The Zog Blog

Thank you all so much for your warm wishes, nice comments, and memories of my mother. They really mean a lot to me.

I was worried that I’d really miss fall this year. (It was nonexistent in LA, and I hated that.) I needn’t have worried, though. While fall here in Monterey isn’t as pronounced or beautiful as New England’s, it’s still quite lovely. Leaves on some of the trees do turn colors and fall, and the air is easily as cool and crisp as any New England day. For the moment, the weather is still overwhelmingly sunny, clear, and beautiful. But we did have our first rainstorm last week.

It was Jacob’s first since he’s been up and mobile and all. Our new friends Libby and Allison were over, and Libby (who is 2) showed Jacob how to stomp in puddles.

He really, really liked both the rain and the stomping.

In other news, we’re starting to make plans for our trip back East during the winter holidays. We’re hoping to spend time in Boston, Sturbridge, Providence, and Maine. Anyone want to get together?

Ten years ago today, my mother died. As the years go by, my memories of my mother as a separate person, as Deborah Thomas, are fading. I’m left with impressions, with the remembered aura of snuggling with her, with emotional residues of the way she made me feel. It is terrible and painful to lose her in this way, too.

Telling and hearing stories about my mother seems to help. The stories act as roots, give me something to grasp, to struggle with, to help me know who she might have been. I hope that if you knew her, you’ll share a story with me in the comments, email, or some other way.

I remember her in a rust-colored fair isle sweater and 70s polyester blue slacks, snuggling me and rocking me when I was upset about something. The wool was scratchy, her hands were small and cool as they stroked the hair on my forehead. She hummed to me, and made me feel like we were the only people in the world.

I remember her sitting in our living room knitting things for me and my brother. Hats and mittens out of scratchy acrylic yarn, with a string attaching one mitten to the other. I remember her excitement once when she got some “pure wool”, what I know now to be a fairly rough wool/mohair blend. She made a free-style sweater out of it that I still have.

I remember her good-naturedly telling us we could cook our own dinner, as we good-naturedly ribbed her about her “cornflake baked chicken”. She was a terrible cook, with the exception of fried fish, lobster stew, and piecrust.

I remember her strange combination of guilt and joy when she bought a fancy dress for the Christmas party at my father’s work. It’s the only time I remember her buying clothes for herself. It was very in style at the time, in the mid 80s. It was royal blue satin flecked with kelly green, and it looked fantastic on her.

I remembered her quiet happiness when we left our house in Woolwich to move closer to her family in Phippsburg.

I remember going to the beach with her, when we were all very young. My brother and I (and sometimes the neighbor kids) would play in the sand and the waves while she rubbed olive oil or sun-oil that smelled like coconut on her skin and baked in the sun to get tan.

I remember her returning from her brother’s funeral, red-eyed, in a tan linen skirt, and going immediately to her room. My brother and I played with my dad’s relatives. It’s one of the only times I remember her really crying.

I remember her and my dad throwing small parties at our house in Woolwich, AC/DC blaring out of my dad’s ancient stereo while us kids lip-synced and danced. She’d dance with us sometimes, too, as she cooked or drank her beer or whatever. She loved to dance, but my father hated to.

I remember that they fought over my dad drinking with one of his friends, once. She stormed out the front door and kicked a bucket across the lawn and ten minutes later, took me and my brother to my grandma’s house so that we wouldn’t be around when they had the fight.

I remember her rocking and humming and soothing the babies she cared for in our home. She loved all of the children she cared for, but especially the babies. She stroked their small heads, danced around with them, sang to them. She seemed sad when they left, every day.

I remember one afternoon in Phippsburg. I was perhaps 12 or 13 and I was getting ready to go out for the afternoon. I asked her if I looked okay, and she put down her coffee and cried a little bit and told me that she knew some daughters and mothers stopped getting along when the daughter became a teenager, and could we please never do that. We hugged, and I said of course we would never fight, and I would always love her and she was my mother. It totally baffled me. I understand it, now.

I remember that she drank gallons and gallons of black coffee. She taunted my father for creaming and sugaring his.

I remember how happy she was when, later in our lives, she started working for LL Bean. She kept spiral-bound notebooks of notes and thoughts about her job, things she wanted to do, things she learned. I think I remember her taking classes of some kind through them, but I don’t really trust this memory.

I remember driving with her to pick up my brother from Junior High and going to the humane society to get a puppy. We got a black lab mix, named him Bryer, and he was a wonderful family dog. During the ride home, my brother and I both sat in the back seat of our Subaru station wagon (“The blueberry”, she called it) giggling and laughing with the puppy and his slobbery kisses. I remember seeing her repeatedly look at us through the rearview mirror and smiling.

I remember her never questioning my choice to go to college in Los Angeles, my conversion to Judaism, my choice of boyfriends. I don’t know why she never second-guessed the big things, but it’s one of the many parenting choices she made for which I’m grateful.

I remember how like a different person she was by the time I could get back home, my senior year of college. I remember her thin, gaunt face and hands, her yellow eyes, her enormous bloated stomach. I remember holding her hand when they finally inserted a catheter to keep her comfortable. I remember knowing the night she was going to die, and going home instead of seeing her off. It’s the only regret of my life. It shames me.

I remember her cackling and drumming her feet on the floor in glee when she’d win at card games with our family, especially when she beat her brothers.

I remember hanging around her mother’s house. She and her mother and sister would gab, drink coffee, sometimes smoke, make fun of the “outta staters” buying up all of the land in our town, play cards, cook, bustle. It was ordinary, we were all loved, nothing could ever happen to change it.

But something did. I miss you, mom. I love you.

Of course we had a lot of fun with Jacob’s second Halloween. Trick-or-treating still seemed like too much for him, but on Saturday we had a great party with lots of other families, old friends and new. Adults were supposed to dress up as tv characters. Jon was Jamie from the show Mythbusters, and I wimped out and dressed up as a Charlie’s Angel after my chosen costume didn’t come together nicely.

Jacob dressed up as a bug.

Although he enjoyed the costume, and really enjoyed having so many other babies around, Jacob’s favorite part of the party were the cupcakes.

(Was there ever any doubt, really, given that he’s our child?)

We had fun on Halloween itself, too. During the day Jacob got to play around with Asher and terrorize Stacy and Neil’s back yard.

Despite Pebble Beach being mostly a retirement community, we did get 15 or so trick-or-treaters. Before they made off with all of our candy, though, Jacob grabbed some for himself. He seemed to like it!

Now it’s November and rainy season is apparently upon us. Stay tuned for Jacob’s first rain storm!

Son, I love you more than words can say. Nevertheless, here are ten things that I really wish you’d hurry up and learn.

1. Triscuits are not an interior design element.
2. Egg salad is not a fashion accessory.
3. When you are so exhausted you can no longer walk, the solution is not ‘try to nurse, talk, and do acrobatics on the bed all at the same time’.
4. The solution is to cuddle up with me and sleep.
5. Water bottle caps are not food.
6. The world will not end if you stop smearing the floor with yogurt.
7. I neither desire nor require assistance when cleaning your ass.
8. Nursing is, in fact, a stationary activity.
9. This laptop does not belong to you.
10. I am never trying to poison you.

Love,

Mom.

Jacob has come down with a bit of a head cold, his first since he was about 4 months old.

And it’s the weirdest thing. We’re treating this cold like he’s a big kid, basically. OJ and chicken soup, lots of fluids and rest, and Robitussin. Hallelujah, a decongestant! No more sleepless nights and trying to force saline drops up a squirming, screaming baby’s nose.

It’s this, more than the walking and talking, more even than the haircut, that’s made me realize we don’t have a baby anymore.

That “first word” milestone is trickier than it seems. While I was pregnant with Jacob, I indulged in daydreams of my adorable little boy looking up at me with big blue eyes and an unruly mop of red curls, saying a perfectly-formed “Ma ma!” and smiling.

Of course, it turns out he needs to practice at language like everything else. And to complicate matters, we’ve been signing with Jacob and he uses that about half the time. So by some metrics, his first “word” was probably the sign for ‘more’; by others, the excited “Meh!” for me/milk/nursing/food and “Deh!” for Jon/wanting something/wanting to know what something is.

If we cut the confusion, though, and declare “first word” to mean “first verbal utterance that sounds very much like an adult”, he’s just gotten there recently. At the dinner table the other night, Jon and I realized that Jacob has gotten quite articulate at “No”. He even gets the O sound right. “Jacob, would you like this food?” “No!” “That food?” “No!” “To get down?” “No!”

…and on and on. Yup, you read that right. Our kid’s first real word is No. I suppose it could be worse–Jon’s first words were apparently “Me first!”–but something tells me that our parenting ride is not going to get any easier.

At least he’s a helpful boy, too.

(I swear to God that was not staged in any way.)

Jacob has been a very busy bee. He got his first real haircut, in a barbershop no less. It was very Normal Rockwell. He seems to go faster, now that he’s not weighed down by his locks.

He attended the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival:

He got all the decorations when we took down the sukkah:

And he came with us on our anniversary hike:

And how are we? We’re doing well. The sale on our land in Phippsburg closed and financial matters are good again, we had a great time visiting friends in Half Moon Bay for their Pumpkin Festival, we had a truly lovely anniversary hiking around Point Lobos, we’ve had a good and busy week.

It’s hard to overstate the beauty of Point Lobos.

(That’s Pebble Beach in the distance, by the way. Have I mentioned before how lucky I feel to live here?)

This is a pretty rural area, all things considered, and I’ve gotten used to seeing seals, sea otters, and deer on my morning runs. While hiking in Point Lobos, though, we saw a deer closer than I’ve ever gotten around our house. It was literally 8 feet from us.

Did we mention we love visitors? :)

We’re smack dab in the middle of the Jewish harvest festival of Sukkot. Formal practice of this 8 day holiday includes building a “fragile hut” in one’s yard and “dwelling” in it, and waving around a collection of greenery called a lulav and smelling the citrusy scent of an etrog. (Informally, one simply spends 8 days celebrating the fullness of the season by eating well and spending time with family. It’s my favorite holiday.)

This year, our sukkah wound up being a slightly cheesy PVC-and-vinyl affair, but the decorations are nice and we’ve still enjoyed it. Jacob is having a lot of fun playing around with the lulav and etrog.

Today’s game was “toss the etrog”, and is played thusly: First, take the etrog and hold it high in the air above your head.

Then, throw the etrog on the ground. Lean down close and wave bye-bye at it a few times (“buh buh!”). Pick up the etrog. Repeat. It’s quite a large leap from one year ago, during his first Sukkot:

I haven’t written in a few days because there’s been no time in the evenings. We had a wonderful visit with friends this weekend, but for the past few days Jacob has started refusing bedtime again. We had associated this problem with our recent night-weaning (ahhhh blissful sleep), but reading through the archives here I see that perhaps it is associated with teething, instead? I have no idea. Anyway, tonight we’re trying something different so we’ll see.

We went to the pediatrician yesterday for our 12-month wellness visit, and Jacob got a clean bill of health. I was obsessed with his height and weight for the longest time, to make sure he was growing, but this time I actually forgot until Jon asked. (For the record, 31.5 inches tall and 23 pounds.) Generally, I’m a lot more relaxed these days about Jacob and his health. It’s nice. It lets me spend more time simply enjoying our days together.

Time flows so differently now that we have a child, now that I stay home with him, now that we’re not teenagers. No big events and sweeping changes, anymore. Just the quiet rhythm of domesticity, of new words spoken and bread baked and bumps soothed. Our nights are also quiet now, not filled with friends or restaurants or dancing or raucous video game nights. Just us, perhaps a fire, some television, perhaps some knitting or web-surfing or programming. Just us, stretching out into the few hours we get together each night after baby is sleeping, doing grown-up things, reveling in being an adult.

I know that the 25-year-old me would have a hard time believing that this is fulfilling, or even enjoyable. It’s a testament to how much I’ve changed, I suppose.

*****

I had the chance yesterday to marvel once more at this paradise we’ve come to. We live where the vegetables come from, and boy are we enjoying it.

That’s my haul from the local farmers’ market yesterday. Heirloom everything, fresh cranberry beans, the most amazing lettuces, fresh sorrel, fresh baby collards and Russian kale… it’s unbelievable and I feel so lucky.

I hope you are all well, and enjoying your own time of bounty and happiness.

In celebration of the imminent closing on the land we’re selling in Maine, we had steak tonight for the first time in a couple of months. Jacob, of course, wanted to know what this INCREDIBLY EXCITING THING was all about, and pined at the door.

I don’t know what exactly he’d do with fiery ashes, but I don’t want to find out, either.

In very happy news, we attended our first “Music Together” class today. It was a rousing success. Jacob had fun with the instruments and seemed to good-naturedly tolerate being swung around in time to our swinging, and I got to see 8 other mothers who may be as stir-crazy as I am during the day. ;-) The class goes on for 12 weeks, so I’m very hopeful about meeting other people through it.

Jon is enjoying his job, and all in all our life is so very domestic that I have trouble writing about it without yawning. It’s good, though. Just not action-packed, or anything. And with that, I’m off to bed!

Bizarre artifact of Mom’s death #37: I pretty much can’t listen to a Jim Croce song without tearing up. I have no idea why. They just all remind me of her in a very sad way.

*****

It’s Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. This is a joyous and thoughtful holiday, as we prepare for Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. We dip apples in honey and generally eat sweet foods, wishing a sweet year on one another.

I made the challah bread extra sweet with more honey, and figured out an ingenious way to keep Jacob out of my hair while I shaped the dough (if I do say so myself).

He really enjoyed watching what I was doing, and it kept him totally quiet. I have high hopes of making challah every week, so I think we’ll be trying this again.

It’s been a wonderful holiday so far. Today was warm (70 degrees) and sunny, and Jacob had fun playing on the deck while Jon and I had our morning coffee.

Services at the synagogue here start at the very civilized hour of 10:30am (vs. 8:00am back in Boston), so it looks like we’ll be having lots of nice, relaxed Saturday mornings. Ahhh, the way life should be. :)

A good and sweet year to all of you!

Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you: Is there anything in this world more cute than a toddler in feetie pajamas?

I didn’t think so. (Whenever Jacob finds something on the ground, he picks it up, holds it as high in the air as he can manage, and stomps around loudly proclaiming his prowess to the world. It’s cute, but strange.)

Jon is getting settled at NPS, and I’m getting settled here, I suppose. The sleep situation has improved, thank goodness. It looks like he was (a) teething, (b) eating the wrong kinds of foods before bed, and (c) needed a new bedtime routine. Now that (b) and (c) are taken care of, he’s falling asleep much more easily. I expect the night wakings will settle down again once (a) is in a lull. Three of his molars are now through the gum, and the fourth looks to be any day.

I keep finding myself thinking about MITRE, the people I left there, the work I passed along. How is it going? Is my government counterpart still enjoying his promotion? Are my direct reports still doing well? As much as I’m thrilled to pieces that we’ve been able to make my staying home work out financially, it’s taking a little while to let go of my old identity. I shouldn’t be surprised by that–I gave them 10 years of my life and threw myself into my work–but I am. It feels a little like I’ve lost my favorite pair of slippers or sweat pants–there’s nothing comfortable to slip into anymore!

Full-time motherhood is more daunting this time around (vs. the first 8 months of Jacob’s life, before I went back to work). Now that he’s a toddler, he’s coming everywhere I go, eating everything I eat, listening to every word I say, and comprehending most everything I do. It’s more exhausting now: When he was 2 months old, if I was having a bad day I could pretty much just stick him in my lap, nurse him, and surf the internet all day. Not so much an option anymore, that. It’s also just plain scarier: It’s much more clear, now, that I’m helping shape a person. He’s clearly learning about the world and how to relate to it through my example, so I’d better make it a damn good example.

I feel a little mean saying this, but it’s also more rewarding this time around. As much as I really could (and did!) sit around all day smelling that heady new-baby smell and playing with his little toes, it’s a lot more fun to watch him figure out his shape-sorter puzzle or play peek-a-boo with him (at his urging!) or hear him say “bye bye mom!” (“buh buh ma!”) 7,000 times as he steps in and out of the house.

So, yeah. We’re settling in. Life is good here. I hope it’s good where you are, too.

This was our last weekend before Jon goes back to work and our idyllic vacation-life ends. It was a really great weekend. Jacob learned how to use chopsticks:

We went to a park, and swung on swings, and chased dogs.

Today, we saw some friends up in San Jose and had fun shopping. We accomplished a lot, too–the garage is mostly organized, nearly all of the art and drapes are hung, all of the boxes are unpacked, and so forth. The house, and life, is really coming together.

We like it here, so far. The house we’re renting, as I’ve said before, is extremely nice inside and out. As our neighbors assured us it would, the fog seems to be lifting and we’re treated to sunny, 65-degree weather every day. It’s practically beating down our door and dragging us out to be active. Jacob is a joy to be around, getting him to bed seems to be going better (keep your fingers crossed for us), and I’ve found a “Stroller Strides” exercise class that might help me meet some other moms around here. I hope it continues to be as pleasant once Jon begins work.

See you on the other side!

Jacob’s first two molars popped through the surface today. (Right top and bottom first molars.) Now, his runny nose and fever haven’t subsided and he’s got two painful-looking lumps on the other side of his mouth, so I bet we’re not done with them. But this does make me feel a little better about all of our recent sleep problems.

(Jacob instructs the octopus on proper teething technique. Chiara, this one’s for you.)

And remember how obsessed I was with Indian food when I was pregnant? Turns out, Indian food is a Jacob favorite. We got take-out tonight for the first time here, and he crammed that little mouth full of korma, samosa, dal, naan, and rice just as fast as his fists would go. It was unbelievably cute. Turns out, he really is made out of Indian food and milkshakes!

*****

In the interest of full disclosure, the sunny view of the cypress trees I showed you yesterday is not typical. When I wake up, this is what the trees usually look like:

Often by later in the day, the fog has burned off, but truly sunny days have been rare so far–I think we’ve seen 4. Being a huge fan of cool, gray days, I couldn’t be happier.

A huge thank-you to those who contacted me with suggestions for Jacob’s sleep. Tonight, Jon is trying the strategy of reading several more books than usual to Jacob, in the hopes of lulling Jacob to sleep with reading. We’ll see how it works!

One of the big downsides to our new house is that it doesn’t have a back yard for Jacob to play in: the house is built on a very steep hill, so there’s nothing but a very steep grade with some baby redwoods behind it. It does have a back deck, however, that’s completely enclosed and utterly baby-proofed:

So, basically just a big rectangle with fairly high sides (4.5 feet?) and no egress except back into the house. One of the other things that makes up for the lack of back yard is the view off of said deck.

On the other side of those trees? The Pacific Ocean.

During the day, when we’re on this floor I just leave the sliding doors open and let Jacob run around out there. He loves going in and out of the house, and simply walking back and forth the maybe 12 feet of length the deck gives him. Seems kind of dull to me, but hey! Whatever keeps him happy.

We’re blazing through our to-do lists this week, thank God. We now officially live here in CA, and even have license plates to prove it. Shelves have been erected, stuff put on them, and the downstairs tv room/office is nearly complete. I’m aaaalmost ready to take pictures of the house to share, for those interested.

*****

Living with a toddler is kind of like living with an insane laboratory scientist. Exchange of the day:

[Jacob rushes up to where I'm seated on the couch, excitedly pointing at the coaster under my water glass.] “Da! Da! Da!” (Translation: “That”, as in, “Give me that”)

Me, to Jacob: “You want my coaster?”

[Jacob nods vigorously, loses his balance, sits down, still nodding.]

I give Jacob the coaster, and he wanders away with it, giggling. A few minutes elapse.

[Jacob rushes up to where I'm seated on the couch, excitedly pointing at the votive candle holder next to me.] “Da! Da! Da!”

I give him a strange look and the candle holder. He wanders away with it, giggling. A few more minutes elapse.

[Jacob rushes up to where I'm seated on the couch, excitedly pointing at some little bits of plastic on the end table.] “Da! Da! Da!”

Me, to Jacob: “You want these?” [I point at the plastic.]

He nods vigorously again, I give him the plastic, he happily wanders away.

I’m not sure I want to know what he was doing with a coaster, votive holder, and some random pieces of plastic, but I do admit to some small bit of curiosity.

*****

Good night, all. (And if you still have suggestions for bedtime strategies, keep ‘em coming!)