Tara used the potty a couple times this weekend. We haven’t much been pushing her toward it, and for the last couple months she has acted like the potty was just a seat you sit on while pushing wads of toilet paper between your legs. I had the bright idea of taking the toilet paper off the holder and telling her that she could have it back when she put her pee in the potty. Sure enough, it worked the second time I tried it, and she has used the potty three times since. She still goes in her diaper too, though, but it’s clear that progress is being made.

The dark side of Tara’s maturing is that she’s picking up some undesirable vocabulary. Anna has been reading the Junie B. Jones series of books, and recently got some on tape¹ from the library. They’re funny books, but the language isn’t really appropriate for a two year old. Tara has been repeating phrases like “shut up” and “stupid dumb lady” with her usual cheery monotone. It’s hard not to laugh.

¹ Tara extracted the tapes into a big, spaghetti-like pile on two occasions. I hope they still work.

Jennifer and I celebrate twelve years of marriage this week; something like 17 years total together. That’s a lot. Over the course of an evening we discuss the following things we already know:

• We are lucky.
• We are happy.
• All we ever needed to know we learned from our six-year-old.
• Life is good.
• We are lucky.

In other news, we visited Spa Velía for the first and maybe not the last time for a couples’ massage. The place itself is very nice, the ambience is great, the massages are good (though we’ve had better). Throw in a couple or three martinis and a kickass NY strip on top and I really really have nothing about which I can complain. My life and my ability to appreciate it seem to get better with every passing year. Here’s to lucky thirteen.

Thursday was Anna’s first day of kindergarten, and as with all change, there was some drama involved. She started out being excited, right up until the part that she realized that we were going to leave her new classroom without her. Most of the kids were patiently seated criss-cross-applesauce on the carpet waiting for class to start while the parents hovered and chit-chatted and took pictures. I needed to sit down next to Anna for her to sit in her spot. When the teacher sat down and began class, I could only inch away from Anna little by little. The teacher began reading a story about a raccoon’s first day of school and transitioned from the story into saying goodbye to the hovering parents. Anna was the only child crying when we left, but one of the teachers was comforting her and we knew she would recover quickly enough.

Today, dropping off at school was much less dramatic, and although she still needed some coaxing, there weren’t any tears shed. I went directly from school to Mission Beach to spend an hour with my brother and his family before zooming back to school to pick up Anna (kindergarten is scarely two hours on Fridays). When I picked her up, she didn’t want to leave. She really likes being with other kids and she adores her teacher.

Today Tara is 18 months old. At her checkup today, she clocked in at around 75% percentile for both height and weight, though we suspect the height measurement was a little generous. Last night we tried to think up how many words she knows; we counted at least forty, but I’m sure there are more. She loves music, and loves to sing. Yesterday, I was trying to get her to sing “Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me!” She said “yo-yo yo-yo” over and over, and even this afternoon she was still doing it in the car. I’m now trying to get her to say, “What up, dog?” as I figure it will go well with the “yo-yo.” She is a happy and healthy little girl, and although we can see the beginnings of the terrible twos around the corner, she is still an absolute delight.

In other news, the City of San Diego doesn’t seem favorable to the idea of putting fluoride in the water, but apparently poo is A-OK! On Saturday night, the mayor issued a “boil water order” because there was e. coli in the water due to a water main break on Tuesday. Apparently, we had five good days worth of drinking tainted water before they figured out what was going on. All the restaurants in our part of town were ordered shut down. Jennifer and I were out on a date when all this happened, eating dinner in a part of town that was not affected, so we didn’t find out about it until we picked up our kids on Sunday morning. That’s what we get for not watching TV nor reading the paper. Finally on Sunday evening the boil order was rescinded. I’ll be turning on all the taps now.

The other afternoon when I picked up Tara from M.’s house, she said as I was putting her into the car: “I missed you.” Actually it was more like “Ah mist choo,” but I know what she meant. Even so, I did a double-take. “Did you just say, ‘I missed you?’” I asked. “Yeah.” says Tara. I believe this qualifies as her first official sentence, at a week short of eighteen months.

Tonight I went to a mindfulness class led by Tara Brach. It was only about 10 miles from my hotel, and I left early in case the traffic report was in error or I made a wrong turn. The class, held regularly every Wednesday, is held at a Unitarian church. As I pulled into the parking lot, the cars were pretty much what I expected: small, eco-friendly, and bearing bumper stickers such as “My other vehicle is my mind.”

Inside, there were tables set up with flyers and books and CDs for sale. People milled about and chatted with each other. Chairs were set up in the church arranged around a small platform and some candles and a statue of the Buddha. Off to the side, a smaller group of chairs were set up below a sign saying “Newcomer Orientation.” At seven o’clock, people gathered in the chairs for orientation. A volunteer whose name I forget gave a short talk about meditation, the class, schedules, logistics, resources… most of it I was already aware of through my own practice or from the IMCW web site. I did learn that Tara Brach pronounces her name “Tar-a,” rather than “Tear-a” like we do.

After orientation I found a seat and watch others chatting, sitting quietly, or doing yoga. Eventually the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted. Tara entered and took a seat on the platform¹. She led a sesshin of about half a hour, much like many others I’ve heard. Then, she gave a dharma talk on the anxiety of feeling imperfect. Like in her recorded dharma talks that I’ve heard, she quoted such varied luminaries as the Buddha, George Carlin, modern Buddhist teachers, and Maurice Sendak.

After the class ended, there were a number of people waiting to talk to Tara, and I waited in line while people introduced themselves. Coincidentally enough, the girl in front of me was telling Tara Brach about how her name was also Tara, and my jaw dropped when I saw her point out her mother and her twin sister Anna[1]. While her mother was talking to Tara Brach, I mentioned the coincidence to the girl. Soon, the girls and the mother departed and I spoke with Tara. I felt clumsy and nervous and I probably came across as a total nutcase, but I told her about the time I first heard Radical Acceptance on tape and the profound effect it had on me. When I got to the point of telling her that we named our daughter Tara she stopped me and said “I just need to pause and appreciate this.” She took a breath and I could see the joy and awe her eyes, and I continued. She asked my name and Jennifer’s name asked me to pass along greetings to the rest of the family, then she gave me a hug and thanked me for telling her. All I could to was to thank her and smile.

¹ The volunteer had explained this was so we could see her. She’s a tiny little woman.

² Actually I suspect it was Ana; she said it was short for some Persian name.

Over the last couple weeks, Tara has learned a lot of new words. I’d have to put her vocabulary at 20 words or so. She already knew mommy, daddy, outside, door, no-no, all done, night-night, and a few others. More recently she has added apple (meaning “some food I would like to eat”), please, here, ball, Anna, Augie, and she continues to learn new words every day. Also, she can sing “woah woah woah” (your boat), and “E-I-E-I-O”, and sometimes count as high as nine. I’ll have to look back at videos of Anna at this age and see how well she was speaking; I bet she’s on track to meet Anna’s benchmark of 7-8 word sentences by age two.

This is an edited repost of The Birth, which I could have simply linked to, but I think it’s worth a copy and paste (and edit). Mother’s Day post coming later.

Jennifer had concluded her last day of work on Friday, without much fanfare. She was looking forward to a few weeks off to tie up loose ends around the house, easing her way through the final weeks of pregnancy and into motherhood. The following morning, we were on our way to a parenting class (_Sleep Strategies_, if I remember right) when Jen felt so uncomfortable on the drive down, that she had me turn around and go home because there was no way she was going to be able to bear sitting on folding chairs all morning. Discomfort had become a fact of life in the third trimester, but this was extra special discomfort.

Back home, she laid down, drank some water, and relaxed and was soon feeling better. As sort of a “mother’s day” outing, Jennifer decided she wanted to see a Padres game. The Padres were on a home stand, and we know there wouldn’t be much more baseball in our future for a while. A. J. Burnett was pitching for the Florida Marlins, and the Padres lost 0-3. How do I remember this detail, five years later, you ask? Because during tha game Jennifer was again feeling uncomfortable, and wanted to leave around the sixth inning, but Burnett was throwing a no-hitter. With the sensitivity and caring that only a proud first-time father-to-be can muster, I told Jen, “Honey, we can have other children, but when are we ever going to see a NO-HITTER?” Burnett finished the game with no hits, seven strikeouts, and nine walks. We stayed.

The next morning, Jennifer went swimming and had continued bouts of discomfort during the day. Around dinner time, she asked me to put together a bag for the hospital. I grudgingly began to oblige, and quickly lost interest. In my defense, let me say that Jennifer’s list of things to bring to the hospital was a proper superset of every list of things to bring to the hospital ever published. It would have been easier to bring the hospital to us.

It was after ten o’clock when Jennifer, who was resting on [piece of furniture will remain anonymous, since many of you have since used it] announced that her water had broke. Actually, “announced” is the wrong word, as it neither indicates the urgency with which she made her declaration, nor evokes the sheer panic with which I reacted. The next few minutes I remember as being something of a blur, as I realized how little of the uber-list I had packed. I rushed around the house stuffing everything in sight into a duffel bag: pillows, towels, slippers, house plants. Finally, Jen said it was time to go, and I took the bag, the list, and mama-to-be down to the hospital. On the way, we called our good friends J. and D., who went to our house and played scavenger hunt with the copy we had left of the uber-list, and Jennifer’s mom, who seemed pretty nonplussed–it was 2am her time, and she expected we were only at the beginning of many hours of labor.

I realize now that Jennifer’s mom had a very different perspective on labor, having been through it twice, than did we. I had already been instructed, on a previous hospital trip, on the proper procedures for dropping off, parking, checking in, and the progression through different areas of the hospital at different stages of labor and delivery. In practice what happened was more like an episode of COPS, when a suspect on the run jumps out of a moving vehicle, hits the ground running, and flees cross-country while ducking gunfire. I may be wrong about the gunfire, but it was a long time ago, so my memory may be spotty.

In triage, we mostly waited around, occasionally toting our duffel bag and pillows from place to place, until a nurse brought a portable ultrasound cart. The ultrasound determined that… well, I don’t remember that it determined anything, but I remember that it was there. Eventually we were moved to the labor and delivery room, where we waited around some more, while Jennifer was being fitted with all sorts of instrumentation, until the OBGYN finally showed up. She used another portable ultrasound to determine what Jen had known for weeks, which was that the baby was breech. Apparently, having a baby who is breech after the water breaks is the magic combination for a c-section. It was around this time that J. and D. showed up with the results of the uber-list scavenger hunt, just in time for Jennifer and I to be prepped for surgery. My surgery prep mainly consisted of reading and signing pages of liability forms, until Jennifer reminded me that I was supposed to be coaching her labor, which had reached the point that it needed some coaching right now. I multitasked by reading the forms to Jennifer while simultaneously coaching her breathing. I think it went something like, “the undersigned party of the first part (breathe in) hereby relinquishes all rights (breath out) of litigation with respect to the (breath out) party of the second part…”

After it was decided that a c-section was in order, things began to happen very quickly. Jennifer was moved to a wheelchair, then out of the room. I was still signing papers, and gathering up our stuff. The doctor and nurse were moving around with purpose. I went down the hall, and had only a few seconds to talk to Jen before she went in to be prepared for the surgery and I went to a different area to put on scrubs. Jennifer was shaking. She was being wheeled down the hall and was shaking so hard I don’t think she could have a held a glass of water if she wanted to. I could see she was scared, and she was cold, and things were not happening the way she expected. I took her chilly hand and held it in mine. “Everything is going to be okay.” I said, but I was as uncertain as she was.

By the time I was dressed and allowed into the operating room, Jennifer was laid down on a table with a curtain separating her head from the rest of her body. I sat down to talk to her head. We talked for a little bit and she seemed in much better spirits. She couldn’t feel anything that was going on. “Have they started yet? It’s ok if you look.” she asked. I peered over the curtain. The doctor had opened the incision and was installing some very large stainless steel spreaders to keep it open, and using and unsettling amount of force to do it. “Oh yeah, they’ve started.”

Jennifer encouraged me to keep looking. I could see where the doctor cut into the uterus; there was a little spash of fluid, then almost immediately, two little feet came poking out, making little alternating kicks. The doctor grabbed the feet and quickly pulled Anna out, holding her upside down as the cord was clamped and cut. As Anna was handed to a nurse, still upside down, her little baby hand reached out and grasped some tubing that was hanging next to the table where Jennifer lay. Comically, the nurse kept walking until she realized Anna was putting up some resistance, then turned around and pried her little hand off the tube.

I remembered that I had my camera with me, and snapped a picture of Anna being cleaned up. In a few moments, the nurse brought her over to Jen, who gently touched and stroked her face. The nurse handed Anna to me, then reached for my camera and asked if she could take a picture of the three of us.

It had all happened so fast. Just a few hours previous, we were a young, married, childless couple hanging around the house. Three frantic hours separated two lifestyles that could not have been more different. We were a family. A frantic, tired, happy family.

The nurse stood in front of us and held up the camera.

“Just point and shoot, right?”

Tara turned fifteen months yesterday. Lately she has been changing so quickly it’s hard to keep track of it all. She is just constantly in motion: getting into stuff, climbing on things, talking to inanimate objects. She can speak the following: Hi, bye-bye, uh-oh, night-night (nigh-nigh), all done (aw duh), Mommy, and Dada. Further, she can sign milk, food, help, all done, and bath. She whines when she doesn’t get her way, and in starting to defend herself from her older sister. She can climb up and down the stairs, and pretty much anything else with steps, such as stools and her slide.

Anna has been having a rough go since Jennifer got back from Singapore. On Thursday, she fell and whacked her knee pretty hard; she still has a big bruise on it. Also, she fell yesterday while at hip-hop dance class, whonking her elbow and complaining about it to the point than Jennifer took her to urgent care to have it looked at. It’s fine. Then, today she got her five-year shots, plus blood taken from her finger. She was totally nonlinear for a good half hour. At this point she has one good leg but the rest is in pretty sad shape. Hopefully the rest of the week will turn for the better.

Now that I have the in-browser streaming video thing figured out, I’ll have to include some more movies on the web site. This video of Anna at 23 months shows just how well she could talk at that age. We started her doing sign language at around 8-9 months, and she started signing back to us at about 11 months. For a while it was a real novelty to our relatives. By around 18 months, she was speaking so well that she began to drop signing as a means of communicating, and has all but forgotten them. By two years, she was speaking in sentences of 7-8 words.

Tara has not been nearly the chatterbox that Anna was. This morning, as I got out the camera to get a picture of Jennifer nursing Tara–who is almost completely weaned–and Tara would occasionally pop off upon hearing the shutter click. As I set up for another shot, she looked over at me and said “Hi dada!” It was as clear as a bell; after we recovered a little bit and talked to her some more, Jennifer asked Tara to say hi again, and she said “Hi daddy.” How cool is that?