflects your typical 4-year-old's outlook in life. Happy, happy, happy (well, at least until Dad says it's bath time, and then bed).

You've Got Mail

The other day Roel asked me out of the blue what did I think his cousin, Garett, (also 4.5 but living in Philly) was going to be when he grew up. I gave him my guess and then suggested we send an email to Garett to ask him. Sure, but what is email? And so begins the litany of questions that these days accompanies even the most mundane experience (well, mundane by an old grey mare's perspective--positively scintillating by a budding school-ager's.)

Explaining email to a precocious 4.5 year old seemed easy. I told him it was just like sending a letter but instead of putting a stamp on it and dropping it in the blue box on the corner, we just use our computer and then the other person receives it on her/his computer. I'm practically mouthing "great job, Mom" to myself for providing such a fine analogy, using concrete experience that's easy to grasp and then seamlessly applying it to this abstract notion of email. Yes, yes, great job, Mom. Then came the follow up: but how does it get from our computer to theirs? Are there pipes that connect our computers? OK, no problem, I can handle this. Um, let's see, there are no pipes. Definitely no pipes. Well, the email leaves our computer and goes to another computer somehow, I think it's called a server? Then that one talks to another computer? I realized I had quickly come to the limit of my understanding (and even of my ability to bullshit which, by the way, is a greatly underutilized parenting tool, as I see it) and we were only two questions deep. I sheepishly told Roel we had to wait for Daddy to get home and ask him. We wrote the email, taking turns to type, with two principal thoughts weaving through my mind: Damn, my kid is smart. When did I become so dumb? :)

On another note, I was struck by how, even with the limited time they've spent together back in Philly and really how short in years they all are, these cousins already have a connection. Roel thinks of Garett in his musings. Then he includes Malenne in the email without prompting. Garett tells Roel he loves him, asks for a playdate (twice), and sees them as buddy cops in a future life. Malenne tells him she misses us all. There's a familiarity that even the tone-deaf medium of email picks up. He's got family. I'm so happy.


From: Sheila Cahill
To: Tammy and Tim Kelly
Sent: Friday, November 30, 2007 9:21:25 PM
Subject: A secret note just for my friends

What are you going to be when you grow up, Garett? I GUESSED A FIREFIGHTER AND MY MOM GUESSED POLICE OFFICER. What do you think you will be when you grow up, Malenne? I think you might be a rescue truck driver, and my mom thinks you might be a teacher.

Happy Christmas to you guys and everyone.

From, Roel and Sheila

Secret note only for my friends.
What are you doing today? Dee doo.


Garett's reply:
Can we have a playdate, Roel? What are you going to do today? I think you and me are going to be police officers. I love you! I like playing with you. Some day can we have a playdate?

Merry Christmas and Be Happy.

Love, Garett and Momy (Tita Tammy)


Malenne's reply:
Dear Roel,

Your mom was right! I am going to be a teacher when I grow up. what will you be when you grow up? We miss you guys and happy Christmas to you too!

Love,
Malenne Kelly

Real big smiles (or big real smiles)

Oh dear, it's already December, and almost a week has passed since my last post. Not a good trend -- I'm really hoping we can maintain a reasonable level of blog activity.

Susanna is a little more than 6 month old, and she is such a different person from just a few weeks ago.

-----

Ooh, a quick Roel break here. We just had a little mini-conversation about the difference between medium and small. We just broke out our Christmas decorations, which include some gilded reindeer. There are a few adult deer, and one child one. They were up on our mantle, and Roel asked if I could get the "medium" one down for him. Well, I looked at them, and only saw two sizes -- I considered the adults to be large, and the child to be small. You need at least three sizes for a medium, right? Well, Roel quickly corrected me, and said that the child reindeer was of medium size. He then put his index fingers about a 1/2 inch apart and said "This is small." I guess right now, size is more of an absolute thing for him? I needed some clarification, so I pointed to one of his HotWheels cars, and proposed that it was small, too. Nope. That was medium. Sensing I wasn't quite getting it, Roel explained that "small" was the same as "tiny". Then he offered up an example, "like Mama's egg". I stared blankly. He continued "You know, like the egg that is inside Mama's belly." He pointed to his stomach, and unless Sheila has developed a taste for quail eggs, the only eggs I've ever seen her eat are definitely medium. So I'm assuming he meant those eggs that never actual travel to the belly, and I know I haven't discussed the whole uterus thing yet (not feeling the most qualified in that dept, within our family anyway). Ah, tiny indeed.

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OK, back to Susanna. She is so much more interactive with us. I have to admit, for those first few month, we didn't get a ton of feedback from her. She slept a lot. She cried occasionally. It was hard to tell if the smiles were for us, or just gas. Frankly, it was a bit unsatisfying, given how much effort we, the parents, were putting into it. But now, those huge smiles are definitely for us. She can sit up by herself now. She tries to talk, I think, by sticking her tongue out (sort of a pre-raspberry thing). It's so great. And, if she follows Roel's pattern, the insubordinate behavior is at least 2 years away (we found the "terrible two's" to be a myth, or misnomer -- we're thinking there isn't a name for the "three's" because parents just want to forget). I just love this age.