Teeth for Two, and Two for Teeth

At some point I'd like to think that pearls of wisdom will drop from my children's lips on a regular basis.  For now, however, we are contenting ourselves with falling chunks of dental enamel.  Half an hour after bedtime L came scurrying out all a twitter, sporting a newly widened gap in her pearly whites.  Tooth #2 made a break for it.  This one didn't give as much lead-up drama as the first.  While eating dinner earlier this evening she had taken a bite and given a quick squeal of pain; she opened her mouth to show her previously slightly jiggly tooth was now flat out floppy.  So this one we sort of expected.  That didn't abate the excitement, however.  Giddy girl was bouncing around as if she'd won more than just the incisor lotto.  Such excitement is highly contagious, so soon her as-of-yet fully-toothed brother was out of bed to join the celebration.  Quick phone calls to Uncle Kyle, Poppa and Aunt Claudia helped channel the enthusiasm.  She's back in bed now, but I expect we will be waiting quite a while before we hear any snoring.

I suggested to Stacy that the Tooth Fairy might leave a note thanking L for the second tooth, and letting her know she'll be back tomorrow with some pliers for the rest of them.

Thpreading the newth.

The Days of Wine and Mimi - Part 3

Christmas makes you feel emotional
It may bring parties or thoughts devotional
--"Silver Bells" by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans

For millions of Americans it can also lead to crippling stress, acute depression, and mind-numbing despair. We try to walk a middle ground in our family.

"Jazz Hands!"

Our children seem somehow to have been conceived and born without that gene that causes them to wake up at 2am on Christmas morning. I don't regret it. It's rather nice to, even on Christmas, get up alone and have a kitchen and a pot of tea to myself for an hour or two. This year my morning reverie was happily accompanied by early-rising Mimi and we swapped out strong coffee for my sissy tea. Late nights make for pleasantly lazy mornings and it was way beyond what would have been construed as a decent hour in my childhood before the first bleary-eyed, dopey-faced, stiff and staggering kid made his/her way out from the bedrooms.

Eventually we rounded up the entire crew, got a putative breakfast into them, and launched into the Christmas morning gift assault.  Daddy and Grampy traded off gift-giving responsibilities (a big deal in our family), until L and N could contain themselves no longer and staged a coup d'état and jointly ascended to the role.  As usual the haul was excessive and somewhat troubling, considering the depressing and constant downward trend of our open-to-stuffed living space ratio.  I secretly planned a purge of all vintage 2009 gifts.

After the gift-giving had reached its opulent conclusion, Stacy and I turned to prep for the evening dinner. We were hosting the extended family with beau coup to do to be ready to chew. Vegetables were hacked to bits, turkeys were offended, cranberries were set a-stewing. Appetizers assembled, desserts designed, sides and staples slopped together. As usual, however, a little work breeds a little rest, and the beds and pillows were not entirely forsaken.

The appointed festive hour descended at last and our guests began trickling in.  Aunt Claudia brought GGPa.  Aunt Joyce and Mr. Jay joined us from Monrovia.  Kirk and Lynne came down with Uncle Kyle, who was much-anticipated by L and N, and who probably had not fully recovered from their attacks of the previous night.  The food all ended up coming together successfully, the table was set, whereupon we set in!

After that it was play time, and oh, yeah! More gifts!  (OK, I am the height of hypocrisy, because I was over the moon with the Kindle Kirk and Lynne got me.)

We rarely get GGPa down to our place, so it was especially nice to have him there.

Eventually the food, gifts and revelers were exhausted and we were able to drop the kids on mattresses and hit an easy chair ourselves --  to sit, perhaps to dream.

The Days of Wine and Mimi (and Tamales) - Part 2

Christmas in our household is parsed out between families.  Stacy's extended family has always huddled together on Christmas Eve for a traditional tamale party.  I suppose that is a California thing, or at least a Mexican cultural influence.  I'd never heard of tamales being associated with Christmas Eve prior to moving out West.  Though the Harris family party has changed venues from time to time, it always draws a large crowd.  This year it was at Stacy's parents' house up in Agua Dulce and it drew aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors and friends from far and distant reaches - and, this year of course, Mimi and Grampy from probably the furthest far and distant reach.

The party is an evening affair, but we always set out considerably early so that we can do a bombing run of Burbank and rain down a hail of visits on all of Stacy's elderly buddies.  (I think Stacy has more friends over 60 than under.)  Grandma Bunny (a.k.a GGMa) was too frail to be physically up for the party, so we spent some time visiting with her at her convalescent home.  It had been several years since Mimi and Grampy had seen her.  From there we hit Stacy's old neighborhood and paid a visit to my favorite pair of Stacy's honorary grandparents (she has many), Grandma Helen and Grandpa Dick Walher who've spent the last billion years living in the house next to GGMa and GGPa, across the street from the house Stacy grew up in.

I've long held that as you age you generally become a personality prune - that is, your personality distills and condenses and you become a much more gooey, concentrated version of who you were when you were younger.  If you were witty and playful, you will be that lovable old man with the twinkle in your eye.  (I think of GGPa.)  If you were mean-spirited and conniving in your youth, you will be insufferable in your seniority.  (I decline to cite any examples.)  If you were warm and nurturing and pleasant, you will be a pearl.  Grandma Helen is such a pearl.  She has been a true and sweet friend to Stacy every since she can remember.  Although she has attained the venerable age of 89, her health through out the years has been troublesome, and at times she has been quite ill and afflicted.  But Grandma Helen's mellow and pleasant disposition has never wavered; she will acknowledge when she's not feeling well or having this difficulty or that, but it is never a complaint or a veiled ploy for sympathy.  She is invariably sweet and humble and pleasant, and both Stacy and I have committed ourselves to aging to her example (however contrary that may be, in my case, to my prune theory).

N collecting sugar.

From the Wahler's we headed due north and got to Agua Dulce well before the party with an hour or so before sunset.  We gave Kirk and Lynne preliminary hellos, settled Mimi and Grampy into some comfortable couches, then L and N quickly laid hold Stacy's brother, Uncle Kyle, and dragged him, struggling but helpless, into the car for a quick run over to Vasquez Rocks State Park for a sunset rock climb.  The rocks are so beautiful at twilight and scrambling up the rocks is so much fun that this has become somewhat of a tradition with our immediate clan.  The kids love it, it's a wonderful way to get some fresh air, and it builds strong and healthy marriages.  OK, maybe not so much that last part.  I suppose I should pause to relate how this very adventure the previous year nearly ended in divorce and a nasty custody trial...

[FADE OUT]

[FADE IN: Christmas Eve 2009, Vasquez Rocks State Park]

Everything started out much the same as before (or rather, later).  We got there while the sun was low and immediately hit the rocks.  Stacy, as you may recall, has a decided fear of heights, especially when her children are involved.  She counselled us (me) to keep to the low, flat areas, and under no circumstances attempt to ascend the heights with any of her progeny.  I wanted to be compliant, really I did.  I wanted peace and harmony to reign.  Really I did.  But that call of the wild — it's a nasty and insidious thing.  And it was that daughter she gave me who told me to do it.  I really had no say.  I had no choice and therefore cannot be held culpable.

L, ever fearless, kept climbing higher and higher, bringing me along for the ride.  Soon Mommy, who was on the low-down with N, became uncomfortable and suggested we slowly climb back down.  But L wouldn't hear of it.  (She's so disobedient.)  She kept going higher and higher still and forcing me to go along with, totally against my will, of course.  Stacy's panic attack escalated, but L would not be deterred - ungrateful child, and she kept taking me further and further up the monolith.  Finally, unwilling to be witness to her child's sure demise, Stacy grabbed N and ran off to weep at the ranger station, pausing only to yell something up at me that sounded a lot like "If she falls to her death, you'd better go with her!"  I probably mis-heard her.

With Mommy's conviction no longer reigning down on her, L was even further embolden, and though I pleaded with her mightily, she would not be persuaded and dragged me, crying my protest, to the very pinnacle where we were treated to some pretty amazing vistas - not that I enjoyed them or anything, in my abused, hostage state.

Finally relenting, L directed that we make our way back down the rockside.  Mommy was nowhere to be found, so we got in the van and drove to the range station.  The sun had started it vanishing act, so that is probably why it felt so suddenly and unbearably chilly when I opened the door to let in Stacy and N.

[FADE OUT]

[FADE BACK IN TO PRESENT]

L had evidently learned her lesson from last year, because she stayed reasonable perched and did not make any attempts to put her father in abject danger.  With Uncle Kyle there to act as additional child protective services, Stacy was able to somewhat bypass the heart palpitations and sporadic squawking outbursts of panic.  I think she purposely hid the camera, however, to ensure no temptations for aerial photography, so unfortunately there is no record taken of the 2010 event.

Stacy with new first cousin, once removed, E.

We got back to Kirk and Lynne's and the party was soon on with Harrises and Harris-add-ons arriving by the vanload.  Stacy is very close with all her cousins and was very happy that most of them, amid the myriad aunts and uncles and other assorted relations, were able to be there with their kids:  Julie Galan was there with her daughter G, though pilot/husband Carlos was off somewhere in the wild blue yonder.  Kelly Hurt was there with her fighter pilot husband Steve and their son B and daughter E.  (They seem to like pilots in this family.)  Laura Harris was there with her boyfriend Allan, who is a kid at heart.  Only cousin Carrie Wilson and her husband Keith were missing.  It was a rare and valuable chance for L and N to visit with their second cousins.  And yes, I am one of those sanctimonious people who know precisely the difference between a second cousin and a third cousin twice removed, and I look down my nose at those who don't.  So there!

Alphabet soup:  L, E, B, G and N.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
plotting their next heist

The kids all hit it off immediately.  N was particularly drawn to his cousin B.  (OK, his second cousin.)  The two would follow each other loyally through Kirk and Lynne's sizable estate and whenever they would happen to separate, parents were assaulted with an unending barrage of "Where's N?" or "Where's B?"  N also easily met his quota in the sugar department.  N seems to have a thing for the ladies; he isn't shy about the hugs and kisses.  He identifies his target, goes in quick, and hugs long and deep.  I'm not sure what this bodes for his future.  He will either end up being a very kind, considerate, compassionate young man, or he will end up being brought up on charges at a very early age.

As usual, it was a late night when we finally loaded all the weary children, Grampys, and Mimis into the minivan and made our way home.  Even the promise of Christmas morning couldn't keep folks awake.  Fortunately I was only tasked with carrying L and N to their beds.  The rest were on their own.

I'll Habeas Your Corpus All Right...

"ENOUGH!" I yelled, that little muscle in my temple pulsing like a Morse code beacon. "There's no more running, and there's no more screaming. Do you understand?" It had been a long day and L & N were doing their best to extend the evening as well. While I momentarily had their attention I sought to seal the deal. "I want a test for understanding," I said. "N - what did I just ask you?"

"No more running and no more screaming," he said a little cowed.

"Good. L - what did I just ask you?" She gazed up at me with a mildly inquiring look as if I'd just caught her attention. I envisioned her sliding a pair of glasses a little down her nose as she flipped casually through a few legal briefs.

"No running. No screaming," she repeated. "But," she stepped up to the bar, "if we scream, and you can't hear us, then it's OK, right?" She looked up from her dossier. "And if we don't run, but we walk really fast, that's OK too, right?" She made a few quick illegible notes on a subpoena or something, then looked up at me blankly, awaiting the verdict.

"The court accepts the conditions of the plea," I said, not really knowing what options the court really had. "Case dismissed."

She and N walked off (very quickly) while I immediately jumped on the web to check out the Harvard Law School admissions policies.

The Days of Wine and Mimi - Part 1

A fine wine is enhanced and perfected by patient waiting.  An orange on the tree will not be as sweet if plucked on first sight, but only after days or weeks of persistent solar nurturing.  The finer old German baking recipes all warn you not to use honey less than a year old, but insist only on that harvested at least a season ago.  Age refines; patience sweetens; delayed gratification intensifies and concentrates the final pleasures.  And so, being over a month in the long-ago, I finally get around to posting Christmas tales and pictures.  It was not procrastination that crippled me; sloth has no foothold with me.  It was a deep-seated desire for the photos to mellow and ripen and for the otherwise bland and insipid stories to ferment into tales much more worthy the telling.  Or so I'm saying.

Christmas is, of course, a time of a thousand wonders, but if you happen to be the beneficiary of a thousand and one wonders, and that final wonder is having Mimi and Grampy visit all the way from Maine, then the previous thousand wonders all fade quickly into the background.  Little stirs the hearts and minds of our family than a Christmas visit from Mimi and Grampy.  There's just something about stocky folks from far northern latitudes that resonates so well with the season.

Mimi and Grampy arrived a little less than a week before Christmas, and the lone disappointment of their advent was that their flight arrived far too late for the über-enthusiastic welcoming committee that would otherwise have honored the event.  All the better for the weary travellers, I'm sure, but there certainly were some bitter children who were expected to go to bed and actually fall asleep on the cusp of so monumental occasion.

Mimi and Grampy got a day or two to relax, but they were soon after put to work being festive.  One excursion took us up the road a half-hour so so north of Santa Barbara to the small Danish-themed village of Solvang.  It's one of those touristy replica towns, but the schmaltz is palatable enough when you throw in all the cool bakeries and Christmas decorations.  We stopped at a family favorite restaurant on the way up and introduced Mimi and Grampy to Buellton's famed "Pea Soup Andersen's."

A couple of cumulative gallons of pea soup later we re-crossed the freeway into Solvang and began to eat our way through the pastry shops.

Grampy is not much on wandering around wasting a lot of dough on a bunch of knick-knack shops, but he is very much into wandering around a casino and wisely investing a lot of dough on craps and poker tables. Fortunately, for his sanity, and subsequently our own, there just happened to be an Indian casino two or three miles down the road. I temporarily bequeathed Stacy and Mimi with the kids and drove Dad down to the resort, dropping him off, happy as a clam, then back up the road to rejoin the rest of the group in town. We perused the shops and took pictures in front of the famed red shoe of Solvang. We admired faux-Danish architecture, and, of course, paused for a fresh bakery break.  (Mmmmm.  Abelskivers!)

There are only so many shops you can browse and so many Danish Danishes you can consume before you're tired and cranky. That time arrived earlier than our planned rendezvous with Grampy. Mimi, while not the casino hound that Grampy is, has been known to pull a penny slot machine or two, so we planned to drop Mimi off at the casino to find Grampy and keep him company, while Stacy and the kids and I took a drive around the area. The plan was flawlessly executed. Mimi was soon settled into the land of a thousand flashing lights and then we hit the road just as the sun was drifting low in the west.

We headed for Lake Cachuma, 10 miles or so to the south east. There was a cool dam and lookout park we'd been to before and we thought we'd try to find it and give the kids a wide open space to release some energy. As we came upon the lake I took what I thought was the turn-off I'd remembered, but I was mistaken. No problem - the road lead to a wonderful campground on the shore of the lake and the girl at the gate was happy to let us in and have a look around. It was a really nice spot and we tucked the info away for a future retreat.

We found a spot near the shore and the kids got out and immediately set about joyfully. A couple of minutes later their squeals of delight alerted us to a discovery. There, beckoning from the bowels of the earth, was a humongous monster cave. OK, maybe more like a gopher hole, but it was exciting none the less. The intrepid explorers insisted on having their pictures taken up close and personal with their their amazing discovery, a request I was pleased to oblige. Though Mommy voiced no objection, she did shift from one leg to the other the whole time in clear anxiety, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was silently imagining a frothingly rapid animal of inexplicable size and ferocity erupting from the hole to drag her children away, or at least to nip them on the nose.

We were, fortuantely, spared any such animalistic assaults.

As the sun set and the temperature dropped, our alloted meet-up time approached, so we loaded back into the van and swung by the casino to pick up a waiting Mimi and Grampy. The fact that we skipped the steak restaurant I'd been planning on and drove through Burger King on our way home should provide some indication of the level of financial gain the afternoon in the casino afforded us.