"Water kills you if you fight it, saves you when you go with it"

Our teacher friends had an after school party back in June when school let out. The teachers I work with have a chance to spend time with our families and celebrate the coming summer. Smiles are abound with joy in our hearts as the idea of getting up for ourselves the next ten weeks leads to delectation of the highest order with refreshments to boot.

Most of us have families and when Preston and I arrived many of the kids were scurrying about the deck of an above-ground pool. Parents hovered on the perimeter anticipating something. Swim vests and floating noodles were abound as the kids bobbed like corks in the blue, cool water with the light of the coming sunset  creeping through the trees. Up the ladder and a slide to the left, the boys and girls would launch themselves from the deck into the water below, nary a concern for those who lay below them teetering on the narrow edge of their various swimming skills. Kids love the water, but it is a relationship that builds over time.

Preston saw the kids having fun but was hesitant to imbibe. He had fearlessly taken swimming lessons for months as a baby but at some point in his double digit months, he had decided the water was something that demanded a clinging action about Mommy and/or Daddy's throat. His ice cream scoops, blowing and kicks had eluded him and he had become a reluctant partner in any recreational aquatic activities. Hopeful he would want to take part in the shenanigans, I asked him if he wanted to swim. He emphatically replied, "No!"

The games continued and Preston began to pace the deck, sans swimming trunks and asking for things that were floating about from the other children. Kids would bring him beach balls and plastic boats and he would cautiously reach from the side of the pool to grasp them in his now 3 year old man-hands. He would then push them away with no recourse except to plead with his peers to "get my boat"and "that's my ball."

Reliance on the generosity of young children becomes prohibitive and after a few minutes,  he asked to put on his swimsuit. We retreated to the bathroom inside the house. I wrestled him out of his shorts, shirt and skivvies whilst trying to beat him to the punch. (If he dresses first, he will swing open the door and be gone. I only needed to be half naked once to realize until he was independently change worthy, I would have to beat him getting suited up to avoid sharing "the raw" amongst our friends.) With the wrangling complete we returned to the pool.

Preston spent the next hour in various stages of comfort in the water. When he decide to take the dive, he was firmly attached to my neck and shoulders, much as he had been on our last outing a few months before in the dead of winter. He had his swim vest on, the plastic shark grinning and grinding directly into my chest. We began to wade our way around the pool.

Hanging with kids is cool and I have become quite comfortable with all ages of the young at heart. You always ask their names…ask them how they are doing…is the water cold?…Wow, you held your breath a long time on that one…Good Job! The pool inquiry sets the tone for the comfort level of your kids, the other kids and the parents fluttering just outside of the activity zone. They are never quite paying full attention, but never fully at ease. Redirections are always in play and by climbing in the pool, you find yourself a lifeguard by default.

We got Preston used to the water and he began to collect his favorite things as all kids do - a boat, a fish that floats, a beach ball. The toys began to ease his anxiety and he focused on them instead of the fear he had embraced on his journey from infancy to toddler. He started to turn from me and asked for help in swimming to the next item that peaked his interest. Over the course of what seemed to be minutes, I went from an invaluable partner on which to hang onto to a monkey gripping with a finger and thumb the backside strap of his swim vest - my only connection to him.

Preston then turned around and said as plain as day, "Daddy, let me go." The words came crashing into me like a speeding car. The metaphor was so overwhelming I began to tear up. In the span of a half hour he had gone from a tiny, scared baby to a brave Jacque Cousteau ready to swim the cavernous deep with his little arms and legs kicking and driving him towards oblivion. The duality of emotional stability when dealing with my son had reared its head once again.

So I let him go. He spent the next hour swimming on his own, me swimming at his side, encouraging, playing catch, squirting squirt guns and having a beach ball. I saw in those minutes the many things that might come down the road - off to kindergarten, first kiss, prom, driving, college, etc. Kids need us for everything in the beginning, then quickly move into their own lane with language, walking and the personality that makes every single child unique to the world. I could see the tears to come with a sense of sadness mixed with excitement and pride. I was going to have to let go a lot more.
Domingo Martinez wrote in his self narrative that "water kills you if you fight it, saves you when you go with it." Life is like that. You learn to get used to it. Ride with it. You don't control it. You just live it.

Yesterday, Preston and I went to friends place down in the Northern Neck of the Potomac. They have a pool. He and a couple other kids swam on a bright, summer August afternoon with school lurking just around the corner. Preston started on the stairs, and over the course of the afternoon, he worked his way to the middle, floating on his back and swimming on his belly without a care in the world. They played with squirt guns, beach balls and diving rings. It's been about eight weeks since the party. Yesterday, I never even got in the pool.

A year later and I still can't find my keys

Sometimes, you think you just have to catch up. 

Preston had a full day today. Kristina has been in Boston this week enjoying her conference, leaving her boys to fend for themselves. It has been a good effort with heavy activity. I had to go to grad class on Wednesday leaving Preston with Kevin and Rachel, which was a treat for him and gave him some new friends and new cars to play with.

I had him on my usual Thursday. Friday I had to drop him at daycare so I could go to an interview. I picked him up afterwards and we worked on the lawn. He helped me weed the beds around the maple in the front, with a footprint now far beyond the stretch of our little corner townhouse lot. The branches reach out for the street, up about 40 feet, and down so you have to duck to walk under it, which is helpful to the deter the high foot traffic a tad further west. I threw him in the Kokopax and he rode on my back while I mowed. He likes the view from the height of my head, judging from his giggles and coos as we weaved about the narrow front yard, curling around the maple dodging the branches tickling our necks and head.

We worked hard, bagged up our clippings and had nice, cold drink in the shade like two hard working men, him all the while pointing out the passing jets on approach to Dulles. Being on the flight path allows a constant stream of world travelers above. He doesn't know where they come from or wonder like his father does, but he knows they are jets and that they are going "dye dye," or there to somewhere else. 

Today, we spent the morning packing up. Daddy was going to play at his favorite winery gig in Delaplane, while Preston was going to join Cindy and her daughter Ava for the day. Pack and Play in hand, stroller, bottles, snacks, diapers, etc. all on board, we climbed in the gear overloaded Explorer we keep for just such a reason and headed west to Haymarket. I expected Preston to fight my departure, but it seems his attention is captured fairly easily these days. Anything with wheels suits as a fine distraction for Daddy to slip away to sing.

Preston enjoyed himself, to say the least, and clearly he was comfortable.

We finished with dinner at the Proutys. Preston was off his game a bit growly and whiny with the full day and hadn't napped until four, which would have been worse if he had not slept until ALMOST 9 AM !!??!! He got a chance to say hi to Bruce, Kate, and Ally and met Barney for the first time...eyes big as all get out trying to figure out how dinosaurs are still around. We had a quick dinner then had to head for the door to get our young man back in the swing of things and race to bed. 

We arrived home and the whines went away, no reason I can see for it other than sometimes it's just good to be home. We did our bedtime routine, but he seemed riled up. After reading "Danny and the Dinosaur" he was somewhat relaxed so I left him in the crib to go downstairs and get the truck unpacked. 

I heard him from the driveway screaming and I finished quickly to go back upstairs. I didn't want to pick him up, so I laid him back down in his crib and gave him Señor Elephante, our generous gift from his cousins Lydia and Marin. He snatched him, grabbing and wrapping both his arms around him and he restlessly rolled from side to side to get comfortable. 

It hit me then this was one of these moments other parents always tell you about. "They grow up quick," they say. "The time just flies by...they are only young once." My adult self told me I needed to get him to sleep as quick as possible so I could go unpack or organize or something. Instead, I took Preston in my arms. I leaned back into the nursing chair and tucked the boy, Señor, and a binky (of course) inside my arms. He was energized and eyes open, looking into my eyes as only a child can. So I began to sing to him. 

Fingers clasped together in a tight cuddle, I sang the words from Goodnight My Someone from The Music Man (a song my mother use to sing to me) - 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC33O52pGUg

and Edelweiss - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFHujvkacNY

He grew heavy and while he did, he would take his fingers and try to stick them in my mouth as I sang, moving them around my teeth and gums. I would nip his fingers with my teeth and he would giggle with the binky in his mouth, eyes sleepy and half open - a happy, joyous laugh such as none I have ever heard. Everybody has their own laugh. I would sing, he would probe, and I would nibble. Soon his fingers ran to my beard and he lightly caressed the coarse hair on my face, gently framing the line of my jaw retreating under ever thickening middle aged hair until his hand ceased to move. 

My third choice to sing was a Dave Matthews song I nipped for the title of this blog. 

Baby Blue by Dave Matthews - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cETu3WzTUx8

"Confess your kiss
still knocks me off my legs
First time I saw you
was like a punch right through my chest

I will forever because you'll forever be
my one true broken heart
pieces inside of me
and you forever my baby

You will rest your head
your strength wants saving
and when you wake
you will fly away
holding tight to the legs
of all your angels
goodbye my love
into your blue blue eyes in
your blue blue world
you're my baby blue

confess not quite
ready to be left
still I know I
gave my level best
you give, you give
to this I can attest
you made me
you made me
you and me forever baby

you will rest your head
your strength wants saving
and when you wake
you will fly away
holding tight to the legs
of all your angels
goodbye me love
into your blue blue eyes
in your blue blue world
you and me forever."

I can't remember many things and I am still looking for my keys. Just as everyone said, he grew up quick, but he still fits in my arms. Tonight was a night like no other. I am glad I took the time to hold you. I love you son...you and me forever. 

Daddy

Band of Brothers...

The Rall Family sat on the back porch this evening, enjoying the breezy, humid air. Growth is all around us...the walnut and apple in our backyard have raged with green leaves and expansive development with the heavy rains of the past weeks thunderstorms. They shield our second story walkout deck from a majority of the neighbors in our town-home village. I am glad I decided not to cut them down. 


The walnut was going to go because it kills other plants. It affects many other greeneries in the yard because of a toxic substance it emits called juglone. The term"allelopathy"refers to the relationship between plants in which one plant produces a substance that inhibits the growth of sensitive plants nearby. It ends up being in competition for resources with the other greens that try to live in our little paradise. We were going to get rid of it for the sake of other life in the yard.


The apple tree suffers from a cedar rust that forms lesions on the fruit and the leaves. The sporing begins in the wet spring and spreads to the whole tree after wintering in the nooks and crannies of the branches and trunk. It lurks quietly, never dying, just sleeping through the cold until the warm temperatures and wetness bring it back to life quickly and aggressively. The beautiful leaves have already begun to turn from verdant green to spotted with gold and orange speckles that will eventually consume the leaves and the fruit, rendering them fairly useless in a slow, silent accedence to another form of resilient life.


Kristina and I have dabbled with the idea of getting rid of them because we would never be able to grow a garden, lawn, or anything else with the walnut. The apple tree is just plain, old sick, and putting her down seems to be the best thing to do in our minds. 


I hesitated in completing the executions, partly because of laziness, and also thinking how much I like to have trees around. As we sat outside tonight, we appreciated not only the fact that we have some privacy from our neighbors, but also have a good 35-45 feet of trees where most other yards have none. The world needs more trees, not less, especially in these parts of suburbs, traffic, and bad-quality air days.


Today was a day of reflection. I had the opportunity to watch a number of episodes of Band of Brothers, the fine Hanks/Spielberg homage to Easy Company, 101st Airborne, who went ashore in WWII on D-Day. They didn't stop until they were in the peaks of the Bavarian Alps at Kehlsteinhaus, or "Eagle's Nest," above Berchtesgaden, which was a rarely used getaway for Hitler and the upper echelon of the Nazis. The question is, what does this have to do with the beauty of my son sitting on my lap with my wife at my side? 


Well, for one, the trees and fresh air helped Preston calm down when he was going into his dusk-destined meltdown. When we emerged from our A/C laden home into the fresh evening air he immediately relaxed. He began to chat with the trees. He tracked with his expanding three month old eyes our one year old kitty, Ziva, as she skirted the railing as only cats can do 15 feet above the ground, taunting danger, but never in it as she tiptoed across the narrow ledge flirting with oblivion.


Two, I teared up as I held him, listening to him vocalizing as only he can, with squeals, squeaks, and sloping "wheeee's" as he spoke to the trees, the kitty, the life, that for him, is brand new. We forget sometimes that we have seen so much that it might not be so new any more. To him, a walk out on the back deck is a new adventure, complete with wise topiary sharing the wisdom of many years, including the stories of short saplings who at one moment, bloomed for the first time. Much like our son, a tree starts from a tiny seed, very small beginnings, and acquires dozens of stories untold throughout the ages. Preston cannot share his stories in our language yet, but he told us tonight there is so much to see in our own back yard. We should stop and feel the breeze. We should listen for the crows alighted on the top branches of the 60 foot pine with all of his friends at the end of our residency "row." Life is full of opportunity and a good view, if you just know where to look.


Finally, there is a strange connection between these young men who served in a war that seems so much further away as more time passes in our own lives. We have new conflicts, new challenges, and many opinions on where and how we might use our knowledge and power in the future. My hope is that my son might find a day where people don't have to choose death over life. If there is anything war has taught us, it is that you can be selfless in spite of danger, you can honor those who have shared in your struggle, and you can live to fight another day if you have the capacity to acquire courage. I see now in the arbitrary nature of our being how others choices have affected mine. I see how fortunate I am to be able to sit with my family on the back porch, with our version of two soldiers offering us shelter in a time of need, without asking anything in return but allowing them to serve. It reminded me of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein:


“And after a long time the boy came back again.
"I am sorry, Boy," said the tree, "but I have nothing left to give you-
My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone," said the tree.
"You cannot swing on them-"
"I am too old to swing on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone," said the tree.
"You cannot climb-"
"I am too tired to climb," said the boy.
"I am sorry," sighed the tree.
"I wish that I could give you something... but I have nothing left. I am an old stump. I am sorry..."
"I don't need very much now," said the boy, "just a quiet pleace to sit and rest. I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could,
"well, an old stump is a good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.”


Thank you to all who have sacrificed. Some give all so that others don't have to.

A superhero at work...

Tonight, as I bound between the kitchen prepping our "Weight Watchers" Ginger Soy Pork, Asparagus, and Horseradish Mashed Taters and sneaking peeks at the Washington v. Boston hockey series, my wife Kristina remains in our son's room, holding him as he cries. We call it the "witching hour," as many of you do, and it remains one of many mysteries we cannot solve as parents. Preston cries, then pauses, then cries again louder. We don't know why

We have a few theories as to why. Mine is Preston is sharing his day. Kristina's sister Becky came over to visit the Manassas National Battlefield Park with her two daughters to share a picnic lunch with our family.  We ran around, played with beach balls, and I got a fine lesson in physical education and following directions from my four year old niece, Lydia. The 21-month old Marin was satisfied with bouncing the ball off my head, which seems to be an attractive and ample target. Marin wandered the blanket spread with food, stepping in a plate of hummus and squeezing juice bags of organic juices on her with her tiny feet like a mini - Godzilla.

Lydia loves our son, to see him, to talk to him, to touch him and Marin does as well. They are both so tender with him considering how young they are. We had a chance to take pictures, talk about life with kids, and the nieces and I wandered off to play. After a few hours in the fresh air we went on our way and the girls headed back over the bridge to Maryland.

Later in the evening, Kristina and I went out so she could begin her running routine and Preston came along with us in the "BOB." We walked through the neighborhood and shared the falling light that comes at sunset on what became another perfect day. Preston dozed off as we finished our final leg and we thought the "hour" would pass us by. By the time we had him in the house, it had begun. One of the many things babies do is cry when they have a need. I think he was telling us the story of his day because he can't talk and crying is the only way he can get it out. We did a lot today so the crying lasted longer.

My wife and I are married four years today. I hear her sneaking out of the room after two hours of holding, soothing, nursing, and loving our son. I could tell you a million reasons why I love her. But I will share two. One is, she is a wonderful caregiver. She takes care of us silly boys in this house, gives us all we need, and loves us to the ends of the earth. The second, she loved us before she knew us. She and I used to work together in my cavorting days and she always pushed me, expecting more, holding me accountable. Many others tried, but she and I both knew deep down inside I could do more and be better than I was. A good friend does that with you, not for you. I knew she would be a great mother and a great wife early on, but I didn't know she would do both with me. As we go into our fifth year, words will never say what she means to me.

Suffice it to say, she is a natural...loving...tender...stubborn...determined...funny girl. We are the luckiest boys in the whole world. She just came downstairs, time to start dinner. I love you Kristina. Thank you for loving us and Happy Anniversary!

Christopher and Preston

Up the front buttercup...

My brother-in-law, George, has anointed the rear end explosion of his two daughters as an "Up the Back Crap Attack." (It is always important to source other people's work). Today, I typed away at my desk, Preston ("P") swinging at my side in homely, domestic bliss when he begins to fuss and hiccup. I found yesterday that "me carrying him around" was a perfect cure for his diaphragm so I got him out of the swing and put him over my shoulder expecting immediate results knowing deep down I just like to carry him and hold him close.

We proceeded to walk out to the back deck to enjoy the beautiful day, blue skies, and a stiff breeze when my "Spidey Sense" began to tingle. Actually, it was a seismic shift of my right hand firmly ensconced under his buttocks, shaking and trembling in a manner similar to our earthquake here in Virginia a few months ago. P rattles often as infants do in some sort of emittance, whether front or back, but these rumblings from the "dark side" insisted on investigation.

Upon placement on our fine changing table (thx Craigslist) fit only for a prince, our worst fears were realized. Just as George had warned us, P had managed to defy gravity in a broad pattern of effluence which mingled not only on his backside, but down his leg and around the front to areas I never would have imagined. The physics of this event had changed what we know about the universe, at least in our little corner of the world. Kristina ("KP") and I are proud to announce our first experience with such a thing. I am about to use a phrase that parents know but we didn't until now - I to myself as much as anyone else:

"When you have kids, everything changes." I know poop will be a part of my life for a while, but we are confident our son has a bright future in the manners of release. We laughed, smiled, and expressed language we never dreamed would come true for us - "OMG, look at where this...Wow! I didn't think this was possible...look, he got it under there...let's try to limit it to three towels, we only have so many...etc. and so forth." To the bathtub, Batman!

We have joined in the union of the first bath. He was slippery, he wrestled, but his disposition never really changed. He is calm and peaceful, "chill" as the kids used to say. We turned him front side to back side, attacking the hip and down the leg to the feet - first between the two master bath sinks (too cold), then the bathtub in the bath chair (hard to use because you can't flip him on his tummy, which was horribly necessary in this instance). We are fortunate because there were two of us and I am proud to say we survived, though we did take casualties (under the fingernails, elbow of one fleece, four towels, a onesie, and the smell of death in the air). I am beginning to surmise practice will be in order for me to master this skill before KP returns to work in June.

The work was completed, egos intact, and the strategizing began for shopping for even more materials to sustain our force (hazardous waste laundry basket with step-on feature...perhaps more plastic bags to protect the dirty laundry from the REALLY dirty laundry...maybe we take out the closet doors and use all this space instead of all this crap that we haven't touched in five years...what is that on my hand? Ewww!). This experience is a glorious process of firsts. We are tracking all the things that happen first (trip home, pediatric appointment, Mia's visit) on our calendar and many of you have already been through them.

We humbly submit for peer approval what I have christened the "Round the Front Buttercup" in honor of George and his daughters, explorers and adventurers on the forefront of this new frontier. I must also honor my sister-in-law, Rebecca, who deserves an enormous amount of credit for holding the front line against the thousands of "Up the Back Crap Attacks"our two nieces fashioned through the years. After careful review, we believe the theory of "Up the Front Buttercup" will hold up under the scrutiny of our contemporaries. Just don't get too close to the a...

"My name is Preston and I have a hard time keeping it in my pants."

They tell you but you don't believe it

I went upstairs last night to feed my newborn son asking my wife to eat a grilled cheese sandwich with  tomato soup and to rest. They say you need to take care of those who take care of you.

The young man was upset when I took him from his new crib to feed so I instinctively began to sing to him in the blue-light lit room the old lullaby my mother sang to me..."too la roo la roo la...too ra loo ra li..." The great thing about that song is you can write the words as you go. I have never been to Kilarney, but I know my own back yard.

As the serenade continued a moment came where I had my him on my lap, his chubby, little trunk facing me held between my legs, arms akimbo, bracing his head in my hands as an extension of my human frame. His eyes opened to see what our lactation consultant called his "Superman." She pointed out when Preston is spread-eagle on my chest, skin to skin, his arms don't reach all the way across and he fits into a very small percentage of my body. "Imagine how safe he feels with all of that man around him," she opined.

I don't know if I am a "Superman," but today I thank my mother for singing to me when I was a child. As I crooned, this wee little man who will rely on me and his mother for everything the next little while, smiled contentedly, his eyes following mine in the violet light unable to see the tears that were running from mine. I am a father and this is my son. I see I will lift the world for him if need be. Let there be no doubt.

Home Sweet Home

Preston came home yesterday. We realized today we too are back. I wonder where the shower is?