My friend Deb just sent this to me from last week's brunch. I just love it. I love my girl.
And here are some videos from yesterday. She is either jumping or singing Bob Marley's "One Love." In case you don't know the words, it goes, "One love, one heart, let's get together and feel alright." And she is coming ever-closer to reciting this entire chorus clearly. She adores this book and we are now a home that plays Bob Marley more than any college student ever has!
Nora attended her first Harvest Moon Festival yesterday. We packed up raisins, bananas, crackers, pears, apples, water, diapers, and picnic blankets and set out for the old ranch house nestled into the gated community near the college. We walked in as the drum circle was in full swing.
Nora was mesmerized...she couldn't be bothered to drum or shake gourds or talk to her little chums...she just stared. Bobbed up and down occasionally...and stood fixated. Drums might just be her instrument.
After the trance of drum circle, it was time to finger bumpy gourds, hay bales, bamboo trunks, and giant tree trunks.
And, of course, the lion costume came back out. You can't miss any opportunity to dress up with such a fantastic shiny jungle cat outfit at your disposal.
Here's the menacing shadow of one Ms. Lulu Bell.
Dancing to Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, and Beach Boys covers...mixing with leather-skinned women donning skeleton earrings and skirts far too short for their wise years. I even got a view of the orange underwear of a grandmother who enjoyed dancing with Noodle.
I have started to feel very connected to some of my "Mommy & Me" friends...certainly, most of us only share a common birth month of our children, and teething advice and conundrums about tantrum throwing; however, a few are falling gently into friends-beyond-motherhood category. Last night, as I sipped white sangria and scraped the side of an oreo mud pie with Margie, it struck me just how magnificent it is to once again have girlfriends close by...with whom to share my musings, my worries, and my hopes.
As much as I still miss my friends caught in LA, the geography of this So Cal urban sprawl causes distance far more than the mere 28 miles on a map. There are job schedules, day care, missed time with husbands, freeways, traffic, naps, and errands to contend with. These 28 miles turn into an hour drive each way...and since Nora still screams bloody murder during car rides, this keeps me bubbled in my beloved Long Beach...thinking of my old friends...and gratefully making new ones.
**Just in case you need reminding, Nora is now dispensing post-it flags. Helpful little bugger, no?
The sun set yesterday with glistening plantains and empanada remnants upon my lips, a glass of Spanish wine in my hand, a gentle breeze at my back, and my mom and two aunties dancing to Cuban jazz. The Hollywood Bowl came alive to the groovy notes of Ninety Miles and Arturo Sandoval.
It was a night to remember. One in which Andy Garcia played bongo drums as my Aunt Pat's toes wiggled atop our box seats. My mom passed dulce de leche cookies as my Auntie Barbara squeezed our hands and whooped and hollered. In the box to our left, a grandma blinked with neon accessories (necklace, ring, keychain, and even her ice-cubes and wine glass...all alit and flashing madly).
Soon, night embraced our musical realm. The red wine drips on my shirt faded into blackness, the neon jewelry blinked brighter, my mom's hands kneaded the knots in my shoulders (the small cost of 8 days of walking in Boston with Nora in a back pack)...I ate more cookies, drank more wine.
Then the lights rose again upon the stage. Blues and reds bathed the members of Buena Vista Social Club. A woman with liquid hips and generous cleavage swayed behind her microphone. A man with an electric smile, a shiny suit, and a "gracia, mucha gracia" began to sing through his smile. The drums, the bongos, the piano, the bass, the trumpets...all whipping us into a joyful frenzy. You can't NOT dance to Cuban music...it would mean you're somehow broken inside. It is quite simply auditory utopia.
And finally, after several songs, SHE arrived. Omara Portuondo.
One of the few "original" members that you would surely remember if you have seen the documentary.
Her flowing white dress swished to the floor, barely concealing her silver Birkenstocks. Her hair pinned back and wrapped in an enormous gold bow. Her fingers and knuckles curled and bent in aged angles. Her back gently curved. And her voice...her voice finds you. Enters your body. Reverberates there and nestles into your bones. Exits through your smile. She claps and expects you to clap for her. She points at you. She speaks her few English words with a heavy-laced caramel tongue. She wants you to stand and dance and smile. You don't deny her. You can't deny her.
At the end of the show, she blows air kisses to us all, she says "Bye, bye, bye, bye" and waves her gnarled knuckles to us. I do not know if I'll ever see her and experience her voice again. We hopped aboard our party shuttle bus, passing the crushed box of cookies once more, drinking the final splashes of white wine, accepting dark chocolate mints from tipsy strangers...all of us dipped in the honey of Havana's pulse...closing our eyes and squeezing hands and savoring our own memories of music, dance, and family.
I slipped the key in our front door close to 1am. Daniel and Nora slept soundly. Wine had settled into my mind making cobwebs and waves. A guaranteed brutal morning. But my toes wiggled as I fell asleep. My mind danced and memories pooled.
"Cheers" to my Aunt Barbara for a musical birthday celebration befitting her dancing spirit. I will never know sisterhood - but I always bask gratefully in the light of this trio.
We are über-touristy on this trip. Yesterday, you would have found my shiny sunblocked face peering through a large camera, Nora giggling from her stroller, and Daniel flipping through a Lonely Plant guidebook as we followed a red line around various American History sites.
**If you're ever coming to Boston, do read up on your American History. It will enhance your appreciation of "The Freedom Trail."
We, clearly, did not prepare.
Me: Oh, look it's a memorial to Benjamin Franklin.
Daniel: No, that's Samuel Franklin.
Me: Who the heck is he?
Me (to myself): Who are the Torries?
Daniel: What was the Boston Masacre about?
Me: I'm not sure but there's a famous black guy who died.
Daniel: Yeah, Crispus Attacs.
Me: I think it's Crispus Attacus.
Daniel: Yeah, maybe.
Me: I'm hungry.
And it was after this erudite conversation that the amazing "Freedom Trail" was abandoned after only the 5th old building (the bookstore where Longfellow and Wordsworth were published) for some turkey burgers and sweet potato fries at b.good.
To be honest, I can tell you approximate years for the American Revolution and I know we sign our "John Hancock" because of the guy's involvement in the Declaration of Independence...but I can't tell you much about the Boston Tea Party (except that "tea party" is now a tainted phrase), the Boston Massacre (other than aforementioned Black guy), or Paul Revere (besides something about Palin messing it up).
Now, aren't your proud of my historical knowledge? At least I'm not running for president.
And yes, since you asked, I AM still considering homeschooling Nora.
And yes, since you sit there in horror, I WILL brush up a bit on my history if/when the time comes.
Heck, I already skimmed the links that I posted above...NO, not just the menu for our burger joint...the OTHER links, about history and the dead guys.
Well, crumbs of gingered-oats are once again beside a cold mug of coffee from our local Flour Bakery. This good ol' bakery welcomed me into another foggy day at 8:00am with Nora snuggled against my chest. Her sleeping has been...well...let's just call it "poor and sporadic," although I am tempted to be more forthright and call it absolute sheer and utter hell.
Now, now, surely it can't be that bad.
Remember you're on vacation. It's all bricks and ivy and muffins.
This sleeping part in NO way detracts from the fun of taking buses into the heart of Chinatown, seeing a gorgeous patch of sun stream through rustling leaves and fall upon 350 year old headstones, laughing with Daniel as we discuss John Hancock and he makes a face about the word "cock" and then, well, here's his memorial marker. You must admit, it is fitting...right?
But the sleeping issue will work itself out. I know it can't get any worse. Yesterday, she was up at 5:45am (felt like 2:45am), took one 30 minute nap, and in the evening, after a day of sight-seeing (with only a few minor cracks...like this one next to Samuel Franklin's headstone) the Battle Royale began. Starting at the jolly hour of 7:45pm, she nursed, cried, screamed, manically writhed, nursed, drank a bottle, screamed, nursed, rolled, kicked, slapped, and moaned her way to sleep at...drum roll...11:30pm. She was beyond the beyond of tired. We were all three at wit's end.
Yesterdat - totally our fault!
Today - we will stay closer to home...ensuring that she can try for a second nap. Crimping our traveling style? Yes, a bit. But we are all learning. How to travel with a finicky sleeper. How to nurse a baby who bites in public. How to enjoy evenings on a trip when they end at 7:00pm.
*Didn't I read somewhere that when they are overtired they actually sleep LESS? Ah, yes. Yes, I did read that.
I had the thrill of sharing my bed with the sweet thrasher all night. Daniel is kindly spared the wrestling match of our full-size mattress and sleeps on the couch. (Where he is still sleeping, by the way.) I have been up since 6:30am, taken Nora to the park and bakery, nursed her for 45 minutes for her nap...and now sit.
Coffee is cold but delicious. Nary a crumb of my muffin remains.
The apartment is quiet.
Beacon Hill, the Charles River, and more parks await our travelin' feet.
But to assure you that Nora is having a fantastic time...despite sleep or the lack thereof...here she is at the park yesterday with some local children. Her first hip-hop serenade. She was over-the-moon.
Ich habe heute Morgen am Radio dass Deutschland wird Arbeiter im Zukunft brauchen gehört. Deswegen, will ich ein Bischen auf Deutsch schreiben. Es ist güt für meine Sprache...und auch viel Spass für meine Freundinnen die diese Blog täglich lesen (ja, mein ich DU, Anna).
Knüdeln ist ein grosse Musik Fan. Sie tanzt hin und her sehr schnell jeden Morgen vorne ihre Tisch mit die CD Spieler. Sie ist verueckt fuer Welt Musik...wie Ihre Mama. Geil, oder?
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Nora is a dance (tanzen) and music (Musik) fan of giant proportions. She is insistent upon hearing her tunes each morning. She crawls over to the cd player and waves her hand back and forth, shimmying her body to the phantom melodies that await her.
This morning was hysterical...we had NPR news on and I meant to turn up the volume when I instead, changed the station. Music poured into the kitchen, Nora smiled and started to dance. I quickly flipped it back to NPR and she looked at me, opened that juicy mouth and screamed bloody murder. I asked her if she wanted to listen to music and she crawled towards her room. I placed her African jams cd on and soon she was kissing her fluffy bear and bouncing her big-diapered booty on the floor to the tunes.
She is such a music lover...like her dad and her grandfathers. Daniel has turn-tables and old albums and listens to music constantly. Daniel's dad was a dj and was always playing mixed tapes on their road trips. I have vivid memories of my Grandpa Thurm bouncing his feet whilst strumming his guitar and singing Willie Nelson.
Music flows in Nora's veins. And this will encourage me to keep the playlists coming during the day. Satiating that part of her mind that wishes to sway and bounce and dance, dance, dance.
To see ALL of the WEEKLY shots, click here.
This is a morning when I stop and soak in the robin egg sky, scattered cloud wisps, squawking wild parrots, yappy barks of neighborhood dogs, faint beeping of bulldozers reversing down the street, honks of morning commuters, and rustling of palm tree fronds. Nora sleeps (that's probably typed in most of my posts these days...I can't yet figure out how to type, keep her fingers from the keyboard, her eyes from the screen, and focus my mind on my content).
This week we are living the good life in our neighbor's pool. It's a fact that if I know people have a pool, I will hover, stalk, whimper, and manipulate an invitation. So our innocent neighbors issued a generic "feel free to use our pool" recently upon the heels of their trip. Little did they know, that like superman from a suit to tights in seconds, I can slip into my swimsuit and have my toes in the water in a flash. Daniel finds my water obsession odd. He can take a dip for a few minutes on the weekend...and that's it. He's gotten his fill...bizarre. Right?!
Not so with this water mama...unthinkable. I've been in their pool...alone and with a greased up Noodle...EVERY single day since their departure. For hours and hours and hours. Nora loves the water. She lies back on the floatie, her body feels like jelly. She is completely and utterly relaxed. Not a bit of tension in her limbs. I push her around the pool on the mattress with one hand on her back, she squeezes the foam water animals, stares up at the airplanes flying overhead, watches the tree branches shimmy in the breeze. We are silent. We sing. We splash. These moments will never leave my mind. Spinning her around in the water with her four-tooth grin, water drops beading on her greasy face. It's all golden...well, except for "the incident".
The "mom-didn't-think-that-the-baby-REALLY-has-to-wear-a-swim-diaper" incident.
Well, the baby DOES...and the baby didn't. (Notice the blame placed on the infant not the negligent mother)
Let's just say that it's a good thing that her Auntie Marisa is a forgiving and kind soul. Her loving arms held Nora in the floatie. The two began to play. Then I hear, "oh, Oh, OH, OHHHHHHH" and notice kelp-like flakes and blueberry skins and bean remnants begin to float away from the happy couple.
Nora looked relieved.
Marisa looked horrified.
I was mortified.
The net took care of 99% of the catastrophe. A pool man and filter the other 1%. Daniel and I netted the pool for a solid hour. Both of us splashing and swimming several times in front of our neighbors to assure them that swimming was once again possible. I did not see Marisa return to the pool that day...or since. Not sure if my child's fecal floaters are playing a role in that.
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So, below are some more of our water adventures in photographic splendor. There have also been playdates with several little people --- Kelsey, Lydia, and Shane.
I had the pleasure to watch Shane yesterday. A little boy who shares Nora's birthday...and is absolutely the giggliest happy boy I've ever met. I think I've seen him cry once. He thinks I'm hysterical. When I place a red plastic starfish on my head and sneeze it off - he laughs with glee. Nora looks at me like I'm a complete idiot.
For months, Shane has often been aggressive with getting toys or basically anything in Nora's hands. Both Kathy, Shane's mom, and I have encouraged Nora to fight back.
Well, fight back she finally does. This video shows her blatantly ignoring The Beatles lyrics of "Let it Be." When I started taping, I thought "Oh, how sweet. They are playing so well together to this song in the background."
Then...well, you just have to watch it...
Oh, and just for fun, here are videos of Nora's morning dance session to her African Children's CD by Putamayo (I highly recommend it).
It is BIZARRE to see Nora walking. No, she's not walking alone. Not yet. But she pulls herself up on this toy and takes steps. It is fabulous and also makes me bite my lip. She's growing so fast, too fast.
This week we frolicked in our kiddie pools. The large one inflated and filled with icy hose water. The tiny one acted as our hot tub. She's just fishy as me. Logging hours and hours in the water without a single complaint. You would think all this playing and movement would make her sleepy...very very sleepy (imagine warlock fingers waving in front of her half-closed eyes). You would think, right?
Not the case. Our long-lashed firecracker is awake. Several times a night...and daytime holds only 20-30 minute naps. Combine this with her insatiable "Mom, please stay within 6 inches of me at all times" and I find my eye circles darkening a tad.
Take this moment, for instance. I looked at my phone. At 9:09 she went into her crib. It is 9:41 and she is banging her crib bars and staring at the door awaiting my rescue.
I'm coming... this*is*why*this*blog*is*so*unattended.
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***I wrote this post above on Friday...the "proper" day for this weekly post. But inserting the pictures and the video and hitting "post" have alluded me since then. I do miss writing here or anywhere. I love the feeling of the words swirling into vibrant woven sentences and stitching across the screen with the steady tap of the keys. It is a comforting sound. A release for my mind. But somehow at night...around 9:30pm, when I've finally pumped (a scant 2 oz...yes, 3 nights to get just ONE bottle), and brushed my teeth, and found my way into my pajamas...I stare at this tiny computer longingly but shut my eyes instead.
Ya know what's funny? There are two times during the day that I can blog...unless I want to be a mean mommy and keep batting at Nora to stay away from the allure of this here shiny screen (this causes tears and drama and would make me write things like, "UGGHHH"). I can write during first nap (foregoing breakfast, yoga, house cleaning, sweeping up cat litter that gets stuck on Nora's hands, showering) or during her second nap (foregoing lunch, dishes, folding laundry, paying bills, etc). Okay, back to the "funny" part...the post above from this past Friday, I wrote that she went down at 9:09 and was up at 9:41. Today she went down at 9:00am and is just talking to herself. It's now 9:51 and I think I just have to go in there and get her. I mean how much "talking to herself" time can I give her?
Oh, but wait...what's this. Eye-rubbing. She's lying down with her cloth-diaper-booty in the air. She's very still.
Hmm...I'm going to keep trying to type and post and insert. I suppose sometimes I need just as much "myself" time as I can get. My mom, who helps me get this time, has been instrumental the past week at stepping in when my veins are starting to pop and my voice is getting tight. In the afternoons when Noodle doesn't nap and due to some shellfish or almonds, projecile vomits repeatedly on herself and me and the floor and my phone.
Noodle is clingy. I mean REALLY clingy. Like "must take her to the bathroom and sit her on my lap" and "hold while rinsing the dishes" clingy. It's sweet and maddening at the same time.
Okay. Here are some more of the week 44 shots. In two more days I'll have to find a way to post the week 45 shots. Time is zooming by.
*Daniel is dancing with her out of the shot. She thinks this is hysterical.
*And now our merry afternoon with Claire, Greg and Veronica.
Vera loved showing Nora her painted toes. Not too sure if Nora cared about the sparkly blue toes...but she adored playing with Veronica!
*Her "serious" face.
And to emphasize the cling factor. Here she is "enjoying" time with Claire and Daniel. I am ONLY 3 feet away.
But she warms up with some dad-flipping time.
The videos show off her dancing jig to a song from South Africa (on the African children's cd from Putamayo), taking steps with her new favorite toy (a stuffed soft bear), petting Maxwell, and one that shows those 4 teeth up close. Enjoy! Hope to write before 10 days passes.
Play THIS SONG in the background to capture the essence of the whimsical strummings that are my background music as I type this post. Ali Farka Toure's lilting "Kala" is what signaled our guests to begin sitting down prior to the start of our wedding. Always a tune that lifts my spirits.
Today the sun cast her first rays upon the mourning of a woman who radiated her own light. Auntie Dee was known to me only a few short years...but left an indelible impression on my soul. She illuminated a room. She hugged me tightly, pushed food upon my plate joyfully, encouraged marital bliss sweetly, spoke of her faith passionately, supported my parenting genuinely, and loved living fervently. The last time I saw her, she placed her hand upon mine, and said, "Be sweet to him. Always be sweet."
Only a day before her death, Daniel and I sat on the front porch at sunset. Nora asleep...her sound machine whooshing from the monitor. I asked him which marriages did he admire. Whose relationships would he wish to draw inspiration from for our own? There were few.
Both of us could only name a handful of couples. Nuptial canvases that we appreciated not for their perfection, for all art contains an errant stroke, a drop of paint askew...but because of their beauty from a distance...a steady kindness, selflessness, communication, admirable parenting, consideration of dreams, respect of differences, a love that extends beyond children and manifests in time spent enriching the union of the original duo. There are many lovers whose public faces belie the turbulence of marriage...but few who bravely expose their discord and genuinely seek to salve wounds the instant they occur.
Amidst the sprinkling of names...discussion of characteristics...and pondering of our own many shortcomings...Auntie Dee and Uncle Fred repeatedly came up. Such grace, such generosity of words and touch, such dedication to one another. Their love spoke on its own.
Will Daniel and my name also one day make it on Nora's list? What will be her childhood impressions of our romantic connection, tensions and subsequent resolutions, words, tones, and ability to speak and to be heard? Something to think about. Wanting a marriage that not only nourishes and beautifies our souls...but stirs inspiration within our daughter.
On the day Dee met Nora, our usually stingy-with-smiles-daughter, shot her a megawatt drooly grin. We all laughed. Auntie Dee showered Nora with a mixture of sing-song phrases and snuggles. Noodle knew she was a wonderful soul. She knew her love; albeit only briefly. Daniel's easy task will be to remind our family of his Godmother's hands, positive outlook, and kindness. To make sure that her light shines on.
This photo is entitled "World on her Shoulders." One of Nora's favorite games is when I take the fabric world map and billow it high up in the air, letting the colorful cloth fall softly upon her head...her hands stick out...she grasps at Mali, at Laos, at Argentina...whipping it off her head to reveal a now four- toothed grin. We drape and peek and say the names of these distant lands over and over and over again.
Nothing like a little Caspian Sea around your neck, no?
Noodle is quite the mama's helper these days. When I bring in the mail, she promptly samples it and reports back on texture, ink, and quality. When I am doing the dishes, she clings to my pant legs and bounces in approval of my skills. When I am washing her poopy diapers in the toilet, she attempts to double-check my work by grasping at the bucket, plunger, toilet lid, and soiled inserts...as I keep her at bay with my feet.
When I am folding the laundry, she unfolds it in joyful disapproval of my creases. Once I have put it away, she takes it back out, encouraging me to properly stack it. *Notice her extreme displeasure with the rate at which the stacked laundry comes out.
I must admit, her "help" makes each domestic duty stretch longer. But we're a merry team, Lulu Bell, and me. On the note of "Lulu," Daniel and I took note of all of her nicknames since the pregnancy. Here they all are in a splendid list of silliness.
Nuglett
Nuggs
Monkey Mouse
Noodle
Noo-Noos
Noodles (pronounced like a mafia wise guy)
Budda Bee--Bee
Buddas Bee-Bees
Buddha
Lulu
Lulu Bell
Time to find a swing for my co-captain. The wind tousling her hair (it's possible...I mean, look at all that hair).
On Saturday, I attended my first baby shower with dj's. Thick pulsating reggae, hip-hop, soul, and funk shook the naked and faded blue wood floors at Mara's house. Ginny's friends had come to celebrate the November arrival of her son. This autumnal boy shall soon frolic in a vibrant home filled with carved Guinean statues, turn tables, crates of old records, and a cat named Bunny.
So how does one throw a baby shower for a momma-to-be who's a reggae dj and a dancer? Well, first, you pile gifts into Ethiopian-hued bags; red, yellow, and green tissue paper gush between binkies, towels, and tiny onesies. Then, you invite people of both genders and all ages, to sip sangria and Red Stripe from green cups. Filipino flan, lumpia, rice, and salmon jockey for position amidst pita chips, hummus, salad, and fruit.
And of course....you have a chocolate fountain. I was thrilled for the second time in my life to put my fountain to use. This little number was on super-sale just in time for my 30th birthday...and got pulled from the darkness of our garage for this occasion. Skewers of dried fruit, marshmallows, creme puffs, and bananas bathed in creamy dark chocolate streams. It was a big hit with both young and old. I felt it my obligation to dip everything in...for quality assurance purposes. Daniel seemed doubtful of my need for such thorough testing and somehow, at his every turn, I was forever wiping cocoa from the corner of my lips.
This celebration came on the heels of a morning spent in the bay kayaking. We are taking a two week class and in the midst of our premier paddle through the serene canals of Naples, I challenged Daniel to a race. We dug in and paddled wildly towards the next bridge...passing pirates, duffy boats, and luxurious homes. A few feet away from certain defeat, I dug deeply on the right; I felt the kayak twist into the water...and spilled right out into the foulness. Now, it's key to mention that this water is gnarly. Boat bilge, suspicious foam bubbles, floating masses, and strong odors hover in the canal water. Yet, there I was, dumped out, kayak filled with water, chapstick floating towards a dock. I remembered my training from several years ago and managed to scamper back into my kayak after a few tries.
Slightly embarrassed and really wet, I paddled for another hour. Enjoying the serenity of slicing a feathered paddle into the water, cutting along the surface with a smooth sun glistening overhead. It was a beautiful morning filled with laughter, surprises, and a well-deserved hot shower upon returning home.
On Sunday, I found myself focusing on mindfulness and breathing in another of Sasha's yoga/meditation workshops. Mara had gifted me a lovely afternoon of peace and reflection for my upcoming birthday.
And so it is....I slid into my week. A week that holds anti-balls, Daniel's flight to visit Berkeley, dinners with Claire's girls, wedding celebrations for the Boose's, and perhaps a Rolling Stone documentary viewing at my mom's.
***Below is a photo montage from Ginny's baby shower.
