Moving along

June 7, 2010

Note: I held back posting this for many days because I wanted to include photos.  Just too too busy.

Baby boy, you are happy.  And talkative.  Babble babble.  Gooo gooo gooo.  You enjoy throwing away bits of stuff you’ve found on the floor.  A receipt here, a piece of lettuce at the neighbor’s.  You really love putting cat food in the bowl and shoving it under the cat’s nose.  (When Zeppo turned his head, you forced his nose to the bowl.)  You and your dad must feed the cats 20 times a day.

Last week, you practiced waving hi hi and bye bye. This is new.  Completely new.  “Bye bye,” I said and waved back to you as your dad pushed your stroller away.  (But inside I ached. No, come back. Come wave bye bye to me some more.)

Now you’re starting to say “mama.”  I’m not sure it’s in context, but it’s never really been a sound that you like to make.  You’re more of a gah and a bah sorta kid.

And yesterday was it?  You shook your head, no.  “Nnn nn,” you said.  (So cute!  For now.)

These last two weeks… whew.  We’ve decided to move and we found a place.  A bigger place.  Much bigger.  But no yard.  And the view of the mountains is blocked by the street.  And there is no view, really.  We’re not going to be up on a hill anymore.  weird. we’re only moving four blocks, but it feels like we’re moving from the country to town. 

Our current house is 33×21 feet, approximately 700 square feet, not counting the studio/laundry room/office.  That’s a small living space for the five of us.  There is really NO PLACE TO GO when we’re home. Except for outside. Our yard is over 30×40.  We’re trading those 1200 square feet of yard (133 square yards of lawn) for a 2000 square foot house.  It’s hard to fathom. (A fathom is 2 yards.)

Baby boy, your mother is a geek.

It will be nice to have a house with separate compartments for us.  More rooms than people.  In fact, there are enough separate rooms that each of the three indoor cats and each of the five people could be in different rooms all at the same time.  Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms.  Closets.  Let me repeat: CLOSETS.  A dishwasher, a washer and dryer.  And though we don’t have much of a yard, we’ll actually have sunlight in the back yard and we can grow things.  Parsley!  You love parsley.  Tomatoes.  You love tomatoes.  Herbs.  I want herbs in the garden and too many cherry tomatoes and a compost pile that I can actually turn.  And we won’t have raccoons digging through our trash (they are so cute, really).

I know I won’t remember the bad parts of this house very well, so I’ll sum it up here: mold (on the walls, on the ceilings, on our stuff), cold (some in the family might beg to differ, but brrrrr in the winter), doors that don’t close (we have a cat that lets himself in, however, he doesn’t close the door behind him which enables the outdoor spraying cat to get in), doors that are noisy (we can never sneak in or out of your napping area without disturbing your sleep).  Is that enough?  No, I think I should also mention that only two… TWO… outlets in our house are actually grounded. I won’t bother going into the safety hazards of this, but I can tell you that my surge protector is absolutely useless without a grounded connection.  It’s been bugging me.  Seriously.

What did I tell you?  I’m a geek.  I find it very important to share these things with you.

we’ll miss this view.  You like to climb up on the chair (with help) and stand looking out the window at the cows (“wow,” you whisper) and then make their call, “hooo, hooo.” 

When you were a bitty fussy baby, I would pace with you late at night in the living room.  I never felt trapped in those moments — there was too much outside to become a part of, so I would focus out there, even if the windows were pitch black, and just think what a special moment it was for us, just us two, awake at night.

Max takes you to the window and puts his arm around you (so you won’t escape) and points out the blackberry bushes and the cars way out on Hatchery road crossing the bridge, and the levee, and the deer, and the cows.  Oh the cows. 

The cows.

When I was pregnant with you, they used the pasture in front of our house for the pregnant mamas.  I heard the cows in labor, and I’d see the new calves in the morning.  Sometimes we’d see one that didn’t make it.  The mama and the other pregnant cows would come up to it, nudging it with their noses.  They’d stand guard over the body.  Turkey vultures would gather on the fence posts.  The air was always still during those times.  The farmer would eventually come with his tractor and load the stiff calf and drive it away. 

Once, we saw a mama cow that died in labor. 

I guess it’s important to wean the calves early.  I watched in horror as the farmer took the calves away after they were a couple days old and all the cows gathered around him, knowing it was useless to fight.  Not knowing how to fight.  Maybe, just maybe, not caring enough to fight.  It was all so heartbreaking, being pregnant with the cows.

One time I had a dream that a cow died during labor and they buried her, right there in the field.  I woke, paralyzed with fear that I might die during childbirth.  Paralyzed with fear that I might leave my boys, that I might never meet you, that your brothers might have to live somewhere else, and that you might not have this relationship you have with them.

It’s lovely, this relationship. 

I know, I know, it’s a bit strained right now, what with their obsession with video games, and their ability to ignore you.  And you just want them to play play play with you.  “Show me how to do stuff,” you tell them.  Don’t worry. You’ll catch up quickly.

Advertisements