these days

Seriously . . . can you tell me with a straight face that you don't just want to gobble him up here?

One of Jack's new favorite places is mama and papa's big bed. And his favorite thing to do is to hide himself completely under the pillows and covers and then lie perfectly still and wait for us to come looking for him and say "where's Jack?!"

The only problem is he is often too good at this whole hiding thing. The other day I went in and out of the room several times while getting ready to leave the house -- all the while assuming he was still playing quietly in his closet -- before I heard a little tiny giggle and then his voice whisper "mama". I could not believe how patient he was waiting for me to notice him and how pleased with himself he was when he jumped out with a big smile on his face -- he must have been about to burst with excitement under there!

If he ever catches me lying down in bed, he immediately climbs up to join me and cuddle with me all the while saying "I lie down with my mama" with the sweetest bit of tenderness thrown into his inflection and a few kisses or little hand touches to my face. (This mama stuff sure does have its rewards.)

Another little glimpse of our moments at home . . . crayons and cars . . .

my beloved Fall

My poor Los Angeles gets a bad rap. I give it more credit than many but there are still some things I lament over. Near the top of the list is the complete lack of seasons and most notably the lack of a Fall, or autumn, or leaf season -- as some call it back east.

The other day I was walking down the road to my little neighborhood knitting store. I was enjoying a walk alone, as Jack was with his grandmother.

And then I saw it -- this one little tree on Magnolia Boulevard that has been producing its own little one-tree leaf season show for awhile now. As I often do I slowed down to admire the vibrant colors of the leaves that had recently fallen from the tree. I picked one up and carried it with me on my walk. On the way back, I picked up many more . . . because I could and because these leaves with their bright, unexpected colors bring a smile to my face and even, yes, a hop to my step. I realized just what a beautiful day it was, feeling the warmth of the sun in the pure-blue sky and the crisp air and the leaves in my hand -- it all made me smile; even laugh a little to myself.

Thus Los Angeles has not robbed me completely of my beloved Fall. It is there if I look for it . . . in one little tree on Magnolia Boulevard . . .

. . . in the middle of February.

a day in the snow

If you ask Jack about his recent (and first) day in the snow, he will most likely tell you about his "frosty-man". He has a book about Frosty the Snowman that he loves to read/sing and ever since we started talking about going to the snow, he has been talking about making a "frosty-man". And that is exactly what he set to doing the minute we hit the snow.

But first . . .

. . . a morning drive to Palm Springs and a Superman-style wardrobe change in the back of the car . . .

(snow gear and Jack definitely have an early and strong love/hate relationship)

(Above Jack had spotted the bus that would soon take us to the aerial tram and could no longer remember any other words other than "Bus! Bus! Bus!" -- He really wanted to get on that bus.)

(Still looking toward the bus.)

(Finally on the bus.)

Waiting for the aerial tram . . .

On the tram that took us up to almost 11,000 ft. in elevation . . .

. . . and delivered us into a snowy wonderland . . .

. . . where making a "frosty-man" was our first and Jack's ultimate

goal . . .

Jack had a very tender relationship with his "frosty-man". Throughout our time in the snow he would just go say hi, check on the little guy or simply sit down with him, chat, give him a kiss . . . they were dear pals.

And then, of course, there was sledding . . .

. . . intermingled with quiet moments with "frosty-man" . . .

and then more sledding . . .

All-in-all a beautiful day . . .

*** A little parent's note is in order here. I have been meaning to try out this little one day adventure for some time -- mostly for Jack's sake. I am someone who loves to travel, whether it be a one-day road trip or a one-month trip abroad. But with a little one I am seeing just how easy it is for someone -- even as restless and wanderlust as me -- to lose my steam and stay close to home. And with good reason -- the day was not always easy by any means and, dare I say, not always fun from my perspective. For example what should have been a two hour drive home that evening turned into a five hour drive with a very sleepy but awake little man on our hands -- due to, you guessed it, traffic (in Southern California? hard to believe, I know) But here's the thing -- we made due, at a roadside McDonalds for awhile (not a place we frequent as a family otherwise) and Jack had a blast with his french fries, ketchup, and watered-down fruit beverage . . . he danced, talked to the other patrons and just seemed to be having a grand old time . . . as he did, for the most part, throughout the day in the snow.

But here is the kicker. During the day it dawned on me that this is now a childhood memory for him. And that although Rigo and I do not have complete control over what his childhood memories end up being, we have a whole lot of sway in the matter. I thought about all of my happy childhood memories and stories and realized, lo and behold, there was an adult there that loved me enough to make those memories possible . . . most often my mom and dad. They could have sat around in the house all day with me and skipped those trips where I probably was being less than wonderful to be around at times. But they didn't. Memories, traditions, adventures . . . they just seem to take care of themselves when you are a kid. And I suppose that is the way it should be. And so that is our job now. To make sure Jack's life is full of lovely memories, traditions and adventures.

On that note, one of my personal goals for this year is to take a trip or do/go somewhere new each month as a family . . . it could be a one-day spontaneous road trip or a more thought-out weekend excursion. But this year it will happen. For Jack and for the wanderer in me ( and the wanderer I am sure lurks inside of Rigo just biding its time . . . )

We will see where March takes us!

"my darlin' mama"

Jack talks so much now. No, really, so so much -- so much in fact that my ears have not adjusted yet. I often have to guess for quite some time as he gets more and more frustrated with me to figure out what he is saying only to realize that he was speaking very clearly. It was me who just could not imagine that my son would be saying such things . . . and, of course, as I type this late at night I am stumped for any perfect examples but I can tell you some of my favorite regulars that come out of his mouth each day . . .

"What you doing, mama?" (his inflection with this really makes it . . . so cute. And the fact that he will be sitting there with me for awhile and then just suddenly look up and say it or sometimes walk into a room where I am and just throw it out so nonchalantly -- like a little adult.)

"What's that, mama?"

"Sorry, mama. It be alright. Sorry, mama." ( said as he stroked my back -- after coloring on the couch and then having it demonstrated to him that said coloring would not simply wipe off)

I had tried a little experiment when it comes to the words "I'm sorry", which mostly boiled down to modeling true sympathy and apologies but never demanding or forcing one out of him. I was not completely sure it would work and things can get pretty awkward when another parent is standing there most likely expecting me to force one out of my son, but I stuck to my guns. And lo and behold, one day he started showing true empathy and offering his own heartfelt (make that heart-melting) apologies, which of course mean so much more to the receiver than a forced apology. I know they mean a lot to this mama.

Which brings me to my ultimate favorite Jackism at the moment, which is "my darlin' mama" -- most often said while he hugs me and rubs my back or is lying down cuddling with me. He gets this very specific, almost sad, sound to his voice and he says it over and over again while nuzzling up to me. He also simply says "my mama" during these moments but the "darlin'" showed up there recently, which I suppose is my doing because I use that word a lot when speaking to him. The fact that he put it all together into one term of endearment is too much goodness in one bite.

Can you tell I'm smitten?

pure and simple . . . a lesson learned from the sea lions

I worry. I come from a long line of worriers. I worry about whether or not I have enough direction in my life when it comes to career and education. I worry about contributing to our family's income so that my amazing husband does not have to carry that whole load himself. I worry about my own sanity spending everyday with a spirited toddler and whether I should put him into some kind of preschool or daycare situation pretty much immediately even though I do not need to.

And on the flip side of these concerns I worry ( a nicer word would be "consider") how to give him the simplest childhood possible . . . about being present -- making life about love first and foremost and then about learning, laughing, exploring and giving as close seconds. I worry about raising him in the ultimate hub of commercialism and "bigger is better" -- from homes and cars to body parts and incomes -- not that the rest of America is far behind Los Angeles on this count. I worry that he does not spend enough time in nature. For that matter I worry that I do not spend enough time in nature.

I just picked up a book called Living Simply With Children. This title says it all to me. Living simply has slowly but surely become my ultimate goal and the means through which I think I could live my best life. Because living simply to me means paring down to what really matters to me and what really makes a difference to me, the people around me and the world. I had written shortly after Jack was born about a "pure and simple life" and that sounds so good to me. I should perhaps add the word "slow" to that because I like to move slowly through life . . . through wandering the farmers' market, through cooking our dinner from scratch, through all of my travels so far and all that I dream of with my husband and our son. I suppose I like life the way I like to cook -- slow and simple, but spicy.

I am working on the slow and simple and I am thinking about how to bring the spiciness back into a life that looks so different from my life before motherhood. Because I do not want to leave the spice out for Jack's sake -- or for my own sake. It is a big part of what has made me who I am . . . lack of direction and all.

Believe it or not I began this post to write about a moment at the zoo today with Jack. We had already spent hours at the zoo and the last exhibit on our way out was the sea lions. We had visited the sea lions when we first arrived but Jack needed some more time with them. Someone had pulled up a wooden chair from the eating area nearby and placed it right in front of the huge window where people can watch the sea lions swimming under the water. Jack climbed up into the chair and told me to sit down beside him ( he did not take the size of mama's hips into account but somehow we both fit into that chair).

Then and there we began our hour-long vigil, with little more than him saying over and over again as he saw the sea lions coming around each time, "they coming, mama. they coming." Or when they were out of view, "Where they go? Where they go?" . . . or often just waiting patiently for them to reappear. We shared a few clementines and a few words here or there but overall it was a very still and quiet hour. I kept thinking surely this could only fascinate him for so long. I started to think about my exit strategy. But then I caught myself. I saw our reflection in that window into the water and I saw just how content he was sitting there with his mama watching the sea lions. I saw the little gorilla figurine still in his little hand - -the gorilla he had brought from home and had held up to show each of the animals that we visited that day. He sat there so earnest with his little glasses and his little Clemson cap. I took a deep breath in, hoping to imprint this moment somewhere in my body, and then whispered to him, "I love you." Then I went back to watching the water for our entertainers' next lap.

I question and I worry but there is something so right about having the freedom to spend hours with my son -- following his lead through the zoo only to find ourselves camped out in front of the sea lions for an hour when we had already decided we were ready to go home. I am still a fairly new mama but I know enough to know that I will yearn for that moment again one day and so I did my damn best to enjoy its beautiful simplicity and the strange simplicity of our life that allowed me to be there.

a belated holiday post

(warning: there are many, many -- possibly redundant-- pictures here. i managed to get many shots of some things and none whatsoever of others. browse at your leisure.)

Our holidays were good. Simple and good.

Time outdoors (with dogs) . . .

at the tree farm with Ba and Papa John . . .

baking with Ba . . .

walking at the lake with Aunt Annie and "my friend Abby" ( the dog) . . .

a serious pow-wow with Ba (over his first banana popsicle) . . .

we are not sure but she may have been bribing him to dig her holes in the woods (below) . . .

nightly "silly hat dances" with Aunt Annie in the kitchen/sunroom . . .

more walking at the lake with the whole family . . .

laughter and gifts . . .

(the Clemson hat above has become the most worn item of Jack's wardrobe)

Christmas day . . .

our last week in town -- working, playing (in the leaves!) and much more time with Ba, Aunt Annie and "my friend Abby" . . .