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| Shoreline |
I think on average three or four times each day about what it would take for us to move to a place that has fewer people and more open and wilder places. Like Montana, for instance. Or Colorado. Or Wyoming.
I wonder how our children might grow up differently, removed from the rat race that is the Silicon Valley, away from anxieties about academic achievement and material prosperity.
I dream about waking up to a view of the mountains and nothing else, and I fantasize about running at night under a vast sky, pummeled by stars which I now glimpse faintly through the glare of lamps that light our pleasant suburban neighborhood.
And yet. Like falling in love with someone you've known for years whose quiet humanity and sense of humor slowly assume relief after many unremarkable encounters, I find myself falling in love, ever so imperceptibly, with the corner of earth in which we find ourselves. I'd still love to move to Montana eventually, but for now, being here feels right, if not exactly perfect.
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| she carries swaddled babies everywhere |
A book I just started about camping in Northern California notes that ninety-five percent of American vacationers use only five percent of the country's available recreation areas. That means five percent use the other ninety-five percent.
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| that pile of sticks provided endless entertainment |
Some day I'd like us to belong to the five percent.
Though we
force take our children outside weekly, most of our hikes take us to places with easy access to densely populated areas; we've yet to venture into the real wilderness. Yet it never fails to surprise me how few other children we meet on many of those walks. It breaks my heart that in the places where children can find the most creative kinds of play, the people we most often encounter are joggers and retirees.
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| yup, she's shooting |
The relative absence of kids playing outside is probably a big reason why often, in the hour before we head outdoors, Sava complains that he'd rather stay home or that he wants to go to a "play park" rather than a "nature park." Still, we've never gone on a hike from which either kid returned less than elated, and spending time outdoors together has always been the most relaxing part of our week. No matter how harrowing the rush hour before we leave--the frenzied packing of lunches to be eaten under an open sky, the making sure that everyone has three changes of clothes, two hats, and five jackets (alright, I exaggerate), the torturous choosing of books for the road that both kids would enjoy hearing but neither would clamor to
hold--despite all that, spending time outside always brings back the highest dividends (whatever that means). It is just so damn worth it.
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| and here, she had just finished singing Freres Jacques to an elderly lady passing by; unsolicited, of course |
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Because of continuous illness on the part of one or another kid in the past ten days, our outings at times assumed a gendered and partial aspect. In the photos above, Raya and I enjoyed a morning by ourselves at Mountain View's Shoreline. A day later, when Sava stopped throwing up and we decreed that riding a stroller under a bright sun would be a better way to spend a morning than rolling on the couch, we all headed to the Palo Alto Baylands. Today, we continued the marshy theme with a trip to the Alviso Marina, from which photos in the next post.
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| Palo Alto Baylands |
At the Baylands, the kids (the boys especially) enjoyed a front-row view of airplanes landing and taking off on average every three or four minutes at the Palo Alto Airport (yes, plenty of rich people flying their little machines around here).
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| watching airplanes |
Sava, who had not eaten almost anything in about four days, assumed color in his cheeks and momentarily quit moaning about how nauseated and tired he still felt (which he did, indeed, poor thing).
We watched an egret stalk and catch a little something for morning snack.
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| egret stalking his prey |
And I honed my photography skills on birds of every ilk.
My favorite part of these regular walks?
Out in the open, there are no toys. An essay I read recently argues that the biggest source of tension between siblings is not the struggle for parental attention but the battle over possessions. Kids want stuff, and, more often than not, they are not happy to share their stuff with their sibling(s).
Sava is as gracious an older brother as we could ever have wished for, and yet we can't pay him enough to make him share a particular drum with his sister or to convince him to give her that harmonica.
Outside, he'll keep a steadfast hold on the perfect walking stick he's found, but he'll also happily--always--help Raya find her own stick. He'll show her birds, lead her to flowers, and coax her to touch a ladybug which he is too "ticklish" to touch himself.
He'll urge her to climb stuff, he'll chase her down paths, and, except for refusing to yield his cherished front seat in the stroller, he'll pretty much act as the perfect brother, and she'll easily reciprocate.
It's beautiful, really, and testimony to how little kids need to make them happy.
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Stuff They Say
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| what do you say? deal? |
At dinner tonight, apropos of nothing, Sava:
For sure I'm not going to be a president, mommy.
Oh, how come?
Well, 'cause I might get shot.
President's day just passed here, and in school Sava learned about Lincoln and JF Kennedy. He's got a risk-averse personality, clearly.
:::
Raya loves to repeat whatever she hears, in an out of context, and she pretty much never does
not talk. A few days ago, whenever she had nothing else to say, she kept repeating:
I really didn't mean to but I never mind!
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Picture above reminds me that it's been a long few months since we've posted updates on the hemangioma. We saw Raya's dermatologist at UCSF this past week, and she was stunned, as were all of the nurses and doctors who have known her since she was two weeks old, to witness the little person Raya has become since they last saw her in the summer. Within ten minutes of being in the office, she had a bevy of medical professionals crowding around her, laughing through tears at her gift for comedy.
When the doctor first came in, the first thing Raya said was:
Can I please have some stickers?
When the doctor explained that stickers would be forthcoming after her check-up and then said in a mock-serious voice to Raya,
Well, young lady, what can I do for you?, Raya fired right back at her:
BLUE!,
as in "blue stickers." At this point, her brother nearly collapsed on the floor with laughter.
Long story short, there is no development on the hemangioma. We will try to wean her slowly from the propranolol and, if that works, we will probably try a topical medicine to lighten the remaining red color; then, depending on how that goes, we'll probably do laser before she begins Kindergarten.
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Sava's best friend at school is a girl with whom he plays every single day. He says that he wants to marry her, and apparently, the feelings are mutual at this point in their lives (lucky ducks).
While looking at some Valentine's stickers from Trader Joe's the other day, he said in his typical pensive voice:
One of these stickers makes me really think about N.--"I fell in love at Trader Joe's"--'cause I feel like marrying N for real.
Just as in the case of his dad, any woman would be
so lucky to have him.
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In the course of familial illness, our beloved nanny fell sick as well. When Rado told Raya in the morning that Neva had the flu and would not be coming, Raya ran downstairs, shouting:
Hey, mommy! Neva is sick 'cause she played the flute and now she's sick!
Sister may not know what "flu" is, but she certainly has a knack for fabricating connections to the random things she does know. She'll make a good English major.
:::
Like most representatives of the male species, Sava is interested in all things military; the other day, apropos of nothing apparent:
Hey, mommy, do you know that very rarely, it's never happened, but battles can be a tie?
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| yes, it was perfectly HOT for two days this week |
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Raya is not potty-trained, but she shows sporadic interest in the potty. She is also confused about the function of underwear and goes through short-lasting phases of fascination with underpants. While Rado was changing her diaper the other night, her bare bottom exposed to the upstairs elements, I overheard her shouting (because, really, the girl never just speaks; shouting is her modus operandi):
Tati, I need to make a pee-pee! I need some underwear!
I looked at Rado, and I knew he'd decided that it was not worth explaining to her that she did
not need underwear in order to go make a pee. Quite the opposite. He knew she'd argue with him if he tried to give a reasonable explanation.
:::
Sitting in her tub, getting a bath a week or so ago, she was also overheard to say (shout, that is):
Look at my knees! They are perfect!
Ten seconds later:
Look, my elbows are pretty perfect, too!!
To which Rado replied that it's a good thing our daughter has high self-esteem. Right?
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Happy new week, everyone.
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