The Christmas Experience

When I was a kid, what I truly cared about during Christmas was the getting, the receiving, and the opening of my allotment of gifts placed beneath the Christmas tree. As I unwrapped the box and saw the item that, until then, I had only dreamed of possessing, this was my pleasure: the jacket my Grandma gave me, the toy jet plane my dad gave me, the book my mother gave me, or the puzzle my brother gave me. Despite being the beneficiary of many cherished gifts, something I misunderstood in my youth was this spirit of giving and sharing.

Now I admit that, beginning on Thanksgiving and continuing until about the day after Christmas, I am concerned, worried even that I have not given enough; that I am taking advantage of holiday sales to buy myself something special; that, in fact, I have given nothing; that the gift I selected is too small of an acknowledgment of my love, my friendship and my kinship with my friends and family; that the recipient would be able to measure and mark the quantity of thought I put into a gift and thereby judge it inadequate; and that still I am missing out on an authentic experience of the season. I wish I had a limitless amount of time, a bottomless budget, the perfect memory and unflinching humility to grant everyone in my life a delightful surprise this Christmas, yet I am sure that I could give more.

Grandma, Grandpa and Seb snuggle up during a night cap at Las Campanas.

Although in the past I used to care about Christmas things, now I care more about the Christmas experience. Which, for me, is the tenderness between my family and friends, both in this neighborhood and abroad. For me, the Christmas experience is an expression of the Golden Rule, which I understand as giving another human being, friend or stranger, the best possible and imaginable treatment appropriate for any particular situation. As when, during their recent visit, my mom and dad treated Elia, Seb, Amelia and me to a stay at the Mission Inn in Riverside, where we enjoyed an afternoon and evening of sitting together and chatting in the splendor or an historic place and amidst a festival of light. Of course, we missed sharing these moments with some key family members and friends of ours–which would be just about everyone I can think of, regardless of religious bent.

This season we will experience the company of our family in Playas de Tijuana.

This year, I really, truly hope and believe that my understanding of the Christmas experience has advanced and branched out, and that next year, I will be able to apply this understanding for a maximum benefit for all those within a wide periphery and throughout the several circles I know. But until then, I will not make any excuses or attempt to defend any of my failed attempts to give more. Since I still have another day or two, I want to go ahead now, give you my prayers and wish you and your family a blessed Christmas and, ultimately, a righteous New Year.

Amen.

Back to Work with the Baby

Over the last week, I really have missed crafting blog drafts, unraveling stories of the past, and painting life in as decent a light imaginable. As you could understand, my motivation to clean up spills, run errands, and repair broken furniture has taken priority over typing. For now, I must help Elia care for our newborn daughter, mostly by taking care of our son, Seb. Plus, I have day and night jobs that I like. And am getting over a cold. Anyhow, this is just the beginning. The blog is only the beginning of a description of my meanderings, steps toward the ever unfolding horizon of a promised land.

Once you have visited Nepal, you need not travel anywhere else.

In the months to come, I hope to have a chance to sit down and type up some stories to share with you regarding the following moments in my life:

• And a Creek Runs Through It: The Neighborhood Where I Grew Up
• Top of the World: Friends, Landscape, and the Rangi Changi of Nepal
• Water and Whiskey: Tapping the Desert of Southern California
• Deutschland, Deutschland, Bitte Vergib Mir: One Year of Living, Studying, Partaking, and Traveling in Europe
• Prairie Oases: Explorations throughout the American Heartland of Kansas
• This World is Now My Home: Living, Loving–with My Family

Elia and Kris pilot a yacht along the turquoise coast of the Gulf of Mexico.

Naturally, I understand if you would simply like an update on how we are getting along with the newborn. Elia and I have been living in foggy bliss for a few weeks now. In accordance with the needs of the baby, we are adjusting to the three to four hour sleep-wake cycle, embracing new responsibilities, working to make use of every waking eye-blink, and sleeping in. While Elia is focused on feeding and resting the baby, I am getting groceries, doing laundry, and picking up around the house. We are getting by alright. And Elia and I are busy preparing for my parents to arrive. They will be here tomorrow. As new parents, we appreciate seeing family and friends and having a few extra helping hands.

Elia’s mom has been in and out and in again. About a week ago, she had just returned to her home to Playas de Tijuana after staying with us for a few weeks and helping us take care of her new grandchild. She had been helping us by taking Seb to school, picking him up and helping keep his therapy appointments. On Thursday, Elia’s mom called and thanked us for our hospitality. On Friday, she called again to let Elia know that both she and Elia’s grandma would be visiting on Saturday to see the newborn. At 6:00 p.m. Saturday evening, we opened the door and welcomed them into our house. Four generations of Elia’s family (grandma, mom, Elia, and the baby) were in the house, a beautiful sight. We might not experience four generations again until–well, until Christmas time.

Amelia and Amelia, together for the first time, span four generations.

Every day, Amelia Sophie has been at home in the comfort of her mother’s arms. She is opening her eyes and falling in love with Elia and her constant attention. She has actually been a very quiet baby. For example, whenever her diaper needs changing, instead of crying or whining, she hiccups. Of course, hiccups are not as irritating as the intense distress wail typical of a newborn. She remains focused on eating and gaining weight while retaining her soft, squeezable arms and tender folds of baby thighs. She is an adorable baby girl. We hope you might have the opportunity to meet her soon. Meanwhile, I will try to share some highlights of her life now and again to keep you updated.

Learning to Wander

Stand, wobble, balance and step, milestones of a toddler learning to walk. Like most toddlers, after taking my first steps, I was soon waddling pathways to new places. At the age of one, I was also learning to wander. Life was new, the world yet to be explored. Without a guide to show me the way ahead, I was fortunate to wander into precarious predicaments and escape unscathed.

On a crisp autumn morning of my earliest year, I embarked on my first adventure through suburbia. With my family’s black Labrador retriever companion, Snuffy, the adventure began at the family homestead, a modest ranch house in a master planned community of similar ranch-style houses in Leawood, Kansas.

Grandma was visiting from Seward, Nebraska, a town of about 3,000 in the center of corn country. She proudly shared child care duties with my parents. Both my parents commuted 10 miles to Kansas City to work at the federal building, my mom for Social Security Administration, my dad for Housing and Urban Development. My brother, Kyle, attended the 5th grade of Corinth Elementary around the corner from the house.

With most of our neighbors away for the day, the block was quiet. Surrounded by a fence, Snuffy and I, shoulder-to-shoulder, crunched through a thick blanket of dry oak and maple leaves covering the zoysia of the 1-acre lot. Beneath an overcast sky, we paced rough circles around the backyard. Meanwhile, Grandma completed her crosswords and let her last cup of coffee cool on the table.

Except for the weeping mortar coated powder blue, the house was plain and the amenities few: no swing, no slide, and no sandbox. Only mature trees, whose leaves were changing from the color of fire to burnt brown and falling all around us. Snuffy and I casually passed the morning kicking up clouds of dust. I ran my hand across the fence and felt the chilly bumps of the chain link crisscrossing. Snuffy sniffed a path to the backyard gate, where our adventure began.

The gate was latched without a padlock. Snuffy simply set his nose beneath the latch, tossed it upward and then leaned into the gate as it swung open. Our way was clear. The gate opened to a gently sloping hillside, and we raced downward to a creek that cut a secluded path through the neighborhood. Its deep banks abutted backyards of the single family dwellings set up on their large lots. I ran alongside Snuffy with my hand planted firmly on his back, as he panted and lapped the fresh air.

Our freedom run was at once exhilarating and awful, for a one-year-old should not be left alone to toddle and wander, neither through wilderness nor suburbia. Grandma’s mindset, perhaps, needed to adjust to a more metropolitan way of life. The yards of her youth were surrounded by several strands of barbed wire intended to keep the horses corralled inside the pasture, whereas the yards of mine were enclosed by fencing that was at once ergonomic and aesthetically pleasant. As Snuffy and I galloped toward the woods, Grandma unwisely assumed that the boy and his dog were confined to the roost.

What Grandma did not realize was that Snuffy was well known to the local animal control authority. He had found his way through the gate before. My parents had to hold onto his collar and hold him back every time the front door opened. Sometimes the grip was not strong enough, and Snuffy would shake loose, bolt through the door and run off.

Snuff senses the front door about to open. Whenever someone was near the door, he could be found nearby, waiting to bolt.

Once through the gate, Snuffy and I experienced freedom together for the first time. Gaining momentum, we broke through the tree line at the edge of the creek, waded across the shallow water of the creek bed and grappled up to the pavement of the Prairie Village Public Works Department storage yard. The area was shaded and vacant, except for a dirty white semi trailer.

The Prairie Village Public Works Department parking lot is like a playground for a one-year-old. I was happy enough to be toddling anywhere on two feet.

After noticing our absence, Grandma panicked. She called my mom, who told her to call the police. She then called the police. Her grandson was missing. He must have got out through the open gate and walked off. She last checked on him a half hour ago. He was with the dog. Grandma set the phone down and opened the back door to the house. She searched the yard and scanned the tree line looking for a sign of the boy and his dog. She did not see them. The dispatch responded that an officer would respond immediately.

From the public works yard, Snuffy and I journeyed onward. We padded forward across an adjacent lot, an empty parcel covered with tall grass, and on toward the intersection of West 83^rd and Mission Road. In the distance, a rapid stream of passenger vehicles and delivery trucks hurried through the intersection. As we approached the intersection, traffic signals arose into the daylight like gigantic bean stalks. We trotted ahead toward an imminent confrontation with suburban commuters.

Suddenly and without warning, a Leawood Police Officer knelt before us and blocked our way. “Where are you going, little boy?” he said, and that open-ended question halted the day’s adventure. Instead of riding home in the back of the dog pound cage, Snuffy rode home with me in the back of a police car. The police officer transmitted us a quarter of a mile home. After administering to Grandma a fierce scolding, the police officer delivered us safely home.

As time passed, this would not be the last time Snuffy and I wandered away together under Grandma’s care. On another day, again during school hours, Snuffy and I sought out my brother and wandered away from the backyard to Corinth Elementary. A teacher let us in the front entrance. His fellow classmates laughed and cheered as we walked through the classroom door and found that, in his embarrassment, Kyle had buried his face in his hands and put his head down on his desk. This time an administrator called Grandma to come and pick us up herself.

For these childcare transgressions, personally, I do not blame Grandma. No, for this excursion, I blame my dog, Snuffy. My youth was founded on these adventures, and I owe it to Grandma for letting me learn to wander. That Grandma trusted Snuffy and respected me enough—even as a one-year-old, to let me play outside on my own, I will forever remember and love Grandma.

Side Trips through the Desert of Southern California

We live in the area of Southern California kindly regarded though seldom derided as the Inland Empire. It’s an area known more for its tracts of rooftops and a prevalence of strip malls than for any attraction. A benefit to living in the middle of Southern California is its central location to many activities.

With the addition of a newborn, our excursions are somewhat limited for now, but we anticipate embarking on future adventures, most within a 60 mile radius of our home in Eastvale. Elia and I have lived in the area for several years and still are exploring to discover nearby activities for our family. We have been almost everywhere from Palm Desert to Los Angeles looking for new sights and landmarks. Although we’ve had to search, we’ve discovered something in just about every city of the desert valley east of Los Angeles.

In the mountains of Big Bear, one can ski, snowboard, mountain bike, and boat. In the winter, one can also make a snowman in any of the several public parks.

With a focus on affordability and non-obvious attraction, the following are some of the places we like to go as a family in or near the Inland Empire.

Palm Springs: Living Desert (http://www.livingdesert.org/) is a desert-themed zoo, home to animals, including several kinds of cats, native to deserts all around the world. Probably the best part of this zoo has nothing to do with animals and their habitat, rather it is the most amazing, gigantic, outdoor model train set that is about the size of half a city block.

Papa and Seb stand amazed at the edge of a vast model train landscape.

Redlands: Pharaoh’s Adventure Park (http://www.pharaohsadventurepark.com/) is a water park and theme park with medium-sized roller coasters. The Redlands Bowl (http://www.redlandsbowl.org/) is a place of frequent live entertainment throughout the summertime, including performances from a variety of musical groups and acting troupes.

Big Bear Lake: Big Bear Lake is a fairly rugged playground for mountain biking enthusiasts, skiers and snowboarders. This place is also a scenic destination for families. In the summer, on the south side of Big Bear Lake, a couple of boat tours cast off, one a normal boat tour with a presentation on the history of Big Bear Lake, and the other is a pirate themed boat tour. On the north side of the lake, there is a nature trail that leads up the mountainside from the Big Bear Discovery Center (http://www.bigbeardiscoverycenter.com). In the winter, huge snow hills are made for tubing, or your could opt to make a snowman at one of the public parks.

In one afternoon, we learn the history of Big Bear and the FMV of numerous lake houses.

Rancho Cucamonga: Victoria Gardens is a shopping quarter designed for the entire family. In the center of the shopping district is a park with an open garden, which frequently has live entertainment. In the midst of this upscale mall, a great place to sit and enjoy the sunshine with a draft beverage, the Yard House beer garden is in view of the central garden area. During summertime, there’s a synchronized outdoor splash fountain, where kids can play in the water for free. There’s also a $3 mock train ride that our boy loves. An outdoor playground around the corner from there is also nearby a fast food court, where we can find a frozen cherry lemonade.

Here comes Seb in the caboose of the Victoria Gardens mock train.

Riverside: The Mission Inn (http://www.missioninn.com/) is an old hotel–and, I mean, a really old hotel for Southern California, established in 1876. Aside from its architectural splendor and elegant accommodations, its claim to fame is that several of the POTUS have stayed the night here. Before Seb and Amelia were born, Elia and I had stayed here on a couple of occasions. Now that we have little ones, we visit the Mission Inn every winter for the Festival of Lights and an outdoor Christmas market featuring a small ice skating rink and fresh mini-donuts.

Grandma and Grandpa stand with Grandson in the driveway of the Mission Inn.

Ontario: A Rainforest Cafe restaurant in Ontario Mills Mall is a fairly cool
place to spend an hour or so. And if you go for drinks only, you don’t have to spend
a lot of money.

South Corona: Tom’s Farms (http://shop.tomsfarms.com/) is like an old style town with an assortment of cheap activities for small children. If you like Classic Rock and motorcycles, you’ll especially feel at home here. There is a large scale train ($2) that families can take their kids on, a carousel ($2) with bobbing horses and sleighs, small scale tractors ($2) kids can drive, and occasional carnivals that operate giant inflatable bounce obstacle courses. A full-time farmer’s mart sells countless varieties of fruits, nuts, soda-pops and fresh veggies.

Tom's Farms has a train loop featuring a covered bridge and crossing. On occasion, Tom himself has been spotted engineering trainloads of families around his farm.

Central Corona: I have always wanted to take my boy to the Fender Museum
(http://www.fendermuseum.com/), home of the Fender guitar. But he’s a little young for it yet. A place we have visited is the Citrus Park Splash Zone. It’s free fun in the summertime. My boy has finally embraced water and is manning up to brave new splash challenges of shooting water from squirt gun turrets and running through water gauntlets
(http://www.splash-pads.com/citrus-park-splash-zone/).

Old Town Temecula: This is another old style town with a variety of shops and
eateries. It’s home to Penny Pickles Workshop (http://www.pennypickles.org/), the Temecula Children’s Museum, a place where kids are allowed to run around, touch everything and explore science-like exhibits. Our boy has enjoyed his visits and usually gravitated to the player piano.

Eastvale: Eastvale, like many other communities in the Inland Empire, is home to
an abundance of families with small children. Public parks are all over the
place. We take our boy to a different park almost every weekend, and we meet
new kids and new families during every visit.

A traveling carnival set up a few blocks away give Seb and Chloe a chance to play.

Chino Hills: Chino Hills also has a somewhat smaller outdoor mall that is a bit
cozier than Victoria Gardens in Rancho Cucamonga. There’s a free splash
fountain for kids and canvas-shaded outdoor tables and cushion chairs for
families. The parks in Chino Hills are the most magnificent of any we have visited in the Inland Empire.

Chino: We have uncovered a number of airport cafes in the vicinity of where we live. An airport cafe is a food establishment adjacent to the runway of a local airport. Our family has dined in the D&D Airport Cafe in Riverside where we witnessed a personal aircraft take off and the Flabob Airport Cafe in Rubidoux where we saw a personal aircraft land. Our next stop is Flo’s Airport Cafe, where we will endeavor flight training.

Inside the Lines

And, of course, there are pricier, more obvious places to explore that are within a morning’s drive of the Inland Empire.

Beaches: Driving to the beach from the Inland Empire requires planning. While we do not need to spend a lot of cash to enjoy the waves and the sand, we might need to spend quite a bit of our precious time getting there. On a weekend day, we are sure to leave early, like around 8:30 a.m. or 9:00 a.m. If we leave our place much later than that, we expect to spend more than 2 hours in traffic going less than 5 mph and then we might have trouble finding a parking space whenever we finally arrive. The beaches are very popular, needless to say. To save some time on the drive home, we recently acquired a Fastrak account (http://www.91expresslanes.com/).

On a trip to San Diego, Elia and Seb wait for the next train at the Solana Beach Station.

Anaheim: Disneyland and California Adventure (http://disneyland.disney.go.com/) speak for themselves.

A dazzling light display helps us pass the hour we spend waiting in line for Small World.

Buena Park: Knott’s Berry Farm and Medieval Times are worthy recreational investments.

Irvine: Pretend City (http://pretendcity.org/) is an educational excursion for a toddler to learn the fundamentals of building a community, including earning and spending play paper money.

Pasadena: Griffith Park (http://www.griffithobservatory.org/) is vast and full of secrets.

Long Beach: Aquarium of the Pacific (http://www.aquariumofpacific.org/) is one of many aquariums along the Southern Californian Coast.

Santa Ana: The Santa Ana Zoo (http://www.santaanazoo.org/) is quite cheap, but needs upkeep.

Los Angeles: The Getty Center (http://www.getty.edu/) is an art museum that could be considered a work of art in and of itself. Universal City, Hollywood Bowl (http://www.hollywoodbowl.com/), and Center Theater Group (http://www.centertheatregroup.org/) all add character to the LA area.

Every aspect of the Getty Center is a work of art, including its structures and gardens.

San Diego: We could spend almost every weekend basking in San Diego’s perfect weather while strolling through Balboa Park (http://www.balboapark.org/), exploring the Safari Park (http://www.sdzsafaripark.org/), and learning about the world of animals at the San Diego Zoo (http://www.sandiegozoo.org/).

San Diego's Wild Animal Park is now known as Safari Park. However, wild animals--and wild children are plentiful here.

Many families call the Inland Empire home, so there are actually quite a few things for us to do here. The only catch is that we either have to pay to play, drive across town to get there, or both. It seems to have taken awhile for reliable entertainment to become established to support the massive housing boom that peaked here in 2007. Every time we find a new place, we experience a eureka moment. Maybe one of these weekends, we’ll share one with you.

Amelia Sophie

On Thursday, November 10, 2011 at 8:13 a.m., a child was born, Amelia Sophie. Her birth weight was measured at 3.14 kilograms (6 pounds, 15 ounces).

The Delivery

That morning, Elia was admitted to St. Joseph Medical Center and the Children’s Hospital of Orange County at 5:45 a.m. Two hours later, after being checked and placed onto a gurney, she was wheeled into the operating room, where the delivery team assembled itself. I sat on a small stool nearby Elia and conversed with her while the team proceeded to perform a C-section. The operation commenced and went painlessly and thereby smoothly. Everyone was delighted to hear the cries of a newborn baby ringing through the air.

In the instant I returned to Elia’s side holding the baby, she recognized her mom. Once she heard Elia’s voice, she stopped crying, opened her eyes, and motioned with her tiny tongue to feed. She had to wait another half hour, while the delivery team completed the procedure, before being handed to her mom. Elia and the baby have remained very close ever since.

Words cannot convey the love we have for our daughter, Amelia Sophie.

The Name

Amelia Sophie is a combination of the names of two people very important to both Elia and me. Amelia is the name of Elia’s grandma, and Sophie is the name of mine. Abuelita Amelia lives a few hours south of us in Playas de Tijuana. My grandma Sophie is still alive in the hearts of her eight grandchildren. Both of our grandmas are key sources of love in our lives. We are simply trying to return some of this love to the world.

Seb, the Bro-tector

To help Elia and me perform our duty to protect our little one, I commissioned Seb as the Big Bro-tector of the baby sister. As the Big Bro-tector, Seb watches out for his Baby Sister and is to be careful with her, not poke her in the nose with his finger and, instead of grabbing at her ears and cheeks, gently caress the tufts of hair on her soft head. Seb has accepted his role and is preparing himself to bro-tect his baby sister.

Seb's initial bro-tection duties include posing for photographs with Baby Sister.

So far, Seb is pleased to have a baby sister. About every half hour, he asks me to pick up Baby Sister and carry her on a walk around the house. I proceed to cradle Ameliasita while Seb accompanies me on a home mini-tour. With boundless enthusiasm, he points out the features he finds of interest to his baby sister: his nightly routine checklist, a posted menu of all the new foods he has tried, his Thomas the Train table, the home computer with all of his stored videos, the bathtub, and so forth. Once we are finished reviewing a station, Seb leaps forward and gallops ahead down the hall to the next.

At each station, he asks me to explain to Baby Sister the importance of a particular feature. “Here is the Pizza Truck, one of Seb’s favorite toys. Seb acquired it at a garage sale several years ago. Pizza happens to be one of Seb’s favorite foods. He enjoys eating melted cheese. When you are older, you and Seb will eat pizza together. Seb, why don’t you sing Baby Sister the Pizza Truck song?”

As we conclude the tour with a snack, he insists that I include the baby: “Papa, can you tell Baby Sister about what I’m drinking, please?”

What happened to 11-11-11?

One day, about a week ago, during a routine doctor visit, an administrative aide informed Elia that she had been bumped from an extraordinary Veteran’s Day celebration of the 11-11-11 birth date to one day earlier. Neither Elia nor I really attach any significance to numbers and birth times. Our primary objective was to ensure delivery of a 100% healthy baby. We agreed that the actual date, plus or minus a week, did not matter.

As Elia and I decided how to re-arrange our plans to conform to the updated delivery schedule, Elia commented on the significance Americans attach to dates and their associated zeal with anniversaries for everything from annual retail sales events to bloody acts of terror. Why should the definition of the personality for an individual or nation be founded on a schedule? I admit, I was disappointed in the so-called clerical error that advanced the birthday up the calendar from the coveted 11-11-11, but ultimately I am happy to have welcomed a new member of our family to our world on 11-10-11.

Have you ever been to a Potty Party?

Elia and I like to have fun, too, but a Potty Party is about as fun as it sounds. Yes, you are right to be curious about what a Potty Party is, but first what a Potty Party is not. A Potty Party is not one of those morning-after-beer-before-liquor rituals. Nor is it an odd, risque fetish. And it is also not a game played by contestants wearing adult diapers. In fact, a Potty Party is actually an effective toilet training technique for troublesome toddlers who refuse to do the deed standing proper before the throne with the lid up–if your toddler happens to be a boy, that is.

My childless friends, now you may return to your upper tier, kick back and, with your perma-smiles, enjoy the comfort of your abode and all of its unbroken furniture. Your stream-lined adventures shall continue toward an ever unfolding rainbow-colored horizon, while we parents bear our toilet-training burden before the dull, grey backdrop on the inside of a damp, public restroom stall.

We enjoy a sunset respite in Carlsbad as we prepare for next weekend's Potty Party.

On Holding It

New parents, we understand if you’re at your wits’ end with potty training, especially if your son or daughter is a holder. Pee-pee cannot be squeezed out of holders. They can and will hold their pee-pee, no matter how much discomfort it causes them and everyone else involved, until it’s time to take a bath. As parents of a holder, potty training has been one of the hardest tasks of our parenting experience.

When our son turned four, he refused to take typical developmental potty-training steps. Instead, he preferred going in the bath tub. While on errands with Elia, though he filled up on bottles of water and sucked juice boxes dry, he would not empty himself into a public toilet. Elia utilized the tub technique just so he could continue his day without bursting. During scheduled stops by the house, Elia dunked him in the tub, where he could decompress.

After a few months of this, we decided on a new tact in potty training. This effort was exhausting, different from any that we know are typical of potty training exercises, like, for example, using Cheerio and candy rewards, floating toilet targets, special prize incentives, and plain, old-fashioned guilt-tripping. Once we had tried and failed with all of these motivational tactics, we understood that extreme actions would be necessary.

Seb is lucky to have his own bathroom, where he could start out peeing almost anywhere without regard to anyone. To potty train him, we set a simple goal for him to relieve himself in there, approximately 75-25 potty in the bowl. We set off on helping him accomplish this goal by scheduling a Saturday morning “Potty Party” (also known as a bathroom lock-in).

What is a Potty Party?

A Potty Party is a party to celebrate a kind of toilet christening. It takes place entirely within the bathroom. For Seb’s Potty Party, Elia went completely over-the-top and decorated the bathroom with $0.99 store streamers and decorations. We set up a play table in the bathroom with tiny chairs, and had a cupcake ready with an unlit candle for the moment the pee-pee hit the bowl. Then, Saturday morning, we began the celebration.

Do a Little Dance

Elia and I alternated, staying with Seb and pointing him to the toilet. All day on Saturday, sitting on tiny chairs in the bathroom, on our knees hard against the smelly tile, speaking softly, then yelling, then using the silent treatment, then nothing. Seb was there with us, acknowledged our deep concern, but refused to go. And, you know, during this time, Seb was not simply saying quietly, “I don’t want to.” He was dancing, screaming, crying tears, pointing us out the door and making it very difficult for his parents. And, alas, ten hours later, Seb relieved himself in the tub.

Still, we stuck to the goal. The next day, same effort, much less enthusiasm, Elia and I skipped comforting Sunday activities and devoted it to potty training. Again, we alternated, for twelve hours, taking short breaks for food and water, waiting for him to go, but Seb would not. Elia and I, heartier and with more stamina, were relentless. We were determined to wear him down. As far as we were concerned, Seb did not need a bath tonight.

Eventually, after nursing a liter of water, he really had to go, and we wore him out. Seb finally tired of holding. Standing before the toilet, he let out a little tinkle. At that moment, we cheered and, of course, acted as if he was finally doing it. The drama intensified, and little by little, he did it. From that day, with continuing support, he would go in his toilet. Along with that, we tried to reinforce his habit by giving him a preferred toy every time. And so we enjoyed our success for the next few months.

Seb catches his breath for his next potty dance.

The Hangover

It had been about five months since that tough weekend. Seb went in his designated bowl, but nowhere else. Elia and I discussed Seb’s progress, and our shared concern prompted us to re-double our efforts to help our son go pee-pee in a different potty. Since we also have a guest bathroom in our place, this served as the different potty. One weekend, through four hours straight of tears, gentle encouragement, restrained anger, frustration, and staying with him in the bathroom, he held it. Elia gave up after just an hour, and then I took over. Torture, interrogation, pain, water boarding, were all images that came to mind as I sat on a tiny chair nearby waiting. And there went a cherished day of rest.

After a prolonged silent treatment and hours of painful holding, he finally let out a tiny squirt. He pointed to some drops on the rim and tried to convince me that he had done it. I encouraged him to go ahead and let it all out, and little by little, he did. Later that weekend, he made his fifth trip to the different toilet and eventually championed the bowls of public restrooms in Target and Toys R Us, letting it out little by little. In one final push, we taught him to let it all out in a single flowing stream. He eventually conquered toilet in the public Kindergarten.

Seb anxiously awaits his chance to exit the kiddie bathroom.

Celebrate and Give Thanks

We are grateful that the bathroom potty party lock-in worked for Seb. Each child has a different story, of course, but our opinion is that the longer you wait with a holder, the harder it gets to potty train. Nonetheless, our short journey to the end of this final episode was really nothing to look forward to undertaking.

In the Spectrum

You might have heard that our son, Seb, has been diagnosed with the Autism Spectrum Disorder. Still, you wonder, how can it be that a normal-looking, cheerful and otherwise silly kid could be considered autistic? What makes Seb autistic? I mean, in most appearances, he seems like a normal boy.

Well, friends, let me explain what makes Seb autistic and, therefore, so different from other kids. The following is a partial list intended to shed some light on Seb’s autism. As a unique, special kid, who happens to have been given a diagnosis of autism, Seb is:

• Partial to a limited variety of food: mac ‘n’ cheese, veggie lasagna, and chicken nuggets;
• Obsessed with wheels and other spinning things;
• Often found to be twirling himself in circles;
• Unable to point at anything with his finger;
• In possession of a perfect pitch;
• Able to sing in tune;
• Naturally gifted with echoalia;
• Intolerant of any interruption to his routine;
• Enraged by imperfection;
• Anxious and fearful in the observance of typical cultural rituals like changing calendars and the top of the hour;
• Overwhelmed in crowded rooms to the point of tears;
• Prone to inconsolable crying tears and runaway meltdowns;
• Unwilling to use the toilet like a normal person;
• Frightened by or unusually interested in harsh sounds, like automatic hand dryers and electric vacuum cleaners;
• Afraid of normal childhood activity, like petting dogs and riding on carousels;
• Extremely disappointed upon separation with friends;
• In denial of eye contact;
• Charming;
• Unable to sleep regularly and consistently;
• Lacking in attention to two- and three-step routines;
• Seeking self-stimulation in the forms of sound and light;
• Constantly seeking sensory input, like poking his eye with his finger until it turns red, picking his nose until it bleeds, biting his lip until it scars, hitting friends, running into people, flapping his hands about his wrists, and walking on his toes;
• Burdened with stereotypies, like hand flapping and grimacing;
• Unaware of his peers;
• Intensely focused on and quite comfortable with a monotonous activity;
• Referring to everyone, including himself, in the third person;
• Challenged to develop fine motor skills, like holding a pen and using scissors;
• Uncoordinated in his development of gross motor skills, like running and jumping;
• Taught otherwise naturally developing language skills, like pragmatics. For example, instead of saying that the water is cold, Seb used to say that the water is not hot;
• Easily distracted;
• Hyperlexic; and
• Quirky.

Actually, Seb’s autism is not half of what it used to be. The above list is cumulative but not necessarily current. Some of these behaviors have already been mitigated or overcome. Seb has even developed quite a sense of humor and a typical fondness for mischief. Yesterday, after coming inside from riding his scooter home from the park, Seb dropped his helmet in the middle of the tiled entryway floor. When I called him out and pointed at his helmet, he laughed with glee and proceeded to put it away.

Seb has made a lot of progress since his first visit to the pediatric neurologist a couple of years ago. With thanks to the understanding and recommendations of Dr. McIntosh, during the past two years, Seb has undergone more than 30 hours per week of intensive behavioral therapy. What other kids learn naturally on their own, Seb has been taught by a contingent of therapists mobilized to practice a battery of therapies, including occupational, speech, sensory integration, and auditory processing and applied behavioral analysis. With this very early intervention, we believe Seb is more likely to seem like a normal kid.

The Delivery Room

Although I have been known to forget where I placed my shoes, my cup of coffee, and my car keys, actually, I can admit that my long-term memory reaches back to my toddler years. Granted: these toddler memories are simple, base even. The neural pathways were developing into intricate networks inside my tiny brain to modulate such standard infantile functions as crying, laughing and nose picking.

But, my son, Seb, already having mastered on demand crying, being silly and pinching his nostrils closed with his thumb and forefinger, seems to be gifted with an astonishing memory. He surprises us by reminding us of birthdays, like those of his mom, Grandpa, and Carl, the tall black man we met once in the storage container aisle at Target. Along with the birthdays of his dad, unborn sister and all his cousins, Seb claims even to remember his own birthday.

One afternoon last summer, Seb was listening in on a discussion between Elia and me about his baby sister. Elia’s pregnancy had reached Week No. 26, and a pronounced round overhang was just becoming obvious. Elia and I were priming Seb to become a big brother, and Seb understood that a baby was forming in his mom’s belly. Elia pointed to her belly and told Seb that his baby sister was looking forward to playing with him and would be coming out soon.

Then, turning to Seb, Elia asked, “Seb, do you remember when you were a tiny little baby in Mama’s belly?”

“Yes,” said Seb.

“What was it like?”

“It was dark… and red,” said Seb. “It was too warm.”

“What did you do in there?”

“I waited so long.”

Seb was a week overdue when Elia’s water broke. At the hospital, Elia waited on a thin bed in discomfort. As the nurse berated Elia for crying while she administered pitocin to force contractions, Elia’s labor pains became unbearable, and she began to scream, “No puedo! No puedo mas!”

Ten hours later, after two failed epidural attempts, Dr. Steven hoisted Seb by his neck from the incision of Elia’s belly.

Elia continued to probe Seb’s birthday memory, “Who did you see first when you were born, Mama or Papa?”

“First, Papa. Then, you,” recounted Seb.

After Seb was dried off, Dr. Steven handed him to me. I cradled my baby boy, and Seb wailed. I carefully brought him to Elia, whose head was cordoned off from the rest of her body by a giant curtain. I held him down close by her smiling face.

“Mi precioso, mi ninyo, mi corazon, mi bebe,” Elia said.

Suddenly, Seb stopped crying, opened and blinked his eyes, furled his brow and listened to the sweet voice of his mother.

Seb did not share much more of his recollection of his first moments post-womb, though we have questioned him a bit further. We are skeptical that we are treading into the familiar parental territory of unjustified pride, yet we remain intrigued by this novelty. Visual, kinesthetic and auditory memories, or a wild fantasy, what do you think: is it possible that Seb’s recollections of his birthday moments are true, or are they simply travails of his developing toddler imagination?

Baby on the Wayside

We have no car seat, no stroller, no custom shelving and no name, yet Elia and I are certainly looking forward to November 11, 2011, as we prepare to welcome the birth of our second child.  Last week we completed the intake forms for St. Joseph Medical Center and requested the C-section birth time of 11:11 a.m.  Why not?  What have we got to lose?

During much of the past eight months, our outlook was not always so nonchalant.  For instance, back in April, Elia and I were looking forward to a weeklong vacation to visit friends in Texas (pronounced “TAE-has”).  They are friends we had not seen for many years.  Elia and I planned to fly over there with Seb, spend a few nights in Houston and a few nights in Dallas, size up Texas with the rest of the world, and enjoy a relaxing Texas-style excursion.  We had an itinerary, plane tickets, a rental car reservation, and confirmation from our friends that guestroom space was available.  We were set to go and very excited.

Unfortunately, a few weeks before our trip, we also had the prognosis from Elia’s general physician on her new pregnancy.  Dr. Angelina determined that her pregnancy was a high risk pregnancy.  After having had a miscarriage a month prior and then becoming pregnant at the soonest opportunity thereafter, Elia might have had another miscarriage any moment.  Elia was grounded until further notice.

With Seb’s flight anxiety and lack of proper toilet training, I left him with her and went solo for a three night trip to Houston and San Antonio.  It was just me there with good old friends Ryan and Jill, Marcus and Tanya, Kyle and Tracy and most of their kids.  We gathered together in Missouri City, Texas, just north of the border, smiling, catching up, discussing business seriously and enjoying Ryan’s home brew.  Meanwhile, Elia’s general physician, after performing some initial tests, had Elia back on her heels, constantly trimming her fingernails with worry regarding her pregnancy which she considered was at risk of another spontaneous abortion.

As you know, these days, any pregnancy after age 35 is considered risky.  I believe age is a coefficient of a portion of the formula used to arrive at the risk index assigned to measure the degree of likelihood of potential trouble.  Due to her age, Elia’s general physician said that the fetus ought to be screened for Down Syndrome and recommended a blood test.  Of course, Elia, at age 35, tested positive for a Down Syndrome baby.  I mean—wow, we are, as humans, relatively speaking, kind-hearted people.  A Down Syndrome baby is a blessing.

By the way, probably the most disturbing aspect of this news was the question we heard from both the general physician and the ob-gyn: “What if the baby has Down Syndrome?  Then what?  Are you going to keep it?  Because you can choose to abort, and now is the time to make your choice.”   Poor Elia.  Dr. Angelina shook her head and gazed down at the box of rubber gloves on the countertop.

At risk of spontaneous abortion, having just had a miscarriage, a Down Syndrome baby, what outlook could be more… disturbing?  A lifeless fetus, perhaps.  During a follow-up visit, her ob-gyn listened to our back-up plan while trying to locate the baby in Elia’s womb with his handheld ultrasound unit.  He tried but could not manage to hear a heartbeat.  He added some petroleum jelly to her belly and tried again.  “Whomp-a.. whomp-a.. whomp-a..”  The baby had a heart-beat: Thank you, Jesus.

The back-up plan was that Elia would have an amniocentesis performed in a week and go from there. The amniocentesis would reveal the nature of the baby’s chromosomes.  The ob-gyn, an elderly Polish man who goes by Dr. Bedros, said that would be a wise decision, given that the window of opportunity to reinforce the cervix, which he observed to be opening prematurely, would be missed after two more weeks.  Otherwise, he said, everything seemed fine and normal.

A week later, Elia and I witnessed the ultrasound on the high resolution screen, and, from every angle, we clearly noticed the distinct shape of a baby, absent penis.  The only indication of a problem was a bright spot on the heart, that, we were told by both the technician and the counselor, is a tell-tale sign of a baby with Down Syndrome–not that there’s anything wrong with that.

After the ultrasound, a doctor arrived to perform an amniocentesis.  In concert with the technician, the doctor stabbed the needle sheath into the belly, narrowly avoiding the baby’s head. Following this, he inserted the needle required for drawing fluid and attempted to puncture the embryo, to no avail.  His procedure required a second attempt.  He performed the stab and puncture routine once more to success and drew a vial of apple juice.

Well, my friends, the results came in, and we were relieved.  The baby’s chromosomes were normal.  The baby is “normal” and it is definitely a girl.   Yes, a girl.  We are happy and looking forward to November.

What is the Meandering Sidewalk?

The meandering sidewalk is the wavy sidewalk that veers back and forth at the side of the road.  No matter how straight the street, the meandering sidewalk always wanders to and fro, never quite encroaching into a neighbor’s yard and never allowing the pedestrian to land a foot the gutter.  You will likely find the meandering sidewalk constructed in suburban neighborhoods where ample parkway exists for landscaping.   The community planner uses it to break up the monotonous alignments of straight-edge city blocks.  At about six feet in width, a meandering sidewalk can handle a mom and a dad walking side-by-side, each pushing a baby stroller.  Dual meandering sidewalks often straddle collector roads or greenways, allowing neighbors to amble and rove about their neighborhood.

Like the meandering sidewalk, I have wandered aside the straight and narrow path through life, fortunate to be protected by a master plan.  These stories I will tell here of family, friends, strangers, colleagues, inspirations, triumphs, lost causes, past, present and future, I want to share with you.  At times, I have found myself struggling to avoid the gutter, but I have also had countless stoop talks away from the path at a neighbor’s door.  Let us try and take a walk along the meandering sidewalk, and perhaps we’ll find a place along the way to stop for awhile, chat and enjoy life.

This is sidewalk was built with a revolutionary non-meandering option.

Meandering sidewalks are implemented best where pedestrians are expected. Do you notice the truck dealership?

A true meandering sidewalk will allow you wander away from your neighborhood and ramble on like a hobo on an after dinner walk.