NSJ

We spent a lovely Saturday over at the Jain’s house splashing around in the pool. Niko hasn’t quite picked up on cause and effect yet. He splashes with abandon, but is very taken aback by all the water that ends up on his face. Raj and Suzanne’s kids (Sabrina, Sophia, and even baby Derek)  are total fish so I hope Niko was paying attention.

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Nicholas has entered the “caveman stone tools” phase of infant development. If you give him something, regardless of what it is, he first bangs it against whatever is close, and then throws it to see what it sounds like when it lands. After watching him for awhile, I realized this isn’t such a bad way to scope something out. The world becomes one big percussion section. Most things hat make cool noises when you bang or drop them are good. Objects that don’t? Probably lame and not worth your time. For example, an iPod makes really neat noises when banged and rattles nicely when it hits the tile floor. It’s a keeper. Brussel Sprouts? Lame squishy like sound when banged. Boring soft padding noise when dropped. Lame.

I’m not sure why everybody is so impressed that early man developed stone tools. I think all that happened was they saw one of their children banging their rock rattle on the cave floor. Boom. Stone tools.

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Mother’s Day has always made me a bit sad. As a child, having no car, no ability to drive, no job and therefore no money, Meg and I relied on my dad to get the job done. But my dad isn’t very good at stuff like that so we often wouldn’t have anything to give our mom. We’d try and cook or make her things but we never felt these gifts were adequate for the amount of work, time, effort and love she put into being a mother.

After my first round of miscarriages, I began to all-out dread the holiday. I was finally able to honor my mom appropriately, but now it became a day from which I was excluded. I desperately wanted to be included in the celebration but despite Scott and my best attempts, four Mother’s Days came and went without an invitation.

I am now finally a mother. I could not love being a mother more. Nicholas is the light of my life. But I am still not looking forward to Mother’s Day. What is it then? I think it is because I know that there are other women out there that feel the way I felt. Even though I now have the title of Mother, many other “mothers” do not. I have never liked exclusion – being part of it or witnessing it. Therefore, in an attempt to enjoy this day and get over my bitterness, I would like to recognize all of those women who are mothers in one way or another yet may feel excluded from this day: birth mothers, foster mothers, step mothers, mothers-in-waiting, women childless not by choice, etc. You are all mothers in your own right and deserve to be celebrated as well.

Our birth mother is a phenomenal woman. Despite her young age, she demonstrated a bravery, selflessness and wisdom that many will never even come close to exhibiting. Out of love alone for her child, she chose to keep her baby, carry him to term, give birth to him and then place him in our home and allow Scott and I to raise him. I can not think of a more motherly act.

Mary is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She is passionate about the environment and in the sweetest and most unassuming way really gets you to change your behaviors accordingly. Although I am not yet a vegetarian, I am constantly saying to myself “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” in that order. She has made me a better person.

Today, Mary, I would like to honor you. I thank you for finally inviting me to be a part of the Mother’s Day club at the sacrifice of your own full participation in it. But you are a mother too, you are Niko’s birth mother, and we all love you.

Thank you for your unbelievable gift and happy Mother’s Day. And a happy Mother’s Day to ALL of you other mothers out there as well.

Sunday afternoons are for sitting in the backyard on a blanket.

Roan, Chris, and Sai came by for some evening snacks last weekend. Roan seemed to understand whatever language Niko is speaking. I’m extremely disappointed we haven’t cracked that code yet. It would be very helpful to know what the heck the kid is saying. Especially when he is upset about something. Knowing if he is saying, “I AM SO HUNGRY I MIGHT PASS OUT,” or “MY POOPY DIAPER IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE,” or, “WOW, THESE LUNGS REALLY WORK WELL,” could make a huge difference. Don’t give me that “teach the kid sign language” nauseating parental over-achievement bit. I spent four years in French class and have trouble reading the menu at Au Bon Pain, so I have no hope of learning sign language.

I was happy to see I wasn’t alone in my fear of Barney. Both Niko and Roan seemed unnerved by the crazy singing dinosaur. That guy freaks me out. Nobody can be that happy. Something just ain’t right with him.

Despite a very impassioned and reasonable argument for zoos in Martel’s Life of Pie, neither Jul nor I are big fans of them. Regardless, much like Red Lobster, you have to go every couple years to remind yourself it isn’t like the pictures. Jul, Lynn, Shan, and the boys headed up to SF last week to the zoo. The company was great, but the zoo was, well, a zoo.

More photos…

2005 was the year of the stripes and 2006 the year of the Nicholas. Maybe 2007 is the year of the striped Nicholas?

Nobody told me the kid might crawl (or worse walk) someday. I was kind of hoping he would not be mobile until he was 18, when he could get a job and support us.

More stripe photos… 

Giving Niko a bath is a bit like wrestling with a 20 pound fish covered in Johnson & Johnson Baby Shampoo in a very small tub. The only difference is that I suspect a 20 pound fish would be trying to stay alive, where as far as I can tell, Niko is in a constant battle to try to kill himself. If he isn’t dunking his head under the water, he is trying to bash it against the side of the tub. It amazes me we have survived as a species. I bet the Neanderthals didn’t bath their kids, which was the only reason we survived the early days. As soon as baths were invented, I’m surprised we didn’t just die off.

Wildcat garb for dinner with Drew and Vivian.

Sunday mornings are for swinging.

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