478: jonsi

Soon, I will share images from our weekend in Missouri (much of which I napped through, desperate for a string of decent sleep, and watching thunderstorms, and tasting the various beers my husband had), and soon I will bring another collection of Hay Creek images to you, but for now, here is a song I heard reviewed on Musicheads, and even more:

Today is Christian's second birthday. (For those who don't know, he is my oldest friend's son; I was present at the birth, and I hope she can manage to be present at Baby Kiefer's in January.) We went to a restaurant called Space Aliens, I had a lot of bad food, and he is looking more and more adorably like a little boy, which is so flatteningly strange to me. He's charming and sweet and perfectly hers, which makes me so happy. I hope our own alien offspring is parented as well as Kelly does to her son.

Happy birthday, little C. I love you so.

458: a pair of weekend visitors

Christian and his mama came for a visit this weekend, a little bud on Saturday morning amongst all kinds of busy with end-of-semester preparation. We had lunch at a cafe (asparagus quiche for me), went to the park, and Christian even played fetch with Zephyr, the brave little boy.

And that's exactly what he is now: a boy. In just a little under two months, he will be two years old, and he's fully mobile, strangely conversant, has his own names for things, can answer questions ("Who is your favorite character?" "Cook!").

Kelly better watch out because I might steal him, add him to my collection of nephews, if only I can get Megan to truly ship Jimmy and Jack out to stay for a bit. I have no job for the summer just yet; day care could be halfway across the state--or the country--, right?

407

I can't believe I missed this hilariously sweet image in my first go-round of Christian holiday pictures. Enjoy: it reminds me of my long-term baby-sitting, and what I imagine is fairly typical of leisure time in the Nelson household.

403: 18 months

Ryan and I drove up and over, a little jaunt, a belated celebration of the winter holidays with my oldest and dearest friend. Her son, our godson, is now something like eighteen months old, which means he has a personality, a kind of communication. He's a charmer, that is for certain. I also think I may have glimpsed what he might be in the back of a high school classroom, and I have to admit: it reminded me of the long afternoons teaching. I also loved this glimpse: my husband with a little one, instructing him, telling him what he needed, and Ryan somehow finding a way to charm him right back.

344: this weekend's company

I don't know how time does what it does--that quick zip by. It feels as if I were in New Jersey last month, Bread Loaf too, and the semester only just began a week or two ago. Instead, I'm well over halfway into the fall semester, and Jack has gained inches on his strange hair and Bread Loaf is likely preparing for winter skiers.

I think the last time I was able to glimpse my little faux-nephew was before I left for said Bread Loaf excursion, so I am incredibly grateful Kelly and her sweet husband Richard could find a patch of time to bring their sweet son and ridiculously comic dog Logger down to our part of Minnesota for a visit. He's always bigger and stronger and moving faster, and I fear he loses a little bit of me, or maybe a little bit of that willingness for Auntie Molly to smoosh her face in his sweet-toddler noggin, each time.

He's cute and charming and loves to tug at animals' tails, an activity which Logger and Gatsby were willing to oblige. Penelope is also accommodating, allowing Christian to clamor on top of her, a hoist-up to reach the table. And Zephyr is getting better; where he would once constantly bark like a nut-job, he only emitted a few yelps, mostly in that high-pitched girlie-dog bark he reserves only for that speedy Logger, and only a few times surprising the newly-mobile toddler.

Also this past weekend: Anne Carson came to campus. I took a whole lot of pictures... for those who aren't familiar, she is a poet I've admired for some years now, and this particular campus visit included dancers (Nikki!) and collaborative readings. It was a stunning evening.

I'll try to be present here more. So much has been going on with school that I have felt pressure from all sides. I need to remember what is most important, and I think that is finding peace and time for myself--to take pleasure in life. Which I am doing. But I'm also going cross-eyed with the strain of all those balls in the air. So: be here now.

324

Weeks have gone by, but on finally uploading photos, I didn't want to take a moment to share a few photos of Christian. He grows so quickly--on this particular visit, he was toddling around on two bow legs, his full belly inches ahead of him as he tottered toward dog toys and pig tchotchkes.


He's a sweetie, this one.

295: Christian's First Birthday

Here are some of my favorite images from Christian's birthday party, held yesterday with many special guests: Kelly's Granny (and her grandmother's sister and her grandmother's best friend) drove up from Tennessee, Kelly's parents drove in from Green Bay, Michelle and Chris came, and various neighbors dropping by to play four-square and offer up a slip and slide. For the adults.

It was as I might imagine a baby birthday might go: the adults ate grilled food, passed the baby about, the presents came out with car-shapes and tinkling toys preferred over clothing and books, the individual cake was demolished and rubbed into an ear cavity, the sugar high was followed by a nap.

I marvel at this little being, how he's changed, how red his hair has gotten, how blue his eyes, how his voice forms word-shapes, something close to communication, how he grins, revealing little teeth thrust through gums, the sugar dots stuck to his cheeks. He's a sweet boy, and he's a year old now, standing up on his own, nearly walking. Oh, and this video makes me so happy! Happy birthday, sweet Iago. I'm so glad that you are here.

And if you want to take a peek at the day itself, here it is in images and words. And, of course, here is where I keep my album of Christian images.

283: kelly + christian come to visit

What was especially good about this Sunday, aside from spending time with my best friend and her disarming son (one year old in just a few weeks--amazing!) was observing our dogs with said eleven month old. Penelope was as the books say her breed ought to behave--the sweet golden retriever who tolerates a wooden spoon flung above, a teasing game of "For Christian? For Penny?", and a little boy who climbs on top of her while she's napping. Zephyr did as well as any dog with his quirks might do--he refrained from overt displays of dominance, managed to not quite leap about like a mountain goat when the thing began crawling across the floor (doesn't that indicate playtime?), and he even tolerated some wooden spoon games as well.

It's amazing how quickly he grows. I've grown used to saying "Kelly's baby," but the idea that he is a son is a vague one to me. But soon he'll be a toddler. Already he's standing on two fat wobbly legs, and he's able to move about easily with the plethora of baby height bookshelves. Soon he's going to be her "little boy," and that transition from "baby" to "boy" is striking.

249

Last weekend, I spent some time with my godson (about forty eight hours, to be exact) while his mama went to Madison for work and his papa traveled about the United States in his long haul truck. (A side now: congratulations, by the way, are due Richard who has secured a more local job recently, which means more family time and a daycare pickup that will make Kelly's life a bit more smooth.)

I slept on their sofa for two nights, their goofy dog licking me awake before the baby began his babble (for the record: 4:45 the first morning, 5:30 the second), and as soon as I slipped upstairs, to change the weighty diaper and brace myself for the wailing protest that is changing from pjs to clothes (and back again), the pup took my spot. In the end, it didn't matter, and when I look back on that faraway time that was last weekend, I think of my time when the world outside was dark, which strikes me as strange as I fell asleep a little before nine on that second night, but the truth was, the world is dark for a little while after Christian rises. There's something gorgeous about watching the sun rise, not because we stayed up so late, but because our world began before the world did.

Kelly kept asking me if the weekend was fun, and finally I gave in, telling her: No, that's not the word I would use to describe it. An adventure, sure. Fun? Fun is when you aren't the responsible one, the one that needs to fix the crying, warm the bottle, and keep the dog from eating the cat's puke (and being firm enough in your No! that Christian does not take it for him, as he cries at the word no spoken in such a way). Fun could even be those things, if a partner was there to help, to scoop up the poopy diapers while you make up a diaper changing song, or cleaning the dishes while you soothe in those bouncy paces around the room.

And truly, I think fun could be associated with such a task, if done in conjunction with someone you really love. There were moments in my forty eight hour solo faux-parenting adventure where I thought: Thank goodness I have no children (yet); I am too selfish to do this every day. Of course I am, lonely and facing the same singing mirror and stackable trucks, reading a book for class that I found myself disliking and needing to write an essay on.

But this, I can certainly tell you, a little less than a week after my Christian marathon:

1. I love my home, I love my husband, I love my dogs, I love my bed, I love being a graduate student, I love my life.
2. I love Kelly, I love Christian, and Richard isn't so bad either.
3. I will have kids some day, somehow. I think Ryan and I will make OK parents.
4. It's really handy to have a goofy dog around when a baby is wailing because he can do one of two things: he can tear up and down the sofa, driving me batty (which is hilarious to said baby) or, he can lick the tears off the face of said wailing baby, which is equally thrilling (though fairly disgusting).

And:

5. Despite the fact that I happily brought him to daycare a half hour early on Tuesday morning, I miss that little bugger, and when I look at this set of photographs, I want to dive right in and hold him tight. Darn kid got me, tugs at my heart.

229: baby's first poetry reading

I promise, I was listening, but this darling kept distracting me with his disarming smile. I had to resist pulling him up into my arms and squeezing him close. This boy has me fully enamored.

So this weekend, I owe:

- Some semblance of thoughts regarding AWP.
- Some semblance of thoughts regarding tonight's poetry reading, which somehow involved me.
- Readings: arty porn, mixed metaphors, and better essays than mine.
- Grading forty-four "mini essays," as I've been calling them.
- Critiquing two better essays than mine.
- Preparing for "poetry group," a kind of book club we've formed for (five of us) poetry MFAs.
- Finishing the less better essay, after struggling this week.
- Sleep.

220: first babysitting, pneumonia

I'm meant to be an hour and a half northwest of where I am sitting just now, just me and a baby, facing puppy outings and soft building blocks on the floor, but instead, I am home again, content with my pups, happy to sleep next to my husband tonight.

All was going well--I showed up in the late afternoon sun, we had dinner, the four of us, a little family with a special family guest, Christian eating more than usual in a goofily robust fashion, and he played and smiled and smelled like little boy happiness and warmth. He fell asleep easily at seven, and I thought: I can do this. Instructions were printed, directions to the daycare were sketched out, the doctor's number was confirmed to be hanging on the fridge. I knew the routines, knew the cats and the dog, knew how to turn the swing on and off and where the fresh pajamas lay.

An hour after he was tucked in, Christian woke up, wailing. Kelly seems to have a level head with this whole parenting thing--she informed me that she verifies the comforts--the pacifier, the blanket, the music--and if all seems well, lets himself cry himself back to sleep. Richard is more prone to worry, and since Christian is teething, tablets were produced and a frozen pacifier was swapped out. And he wailed. And wailed. And threw up all over himself and Kelly. We thought--perhaps it was too much food, and that gag reflex the doctor spoke of was in effect. (You see, Christian caught a little cold at daycare and had been coughing and snotting all over the place.) But then he threw up again. And again, and again, and Kelly was on her fourth shirt, Christian in his third set of pajamas, her husband in the bathtub, holding him out and away, me fetching a washcloth, and there were tears, but eventually all was soothed and Kelly's work trip to Madison was canceled, traded out for a doctor's appointment.

I still stayed the night and helped meagerly. Christian woke several times in the night, and Kelly calmed him back to sleep, and Richard had to leave well before the sun was up for his own job as a cross-country long haul trucker. But, you see, Christian wasn't having much of me or Richard. I was pleased to feed him breakfast and to placate the little bugger for a while as Kelly had to deal with work disasters from home (she apparently employs a few people who behave like middle schoolers when not under her supervision). I held him up, my hand against the span of his back, and we toured the house, peeking out windows at the snow, at the farmland turning to townhouse land, and he sucked on the strings of my university sweatshirt, his gummy smile comforting and wet fists slapping my cheeks, my nose.

I came home just before they left for the doctor, showering away the soot of sofa-sleeping and baby drool, snuggling up against my dogs who are giants compared to hers, and Kelly called with the doctor's verdict: pneumonia. Nothing to wail about, at least not on our part, but enough for poor Christian to add another misery to that of teething. And we'll try this again next week or the week after (where you will be smothered in photos of him all over again--just imagine what it's going to be like when I have kids of my own--collective grooaaannn).