Back to normal

More or less. As AR noted, I am back on my bicycle, at least a couple days a week. I didn't miss riding as much as I thought I would. I thought driving instead of biking would send me down that deep hole where I can only see the sky, but it turns out I've been too tired to be depressed. Who knew exhaustion came with a perk!

I'm still tired, so biking is a bit of a chore, but a joyful one. Meanwhile, AR and I keep gazing wistfully into the future - she to a time when The Girl can sit in a high chair and eat avocado, and I to a time when the kids are grown and the dogs are dead.

I'm sorry, did I just say that? I think that's the less perky side of exhaustion coming through. I know I should be cherishing this time; these days will be gone in a blink, and I am told I will miss them. I'll just be happy if I can remember them.

The baby on the bus goes ...

We're back to being normal Portlanders, at least temporarily. For Judybat's birthday -- which was yesterday for those of you who are keeping track -- I gave her the ultimate gift: The right to ride her bike to work. Judy's mom needed the car to entertain the home-for-spring-break TheBoy. So I did what any self-respecting hippie would do: I strapped TheGirl to my chest and rode the bus.

She loved it. There were lights to stare at, and that soothing rocking motion, and people to observe everywhere she looked. For a few minutes, at least, the trip broke me out of my post-partum anxiety fog and made me feel like a competent parent. Look, I'm out with my child! We're taking on the world! (Then, of course, I arrived at work and immediately had to go into my closet to pump.)

This may be our new mode of transport. We have been piling the entire family into the big blue car. But if TheGirl can stand staying at daycare until 5:30 or so, she might become the tiniest bus commuter in town.

Sending out good thoughts

I usually don't talk about work here because, quite honetly, I'd rather shower you with posts about TheBoy and TheGirl. But today's news prompts this exception:

I've covered politics seriously for seven or eight years now, and I've never met anyone I openly and actively admired as much as Elizabeth Edwards. She is the real deal, an honest, passionate, strong woman who isn't, unlike her husband or most anyone else you meet in the political world, afraid to let her flaws show.

So let's hope she's not sacrificing her health for her husband's political ambitions and her own belief that he's the best person to be president. Because that would be just like her.

A cutlass and a cougar

This weekend, I experienced how the other half lives. Twice, actually.

First, I took TheBoy and TheGirl to a birthday party for one of his classmates and was reminded, yet again, that we are the white trash family of his swanky Spanish immersion private school. The gathering was at the local rich folks' athletic club. The 15 or so kids spent the first hour playing in two of those giant, blow up get-in-and-jump-around-until-you-puke contraptions that you see at carnivals and county fairs. Two of them, each the height of a small building. Then we went down to the club restaurant for a burrito bar, wings, salad, cake, ice cream, cupcakes and assorted other goodies. (For those of you who haven't ever been to a 4-year-old's birthday party, the basic menu usually looks like this: Cold cheese pizza. Cake. Go home now.) The best/worst part: The girls received Hello Kitty goody bags. The boys got plastic swords. Which led to an immediate sword fight. As I was leaving, the mother of the birthday girl apologized: "Please don't hate me for the swords." Spoken like the parent of a little girl who wanted nothing but princess toys for her big day.

The lesson: We are the hippie, peacenik parents who don't give their kids weapons and don't realize you're suppposed to wear makeup to little guy/girl birthday parties.

The other bit of culture shock came later that day, when we dumped TheBoy on a babysitter and headed over to an actual adult dinner party. Our host was a lovely college friend of Judy's who hunts and fishes when she's not saving the world. Three or four times a year, she invites her friends over and serves all the stuff she's caught. On the menu this time: Lots of Maker's Mark, a few vegetarian-friendly salads and meat. Lots of meat. Goose, deer, crab, salmon, the best lamb I've ever tasted and cougar. Yes, cougar. Like the cat. Meow.

The lesson: Adults without children do have more fun. At least, fun with other adults. And ... cougar tastes a lot like groundbeef.

(Which makes me think of an A1 commercial gone bad: "It's not chopped steak, it's chopped house cat.")

Some good news

This post is for my mom, who likes to know what's going on in my life, yet is afflicted with a daughter who doesn't always like to volunteer information. I'm like some complicated combination lock, and only the right questions asked at the right time will open me up, but she never knows what to ask or when to ask it.

So here's something good that happened that I'm a little embarrassed to talk about, but it would please my mom to hear:

As some of you know, I've been teaching a basic photography class in the fine art department of a local community college. This was going to be the last quarter I taught there, because I'm working three days at the local newspaper and I want to spend the other two at home with The Girl while she's still a Little Bit. I love teaching the class, but I figured it's just as well, because they're in the midst of changing the course description and they don't really know what to do with it. (The class was designed years ago before digital photography changed everything and it doesn't really fit in with the current curriculum.)

So the other day, I ran into one of the teachers in the department who's always been a great help to me, and she asked - her eyes wide with excitement - if I'd heard about my class. "It's an A-list class now!" she told me. "That's great!" I replied. "You don't have any idea what that means, do you?" she said. "Not a clue," I answered.

It turns out that the class is now designated an academic class, which means that even though it's a studio class, non-arts majors can take it for a full credit, where before they would have had to compliment it with an art history class, or something like that. Kind of like eating rice with your beans to get a full protein, I guess. Anyway, it seems that this is a precedent-setting move for the department, which has been looking for ways to attract non-majors, and the cool part is that they were able to get this designation using a syllabus I wrote for a class proposal I pitched in hopes of getting more work, (back before I landed the gig at the newspaper and we had another kid.) So when this teacher asked me if I'd heard about my class, she meant MY class.

Now, Mom - you don't have to call to tell me you read what I wrote; that's what comments are for. And let's not forget this post a couple months from now when I've forgotten your birthday.

The first day

TheGirl survived her first day of day care just fine, although she didn't eat much and was too excited at all the new stimulation to sleep. I managed not to cry when I dropped her off, or when I left after her afternoon feeding. So consider it a success for everyone!

We had so much fun, TheGirl woke up this morning at 4:30, ready for the new day to begin.

This is our life

The past 24 hours ...

Friday, 6 p.m. Neighborhood friends arrive for shabbat dinner and movie night. Everyone involved enjoys meatless meatball subs, except for TheBoy, who announces that even though they don't actually contain any animal, he's not eating anything called "meat." Everyone involved enjoys the repeat showing of "The Incredibles," except TheGirl, who decides screaming is preferable to superheroes and awesome Pixar animation.

Friday 9:15 p.m. Just after brushing his teeth, TheBoy announces "I'm hungry." Whining version of said phrase is heard throughout the Little Green House for the next 45 minutes, until TheBoy collapses into a deep, coma-like sleep.

Friday 10 p.m. TheGirl finishes her evening feeding by collapsing into a deep, coma-like sleep.

Friday 10:05 p.m. TheGirl awakens and procedes to gnaw on her own fist for a good 10 minutes.

Friday 10:35 p.m. AnnaRay and Judybat finish another episode of "Smallville," Season 4 on the DVD player. Verdict: Craptastic fun. The lights go off.

Saturday Midnight TheBoy awakens from his deep, coma-like sleep.

Saturday 1 a.m. TheBoy awakens again.

Saturday 2 a.m. Ditto.

Saturday 3:40 a.m. TheGirl stirs. AnnaRay changes her diaper and takes her to the upstairs guestroom, for 30 minutes of feeding and muted "Sportscenter." Neither party complains.

Saturday 4 a.m. TheBoy awakens yet again.

Saturday 4:15 a.m. AnnaRaya awakens to discover she's fallen asleep, still propped up on one elbow, with TheGirl still sucking away -- in her sleep.

Saturday 7:15 a.m. TheGirl wakes up. So does TheBoy, who toddles upstairs. Thus commences almost two hours of TV watching. The lineup: "Thomas the Tank Engine." "Sesame Street." "Dora the Explorer." All involved learn valuable lessons about sharing, being nice and other goody-good stuff.

Saturday 9 a.m. Judybat stumbles upstairs to ask, "Have you been watching TV for two hours?"

Saturday 10 a.m.. Lunch with friends. Except for one 15-minute trip to the bathroom, TheBoy behaves, mostly because he's engrossed with a steel wrench we discovered in the street outside the house. TheGirl sleeps through brunch.

Saturday 12:15 p.m. While TheGirl eats, TheBoy enjoys a game of Trouble and two pre-nap stories.

Saturday 12:20 p.m. With TheBoy down for a nap, AnnaRay and Judybat have the same thought: Sleeeeeeep. The problem: Someone must stay up with TheGirl. A great debate ensues. AnnaRay loses when Judybat falls asleep first.

Saturday 12:21 p.m. AnnaRay harrumphs out of the house, walks to the coffee shop and orders a tuna melt and decaf. That'll show her. She spends the meal trading smiles with TheGirl, and everything suddenly seems much better.

Saturday 3 p.m. The family attends a parks and rec basketball game for the 11-year-old next door, otherwise known as the girl TheBoy will marry. Many, many shots are missed. TheGirl eats yet again.

Saturday 4:30 p.m. The family visits a fine local establishment hoping to buy TheBoy new rain boots. There are no boots to be had. Apparently, it's spring. As if that will stop the rain.

Saturday 5 p.m. The family eats Mexican. TheGirl stays happy, as long as Judybat holds her. TheBoy must be force fed his beans and rice with reminders of the Friday night feeding debacle.

Saturday 5:30 p.m. TheBoy and Annaray walk the dogs. Or rather, the dogs pull AnnaRay while TheBoy walks 30 paces behind, talking to himself and fighting make believe bad guys with a stick he found.

Saturday 6 p.m. The family gathers on the bed for a little quality tickle time. The fun ends when TheBoy playfully tries to smother Judybat with a pillow.


That's our life. Not bad. A little tiring. But only four hours 'til bedtime!