Scary Arrived 2010

This was our most fun Halloween ever! It was the first year Nate was even remotely into the scary aspect of the day; in the past he wasn't too keen on even going into the Halloween costume stores, this year, he couldn't get enough. He contemplated the costumes, tried on all the masks, and eventually had to be pried away from a display involving robotic zombies, bloodied baby dolls and lots of troublesome audio. As much as I pitched the pirate costume, he wanted nothing to do with it. We left with his original idea of a scary ghost. Not entirely secretly, I was pleased that he still looked like my baby angel without the hideous mask on.

Auntie Celine joined us in full awesome costume regalia as is tradition. Also, Sam, David and Jarrah joined us for our first ever neighborhood trick or treating excursion with the Klingers and the gang on M Street. The kids ran at top speed from house to house, each intent on collecting the most poundage their treat bags would hold. It became hysterical to them to wish each house miscellaneous holiday greetings other than Happy Halloween. The laughter was complete joy, none sugar induced, they hadn't had a piece. One house even distributed not just full size candy bars, but the ginormous, king size bars--as if that weren't enough, this festive household also passed out jello shooters for the adults!

Eventually our group found ourselves headed home with nary a complaint from our candy laden ghost and witch.

It was quite an evening.


As an aside, please note the difference in photos taken within seconds of one another. Granted, David may be the better photographer/editor/techie, but still, I covet the camera.

Meet Cynthia

A few months ago I took a photography class and while I had hoped to simply learn my machine better, the instructor had art in mind. His assignments were thoughtful and could be intense. One week was never enough time to do them justice; even for the people that could devote their entire week with little other distraction.

One of the early, less intense assignments was to use color as our subject. During the critique while viewing my image of some complementary colored kayaks, he asked if I had moved the kayaks in my quest for the colors and position I captured. Of course not, far be it from me to impose myself on a kayaking company in the middle of class, or anytime really. Hell, I was impressed with myself for trespassing the private property sign on the beach to get the proximity I wanted. He reminded us not to be afraid of boldness.


I had had occasion recently to be in the less trendy parts of downtown for several evenings. I was frightened and motivated by the community of homeless people I encountered each of those evenings. Each time I passed under that bridge I cried, my stomach tied in knots, I laid awake thinking of them for hours into the night. I felt a call to do something, but what? I wondered about social programs our city offered, I thought of starting new ones, I thought of statistics and who these people might be and how that profile has likely changed dramatically in recent years. I was determined to do something the very next week I was scheduled to be in the area, and it came to me. I knew how to make a sandwich, these people were homeless and might be hungry, they might like a sandwich. Next, not only did I need to buy a loaf of bread, I needed to figure out why I was terrified, and how I was to get over the hysteria that was quickly layering atop a firm foundation of cowardice. What if I offered someone a sandwich that was neither hungry nor homeless? Now I was going to be insulting people. Perhaps even those that did need or want a sandwich didn't want me assuming they needed or wanted one. Who the hell was I to shine a light on their misfortune by offering them a damn sandwich anyway?

I might have gotten over the sandwich fear, and also facing my own fear of homelessness. But the fear of the unknown in the darkness of the city I did not get over and ultimately aborted the sandwich mission before it ever began.

I did decide to take a drive downtown one luminous Sunday morning with my camera. Later my photo instructor advised us not to photograph the homeless for many reasons, the most poignant of which was that a portrait should be a gift of sorts from the subject, a sharing of themselves and many times, the homeless don't have a lot to give. I'm glad he shared those thoughts after I had already been, as he may have dissuaded me from going. My camera was secondary on my excursion, perhaps a security blanket of sorts. My main purpose was to face what I considered unreasonable fears, in the bright of day.


I'm no master of navigation but it didn't take long to find a few streets lined with people starting their days. I circled the area. I was a stalker, a peeping tom looking in on what I take for granted are relatively quiet, private moments in my world. There were people discreetly changing clothes, having coffee, reading, brushing their teeth, chit chatting with their neighbors and sweeping their sidewalks. I saw more than one person sitting on their bedrolls putting on bright white socks, that really connected me to the experience for some reason. I do love brand new white socks myself. Still I was frightened. There was no way I was going to stroll down that street; it would be like walking through their home uninvited, how rude would that be? Also, I reminded myself sometimes we are fearful because there is actual danger.

Finally, I parked my car, got out and walked down a side street, on the right hand side that was completely uninhabited. I later found out it was uninhabited because the building had an LO8 posted, which is basically a no loitering sign. There were a couple of people that had set up their living space across the street. My intention was to cross over and maybe strike up a conversation with one of them. I don't much like to strike up conversations with any strangers let alone ones that might see me as a threat. I stayed on my side of the street. There was a woman across the way bent over a planter in the sidewalk pouring water over her head. She cared enough to wash over the planter, her run off watering the spindly city tree trying to survive. Back on my side of the street, I passed a warehouse with a large roll up garage type door halfway up. Inside were a good fifty men busting out of their wife beaters all seated in metal fold out chairs listening intently to someone lecturing about how to further thicken their necks. I crossed over and approached who I would learn was Cynthia. By this point she had also brushed her teeth and changed her shirt. There was a faded ring worn into a back pocket of her jeans. She was an ample woman, not young, not old with clear blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her face. In another time and place, she might have been pretty.

First, I walked by. She was gathering her sleep mat and putting it away in her shopping cart. I turned and asked if I could photograph her, I didn't know what else to say. She was abrupt, angry, told me about how just the night before some of the guys from the other street jumped a woman with a camera and smashed it to bits. She wasn't sure about the well being of the woman. I began to relax, just a little, afterall it could have been true. Cynthia then let me know that if she were offered some money, she might be willing to be cooperate. I had expected this and it seemed reasonable so I gave her a few bucks. Her demeanor changed remarkably. She loved to talk and told me all about the routine on the streets of San Diego. Apparently she's been here only three months and moved here (how?) from the streets of Phoenix, AZ. She knows when the van comes to distribute clean needles, knows the beat of all the local police, knows where to get an afternoon shower, the library schedule and an occasional hot meal. She's found a dead body, collects used needles for money, has two kids, likes video games and reads lesbian literature. I learned that the residents on the better streets keep their shopping carts covered with tarps neatly tucked in and sweep their streets every morning to keep things looking tidy so the cops will give them less trouble and not shoo them off.


She spoke of missing her children, they were her security. Her expression darkened and she spit the words of her daughter leaving her just when they approached the top of the list for housing. Without a dependent, she lost her spot and had to go to the end of the line. She said her son was serving our country in Afghanistan. It had been her life's mission to get him in the military. She had tried to get in herself with no success. I've always appreciated the thought that one of the things that connects us, whoever or wherever we are, is that we all love our children the same. I still believe that's true in its depth, but man oh man the business of survival is tough.

Meet Cynthia, she had a lot to give. She gave me a new perspective, helped open my mind and heart and I'm thankful to have met her.

Draw the Line

Nathan is an affectionate boy, a very affectionate boy. He is quickly identified as "The Hugger" amongst his peers, and if one of his peers has a baby sibling, there is no stopping him, he really loves up the little ones. Some of the time it's sweet, more of the time it's inappropriate and it's a tough situation to parent. Nathan's behavior is not overtly hurting anyone, he wants to hug too long, kiss, hold hands and stroke soft skin--if I don't squash it all out of him first, it could be a great thing in his life someday.

I can't tell you the number of times parents of the other kids will tell Nate or me, "oh it's okay", after I've directed him to unhand their child. It's annoying on several levels. Are we, particularly as women, so programmed to politeness that we condone and even encourage inappropriate behavior towards our daughters? Even when our daughters are clearly uncomfortable? Isn't this the time we teach them to trust their instincts, to respect themselves and demand that others do as well? One mom even told her spitfire smidge of a daughter to stop being rude when the child refused his advances for a hug. I could have cried, not only was it not serving what I was trying to teach, but what about her daughter? Her body and affections were not her own to share as she saw fit? If we don't teach it now, when exactly should we start?

There are a few little girls and one or two moms that support our cause in teaching Nate to "hug and release" as Mrs L used to say. It may just be Jarrah that gets through to him someday. She certainly has affection to share, but when she's had enough, she's had enough and she let's it be known yet holds no grudges.


Whew, that was a tangent...So I've been encouraging Nate to use words or other gestures to show affection. Trust me, the high-five idea is no where near gettin' it for him, but I think he's trying out a line or two on me lately. I've been hearing a lot of "Mommy, you're so cute", and lots of extra I love yous. Tonight after he got out of the bathtub I was drying his hair. He laid several smooches on me, sighed and told me he wanted to marry someone. I responded "Oh yeah, do you have someone in mind already?"

"No, but whoever they are, they can't like pickles."

"No pickles? Why not?"

"Cause I don't like pickle breath, no pickles and no pickle breath."

Well, men too, must have their boundaries it seems.

(Perhaps I should become 'snack mom' and distribute pickles to all of the girls in his class...that might teach him...)

Baby Girl Donaldson--18 weeks

"...Peace will guide the planets, and love will steer the stars, this is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius..."


"Aquarian Age is thought to bring with it an era of universal brotherhood rooted in reason where it will be possible to solve social problems in a manner equitable to all and with greater opportunity for intellectual and spiritual improvement, since Aquarius is an airy, scientific, and intellectual sign."

Kindergarten...nonfiction

Nate's first day was a big success, he was even more ready, more confident than I thought he would be. Each of us had a moment, a different moment, of welling up with the traditional kinder tears but there was no sobbing or clinging by anyone.


Some of the things Nate had to say about his first day:

"They just do baby stuff."

"She didn't even pick me."

"Can you sign me up to ride the bus?"

"Can you sign me up to eat cafeteria food?"

"We didn't even get any homework."


The week went on and we've mostly fallen into a routine. I am likely having the toughest time of it due to logistics and work demands. My intention is to come to a better solution, but for now, Nate is happy and Shaun is spending good bonding time to and from school with him.

The "homework packet" has since come home and I've had to limit the amount of time we've spent on it--he's very into this new responsibility and all the "paperwork" involved. The work of the worksheets is well below his capability; the focusing and following directions seem to be worthy endeavors. I am most impressed with the calendar activities from which he is to choose two per week to complete, and the reading log that includes a column to indicate whether the books read are fiction or nonfiction. Nathan brought up a good point, often he is not sure whether his books are true or not, how exactly is he supposed to know? So far, homework has been done at the kitchen table; well, with me at the kitchen table and him climbing, pacing and swinging in the near vicinity. Incidentally, something has been going on with his development because he is has turned into quite the climber. I have found him on top of his dresser, my desk, the tv cabinet, chairs and tables. His preferred position for watching television is now upside down.

We are very grateful for what seems to be another fantastic teacher this year. Many of my concerns about Kindergarten were quelled when Nate complained that, "all we ever do is play". Fabulous.

Run, Don't Walk

Though it never really arrived, it's now unofficially over. Summer that is. We celebrated with a neighborhood block party yesterday that was a kids' wonderland complete with a ginormous bouncy slide, several motorized vehicles at their disposal, and 192 pounds of sugary treats with a side of hot dog.


We kicked our summer off with a similar walk through the neighborhood, pulling our otherwise unused gardening cart to the cul de sac piled high with BYOWhatnots and Nate cruising on his scooter, while I yelled across the neighborhood for him to slow down, that this is a busy street. Ahhh, motherhood.

We planted and tended our first garden this spring and summer. I thought our harvest was respectable for a first try. We were in tomatoes all summer long, and also had strawberries, beans, pumpkins, carrots and bell peppers. Two of my favorite sights in our little garden were Nathan picking the fruits and veggies right off the vine, popping them in his mouth and the exclamations that followed; and second, a bunny nibbling at our carrot greens! A bunny sighting is not a common occurrence in our urban setting. We also started composting with red wiggler worms this summer. I'm certain they have reproduced, so I'm thinking they're thriving, but Nate and I are both unsure of "which part of this is the compost?"

Shaun taught Nate to ride his bike without training wheels this summer. He is proficient enough now not to require someone running madly alongside him. That's arguable though since when he becomes fatigued he will invariably smash right into any obstacle in his path. Not a great thing when it's Labor Day at the bay.


Nate had his first root beer in Ventura and lost his first tooth at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Sentimental guy that he is, he didn't want to give it up to the tooth fairy.

Auntie Terry and Uncle Jeff are expecting their first baby in February. Just this morning, with no provocation whatsoever Nate asked, "How big is the baby now?" He loves the baby stories.

We played our first round of miniature golf together, rode our first big roller coasters (he thought he would get to sit in my lap), and stayed awake for his first Padre game. As I was explaining what was going on, not surprisingly, Mr. Literal questioned the running around the bases to home bit. "They aren't going to run to their actual homes are they?"

Nate's been interested in earning money in the past and has earned prizes this summer and previous Summers doing the library reading program, so he definitely understands the concept of it. Another first this summer is his detour away from PBS Kids television channel. Yes, now he wants to watch vile characters doing evil non-kid things and to top it off, these new channels have...commercials...so now there's a whole new world of things that he must have. "Actually, Mommy I don't want a Pillow Pet, I need a Pillow Pet."

"You need one, huh? And how much do they cost?"

"$19.95 plus shipping and handling. And, they are machine washable and guaranteed for 60 days."

"Do you have $19.95?"

"No."

"Well, if you want, we could probably work something out, but you may not want to and that's fine; you can just put the Pillow Pet on your birthday wish list."

From there he proceeded to make his own behavior/earning/Pillow Pet chart complete with the days of the week labeled on the left and a cutout of the advertisement he found in the Toys R Us circular taped to the top. He worked the majority of the summer for that damn pillow and let me tell you, it was a proud day when he earned the final mark and knew a trip to Toys R Us was in store that afternoon. I was pretty proud of us too.


I think maybe the best first of the summer is the full blown reading. It's been coming in bits and pieces for some time, but now, there's no denying it. While the accomplishment he feels is evident, it goes well beyond cracking the code. He reads aloud with expression, appropriate intonations, questions what he doesn't understand, and especially with any Mo Willems books, there is giggling.

There are other firsts that make a mother a tad less proud and more perplexed, infuriated, and triggered but this is not the time or place...

Tomorrow begins a new first, Kindergarten.


Between rounds of Scrabble, laundry and Candyland we asked Nate if he wanted to walk or drive to school tomorrow. "Walk, well--actually run, because the bell rings at 8:58am

Oh Yeah

"As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them."
~John F. Kennedy