Awaiting Luke

A Final, Parting Post

When I chose the title “Awaiting Luke” for this blog, I obviously lacked some foresight.  I remember beginning my blog on Blogger in about my 5th month of pregnancy and stressing over the fact that I’d chosen “Waiting for Luke” as the permanent title to appear in the web address.  It nagged at me that I’d done so after I realized how much cleaner, simpler, and even more writerly “Awaiting Luke” sounded.  Now over 4 1/2 years later, the title of my blog is again ill-fitting.  Whether I call this thing “Waiting For” or “Awaiting” Luke is obviously irrelevant now, because clearly I’m doing neither, nor have I been for a very long time.  Luke has been out of my womb long enough to have learned to swim and safely balance down long, steep hills on his Strider bike, among countless other “big boy” achievements I take so much for granted that I have trouble even listing them spontaneously.  I’m also awaiting somebody new now, Sam, and before I know it, he will likewise be living a very full and womb-free life, learning to swim, ride a bike, and growing up at near light-speed just like his brother did.  

Through the years, this blog has served almost a journaling purpose for me, allowing me to work through not only the stresses and pains but to highlight the wisdom and joys that accompany the early years of first-time parenthood.  I cherish that I’ve documented Luke’s childhood thus far this way and part of me almost mourns the fact that my doing so is about to take a permanent and very dramatic turn.  

Motherhood is such a rich environment for growth and transformation for both mother and child and I hope to continue writing in ways that reflect not only the universality of this fact, but also my more personal experience of it.  I am grateful for this blog and how it has enabled me to truly savor the moments that might have otherwise whipped by without my notice and, even more importantly, in a way I'll be able to share with Luke one day.  I intend to remain vigilant, blog or no blog, and let as little of this enlightening journey escape my notice as possible.      

Going forward, my plan is to create a blog much less about the specific and often very personal life accounts of Kevin, Luke, Sam, and myself.  In the future, I hope to write posts a little more applicable to the universal aspects of motherhood.  I have several ideas for a new parenting blog along these lines (and others!) swimming around in my mind these days, and have even started up 2 new blogs, one of which is Cell Phocus, my own little spin on iPhonography.  

And so, as you read this post, know that it is, at least for now, my closing post, the final bow tied on my blog.  I write these parting words somewhat selfishly, in order to give myself a finish line on a project I’ve enjoyed working on for 4 1/2 years now (though admittedly with decreasing frequency in recent years).  I also hope to evoke some sense of closure for anybody who has ever followed my musings here and to offer each of you my deepest thanks, even if you've only ever read a post or two.  The feedback and support I've received through the years has been a tremendous encouragement!  Finally, I want to also aknowldegs how grateful I am for this blog and the unexpected bonus of it allowing me the privilage of connecting with several other mothers in different parts of the country (and sometimes the world!), women I would never have known otherwise.  It has been such a treat to watch their children grow up (in a very 2012 digital/virtual kind of way) alongside Luke, even if I only connect with these fellow moms through pictures and little exchanges we sometimes share on social networking sites.  

As I wrote beneath the title of this blog, “What began as a blog about [Luke’s] transition from the womb to the world has become the record of his transformation from baby to boy,” I feel like I’ve accomplished exactly the aim I hoped to achieve.  Therefore, this seems as fitting a place to end Awaiting Luke as I imagine there will ever be.  Now it is time to welcome little Sam into the mix, and see where life (and blogging about life) might go from here! 

Luke: Then, Now, and Other Fun Comparisons

I've taken so many pictures these past 4 years that I sometimes find myself noticing how recent photos remind me of pictures I took years ago.  Below are some of my favorite examples of such comparisons.  Some are not pictures of Luke then and now, but are photos comparing pictures of Luke that exist to relevant pictures of Kevin and myself.  With the exception of the jackrabbit picture of Kevin and of Luke and the Santa portraits of Luke and his friend, Max, none of these were staged  in any way to look similar to past photos.  I only noticed the similarities after the fact! 

Above (Left): Luke 2 days after birth.  Above (Right): Luke a few weeks from his 4th birthday. 

Luke's blanket has been with him for every nap and bedtime since just after his birth and he's just as attached to it as ever even 4 years later!

Left: Luke leans against the play structure for support (he's still learning to walk), and plays at the park for one of the first times ever in his life.  Right:  At a different park a few months ago, Luke climbs into the sky, finding the highest point in a visibile radius.  

Luke and his good friend, Maddie, playing together for one of the first times when they were babies and playing 3 years later at the Discovery Museum in Sausalito, CA.  

Luke has been an animal lover almost since birth and he's always had a particular affection for goats.  He seriously can't visit a petting zoo without giving one a kiss.  He couldn't then, and he can't now, as you can see above! 

Tie Dye Boy, then and now.

Luke and Abby.  How they've both grown!

Luke and Alafair.  Their 8 month age gap has never stood in the way of their awesome friendship!  And, as you can see from this picture, I really do mean never.  Alafair is just learning to walk in the first picture, taken only weeks after we met her.   

Luke loves my grandma's deck swing and always has!  

Toothy Grin.

Three consecutive Christmases with Luke, Max, and the lovely Santa and Mrs. Claus.  2009, 2010, 2011.

Luke and Kevin at a roadstop landmark in Arizona.  Kevin, in 1996.  Luke, in 2011.  Kevin, holding a beer.  Luke, holding a juice box.  

Kevin and Luke look eerily similar as children with the same hairstyle!  

Father and son, then and now.  

Me and Luke through the years.  I tried to find 5 pictures taken as close as possible to each December we've shared together!  

So typically Luke.

Luke and I both have a similar Cheerio accessorizing style.  The top picture is me as a baby with a Cheerio stuck to my forehead.

Above is a picture of me and my Aunt Sheri on a carousel in Southern California when I was a little girl.  Below it is a picture of me and Luke, taken on a carousel in San Francisco when Luke was barely a toddler.  

4 Halloweens.  

Luke and Grandma.  I've always enjoyed finding pictures like these of my mom's hands and Luke's.  

 

Awaiting Sam!

"Do you have any names picked out?" the ultrasound tech asked as he squeezed the tube of warm, slippery goop onto my belly.  It felt like he'd just torn a hot Pillsbury Toaster Strudel in half and let the sticky red filling drip onto my skin.  

"We do. We like the name Sam for a boy and Addison for a girl," I told him. 

He began the scan by bringing the magic-wand-like device into the glistening smear of gel on my skin, pausing silently as he pressed and rolled it across my taut, tiny pooch of a barely-showing belly.  He studied the screen, still positioning the wand just so, so as to see as best as possible the only clue that could solve the weeks-old mystery of what we're having.  The sensations of the test reminded me of when we'd done the same procedure during my pregnancy with Luke, the odd feel of pressure and tension on my midsection had almost the power scents and songs can have to mentally transport you to a previous time.  It felt surreal to see Luke seated beside me.  I strained to make out the grainy image on the large flat screen monitor in front of me.

I looked to my friend, Rae, who'd joined me at the appointment that evening.  The idea to do this "early peek" ultrasound in the first place had only hatched between us a short time before.  She'd mentioned the ultrasound place nearby as we discussed the agonizing wait of the next 4 weeks to find out what we're having.  We laughed about doing the early peek ultrasound right then, joking that we could just scratch our original plan of taking our boys to the park that night and do an ultrasound instead.  We soon progressed to seriously entertaining the idea, kidding a little less at that point, even as we continued bundling our boys up for a chilly evening stroll to the playground.  We laughed, noting that it'd sort of fit with the theme of our friendship to go through with this crazy idea.  Rae, after all, is the friend who agreed to a road trip last year with me and Luke for what must have been one of the fastest trips to Disneyland in history.  In the space of three days we drove 13 hours to Anaheim (having taken the scenic route of Highway 1), spent one full day at Disneyland the following day, and then drove the 9 hour "short cut" back home on the final day.

Having by that point, with Rae's encouragment, talked myself out of the "this is a completely crazy idea" camp and into the "I think we should do it!" camp, I called Kevin for the green light to follow through with my impulse.  He was in, reluctantly at first, but in, nonetheless.  He's often in a state of bewilderment about my perpetual lack of patience.  He said he could wait to find out, but if I couldn't then to go ahead and call him as soon as I knew.  I couldn't wait.  Next I called the ultrasound place for the spontaneous appointment, hoping they'd be able to see me right away.  They were!  Half an hour later we'd driven to the office for my last-minute appointment, and there we sat, Rae, Rae's son, Will, Luke, and I, in the dimly lit testing room, finding out the sex of the new baby growing inside of me. 

"You like the name Sam?" the tech asked finally, after a stretch of time that felt like opposites at once, like forever and the flicker of an instant had been all tangled up together.

"We do!"  

"It looks like a Sam to me," he said with confidence and maybe a touch more enthusiasm than you'd expect from a man who'd probably delivered the same news to 100+ women that month.

I looked back to Rae.  Her face, barely illuminated in the dim glow of monitors, lit up with the news of finally knowing.  I, immediately overcome with intense emotion, felt the room around me blur as my eyes fogged up with tears.   

In the excitement of the moment, I failed to notice Luke standing baffled on the sidelines of it all.  He'd not heard the simple phrase, "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" to clue him into the final verdict and he was fully aware of (and excited about!) the aim of this whole appointment.  Dissatisfied that he was clearly the only person in the dark room truly in the dark at that moment, Luke, in typical Luke-fashion, stomped right up to the ultrasound tech, craned his neck to look him in the eye, and asked pointedly and impatiently, "Is it a brother or a sister?"

"It's brother!" Rae shouted from the opposite corner of the room.   

Suddenly, I found myself faced with a second thrill of the evening: The look on Luke's face when he learned he'll have a brother, the exact outcome he'd hoped for and talked about ever since I'd shown him my first ultrasound picture at 7 weeks.  It is difficult to even describe his expression in that moment.  It is how I imagine his face might transform if I surprised him with a spontaneous trip to Disneyland or told him we're having nothing but ice cream for dinner.  I'll never forget the smile that came over him.  The sincerity and absolute joy of that moment is almost unparalleled in all the moments I've witnessed and experienced in my life.  I'm already anxious to tell Sam one day just how excited his big brother was to learn that he was coming.  

On the other side of the proud and profound elation of the moment, however, are the elements I'd be less than genuine or even honest not to mention here: Shock and a little bit of trepidation.  I'd say the scale inside me was certainly tipped a little more toward the hope this baby is a girl whenever I'd wonder to myself or be openly asked my preference.  My reasons for this hope aren't even the usual suspects of reasons why many women might hope for daughters that I found appealing about experiencing the opposite gender this time (the glitter jeans, the pretty color options, the stylish shoes, the cute little hair clips and ponytail holders in fun animal shapes, or even the greater liklihood I've noticed in Luke's female friends that a little girl will sit quietly and still for more than 5 minutes at a time, among the many, many other perks of having a daughter).  Truly, it was more the simple fact of having the opposite gender from my first child this time that appealed to me most.  If Luke had been a girl, I'd no doubt be hoping for a boy this time.  I still find it difficult to imagine all the intricacies and implications of having another boy.  I adore little boys.  I adore Luke.  Having a son is more rewarding and incredible than I could have ever imagined.  My relationship with Luke is fathoms deeper than I ever dreamed it could be with a child of either gender, let alone a child of a different gender than myself.  This fact is precisely the difficulty. I tell people that sometimes I feel like I filled out an order form in a dream one night before Luke arrived, joking that perhaps I had customized the boy I never even knew I always wanted.  I just have a difficult time imagining anybody else falling into the category of "son" in my life, although I know it's not only possible but now also very imminent! 

I've talked to friends with two boys, one in particular whose second son is Luke's age and who is so radically different from his older brother but is (obviously!), nonetheless, just as fun and lovable, not only to his family, but even to more objective outsiders like myself.  My friend assures me that loving and enjoying two boys equally (though differently, she admits) is possible, as I know it must be, but as she goes into the finer details of how it's possible my eyes sort of glaze over, like she's describing the flavor of an obscure tropical fruit I've never tasted and have absolutely no frame of reference for.

Despite all this, it didn't take long for me to absolutely fall in love with the idea of a second son, so much so, in fact, that I feared being granted my original wish when we went in to confirm his sex at the official ultrasound a few weeks ago.  It's such a relief to know with certainty now who it is we're expecting and so fun to know enough about this baby to imagine what he'll look and act like as he grows, what his first words might be, how he'll laugh and smile. I even began wondering the other day, as Luke went into great depth and detail from the backseat about some topic that'd suddenly sparked his interest, what Sam's voice might sound like, a fun thought that put me in the same bizarre mental space as if I'd just wondered about the faces of my future grandchildren.  

In the end, the one thing I know with certainty is that now that we know who we're waiting for, 4 months feels like an eternity to wait.  Whereas with Luke I savored even the final moments of my pregnancy, enjoying the planning and suspense of waiting and waiting and waiting as he grew big enough for life outside the womb, this time, feeling Sam kick inside me even now as I write this post, I am more anxious than ever for time and nature to finish their jobs so that I can at last hold this new little guy in my arms, and finally meet him face-to-face.

Positive

“Is this for eating or no?” Luke asked, puzzling over the unopened pregnancy test in his hand.  The stick wrapped in shiny pink foil with words indecipherable by him was, in his mind, surely something deliciously sweet and strawberry flavored.  “No, Buddy.  It’s like medicine,” I explained, “...for mamas.”  Equally as skeptical as he seemed confused, he continued to pry, insisting we open it just to see.  I remembered the negative test from several days before still on my desk.  I showed it to him, hoping this might quell his curiosity.  “Here, Bud.  See?  This is what’s inside.”  I gasped when I noticed that the test, days old by then and well beyond the 10 minute window the instructions allow for valid results, had turned positive.  None of the tests I’d taken the month before had ever become positive days after a negative result.  I quickly distracted my son, grabbed the test he’d thought was candy and ran to take it.  Discouraged at first by another negative result, I brought it to the natural light of the bedroom and examined it more closely.  I noticed a very faint second pink line in the window of the test, a line so barely there it actually vanished and reappeared the harder I squinted at it.  Two days later I took the test pictured above, a test with a much less ambiguous result.  We're pregnant again, with a baby to be born in late May!

Bully on the Field

I remember the first time I saw Luke’s innocence slam against the harsh reality that not everybody he'll ever meet will be kind.  I sat watching as he toddled around the tiny play structure at a park one winter afternoon when two older girls climbed up to where he was, engaging each other in a game of complicated role-play.  These girls, probably 6 or so, were clearly engrossed in their imaginary world.  They dodged past Luke as if he were some inanimate object, like a child’s abandoned coat had been carelessly tossed in their path.  Luke, ever Mr. Friendly even then, made many attempts to interact with these girls, clearly without a clue that they didn’t want to include his hardly two year old little self in their game.  Finally, tired of the nuisance, one of the girls gave Luke “a look,” one that seemed to shoot like venom from her eyes into his tiny soul.  It became immediately apparent to him that he was not welcome in their social space.  An at once puzzled and bruised expression washed over Luke’s face.  I remember the helplessness I felt in that moment, my utter and complete desperation as I found myself almost moved to tears by the scene.  My own motherly innocence had simultaneously slammed against a similar harsh reality of the world, one I knew but had never really felt at my core:  I cannot shield Luke from emotional pain. 

Over the years Luke has toughened somewhat in his many other such encounters, as have I to some extent.  No amount of toughening, however, can change the fact that Luke has become an especially sensitive little boy, a fact which fills me with both relief and dread.  Myself once a sensitive child, a trait which carried with me into adulthood, I am pleased that Luke will be gentle, caring and kind but also fearful for the fact of the other end of this stick.  He will undoubtably be more vulnerable in society because of this temperament trait. 

The emotional impact life may have on Luke became apparent recently at his friend’s birthday party.  Luke came up to me towards the end of the celebration and said something so softly that I had to ask him to repeat it several times.  “I want to go in the car now.  I want to go home,” he whispered.  It certainly seemed an odd request for Luke, who appeared to be having a blast only seconds prior.  His behavior remained unusual all the way to the car.  Strapping him into his car-seat, I began prying further.  “Is something wrong, Buddy?  Did something happen at the party?” I asked.  The same way an adult trying to hold herself together collapses into tears when somebody asks how she is, Luke fell apart, sobbing so deeply I couldn’t even make out what he was trying to tell me.  “Somebody hit me on purpose,” he cried, “a boy you don’t know.”  Luke was inconsolable as he relived the moment in telling it to me, and remained so for a good bit of the drive home.

The impact for Luke of such scenarios culminated this morning when we had a similarly strange interaction, one which soon made sense after my motherly interrogations.  Luke woke up and began picking out his clothes.  “It’s soccer day,” I reminded him.  “You should wear your jersey.”  Luke, usually thrilled and eager to dress himself on soccer mornings, surprised me with the announcement that he didn’t want to go to soccer.  As we discussed it further, he told me he was, in fact, “all done with soccer” and that he’s “tired of all the running games” they play in his class.  I explained that we needed to at least finish the session we’d already payed for but that he could take a break if he still wanted to in a few weeks.  I even tried bribing him with the promise of Red Vines at the end of his class this morning, a treat I was sure would delight him into compliance.  “No,” he insisted.  “I don’t want to play soccer anymore.”  He seemed adamant.  I was baffled.  

The more we talked about it, the more I became suspicious of Luke’s motives for quitting the sport he’s come to love so much.  “Did something happen at your soccer class last week?” I asked him.  Quickly the perplexing scenario snapped into focus.  Luke explained that a boy in his class, a boy who has continually been a problem for all the children on his team since we began soccer almost a year ago, had pushed Luke last week.  He ran up to him from behind, Luke told me, and knocked him onto his face.  He also, according to Luke, kicked him in the stomach.  “It hurt very bad,” Luke recounted.  Hearing all of this felt like a punch to my own gut, especially given the fact that Luke seemed so willing to give up something he loves in order to avoid the bully.   

In the end, we switched Luke’s soccer class to another time, allowing him to continue the game he enjoys without having to be subjected to the aggressions of the pint-sized terror on his former team.  I found myself feeling empowered as a parent in doing so, able to remove Luke from a bad situation, thereby solving his problem.  At the same time, I felt confronted again by a reality I find, even in my own life, difficult to accept.  I know my solution for Luke applies only to today’s conflict and not the string of inevitable such encounters he’ll face in life.  At best, I could talk to Luke about bullies (this one in particular and the character trait in general) and turn the incident from simply something we were fleeing into an opportunity to learn skills for dealing with this himself one day.  

Childhood is such an rare and special snippet in one’s life, a golden age of infinite potential, whimsical dreaming, and creative sparks.  Only a child perceives that there can be ultimate justice in their illusory world of ideals.  Part of me regrets that times like today work to tarnish a stretch of Luke’s life that is far too brief as it is.  In a way, however, I am also glad there are mixed through the timeline of his youth moments which allow him a slow transition into reality.  It is, after all, an imperfect and hardly just world my job it is to prepare Luke for.  While I mourn, on one hand, the gradual loss of the Luke’s innocence, I hold tight to the hope that he toughens just enough to make his pains bearable but never so much that he abandons the essential treasures of his nature.  

A New Friend

With very few exceptions, all of Luke's friendships are with children he's known since before he could speak and the handful of exceptions are bonds which still began with much coaxing along by me.  Luke has had an easy ride in the social department, to say the least, meanwhile still hitting the social jackpot, so to speak, despite exerting very little effort of his own.  Since Luke was born, my friends have all come with the convenient bonus of a friend for him, like the tiny travel-sized shampoo you find bundled for free with the standard-sized bottle you buy for yourself at the store.  Luke has made friendships even in his 3 short years of living that I am certain he'll maintain and cherish for years and years to come.  The arranged nature of their origins certainly does not in any way discount their quality, inevitable longevity or depth.  To the contrary, there is something to be said for working your way through infancy alongside another child, meeting basic milestones together and going through and growing out of the territorial "mine-stages" of the trying toddler years.  The kids Luke knows are as intimate to and loved by him as any kid could be.  They are family. 

Recently, in the ultimate display of his ever-expanding independence and blossoming identity, Luke made his first very own friend, unaided in any way by my matchmaking.  Luke met Maeve, a four-year-old neighbor, and her two-year-old sister, Aine, first in late Spring.  By Summer Luke and Maeve were great friends, their bond the product of the many hot afternoons we spent poolside with the sisters.  

Luke's friendship with Maeve is a social milestone for him.  It is the first time he's reaped the rewards of his own efforts to connect with a peer.  The two of them play beautifully together, giggling and prancing around for hours, often lost in their own imaginative world as little Aine trots closely by their sides.  

Luke and Maeve's friendship took an unexpected turn when, several weeks ago, I overheard her say to him, "Let's play boyfriend and girlfriend.  You be the boyfriend and I'll be the girlfriend and we have to stay really close together all the time."  Luke, eager to play a new game, agreed, though he seemed slightly baffled by its premiss.  Only about a week prior he'd cautiously answered "Mama" when his older cousin asked him about a girlfriend.  

Maeve and Luke walked hand-in-hand for most of the rest of the afternoon their pretend romance began.  By the next weekend, I realized things had progressed quite quickly between the two of them when they began playing "Husband and Wife."  This new game even culminated in Luke's first kiss on the lips as he and Maeve played wedding and exchanged imaginary vows.  Maeve's mom and dad both attribute her fixation on weddings and romance to The Sound of Music, a musical they say she's seen several times and loves.  

Maeve's and Luke's imaginary nuptials are no different than other fantasy games either of them play in a day with other friends, be they involving princesses or Spider-Man.  When they play their romantic games they merely try the roles they see in the adult world around them on like costumes in a dress up bin.  Their behavior is less a foreshadowing of real attractions they'll have after puberty's hormonal storm than the activity similar to two feisty kittens of one litter playing fiercely with each other.  Luke and Maeve engage in the typical preschooler's play that Luke shares in common with all of his friends, the only difference being that occasionally they'll stop to hug, hold hands or kiss.  

"Do you want to kiss me again?" I overheard Maeve ask Luke one morning we spent with them at the beach.  The two had been wading in the surf and tumbling in the sand all morning.  

"No, thank you," Luke answered, very matter-of-factly.  "You're too sandy."  Completely unfazed, Maeve then picked up a shovel and proceeded to dig in the sand alongside Luke.  

Perhaps I can best convey the essence and sweetness of Luke's and Maeve's friendship with the example of a note Maeve wrote to Luke, hand-delivering it to our door a few days ago:  "I love you, Luke.  I really enjoy swimming with you and going on adventures.  Love, Maeve."  Luke and I then baked cookies and delivered them to Maeve and Aine the next morning, a gesture I know felt as good to Luke to make as the fresh cookies probably tasted to the girls.  This instance most captures what is fundamentally true about Luke and his new friend, Maeve.  While their romance may be all pretend, there is nothing artificial about the love and caring each of them have for the other.

Spider-Boy

“Who’s that guy?” asked Luke one afternoon by the pool last summer, pointing to the sleek blue and red figure swooping through a cityscape on my friend’s beach towel.  Had I known, I would have made special note of the date for I’d later come to recognize it as a pivotal day in our lives:  The day Luke discovered Spider-Man.    

The cartoon is far too violent for my taste, though Luke did watch it one time months ago, something he won’t be doing again for a very, very long time if ever.  It’s not even particularly the violence that offends me.  Rather, it’s the deeper message of which the violence is seemingly simply an offshoot.  There are good guys.  There are bad guys.  The good guys get the bad guys.  Done.  “Why is he a bad guy?” Luke asked me once as we read one of his Spider-Man books.  A child’s endless stream of questions throughout the day do not always warrant the kind of depth of thought I gave to this one.  I know, however, that scattered amidst the jumble of their inquiries (“Why does everybody have a neck?”,  “Why does the sun set?”,  “Why don’t cats’ tails wag like dogs’?”) are a child’s attempts to seek ultimate truths about the perplexing world around them.  Personally, I enjoy reveling in the gray matter of life and am ever hesitant to impose opposite absolutes onto the world.  Having taken whole courses in college focusing solely on the philosophical questions concerning good and evil, I felt myself squirming and stumbling over my words as I tried to fashion Luke an answer to satisfy both of us.  I simply couldn’t.  There isn’t room for analyzing the complex web of circumstances that may have lead the bad guys to their life paths, the sadness and/or neglect Lex Luther (the villain in Spider-Man) might have faced in his childhood, for example.  He’s a bad guy because he just is.  Now let’s get him!  

Even if there were a back-story on the bad guys to explain their evil ways, I’d likely still complain.  Lotso Huggin Bear in Toy Story 3 was a twisted, dark character of a bad guy and, as we learned in the  film, his painful past had everything to do with his hateful and manipulative ways.  I suppose given the option then, I’d rather expose Luke to an unrealistic and almost caricatured model of the good and evil clash than the deeply complicated and far more plausible representation of it we find in Toy Story 3.  Ultimately, however, perhaps neither is necessary right now.  I think we’ll just stick with the sweet innocence of shows like Fireman Sam for as long as we can. 

All discussion of the nature of good and evil aside, it is, on some level, irrelevant if Luke is ever again exposed to a Spider-Man show in his life.  His consciousness has been imbued with Spidey notions and that bell cannot be unrung.  He’s borderline obsessed with the guy, even going so far as to announce to me months ago that he’ll have a Spider-Man birthday party in December.  Our dog’s middle name, Luke has decided, is Spider-Man, as is every unnamed stuffed animal he owns if he’s asked what their name is on the spot.  He knows the Spider-Man theme song (we’re partial to the Michael Buble version) by heart and bursts into song with it randomly, even morphing into his favorite character as he sings it.  He had his good friend and her little sister pretending to be “Spider-Girls” at the pool the other afternoon.  He was a hero on a super mission, strutting to their sides in their time of imaginary need.    

Amidst all of this, I guess the most fascinating thing of all to me is the fact that suddenly Luke seems to adopt the facade of his favorite super hero very predictably in certain social situations.  Having always been an outgoing and friendly sort, he has become more self-conscious in recent months (even shy at times) in new and what he must find to be uncomfortable situations.  I’ve noticed him immediately slip into the tough guy Spider-Man role in these circumstances and I sometimes find myself compelled to explain his somewhat odd behavior to complete strangers.  While blueberry picking two weeks ago, for example, two young and beautiful women started smiling at Luke and asking him questions.  Suddenly, the child who had just been delicately plucking blueberries and plopping them gently into his bucket began yanking the berries and chucking them into the same bucket, complete with much fierce frowning and many sound effects.  

I suppose we all wear certain, changing masks to varying degrees in different social situations, adapting to the mix of chemistries we encounter with the people we meet and come to know as friends.  Sometimes I envy Luke’s ability to transform, quite literally, into a different character to get him through life’s inevitable awkward moments.  There have certainly been times I’ve wished to do the same!  I do, however, look forward to the day Luke learns to ride out and fumble through these uncomfortable experiences as himself, as Luke, a kid who’s pretty cool and capable even without a single one of Spider-Man’s array of super powers.

State Lines

 

The emotions morphed as they filtered through me in the moment we crossed the Texas state line.  I, having for years felt stranded because of my driving phobia after a carless decade of life in San Francisco, had just driven myself, my son and my dog roughly the 1,450 miles it took to cross all 4 state lines between our home in California and Texas.  At first an overwhelming sense of triumph washed over me and I beamed with pride at our accomplishment.  This feeling, however, gave way almost immediately to a sadness so deep and aching that my eyes welled up with tears.  

John Ed Pearce said, “Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.”  Home, however, is much more than a physical spot on a map to which you can simply return when the wisdom of age creates an urge to do so.  Time stands around this notion, “home,” like a moat around a castle, preventing you from ever feeling the satisfaction of true returning.  The same time that ushered you to the maturity of mind to long to get back to home has also ushered those characters you once so loved about home to places away from it, places where you can’t visit them.  Crossing the Texas state line, I immediately wept for the faces I wouldn’t see on our trip this time, faces of people gone, in some cases, 13 years and, in others, only a matter of months:  My Aunt Sue who passed away in 1998, my grandad who we lost in ’03 and my grandpa who’s only been gone since last Fall.  It felt somehow unjust that not even five days of continuous driving alone with a child and canine could earn me the briefest privilege of a snippet of time spent with any of them.  

Despite my sadness, I still allowed myself to revel in the success of the road trip portion of our journey.  Las Vegas, our first stop along the way, is all but a blur in my memory.  Bleary eyed after the almost 12 hour drive to Nevada from Northern California, we barely had time to enjoy a single attraction before we called it a night and headed on our way to Arizona the next morning.  Kevin drove with us down to Las Vegas and took a flight home the following day.  The mere handful of hours we spent in Sin City, however, were enough.  I couldn’t help but note that my cringe of disgust as I cruised the sidewalks of the Las Vegas Strip with my innocent 3-year-old in tow must be an indication of my increasing age.  Somehow, the unsavory nature of that city flashes like a neon sign when you’re in the presence of somebody of Luke’s status and world-sense.  

After dropping Kevin off at the airport on Monday morning, Luke, Tiki and I were Arizona bound.  After a brief stop at Lake Meade (where I took the picture above) to let Luke wade in the warm water and gather clam shells, we drove to Williams, Arizona, arriving at our hotel at dusk.  One of the many highlights of the trip happened on this night at this hotel when Luke and I tied a bow on our day of driving with a dip in the pool.  Despite the nip of the mountain night air, the pool was warm, steaming and glowing.  Statues of elk made of wire and white Christmas lights lined the perimeter of the pool, sparkling in the night just beyond the pool gate.  A group of friends gathered around a bonfire beside the pool as Luke and I swam.  They all sipped their wine between hushed stories and bursts of laughter.  

Williams is only about an hour away from The Grand Canyon, where Luke and I headed the next morning, a detour on our route to Gallup, New Mexico, for our next night’s stay.  At The Grand Canyon a crowd of seemingly hundreds spoke in the whispers and the soft tones reserved only for libraries and places of worship.  Everybody, even Luke, seemed moved by the humbling surroundings.  It was here at the Grand Canyon where Luke actually looked up at me while holding my hand and said, “Mama, you take me to cool places!”  The memory of this sentiment from Luke I tucked in my mind that day like I was slipping a gift shop souvenir into my pocket.

It was at our next stop in Gallup where I felt for the first and only time on the trip unsafe alone with Luke.  Having arrived an hour after dark (much later than planned) to our hotel, a place I’d found after my first choice, the Best Western Plus, hadn’t had a room available, I began unloading our bags from the car.  When I saw in my periphery two men approaching us, on instinct I swooped Luke up out of his car seat and onto my hip and quickly tugged Tiki to my side.  “Excuse me, Mam,” one of the men slurred, clearly drunk.  “Can I ask you something?”  Then, seeing Luke, he said, “Oh, never mind.  You have a kid.”  I doubt the men were going to do much more than ask me for money, but I’ll never know for sure their intentions that night.  From that point forward, I felt very grateful to have Tiki along with us for the ride.  

We made it the next day to Santa Rosa, New Mexico, our last stop before my aunt’s home in Texas where we stayed before making the final 3-hour trek to my mom and stepdad’s house in Oklahoma.  Luke, ever the trooper, didn’t utter the universal bored-kid-in-the-backseat phrase “Are we there yet?” until just after 10:00 in the morning of our fifth and final day of driving.  I, for one, felt he deserved just as much credit for keeping a positive attitude along the way as I did for getting us safely to our destination.    

Our visit with family this trip was wonderful and long, long overdue.  Luke enjoyed working in the vegetable garden with my mom and stepdad during our stay at their house and Tiki appreciated the space to freely roam, frolic and fetch.  Luke also experienced his first thunder storm on one of our nights with my mom and stepdad.  Having put him to bed just as the thunder began to roll loud enough that I knew it would frighten him, I whispered for Luke to get up out of bed so I could “show him something.”  Eager that bedtime had suddenly and unexpectedly been postponed, Luke hopped out from under the covers and plopped himself on my lap.  We sat on the edge of our bed in the shadowed bedroom, studying the darkness outside the window.  With each flash of lightning, Luke’s face lit up with surprise and it seemed at times as if he wondered if I was at all controlling the exciting show.  “Mama, I love you to show me these things,” he whispered at one point.

Our stay in Texas was much the same, with its wide open spaces for exploring, bug spotting, tractor climbing, bubble blowing, rock collecting and Luke’s crowd of adoring fans to love and shower him with affection.  He got along smashingly with my aunts and uncles, as I knew he would, and everybody seemed thrilled to have such a joyful and spunky boy in their midst.  

Above all, the two truly treasured experiences on the trip were the times I spent with my two grandmothers, one, my mom’s mom, in her late 80’s and the other, my dad’s mom, in her early 90’s.  I remember noticing in both of their cases what radiating beauty they each possess at this stage of their life, a beauty that perhaps has long-since been there but that my own maturity is just now sharpened enough to notice.  This is not, of course, the vibrant youthful (often tan) beauty one might see sauntering bikini clad down the Las Vegas strip, for example.  Rather, theirs is an intense and untouchable beauty achieved only in the wisdom vast amounts of living grants the fortunate.  The moments I spent with each of these great women forever enriched my life, moments I’ll always cherish and moments that, in the end, were really the main aim of the trip and moments I hope I’ll soon have again.  

Gone from home a month, Luke, the dog and I finally packed up the car and headed west again, stopping for 7 days at my dad’s house in North Hollywood before making the final 8 hour drive back home, finally crossing the finish line on our monumental loop of a journey.  Aside from our wonderful visit with my dad, our 3 (yes, 3!) days at Disneyland while in the area and Luke’s time he spent with his grandpa, aunt and cousins on Kevin’s side, the highlight on the otherwise direct line of travel down I-40 on the return trip home from Texas was our spontaneous overnight stop in Sedona, a majestical setting, to say the least!  Luke’s and my little dip in the pool on our one night there was nothing short of magical, the perfect cap to our momentous achievement as the fearless and unflappable mother/son (and dog) traveling duo.  

“Will you remember this trip when you are my age?” I asked Luke once towards the beginning of our stay in Oklahoma, hoping that I was addressing the more permanent thread of soul that I am sure runs through Luke, not just the little boy who loves Spiderman and jelly beans, but that part of him which is constant in him and will be at 30 perhaps the only thing he’ll have in common with the boy he is today.  Without even a hint of hesitation, he assured me he would, a fact which gives me comfort even though I know he may be (and likely is), unknowingly, making me a promise he can’t entirely keep.  Whether Luke remembers our adventure halfway across the country together or not, however, I have the pictures to prove that it happened and the memories to share with him for as long as my mind can hold them.  

The Tail In Our Hearts Is Wagging

Our family is inching its way toward completion.  On St. Patrick’s Day we adopted a dog.  After over a month of considering one, weeks of scouring listing upon listing on adoption and rescue websites like petfinder.com, just under a week of driving from shelter to shelter in our county and two others to meet dogs, even playing with many in enclosed concrete rooms as we considered them each more seriously, after emailing and talking to a handful of “foster owners,” going to several pet store adoption events and even, towards the end when it proved more difficult than I ever imagined to find the right dog for our family, considering purchasing a $1000+ purebred puppy of either of the two breeds Kevin and I agreed upon, we finally met Billy, a black basset/lab mix at The Milo Foundation in Marin.  Immediately struck by his calm presence as he gazed up at us with amber eyes, sweet little marbles each full of depth, spirit and some sadness as he rested his pulsing wet nose on the cage links, I asked to meet him even though I’d already sort of set my sights on Flynn, a cute and spunky long-haired terrier mix puppy we’d seen just prior.  Good with kids, as they assured us, Billy, having just arrived to the foundation a few days before, hadn’t yet been deemed "cat-friendly."  “If he passes the cat test,” I told them after about 10 minutes in an enclosed hallway with him, “we’d love to take him home.”  Thankfully, Billy aced the test as Luke and I stood by observing and half an hour later he was riding shotgun in our car on a rainy drive northward to his new home.

Timid, unsure and intensely shy in the very beginning, Billy seemed depressed.  In the two days he’s been with us, however, I’ve seen glimpses of the joyful, playful, confident dog he is beneath his somewhat reserved, frightened and probably emotionally wounded exterior.  In 10 short months this pup has been through, I’m sure, more than many dogs face in a lifetime.  His complete history as I've surmised it based on what I know about him involves being born and living with his mother and litter mates for his first two or so months of his life, then being adopted to his original owners and likely soon surrendered to a shelter where The Milo Foundation then rescued him.  Next he landed a temporary foster home for a spell until they brought him back to The Milo Foundation's adoption center where he awaited a permanent home.  Having spent a good part of his life in cages then, no doubt, it’s no wonder he shies away from cage-like spaces.  He won’t enter stairwells or cross bridges with gate-like siding and, until tonight, it proved almost impossible to even gently coax him into elevators.  

Billy (hereafter known as “Tiki,” a name he answered to on only his second day with us!) is almost certainly a “designer dog,” a dog, that is, not the product of a random mixing of fertile mutts left unattended in somebody's backyard but, instead, one in which his breeder intentionally paired a lab and basset hound so as to produce a litter of “bassador” pups.  It's a popular breeding fad which produces some interesting, sometimes even odd, appearing dogs but also some pretty darn cute pups!  When I look at Tiki I can’t help but notice that he looks like the product of somebody pouring lab batter into a basset hound mould.  Except that his frame is of a basset, his squatty legs, outwardly angled front paws and his long, thick torso, he looks otherwise like a black lab.  He’s like a shetland puppy!  In some ways and perhaps contributing to why Luke and Tiki have bonded so deeply so quickly, he is the dog equivalent of what Luke must feel like at his age on a daily basis.  He is, after all, an adult/child hybrid, of sorts.  Like Tiki, a lab on little legs, Luke is a man in the making, thwarted on a daily basis by the limits of his size.  

For this and other reasons I may never understand, Tiki and Luke have an almost kindred connection after only 2 days together and nothing makes me happier than to see this!  The two are inseparable.  I heard Luke say, “I love you,” softly to Tiki this morning as he walked by him sleeping in the hall and gave him a gentle pat on the head.  And the love from Tiki's perspective, it seems, is mutual.  He is, as I type this, sleeping peacefully in Luke’s room on the floor beside his bed.  Luke the past two nights, in fact, has refuses to fall asleep without his new dog’s company and he even woke up in the night last night crying out for him.  

Having found myself suddenly in the dog-love world after never in my 30 years having felt this way about a canine, I now get all the hype about this species.  Overnight, Tiki has become a treasured companion, a member of the family and, most importantly, a cherished friend to Luke.  I already love Tiki more than words can express and it seems, if his tail wag in my presence is any indication, he’s quite fond of me, too.  The best part, though, of course, is that Tiki clearly loves Luke in a similar reflexive, boundless, unconditional and forever-no-matter-what-you-do kind of way that I do.  And, as any mom will tell you, no matter your species, pedigree or disproportionate size, the fastest way to a mother’s heart is to love her child with even a fraction of the depth and degree that she does.  And so, in the end, Tiki won me over because of the beaming smile Luke dons in his presence and I am, not solely because of this but certainly because of this in addition to everything else about him, therefore pleased to announce that our dear Tiki has indeed found a forever home with us!  

Three's a Breeze!

Though I hesitate to label any phase of Luke's development "terrible," the two's were certainly tough.  As difficult at times as it was for me to parent such an intense and spirited toddler as Luke proved to be, I'm sure it was equally challenging for him to fill the role of two-year-old.  Over the past year, most days were wonderful, others frustrating and a few impossibly hard but, in the end, I glance behind me over the hurdles we've surmounted as a family this past year and stand in awe at the little gem of a boy Luke has emerged through the tunnel of toddlerhood to become.  So far, three's a breeze and I don't for a second hesitate in claiming my right that this should be the case.  We've earned it!

I certainly do not mean to imply that we don't still have our challenging moments with Luke or difficult days.  We do.  Now through the two's, however, I feel like all of our efforts have paid off in the child Luke has become.  

I've heard parents of older children warn, upon learning Luke's age, "Watch out!  Three is even harder than two!"  Perhaps because this idea is both impossible to even fathom and, so far in my experience, proving not to be even remotely the case, I tend to object in light of our experience.  In our house, I tell them, a few months before Luke turned three I witnessed in him the most profound shift.  Suddenly, he became reasonable...mostly.  With the exception of one 10 day stretch several weeks ago, a chunk of time during which he started sleeping considerable less than ever and so was often exhausted and therefore cranky and irrational, he's suddenly such an agreeable little man.  It obviously helps that he's now capable of complicated, abstract thought and communication.  With these skills came the power to express himself and, as I know from my own experience, when you can articulate your thoughts and emotions you can defuse the intensity of tough emotions or empower yourself by voicing your thoughts and experiences.  

An example of the shift I'm speaking about here:  The other day Luke, completely devastated that it was nap time, found himself moved to tears by his disappointment.  Rather than cry uncontrollably or spiral into tantrum mode, however, he said to me, sobbing, "I'm sad.  I'm so sad.  Help me not be sad anymore."  Being able to articulate one's emotion even in the midst of it is one of the traits that makes us uniquely human.  When Luke became able to do this to a greater extent, removing himself at will from the emotion enough to, in turn, label it, he became a different, more rational child.  Rational people, no matter their age, simply have fewer tantrums!  

In light of all this, I have a great appreciation today for not only the growth Luke has endured and experienced but also for my own transformations as a parent this past year.  There are few experiences so growth and change inspiring as the witnessing of your child in the midst of growth and change.  

Tonight, as I was putting Luke to bed, he began asking me questions about where people work.  It's a subject that has come up between us before, but tonight he seemed particularly fixated on it.  

"Where does Gualala work?" he asked.  Gualala is his stuffed black and white cat that he sleeps with every night.  

"She works in your bed," I told him.  "She helps you fall asleep." 

"Where does Dada work?" he asked.  I told him, even though he already knew the answer.  

Finally, "Where do you work?" he asked me.  

"You are my job," I answered.  

"What does 'job' mean?" he wondered.  

"Job is where you work," I explained, "and you are my job right now."  

Luke paused for a moment.  "Are you my job?" he asked.  

I couldn't help but smile.  In more than just a small way, his question is in itself an answer that embodies the wisdom, growth and growth toward wisdom that being a parent is, I think, in the end really all about.