et tu waiter?

River's growing interest in things large and mechanical is fascinating to me. Without any particular encouragement he started pointing to large trucks (buses, semi's, and construction vehicles) a couple months ago. I quickly decided that my vocabulary of "big truck" was way too limited and have now learned all the names from back-hoe to front loader, cement truck to steam roller. With the help of books and scant few sightings he has moved onto an obsession with trains with much vigor. The same time he learned the sign for "train" he picked up a "where did it go?" shoulder shrug, which is as adorable as it is exhausting.

Where did the birdy go? I don't know. Where is the doggie? Over there. Where is mommy? Under the table with her empty vodka bottle because you won't stop asking where things are.

On the night before we finally signed papers for our new house, we went out to dinner to celebrate our impending release from hotel purgatory. We sat in the outdoor patio of a great little Mexican restaurant that happened to be less than a block from the commuter rail tracks. As we were waiting for our meal to arrive, the tale tell ding!dong! of an approaching train sounded, so Thom walked over to the tracks to give River an up-close look of his beloved engines. When they returned River had a look of pure delight and kept signing "train" and pointing to the empty tracks. As we dined, another train came by, so I walked back to the tracks for a second viewing with my overjoyed little boy.

Throughout the meal, River could hardly sit still. His eagerness to see "trains!" kept him from eating and kept us busy explaining that we couldn't make the trains appear just because he wanted one.

Where is the train? It's gone, honey. Maybe another one will come later. Where is the train? Not here yet. Where is the train? We can't just pull it out of our ass, dear; you'll have to wait.

Finally realizing that mommy and daddy couldn't fulfill his request, he turned to a higher power. As the waiter approached to check in on us, River signed "train" frantically to the nice man. As he walked away to get our bill, River's face expressed his unbelievable disappointment that the waiter wouldn't bring out his order.

click your heels three times...

Our friends, The J's, have been so nice to let us spend this past week in their home. Thankfully, we won't have to impose upon their generosity too much longer as, the new house will be ours on FRIDAY!

I can't believe there's an actual, real-live, closing date for us to look forward to. We've been chasing after the Unicorn and Gryphon of fantasy close dates for so long, I can't believe we have an actual Liger in hand. (Did that metaphor go too far? It's late and I'm tired.)

I'm 90% thrilled to finally have a home and 10% terrified to have to unpack. Not too bad.

River News: Month Seventeen

Can you believe this is on time for once?!

Dear River,

























Today is the 17 month anniversary of your birth. It also happens to be your mommy and daddy's 5 year anniversary. I wanted to mention this because so little of these letters (and my blog in general) is dedicated to your dad, which is kind of strange when you consider how towering his presence is in both of our lives. I don't often write about him because I know it embarrasses him (something you won't be able to tell me for a few years--and when you do, I will grudgingly stop recording the finest details of your life), and--as much as I may put my own psychological flotsam and jetsam out there for the world to see--I try to respect his privacy. But mostly, I like to have something that is special, something just my own, something the intarwubs doesn't get to touch.




















But he deserves recognition and, though it will make him blush and feel frightfully exposed, this is it:

Your dad is the best thing that could have happened to either one of us. He is kind, generous, thoughtful, curious, irreverent, fun, and so unbelievably smart. Every morning (at a ridiculous hour!) he is the first face you see. After he brings you to bed for a little snack, the two of you jaunt off together while I get a few minutes rest or a chance to shower. Then, with only enough time to clean up and barely gather his thoughts, he goes off to work where people, ideas, and meetings demand every second of his time. Without fail, he is home by dinnertime, and he swoops back into daddy-mode with nary a breath nor a chance to sit.


























He gives so much time and energy to making sure we are happy, healthy, and well cared for. He takes on so much, never complains, and still finds a way to be light and full of love every single day. We are so lucky to have him in our life. We both know this, and now a whole bunch of other people do too.



















It is so easy for me to see your father and I changing and growing together, sharing our lives and building a family, and walking down that winding and beautiful road known as old age. I hope our lives can look something like your great-grandparents' Gordon and Frankey, who we recently visited in Nebraska to celebrate their 60th anniversary. Can you imagine? Sixty years spent wandering this earth together! It is such a beautiful and awe-inspiring thing.



















To sum up their marriage I could tell you about the time that grandpa Gordon was in a terrible car accident and unconscious for months, how grandma Frankey (19 years old and a mother of two) made her way to Chicago to be by his side with $22 in her pocket ($20 for the train and $2 to get by on), how they raised a family of four boys with little money but so much love. But I think this says it nicely:



















After watching a video commemorating the family they had created and the years they had spent together, grandpa said--so quietly it was almost to himself--"Every day is a surprise." Your dad or I commented that it was such an accomplishment to spend sixty years together, and grandpa paused thoughtfully before replying, "All you need is love."

Yes, indeed. I hope that is a lesson you can learn every day of your life.



















Your grandpa Terry's family gathered for the family reunion and you got to meet so many people: great-aunts and uncles, mommy's cousins and their kids. There were kids galore to play with--five girls to be exact--and you followed them around like a wide-eyed puppy. You were so eager to play their games and mimic them--you were like a funhouse mirror reflecting their every move: short and wobbly, but determined to follow along.



















During the first day of our visit we went to the Omaha Zoo and had an unbelievable time. You loved seeing all the animals up close--monkeys and crazy-colored birds, snakes and huge fish, butterflies and zebras. The stand-out moment of this day for me, however, had nothing to do with critters. While we were riding the zoo train on a tour of the grounds, you started to get fussy, overheated, and hungry. You demanded to nurse, and while I've said we won't do that in public anymore, for the sake of everyone's happiness, I relented. Your cousin Sydney was sitting next to us and after a few minutes she looked over uncomfortably and said, "Don't you think he's a little old for that?" After months of avoiding this situation in front of adults, it took a six year old girl to state exactly what I had feared hearing from her elders.



















I've never had to defend nursing you before (part of the reason I keep it private is because I don't want to), so I didn't have a ready or intelligent response for her. I muttered something about, "Mothers in Europe often nurse until their kids are two..." Lame and inadequate to say the least.

What I should have said is this: I know that it isn't considered socially acceptable by most Americans to be nursing a toddler, but just like every other decision I've made as a mother--Hello? WATER BIRTH!--I don't do things because society says I should. I do them because I truly believe it's what's best for you and for us as a family. And while I know that the end is coming soon, something in me is just not ready to let nursing go. The fact that you tug at my shirt and give "milk" sign way more often than I can perform tells me that you are not ready to let it go either.



















I've used the unpredictability of these past two months (the travel and the move) to justify going on a bit longer than I intended. Withholding the familiarity and security that nursing provides seems cruel and unnecessary while everything else in your life is so uncertain. So on we march. Sometimes I'm tired of giving and giving. Often I worry that we have worked this grove so deeply into the record of your life it will be impossible to fill it in. But always I am so touched by how easy it is to connect with you while you nurse, how calm and happy it makes you, how it seems to make the world right for you. And it breaks my heart a little to think that I will have to say goodbye to that soon.



















You're becoming more and more like a little boy every day. Your vocabulary is expanding (bubble, juice, ball), and you are getting more sophisticated in the way you play (pretend cooking and driving trucks). But so much of you is still undeniably my BABY, and I will protect that with all of my power until you no longer need me to.



















I love you my darling boy,
Mommy

River News: Month Sixteen

Dear River,

These past two months have been a little crazy for us. We spent all of July traveling or hosting company, and all of August getting ready to move. I started writing this post weeks ago, but the pile of boxes and endless errands have kept me from my computer. Still, I really want to let you know about your 16th month (so much happened!), so I am plowing ahead and finishing this TODAY.



















If all goes as planned, five days from now we will have a new home. We will be sharing pancakes in a new kitchen, snuggling together under a new roof, playing trains on a new floor, and doing it all while wading through a sea of boxes. It's this last part that gives me cold sweats in the middle of the night. I imagine the unsorted, untamed, uncontained jungle that will be our new home, and I want to crawl under something warm and well-organized (a pile of alphabetized kitties? a flaming card catalogue?).

























I should probably be much more worried about what the move will do to you. But however much I know this will be a huge transition for you, I'm not too concerned about your ability to adjust to a new space. This past month has shown just how adaptable you can be.



















We have spent every weekend of July on the road, and while it wasn't easy per se, you were just such an amazing trooper. From wedding in New Jersey to condo in Vermont to ski resort in the Berkshires to family reunion in Nebraska you (mostly) went with the flow and enjoyed yourself in the moment.



















I think our first journey was the hardest on you. The trip to New Jersey for your auntie Ama's wedding was a nightmare. It was the longest drive we'd attempted with you and it was way worse than we had prepared ourselves for. You slept only 30 minutes of the 6 hour trip and needed almost constant entertainment (and lots of breaks to stretch your legs). The next day, at the beautiful outdoor wedding on The Farm in Ringoes, you got overheated and spent most of the event crying in Mommy or Daddy's arms. We put you in the pool (thank goodness for casual affairs!), we found a basement to sit in and nurse, we let you run around nearly naked (you insisted on keeping your shoes on), but nothing could turn that sour mood once you had it.



















Still, in the face of difficult circumstances, we celebrated the union of friends, shared time with loved ones, and spent a beautiful evening under big stars and bigger fireworks (only one of them flew into the crowd--no casualties, and they finished the show!).



















Your auntie Jenn flew out from California for the wedding and spent the rest of the week with us in Cambridge. You held it pretty close and didn't warm up to her much. She insists you're missing out on a great opportunity to be spoiled and fawned over, and I have to agree. It may take a while, but I think the day will come when you appreciate having a cool auntie who will get you hopped up on pixie sticks and take you to the arcade. Take advantage, my boy, because with mommy you're much more likely to get a wheat germ high and and a trip to the library.



















After Auntie Jenn went home, you and I drove to Killington, Vermont to spend some time with Oma and Opa at their vacation condo. It was a much better drive this time around, and we had all kinds of fun adventures in the countryside. Your favorite, by far, was taking a ride on the gondola at Killington Peak. You didn't care about the hike to the top of the mountain afterword or the amazing view of five states from the peak, you only wanted to watch the gondolas swing up, around, and down. Once we were back at the foot of the mountain, you sat there next to Oma with rapped attention while the gondolas did their lazy turns, until, finally, they closed the machine down. I'm trying to figure out some way to get you your own personal gondola--not only because it's so much fun to say, but because I think you might explode from pure joy.



















The next weekend your dad joined us on a trip to the Berkshires where Oma and Opa had another vacation spot reserved at a ski resort near Lanesboro, Massachusetts. This trip was marked by brushes with fame. On the drive out, we went to the Eric Carle Museum (author of The Very Hungry Caterpillar) and learned that the man himself would be there for a signing the following day. Librarian and superb grandma that she is, Oma Julie woke before six the next day to make the 1 1/2 hour drive back to the museum and stand in line with throngs of fans to get books signed for you and Finn.



















The following night we drove to Tanglewood to hear John Williams conduct the Boston Pops in a night of movie music. Williams has scored countless films (including Indian Jones and all but one of Steven Spielberg's movies). The evening started with a torrential downpour and a picnic in the car, but by the time the musicians were tuning their strings, the skies had cleared and we'd found ourselves a nice spot on the grass. We were all surprised when Kate Capshaw came out to sing after the intermission. But when she was followed on stage by Steven Spielberg, who MCed the rest of the evening, we were all pinching ourselves (well, the grown-ups were; you were asleep). It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and though you were pretty unimpressed at the time, years from now I know we'll tell stories about the time you slept through a live appearance by Steven Spielberg.

























I know all the travel wasn't easy on you--you were fussier and clingier than I have seen you in a long time--but it also provided some really amazing opportunities for you. You were so lucky to spend time with your grandparents, to see mountains and farms, museums and playgrounds, adorable towns and historical ones. You jumped and ran and climbed; you ate amazing food and touched sweet animals and played with new toys; you laughed and cried and snuggled and hugged.

























In years to come, you may not remember any of these experiences, but I hope you will read this and know that you have had a truly blessed childhood from the start. You are surrounded by so much love, and that at least, will never change.

























To the moon and back,
Mommy

on hold

As these things go, the new house isn't done yet (we're literally waiting for the paint to dry), and our closing has been delayed by at least a week. If all goes well (permits come in, inspectors get there in a timely manner), we'll be calling the new house "home" by Friday.

Until then, we're staying at a hotel and trying to keep some modicum of a normal life. River is handling the change well (though he seems to have decided he doesn't want to eat past 4pm anymore). He's sleeping through the night, enjoying the time he's had with mommy and daddy this weekend, and generally seems like his normal, happy self.

After working for months to design the finishes and fixtures of the new house, getting the old house ready for sale, packing up our possessions, and moving to a temporary home, I am just tired.

I wish I could sleep and sleep; hibernation sounds unbelievable right now.

I hope I can find some energy to get back into a more regular writing routine, but I really need to just focus on staying healthy and sane right now. We'll see how it goes.

saying goodbye

Tonight is the last night I will sleep in this house.

I have nurtured friendships under this roof, built a marriage, created a family, and raised a son. I have decorated every room of this home, sewn curtains, hung pictures, built shelves, and created spaces fantastical and comforting. My hand has touch every nook and cranny of this space. I have cooked countless meals in this kitchen. I have been happier than I have ever known, more taxed and challenged, and more blessed than I could have ever wished under this roof. I have seen my child grow from sesame seed to toddler within these walls. I have given birth in this home.

I don't think I realized how much I would miss it.

Thank you for the shelter you have given, the love you have fostered, and the memories you have helped create.

Batting practice and blueberries

Some River goodness...

there are no words...

River news will be forthcoming. Until then, enjoy this piece of brilliance:

some favorite photos from this month

Christopher Columbus Park, Boston


















Jenn and Summer eating cherries, Pittstown, NJ


















Ama and Joan just married, The Farm, Ringoes, NJ


















Nearly naked River, The Farm, Ringoes, NJ

























Sheep, Sugarbush Farm, Woodstock, VT


















River and Thom, Uncle Don's Barnyard, Lanesboro, MA


















Julie and goat, Uncle Don's Barnyard, Lanesboro, MA


















Spool art by Devora Sperber, Mass MoCA, North Adams, MA

























Thom and River, Mass MoCA, North Adams, MA

























Turkeys, Shaker Village, Hancock, MA


















Sydney and River, Omaha, NE

























Zoo Train, Omaha Zoo, NE


















Okapi, Omaha Zoo, NE


















River and Grandpa, Omaha Zoo, NE


















Parrot, Omaha Zoo, NE

























Butterfly, Omaha Zoo, NE

time warp

To quote another blogger I have neither the time nor inclination to look up, I have discovered two things this month:

• I can live my life
  
• I can write about my life

...but I may not be able to do both at the same time.

We have been blessed with a wonderful month of visits from family and friends, trips around town and out of town, great meals, concerts, tours, weddings, and lovely nights under the stars. I would love to share some details, but I need a moment to catch my breath. I know some of you faithfully check my blog everyday and I hate to disappoint you for a little longer, but writing may be scarce for the next little while.

Thanks for being patient with me.

xoxo,
Summer

Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog

For a few short hours you can watch this, the most awesome, thrilling, funny, poignant supervillain musical ever created free of charge. After that you can download it at itunes for under $6. Cool, huh?

So this girl walked into a blog...

So busy. No energy to write. Here is a photo from the 4th of July (before the month of company started). Isn't Finn cute? And doesn't River look pissed about the whole thing?

River News: Month Fifteen

Dear River,

You are changing so fast and in such significant ways, a blog post feels hardly weighty enough to document all that this month has brought. With a little more time on my hands I might hand-write your adventures on parchment, laminate the 20 or so stories therein, and collect them all in a book called The Amazing Things My Brilliant Son Can Do! Unfortunately, given how busy we have been as of late, you will have to live with this sad shadow of a re-telling. I hope you can cope.























First, let's talk about your WORDS. I know I've mentioned this in the past, but you definitely have some words now. I hear these regularly, and in the correct context, so I feel confident to say that YOU ARE TALKING. It's still sporadic, but some frequently used ones are mama (pronounced Ma-mom), dada, yea (pronounced like the Russian "Da"), and hi.

You're getting very good at communicating what you want--either verbally or with signs. We've taught you a few that you use often (more, milk, all done, hot, drink, eat, and water) but my favorite is the one you've made up yourself. To request something, you take your hands to your chest, twist back and forth, and give a huge smile. I didn't come up with it, so I don't have a direct translation, but depending on the context, it has meant: yummy, please, give, or nurse. One day you created this sign and now we see it all the time; I have no idea how it fell into your brain, but I'm so glad it did.



















Most of your signs seem to be related to eating, which is appropriate since we sit you down to roughly seven meals a day. That sounds like a lot, doesn't it? You don't always eat a lot at each sitting, but it's key to give you lots of opportunities to get food in your belly. Otherwise, my cute little River disappears and you turn into The Hunger Grouch. Picture the Cookie Monster crossed with Mama Alien, and you'll have some idea of what you're like when you get hungry.

This month you've made a big step in eating: using toddler utensils, plates, and cups! The mechanics of scooping and drinking are still tricky, but the speed at which you're learning is incredible. Still, when the fork is too slow, you often resort to shoving fistfuls of food--gooey peanut butter or juicy cherries--in by hand. Yesterday I watched you put four grapes into your mouth, only to fit two more on top of them. These are moments I question the wisdom of having your father feed you dinner every night. He is king of shove-it-in eating, and if it wasn't an inborn trait, you have definitely learned it from watching him.


















But if we're talking about modeling behavior, I have to admit responsibility for a few of your quirks. We know you like order, but now you seem to be under the impression that when it comes to the house, mom is in charge. About two weeks ago, you were downstairs with your dad and decided to do a load of laundry (you really do help--putting clothes in, taking them out, and pushing the buttons). We keep a bucket near the washing machine full of dirty washcloths, towels, River clothes, etc. You pulled the bucket to the washing machine and, with your dad's help, started to load it in. I told him to hold off on running it while I got some more of your clothes from your room. While I was upstairs, I heard your dad trying to explain something to you, "No, honey, don't put those away. We want to wash your shoes." Apparently, you found a pair of your shoes in the bucket and were trying to put them in the closet where they usually go. No amount of reassurance from your dad convinced you that those shoes belonged in that washer. As I headed back down I heard your father say, "Okay, ask your mom." You waited expectantly at the bottom of the stairs, disputed shoes in hand, and when I said, "It's okay, honey, we want to WASH those shoes," you made a bee-line for the machine and tossed them in.


















Does this story make my heart swell? Yes. I'll leave it at that.

When your cousin Sydney was two, she already had one chore: feeding the kitties. I know your dad is just waiting for the day when you can take the garbage out or mow the lawn, but I think we may aspire to Sydney's example. It has become part of our nightly ritual to feed the cats before we head up to your bath. You help with this by pulling the dry food out of the cabinet and handing us a can of wet food. Sometimes you need a little coaxing, but you've become unbelievably good and helping with this. I imagine by the end of the year, this job will be all your own.

Lest you think we're running a baby sweatshop (Iron those clothes Riverella! Clean out the litter!), we do engage in activities that are pure play. You love to dance, and you shake and wiggle when the spirit moves you. Usually you are inspired by a poppy song on the stereo, but it could just as well be The Cure or Death Cab that gets your booty shaking.























One activity that I'm very excited to encourage is your interest in coloring. Early this month we made a Father's Day poster for the grandpas, and you loved getting messy with the markers, creating lines and squiggles, and painting yourself in the process. A week after Father's Day had passed you had asked work on the poster for the twentieth time, so I decided you needed a permanent place to color. We got a little table and chairs, a roll of butcher paper, and some crayons, and now you sit down almost daily to do some art. You're still learning how to hold the crayons, and you seem to love taking them out and putting them away more than anything, but it's so fun to see that budding creativity in you.























Your grandma Julie (the librarian) will be very happy to hear that over the last few months you have developed a real love for books. Your only interest in books during your first year of life was to chew on them, so I was thrilled to realize you actually enjoy reading them together now! Often during the day, you will go to your bookshelf, pick out your favorite book of the week, and bring it to me to read. We sit together on the floor or in the rocking chair, and off we go into imagination land. Some books appeal to your sense of rhythm (Hand Hand Fingers Thumb), some appeal to your tactile stimulation (That's Not My Pirate!), and some appeal to your need to snuggle (Hug and I Like it When...). I love reading with you, watching the wheels turn as you connect pictures to words, and helping you begin a love affair with one of my favorite things.

There is one thing from this past month that I can't ignore and that is all the time we have spent outside. Summer is here! The weather is warm! And, this month, Mr. River, you have taken full advantage of the beautiful outdoors. We go to parks daily; sometimes we've made two or three trips by the time we plunk you into your bath at night. You love to be outside exploring, trying out your climbing or sliding skills, or wandering around the lot picking up abandoned pieces of trash to throw away. (That's right. You go out of your way to clean up after other people. When you are 15 and surrounded by teenage filth I will refer you to this paragraph and ask what the heck happened.)


















I'm thrilled that you're old enough this summer to play in the water outdoors. No more scuzzy YMCA pool for us! Between the kiddie pool we have in our yard, water features in the playgrounds we visit, and occasional trips to public pools, you spend time in the water almost every day. Usually I end up getting pretty soaked myself (though I'm not always planning on it), but the water calls to you and we must both answer.



















The advantage of spending so much time outside is that it let's you burn off the enormous energy you have buzzing through your body. You are a human super-nova: burn, burn, burn... and blackout.

Outdoor days yield good naps, and your momma chases good naps like a fashionista chases Manolos. You've recently added a step to our naptime routine that is just about ripping my heart out. After I set you in your crib, you snuggle in with Lou and Mr. Bear, I put the blanket over you, and you look up at me expectantly. You are waiting for me to a give you a wave goodbye. After you wave back, you smile, lay your head down and the ritual is complete.

After many, many years, when I have reached the end of my days, I hope that that is the last image I am blessed to see: my beautiful son smiling and waving me on.


















I love you my boy,
Mommy