Ruminations: Time is a funny thing.

Time is a funny thing. 

The other day I went to bed at 9:15. Now, this may not seem so unusual for a new dad, but for those who know me, they know that my bed time was usually around 10:30/11:00, even with a little one. Since these are the last few weeks before the February California Bar, Chels has been hitting the books hard, which means that I am on baby duty throughout the night. The little one had a rough night the night before, so I decided to go to bed early. Not only was I out like a light but she only woke up once and I was only up for 30 minutes. As morning came, I woke up at my regular time, around 5:15, but, even though I had a pretty solid eight hours of sleep, I wanted more. Then it hit me: time is a funny thing.  

When I was younger I made an effort to only sleep six hours a night. I thought sleep was overrated and there was so much to experience in the waking world: books to read, friends to visit, shows to watch, and work to do; so why waste time on sleep? Some may share this philosophy, others may think me a raving lunatic--sleep is a passionate topic. But the other night I realized, I am getting older. Time is waging war on me and marching on its merry, destructive way. But it’s inevitable.  I can’t avoid it, I can’t fight it. That fourth dimension is out of my reach. Granted I am only in my mid-thirties and I have plenty of life to live, but this was the first time I felt my age.

A couple weeks ago, I was at a teacher training and I left some nonfiction articles for my kiddos to read. All of the articles were based around a theme: What makes a person an adult? Is it just time? Or are there certain characteristics that make a person act like an adult? One could argue either way or one could say both since those characteristics usually come as people age. But for the teens it was an interesting introspection on their own behaviors. Anyway, I mention this because I am at the point where I feel like I’ve reached a good spot in my life: I have a beautiful wife and daughter, a pretty awesome job, a dog, a car payment, bills that I can pay, and a pretty good routine.  It’s nice but it can  also  be deceptive.

I like pushing myself, sometimes change is hard for me, but I’ve never been one to settle down. And my life will be changed again when I finally go back to school (something I greatly desire!) However, the deception can come from complacency. When we were younger we wanted to be older. Time seemed to be going so, so, so slow. Summer couldn’t come fast enough. School, for some, wasn’t engaging. Life, for many, wasn’t exciting.  But now once we get our routines, our jobs, our lives; our adult lives, our life settles down, time flies. For example, we’ve been in Sacramento for 3.5 years! Where has that time gone? My little girl is already 14 months old! She’s walking, talking (well making noises that she knows what she is saying) What happened to our little blob? Maybe time seems so slow when we are younger because we are constantly and drastically changing and growing. As we get older that change decelerates and it becomes more gradual, less noticeable. It’s a funny thing. 

This last week I’ve been tossing this idea for the blog out to some of my friends and colleagues who range in age from early 30s to late 40s. And it has been interesting conversations. One, who is in his early 40s, said “What happened? I feel like I just woke and I became old…I can’t run like I used to, I can’t be as physical as I want.”  Is it just a realization like that? Does that mean we are old? Is that how it hits?  Another colleague in his late 40s mentioned that to him his change became a decade thing. He’d realize that another decade had passed and would reflect and make changes to his lifestyle. He wasn’t able to be as physically active as he used to so he had to tone down and start sleeping more too! I was talking to another friend and she was reflecting on how she isn’t the same either. She recently started working as an attorney, doing her grind and it is similar for her too. These conversation helped me realize that I am not alone on this overwhelming ocean of time and breathed a sigh. 

Time is such a funny thing. But one thing is certain we can’t avoid it. We just have to live with it. All we can do is keep swimming. 

Looking through the Lens of the Year.

Friday night we drove to a sacred spot in Chelsea’s family. It is about three hours north of Sacramento, along the coast, through winding roads and hills. We left around 7:30 PM  for the sake of the baby. Yeah, that’s a new thing: traveling during baby sleepy times. It’s ingenious. (Baby tip #56 - Drive when babies sleep - Just to be clear…there are no set numbers for the baby tips…yet.) She slept the whole way, this is something we discovered over the holidays as we drove down to Southern California.

During this drive, the rain fell steadily for the second half of the journey but Chelsea handled it like a champ. My SoCal nerves would have been frayed. This spot is called The Sea Ranch and someone told me once that it is a magical place. A place where ionic particles rise from the crashing waves that run roughshod over the roughened coastline. The ions float and encircle this whole coastal area. I am not sure of the veracity of that claim since I have never really looked into it, but I like the story regardless. But, anecdotally, I always feel a little refreshed coming away from here. The baby naps on my chest, while Chelsea is out studying...So now, I can reflect on what has been happening these last few months:

First, not much has changed on our front. I am still working and Chelsea is still working, but one thing that did happen was she did not pass the California Bar Exam. She missed it by the skin of her teeth, just 2 percentage points. That was pretty stressful considering she was ready to move into a full time position at her job. But they kept her on and have put her on an hourly wage rather than a salary. But despite the drawback, there are benefits, the money isn’t the same, but she is able to adjust her schedule a little better to give her some study time. She’s taking the Bar again at the end of February.  GO Chelsea!

Tori has changed dramatically since our last update. She is walking now, which changed our lives forever. She took her first “steps” on October 30th. These were only 4 at a time before she plopped down, but by the time her first birthday came around on December 18 she was walking everywhere.Chelsea says she feels like just when we learned the rule of the game, Tori learned to walk and changed them on us. She has also been forming words. She can mimic what we say, but it isn’t perfect since she is still waiting for some teeth and her pronunciation needs a little work. But her syllables are coming along nicely. She can say things like “cheese” and “daddy” and, thanks to her T-ma, she also bows and gives thanks to here food during meal times. It’s cute, if not a little strange, but we love it.

She has pretty set routine, bath around 6:15-6:30, depending on the day, then being rocked and nursed down to sleep after. So by 7 on most days she is out. She wakes up now again, and hasn’t mastered the 'Sleeping Through the Night'. Some days she does and some days she doesn’t, especially since her teeth have been growing lately (Baby Tip #57: teeth ruin everything). Moreover, during the day she still attends day care where they love her. Chelsea drops her off about 7:45 in the morning, and then I pick her up between 4:15 and 5 depending on my work stuff. She naps with the bigger kids from 12:30 to 3. We are in awe at how they get her nap so long. Her weekend naps aren’t nearly as long! (Baby Tip #58: If you find people who can get your baby to nap, keep them round forever and buy them chocolate!)

The other day Chelsea and I were eating at a happy hour with Tori (Baby tip #59; going out to early happy hours and/or day drinking is key; brunch also rocks - although now "brunch" is really breakfast because the kid is up at 6 am...) and we were talking about the past year as being parents. We were reflecting on what we have learned. I made a joke referencing Malcolm Gladwell’s 10, 000 hour theory: as long as you do something for 10,000 hours you master it. I did a quick calculation and realized we had clocked about 8,856 hours as parents for Tori! We rejoiced! Only 1,100 hours to parenting mastery! However, we quickly came to the conclusion that there is a flaw in that theory. In a regular job, you perform the same tasks over and over again, and if you do that for 10,000 hours you master them. There isn’t much flux. But, wouldn't you know, babies change. So despite our 8,000 plus hours, Tori's constant evolution from just being a blob to crawling, talking, walking, grabbing, feeding herself, drinking from a cup, and evolving ways of playing, that theory is moot.

We learned so much in this last year and a month, but I feel like we are still learning every day. Every new experience she has is a new one for us (and her!). Which is great, it keeps things interesting, but it is extremely exhausting. There is a ton of joy, but there are also times of struggle (Baby Tip #60: The Struggle is real). But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

3 1/2 Months: A Dad’s Review

Over the last three and a half months I’ve read over 100 mother goose nursery rhymes, I’ve made up thousands of lyrics to the same sleepy tune, acted a fool in a myriad of ways, retold, sung and rhymed the history of western world in 30 minutes; I’ve lectured on the Hero’s Journey, more than once, to a mind chocked full of neurons, and have swayed, shushed, and hummed a countless number of calories away.  Since Tori was born it has been a wonder-filled ride.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for several weeks now. Thoughts come to me in flashes, but I’m usually not near a computer or paper. When I’ve had time, or at least think I’ve had time, something has always come up: a diaper change, a wardrobe change, or some tender-care necessity to calm a crying child. But now the baby is a napping and the post needs be written.

When we began this journey in December, we had no idea what to expect. But one thing was certain: Love. Love times infinity, split and multiplied again and again. The connection--the emotion--felt for this tender child was more than we could have imagined. It’s not easy all the time, there are lows and there are highs, but that is just life. Without those lows, the high parts would lack meaning. Even when my wits and temper are pushed to their end, I can gaze upon my napping (or not) daughter and melt.

   

Our lives have drastically changed, of course, but the most amazing thing about human beings is our ability to adapt. I’ve been thinking back on my life with Chels these last eleven years or so (and my life, in general), and there have been so many times we’ve adapted. For example, in college, and when we first started living together, then when we went into the Peace Corps, then when we moved to Sacramento, and now we have a baby.

What is interesting to me is that the thought of that change is way more frightening than the actual change itself. Even on December 17^th or the morning of the 18^th if someone had asked me, “Are you ready to be a parent?” I would have still answered “No.” and my heart would’ve beaten a little faster.  But, then, it happened. Now I am a parent and there is nothing that is going to change that. Our work and weekend patterns have adapted. We are able to adjust our and still do fun things.

These last few months have been an adventure in itself, juggling a baby makes things a bit more difficult, but we still have a way we want to live our lives. Our lives will never be what they once were, but we can still go out and do things we want to do. Just last week we met up with some of our best friends in San Francisco, we couldn’t spend the night up there with them as we once would have, but at least me made a whole day trip work and crammed all the fun things into a shorter time. The weekend before that, some old Peace Corps colleagues, Megan and Annie, were in town and we spent the day with them and another old RPCV friend Mark, doing what we normally would have done (enjoying the outdoors and microbrews), but with a baby in tow. Was it as simple as it once was? No. But was it possible? Absolutely. We’ve adapted. And are still constantly adapting

 

There are have been some significant strides with our young one. We have seen here mature from a blob of baby to an interactive person who smiles, giggles, and babbles with us. She doesn’t sleep as much during the day, but she is sleeping at night. We’ve started to adhere to a bed time (which is not set in stone yet) between 7:30 and 9:00 PM.   Then she wakes up to nurse around 2AM, then maybe again at 4AM, and is ready to get out of bed by 7:30 or 8:00 AM.  We’ve adapted.

The week before last was both of our spring breaks. I was able to be with Tori and Chels all week long. I saw the routine Chelsea has been living since I’ve been back at work. I was able start one myself. We’d wake up (I’d let Chels sleep in a little bit), I'd put her on her play mat; play with some rattles and toys, while I read Mother Goose to her. She’d get tired and eventually after an hour or so, she’d take a morning nap. Then wake up, be up a few hours (2-4) then nap some more, and before you know it the day is almost over and she is ready for bed. Baby time is so strange. I feel like my whole day simply revolves around her.  It’s a time warp. But again, that is one of those things we’ve adapted too.  Similarly, since baby time is so unusual, I think I’ve become much more efficient with the time I have for myself. Those bursts of napping peace need to be utilized to their full advantage. Hence, why this post had not been written for so long.

It’s been a wondrous few months and I can’t wait to continue posting. Next week, Chelsea has a big Moot Court competition she has been prepping for, and it will be the first time I’m left alone over night with the baby. I am excited and a bit scared, but I have no doubt I can accomplish it. It’s just another one of those adaptations.   

Just a week old. Such a blob baby. 

One month old (before we started with the onsesie stickers)

Two months, bright and smiley gal. 

We love our chubby cheeked baby! 

The Defining Moments.

Recently, Chelsea’s younger brother left to Costa Rica to work on a sustainable, biodynamic farm. It’s a three month commitment, and who knows what he will choose to do once he through with his internship. I only bring this up because in the week before he left he stayed with us and the weeks prior to that he was staying in his childhood home, the same place Chelsea’s mother left a few weeks before when she moved around the corner from us. I remember thinking how great it was that he spent some time on his own, getting that experience of working and living day-to-day without anyone to answer too.

This led me down the wild track where I started thinking about how each of us forms our identities. I thought about my experiences and then I thought about how my own child will have those same moments. Granted, not the same exact moments, but he/she will have those moments that will hold that same defining significance.

I left my childhood home when I was 19 to go to University of California, San Diego (UCSD). I left and never really returned. My home is still there; my dad still lives there and it will always be “home” and I still visit. But now it is my “childhood home”, distinct and different from my own home that I am building now with Chelsea and Bibbs. Skimming down the lanes between memory and nostalgia, I reflect back to when I first moved away. When I started at UCSD I felt good, independent. I never regretted leaving home and I never really remember thinking I wanted to go back to the life I had in Oxnard. Oxnard is a great place and most of my immediate family is still there, but homesickness never really entered my psyche.   Looking back, I wonder why I didn’t have those moments that many new university students have of missing my parents, brother, cousins, etc. And I attribute it to the moments I had before moving to the city where I spent the next ten years of my life.

Growing up I used to read a lot (I still wish I could read half as much as I did when I was younger!). I read fantasy books, young adult novels, poetry, and a few of the classics. I primarily read fantasy, though, and I had a fascination of different worlds, dragons, castles, knights, dwarves, elves, fairies, magi, mages, and so on (mayhap I have told you how I am still writing that fantasy novel that’s been burning inside of me or maybe not). I also had a wonderful high school history teacher and an amazing English teacher who opened my eyes to the possibilities of historical facts and the power of great literature. Well, this obsession with fantasy, history, and literature led me to be fascinated with the Middle Ages and Europe.

One of the first defining moments I remember is when my history teacher (we were his first World History Honor’s class…so we had a special place in his heart) arranged to have a 30-day trip through EF tours from London to Greece the summer after we graduated from high school (July 2000). We still had to pay something but since it was an organized tour the fee we paid included the round-trip plane ticket, breakfasts, dinners, lodgings, and transportation for those 30 days.  Needless to say, I jumped on the opportunity and cadged my parents relentlessly until they agreed to let me go. Reflecting back with my adult sensibilities I realize they must have worked really hard to put together the money for me to have this opportunity, and it is still one of the most memorable trips of my life.

I kept a journal those 30 days (stories to come?), and I have not really read it since I wrote the pages down, but I know the experience of trans-Atlantic travel, spending 30 days with 17 of my classmates (including the classmates I was closest too in high school), and this amazing history teacher (who still is on my Facebook feed today), and limited adult supervision (and no parental supervision) prepared me for the shock, or at least assuaged it, of moving away permanently from my childhood home. A rite of passage if you will (that’s for you Sampa per our conversation the other day!). I felt confident moving away, I felt secure. Don’t get me wrong I did not become who I am today because of that trip, but it was just one of those defining moments that helped shape my identity. Maybe I would go so far as to say this trip was the impetus that led to my independent nature, my fascination with history and literature (I ended up majoring in both of those at UCSD), my desire to travel, to study abroad, to go to Peace Corps, all of these moments that followed came from that one 30 day trip, but I also know my own upbringing had something to do with it too.

My parents allowed me a lot of responsibility and independence as I went through high school. They trusted me and helped me experience different things the best way they could, small moments, large moments, all…just…moments. I am sure acting and performing in drama helped me come out of my shell as well, also playing soccer and going to plays and experiencing art. Each piece is part of who I am today; we are not whole when we come out of the womb, but it’s those defining moments that make us.

Coming full circle I am so happy for Chels’ brother to have the experience of moving away and having those defining moments himself. And it makes me wonder (and hope) that 30 years from now I could be possibly reading a similar post from Bibbs about the moments, about the experiences, extolling what he/she experienced as well as the amazingness of his/her parents.