Last week Naomi was taking her first tentative steps, but this week there’s no stopping her.
Whoever thought a baby would take so much pleasure from sucking on ice? Naomi spent a long time in blissful concentration on this remnant of an ice sculpture in Cathedral Square. Cold, wet ice. Warm, gentle sun. Perfect.
“More! More!” Her hands come together as soon as the treat dissolves on her tongue. Naomi’s got that bit of sign language down, courtesy of ice-cream practice!
I wish Laura and her family were our neighbors. They usually live in Alaska, but they’re back in Nelson, NZ for the summer and took a road trip down to see us this past weekend. Jeremiah went hunting, and we had a kiddy weekend in Christchurch.
Left to right it’s Noah (3), Milo (3) and Audrey (4). It’s really interesting to see the innate personality differences among children. Audrey can spend hours quietly in an imaginary world with her characters conversing to one another in depth. Milo greats visitors by assuming the pre-pounce tiger stance, and roaring. He also believes it’s his sacred duty to exclude Noah (as the youngest) from the play. Consequently their play takes a bit of mama-monitoring.
A walk along Govenor’s Bay is always a good activity. After bowling through every muddy puddle in sight, Milo is testing out the balance bike’s all terrain ability.
Back in the city, we’re checking out the City Council’s stream, complete with copper eels. We started by removing shoes and rolling up pants, but by the end they were trouserless and wet anyway. No matter, it was a warm day.
The day was warm enough that trying on the entire Antarctica kit was out of the question–the big boots and mittens that Audrey’s sporting with her pretty tank top were enough. These past two weeks there has been a neat Antarctica exhibit in the city center. Spending many weeks squatting in these two-layer tents in the biting polar wind seems unimaginable to me. I guess I’m not that devoted to research.
The Botanical Gardens were just a couple blocks away, so we stopped in for a play at the droopy cedar, its branches worn smooth by a couple generations of playful kids.
Old Man Cedar (like Tom Bombadil’s Old Man Willow) caught Milo’s foot and he needed help to escape his clutches.
The formal garden beds were so impressive in their spring gaudiness, I couldn’t resist a picture.
“Legend has it that Maui used the Kaikoura Peninsula as a foothold to brace himself when he fished the North Island out of the sea.”
The DOC sign gives a little enlightenment regarding the gruesome-looking head-fisher. Not quite sure where the head bit comes in, actually….. “Kaikoura” means “eat crayfish,” and the peninsula with its rocky shallows has long been a Maori food gathering site. We spent a weekend there recently with a group of friends who were attempting to do likewise, but the murky water kept most of the crays safe. Paua are almost immobile, however, so they got a fair number of them.
Our friend Mark’s 30th birthday was the occasion for the trip–hunting buddies plus their “partners.” Here, “partners” is the generic blanket term for spouses, fiances, girlfriends/boyfriends, and all other manner of domestic arrangements. It’s not one I’ve adopted. I think of another American friend whose husband tried the term out on her. “I’m not your PARTNER!” she exclaimed. “I’m your WIFE.”
In times gone by, Kaikoura was also a whaling outpost, and I don’t doubt that the seals were hunted too. Not these days!
I’m not sure who likes these warped mudstones and tidal pools more, Milo or me. He surprised me by pushing his finger boldly into a sea anemone’s mouth. I’m sure the anemone was shocked too.
Pink boots! Our family sent them over for Naomi, but since it’ll be years before they fit her, Milo is enjoying them in the mean time.
A week ago Naomi was just taking her first tentative steps in her quest to chew on rocks. Today she’s much faster, “moving by wobbles and tots.”
My grandfather Poppop died on September 16th. Today the family gathers in their home town of Delmar, NY, to savor memories of his life. We’ll each have different experiences to relay, but mine are from the perspective of the eldest grandchild. I won’t be with the gang in person today. Here’s a memoir that hopefully gives a glimpse of his amazing character, and how precious it is to have had him as my grandfather.
“Splash!” The paddle smacks Putnam Pond’s silky surface. “GrrrrRumbleScrape!” The wooden handle protests in an echoing raucous as it’s dragged back into strike position. I sit there mesmerized by the sparkling drips as they fall from the blade, making that perfect trail of concentric rings. “Splash!” The paddle’s in the water again. “GrrrrRumbleScrape!” A little more of the polyurethane finish is scraped from the shaft.
“You’re doing great,” Poppop says from the rear of the canoe. He’s teaching me how to paddle. It wasn’t until many years later that I appreciated the level of forbearance required to teach a kid to canoe. AND let them enjoy it.
“Everyone is passing me, am I going too slow?” We’re on I-87, headed south during a school vacation, and I’m the nervous owner of a brand new drivers’ permit. It’s my second time behind the wheel. The girls chatter with Mommom in the back seats.
“Relax, you’re doing fine. Just nudge over to the right a little—there—now you’re in the middle of the lane. Don’t worry, if I need to I’ll just reach over and take the wheel.” Poppop’s reassurance was strong. I drove from Delmar to the Pennsylvania border that first day. It wasn’t until I watched my dad teach my sisters to drive that I appreciated the unruffled-able nerves, the imperturbability, the gigantic patience that is required.
“My Bride,” Poppop called Mommom. “I love her more now than I did when I married her,” he pronounced at their 50th anniversary. And it wasn’t just words. He worked, dish towel over shoulder, cleaning up the kitchen. He set up the dining room table for quilt making and helped cut the fabric. He patiently packed the car on their protracted exits from the house. He stuffed a whole donut into his mouth just to get her goat (it worked!). Loving with words and also with service. Loving Mommom as an equal.
When I manage to keep my cool in the face of Milo’s antics, I’ll remember Poppop. When I encourage Naomi on a mountain hike, I’ll remember Poppop. When I change a tire on the car instead of asking Jeremiah to do it, I’ll remember Poppop. At every turn, I realize more and more of the legacy I’ve inherited from his life.
An avenue of cherry blossoms is a classic site in many cities, but this one is special to me. The first year we moved here (in August) I was so desperate for the advent of spring and the repopulation of the playgrounds that I watched this row of spring heralds with devoted interest, willing the blossoms to open and announce Spring’s arrival.
The front cover of my Bio 101-102 text book had an up close image of a magnolia center, spiraled with stamens. The spring tree bloom last a long time in Christchurch, months compared to days back in NY.
Kowhai trees are a NZ native legume. I love the masses of bobbling yellow bells.
This plant is not anywhere close to a New Zealand native (it’s from the Carolinas) but I think it’s just about the coolest of them all. Overnight our Venus fly trap caught two flies, one of them a big fat house fly (closed pocket in the rear on the right). The closed pocked in the front left of the photo has the squirming fly in its clasp, you can see its dark shape. We came back a couple hours later and the pocket had pressed shut even tighter, immobilizing the fly. It’ll spend the next few days digesting it. Yum. But I guess when food is scarce in the swamp, fly guts sound good.
Father’s Day in NZ was celebrated this weekend, and Jeremiah chose a family beach day for the occasion. It’s a simple equation: Sand + Water = Kid Happiness. Hours of it. Add in a bit of shell fish collecting and some good home brew beer, and you get Daddy happiness too. We invited our friends along for the day to Le Bons Bay, on the south end of the Banks Peninsula, and enjoyed a stellar spring day at the ocean.
It’s amazing the amount of gear we haul out for a day at the beach. “It’s easier to pack for a backpacking trip!” Jeremiah remarked the night before, as we surveyed our various piles on the living room floor. Mommy and Daddy work like a well-oiled engine though, synchronized team work that assured an early start to catch the 8:00 a.m. low tide for mussel gathering.
The windy roads were too much for Milo’s stomach and he left his oatmeal at the side of the road, but all that was quickly forgotten when his feet touched the sand. I love doing sand sculptures, reminiscent of the colossal sand creatures Uncle Stewart made at the Cape Cod beach when we were kids. Milo’s choice of the day was a bear. We brought along the garden shovel for digging clams and it happens to be just the right tool for mounding big heaps of sand for sculptures. The future’s looking ever bigger and better for sand creations!
The sand was perfect for building. Even Naomi’s caresses didn’t cause the bear much damage.
Bravo Hunter, a paua has been captured! it’s really not that cold out, Jeremiah’s just coming back up to temp after his dip in the ocean. Ian’s cast comes off this week, then he might take part in the mussel collecting on future expeditions.
It’s really barbaric what we did to that poor paua. First it was examined minutely by dozens of little fingers, next it was unceremoniously shucked from its beautiful shell, then it was mashed with a knife hilt for tenderization, followed by a quick fry in bacon grease and consumption by humans. We hoped its thinking bit stopped thinking early on in that process.
The kids are surprisingly fond of mussels. It’s amazing what Milo will eat when following his peers. He popped the first one in his mouth, chomped down, made a grimace, checked William’s progress as he reached greedily for his second slimy morsel, and decided that if William thought them delicious, then they must be worth eating. The adults had to race the kids to get any.
I started this set of bunny haunches too close to the incoming tide, and didn’t have time to finish the bunny top before it got swamped.
At least our boat was ready before the tide came. It was positioned perfectly to enjoy the rising waves.
Abandon ship! We’re sinking!
Naomi ate so much sand that I expect I’ll have to warn Justine, who takes care of her when I work, that the diapers might look a wee bit odd tomorrow.
Milo’s face was even grimier. He was stacking driftwood that had been charred in a campfire, then scratched his nose….repeatedly.
Here’s what we’ll all be doing tonight!
There has been no snow in Christchurch this year, so last weekend we drove up to Mt Hutt to give the kids a little snow exposure. Jeremiah was there to support his buddy in his bid to reach the top of the ski mountain in less than 30 minutes (climbing in skis, no lift ticket). He lost; took him 33 minutes, and now he owes his crony 100 bucks. At any rate, we went along because it was a fine warm day, and it doesn’t cost anything to slide around at the bottom of the ski slopes.
While Mt Hutt is still cloaked in winter snow, Trig Peak in Porter’s Pass (on the way up to Arthur’s Pass) felt more like late April. Air still a bit nippy, but only sweater weather. We’re exercising Milo’s legs–we haven’t figured out how to carry two kids and all our stuff on an overnight hike, so we need him to trump along on his own two stompers. Here he is, fueling up. Most of the fuel was purple gummy candies and M&M’s, to be honest. We went with friends whose two-year-old son also did a considerable amount of walking.
There was very little actual snow on the way up to Trig Peak, a day hike in Porter’s Pass, but the peaks you see from there are still covered in snow. We packed Naomi in her sleeping bag for the walk, so she stayed toasty warm.
There are those snow-capped peaks. Hot chocolate, anyone? This little touch gives an element of luxury to our cold weather day hikes.
Nice Daddy/baby photo. That’s Elijah, our friends’ little boy, in the background.
The low clouds rolled in while we sat and ate lunch, making the walk down a bit on the chilly side. Nothing those special mouse mittens couldn’t tackle though!
Then here we are back in the lowlands of Christchurch, where spring has really sprung. Springs here are so cool and long and drawn out that the daffodils last for months. Even cherry blossoms are around for several weeks. For some unknown kiddom reason, Milo thought running down the daffodil slope and crashing face-first into the grass was a riot.
Naomi was so interested in the daffodil blooms that I couldn’t get her to look at me to take a face-on photo. There are quite of few of these wonderful plantings around; they’re quite a nice touch.
Bottle this moment–sibling co-operation! Milo’s feeding Naomi a grape.
It’s not easy to futz around with the camera with two busy children, and this picture isn’t in perfect focus. But I’m hoping to still communicate the allure of those hooded blossom centers basking in the sunshine. It may spit cold rain tomorrow, but today is lovely spring in Christchurch.
We’ve officially kicked off KidsFest, the two week mid-winter school break where various Christchurch organizations earn a few extra bucks putting on kids’ activities. It prevents parents and kids alike from going stir-crazy and there are quite a few interesting things going on. I may be getting old, but I’m still happy to have a play with the life-sized tinker toys and watch The Emperor’s New Clothes in theater.
Naomi even got a piece of the action for this one. She can now add “chewing blue balls whilst maintaining optimal cuteness” to her life resume.
During the break I’ve volunteered to mend the dress-ups from Playcenter, so we’ve got a few home right now. Milo’s first pick? The pink fairy dress with purple butterfly wings. Daddy will be so proud.
I was recently complaining to a friend that a particular bar was too loud for a good girls’ night out–I couldn’t hear to hold a conversation. She laughed, exclaiming “You know you’re old when…..” After that I started to notice a few other tell-tail behaviors that might indicate that the aging process is well on its way.
You Know You’re Old When…
Milo doesn’t get an electric bed warmer, but Naomi does.
There comes a time in every mom’s life when we start to sound like our own mother.
Being that I had a great mom, I don’t think this is a bad thing. But I’ve developed the kind of empathy that you only get by shared experience; in this case, parenting a talkative, inquisitive, energetic child.
Look at this cheeky little fellow! Full of vip and vim, as they say.
5:17 a.m. “Wah, wah!” Naomi, that little butterball, thinks she needs to eat. Ah well, if I feed her now, I might still get another hour of sleep.
5:40 a.m. “Mommy, I can’t find my chewy.” The strident little voice cuts through my dreams. I stumble out of bed, grope for the flashlight, retrieve the pacifier from the floor next to Milo’s bed, and tumble back into the warmth of the blankets.
6:00 a.m. “I’m being followed by a moon shadow, moon shadow, moon shadow.” Cat Stevens says it’s time to get up and Jeremiah dutifully rolls out of bed. But I don’t work today so I turn over and snuggle deeper into the comforter.
6:30 a.m. “I want my oats!” Thankfully, Jeremiah is dealing with that Milo-demand.
7:00 a.m. I hear the door open and the light streams in. Feet patter around to the far side of the bed and the blankets shift as Milo pulls on them to haul himself up. A heavy scraping noise warns me that he is probably holding Jeremiah’s rock club, potentially somewhere in the environs above my head. Retrieved from Kaikoura beach and relegated to non-decorative status, for some reason this Maori artifact wanna-be resides on the shelf behind the bed. It’s definitely time to get up.
7:15 a.m. “I have to go toilet!” “Why that book here?” “Mom, watch me! Watch Me! Watch ME!” I’m not at my most innovative in regards to parenting when I’m tired, but when I’m numb and sluggish in my responses Milo thinks I haven’t heard him, and tries the repetitive approach.
8:00 a.m. Mobilizing to exit the house. “I want my peanut butter and jelly! (whine) “Uh-oh, my shoe, my Shoe, my SHOE! YOU do it! (whine). I don’t want to wear my coat! (whine).”
9:00 a.m. Rain is splattering the windshield on the way to the discovery center at Canterbury Museum. Milo keeps up a steady commentary about everything we’re passing. I’m listening with half an ear (responding with much less than half a brain) while strategizing the route and free versus paid parking. “I see lights down there!” Milo declares, as we bump over railroad tracks. A block or two later: “I have good memories to think about what is that light about. I saw it was train.” “Say that again, Milo?” It took me the second time around to understand what he what his three-year-old jargon was saying. Interesting way to say it, that.
The commentary continues. “Mom, you like that car?” “Look mom!” “Mom, I hungry.” (whine)
“Milo, my ears are full. I can’t talk to you right now.”
Pause from the back seat. “When your ears going to be empty?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“You let me know?”
“Yes.” 3 minutes of quiet ensued.
“Mom, your ears still full?”
“Yes Milo.” Wow, that was a good technique tip from my mom! I would have been just like Milo, just as relentless in my questions, just as clueless to others’ needs, and she told me she would periodically get a little respite this way. It works.
Give It A Burl 