The Miracle of the Christmas Nap

The post-Christmas days are always such a letdown, I find. Especially this Christmas. Mira had to work the day after Christmas (I guess the media machine doesn't take a vacation), and so it felt just like any other day with Teague, going through the routine. Except that, the "trashed-ness" (a word?) of our house is double or triple the usual, disturbing amount; we have boxes, wrapping paper, ornaments, packing peanuts, napkins, tinsel, bottles, toys, and dishes all over the place, on top of the usual house-wide coating of dog hair, shredded newspaper, mouse poop, ever-present blocks and books, Teague-thrown food, Nena-puked barf, and the general chaos of disorder that afflicts us.

Teague is not at an age, at 1.5 years, where he is equipped to really get the whole concept of Christmas, as we, a consumeristic and myth-possessed society, know it. I mean, he doesn't really seem to understand or say basic words like "dad" or "ball" or "reticulated" or "epiphenomenon" even. So, I guess I can't really expect him to buy into the whole mythological construct of mysterious, supernatural gift-givers, in red velvet, piloting sleighs, whipping slave-animals into feats of flight, or mysterious wise men, infant world saviours, virgins giving birth, and so forth. Teague didn't even take much pleasure in the violent rending of wrapping paper as I had anticipated, but he has gravitated quickly towards all new presents from relatives, and he is replacing old toy obsessions with new ones.

On Christmas day we received a visit from Grandma and Grandpa (my side) who drove in from New Jersey. Lest you envision some doddering, septuagenarian couple- the grandparents are a fun pair, full of energy, though somewhat curmudgeonly, if only in a somewhat calculated fashion, as if they read some manual on growing old, and discovered that one of the rules is that they must display cantankerous behavior at intervals in order to fulfill the contract of aging. As I've described in this blog before, as long as my Dad and I (and Mira) stay away from politics and religion, we all get along fine. So, we had a fine Christmas brunch where I cooked a kick-ass, majorly unhealthy, egg-cheese strata, and whipped up an artery clogging crab dip. We started drinking some sweet, spiced cider with rum before 10 AM (well, Dad and I did anyway) and we were all engorged and lethargic by 11:30 AM. We decided to take a walk through the city to rejuvenate and encourage production of the salubrious humours. Christmas day in a major city is so unusual and lovely- quiet, no traffic, hardly any people about. Teague got pissed-off that I was trying to carry him in the baby backpack- now that he's a big-shot walker. Only problem is that when I put him down on the concrete, he walks at about the pace of a plodding tortoise, mired in heavy sand. Not that he can help it, and he's ridiculously cute, but when for the 19th time he turns around for no reason and starts walking away from home at .3 MPH towards some mysterious diversion, and he's already taking 5 steps for every one adult step....well I eventually had to collar him, and he got ticked-off and cried, squirmed, flailed and otherwise kicked-a-fuss. But anyway, it was still pretty fun, and we all loved the sun and bracing, winter air, and with the increased blood-circulation induced by the walking we were all much more awake upon arriving back at our row-house where we indulged in even MORE food and drink, and an hourlater, by the time that the Grand-p's left at 2 pm, moving on to other family festivities, we were ALL three of us ready for a nap, a serious, holiday nap. Which is what happened, a miraculous, whole-family, Christmas Nap.

Breast Obsessed Maniac!

Here come the holidays! Mira is home this week, which is always both a bane and a boon. She's taking vacation days this week, which she has to do for her job, because annoyingly, she will work most of next week during the holidays, due to her lack of seniority at her job. Oh well. But anyway, the crux of our issue here is that Teague at 17 months is still, let's say, a vigorous nurser. I mean, this kid loves the breast. He nurses standing up, lying down, kneeling, any which way he can. He sometimes dive-bombs one breast like some ill-fated kamikaze pilot, while simultaneously twiddling the nipple of the other breast. It's the nipple manipulation where Mira draws the line, and as the Dad, I have to say it can be somewhat disturbing to witness, and to think, that somehow, I'm kind of in competition for this territory. When she's home for an extended period, he begs her to nurse at something like 15 minute intervals all day long! It makes Mira crazy, and makes her question continuing nursing at all.

Anyway, aside from what Mira has to deal with, with Teague almost constantly begging her to nurse, is my own annoyance with her questioning parts of my daily routine. "Did he eat yet? What did he eat? Did he get vegetables? Should we give him a bottle? Don't you think it's a little late for his nap?" Somehow I managed to survive almost 5 months taking care of the child and, SURPRISE, I didn't even seriously injure him! But then, I reconsider, and I guess I understand that she has the same concerns that I do, and just wants him to be well- also, I have to consider that while I'm sure she feels happy and confident earning the money for our household, she probably also has some instinctual need to be responsible for some part of the mothering, and to ensure that Master Teague gets all the love and care he needs. The funny part is, that I really feel like I naturally do a better job as a caretaker and housekeeper. I mean, we won't have this arrangement forever, but I look back on when Mira was full time with Teague, and she was kind of helpless at times. She could barely give him a bath because she'd freak out every time he'd squirm or cry, which was every time, and she could hardly get him dressed or into a diaper without shouting into the next room for my assistance.

Well, all that is over, and sadly, I'm almost half way through my own tenure as stay-at-home dad. Teague is loving the Christmas lights. He loves to point at every earthly object, as if requesting the names all things to make them real. We communicate through babbles and grunts. He's trying to run, plays make believe, and flirts with the ladies. He's got a huge bruise on his big pumpkin noggin from when he fell down outside and hit his skull on the ground with a solid "thwack" that I could hear when it happened. This made me so sad, that he could be hurt like that, even though there was little I could do. Tomorrow we are having friends over to the house to sing carols for the holiday season, Jews, Christians, and anyone else are invited. I am going to stumble along on the piano like a fool, but if I'm careful and don't have too many drinks during the warm-up period, I might just do alright.

Walk Hard

Well, here it is, a month has elapsed, and looking at the last post I realize that I'm not exactly the most prolific blogger. I'm sure that partly this is due to having no readership whatsoever, and so its not like my inbox is jammed with impatient emails goading me to reveal more gripping details of our action-filled family life. So, I'm analyzing this, and thinking about why nobody reads what I write and I suspect that this is for a couple of reasons. ONE: information overload, myriad, humdrum blogs all over the cyber universe, and this is just one tiny bucket of bits in a polluted ocean. TWO: because I've attempted to keep this blog somewhat agnostic of location, if for no other reason than to protect our family privacy, and so, that probably eliminates a certain level of interest that one might have related to locality. I'm considering changing this though...In any case, I hope they don't kick me out of the blogger's union for failure to produce on a regular basis.

I guess the most interesting child care report for this post is that young Master Teague finally decided to start walking (just shy of 17 months). He had been cruising for a long time, along walls, along couches, chairs, etc, and for a month had even demonstrated that he could stand unassisted, but for some reason he just seemed timid about setting out and putting one foot in front of the other and actually locomoting. I would try to hold his little hands and get him to walk with me, but he would have none of that and when prompted like this would just plop down on his bottom and crawl away. So, there I am a couple weeks ago, reading the paper and drinking coffee, with Teague cruising along the kitchen wall, opening (and emptying) cupboards, throwing the recycling all over the place (thanks dude), and then suddenly I hear these little footsteps behind me and its Luke walking through the house just like he had been doing it his whole life. I mean, he really just walked all over the place, hardly even losing his balance. OK, truth told, he still trips on those liminal, inter-room passages where there is a lip, but, I guess the point I'm trying to make, is that it just seemed so weird and sudden. I now have this totally different view of him, as if he has finally jettisoned the last vestiges of being an infant and assumed full toddlerhood, or even more ridiculous, I look at him and say, wow, look at that little MAN walking around all kick-ass like that, and looking proud of himself. He walks with his little Buddha belly sticking out and even sometimes seems to hold or rub it like some fat little old man, all content with the excesses of his life.

So, are other people in the world concerned about their personal identities and details being revealed on the web? I mean, I have this strange compulsion to write about my life, and yet, in some ways, I'm also hesitant to reveal any true details about neighborhood, location, etc. I mean, I know that we're nothing super-special, Mira, Teague and I, but also there are many freaky and strange people in this world. Why don't I just scrawl illegibly in a paper journal, if I feel compelled to write? Must there always be some potential, digitally connected, readers in mind? I have to admit that I was spoiled because I wrote a detailed backpacking blog capturing a long-distance hike back in 2005 and had many readers, and so I just kind of assumed that I would have at least a few readers interested in more mundane, though hopefully well-written posts about family life.

Well anyway, this is the December post. I'll probably continue to post at intervals, if for no other reason than for posterity, and to have something to show Teague when he is old enough to appreciate it.

Cheers!