Discipline

About a year ago I wrote about how a friend told me how surprised she was at my parenting style because she thought I'd be strict, but instead I was a freaking push-over.  Truth be told, it was a true, (though way harsh, D,) assessment.

Well now - I'm sure Mateo would beg to differ.

Don't get me wrong, he's a really good kid.  A two year old, of course, so it's mayhem half the time, but he's a good listener and very sweet.  As far as I'm concerned though, furniture should not be jumped on, food should be eaten at a table, and for the love of God, fingers should not be put inside the dogs' mouths.

It's not particularly shocking, or fascinating, that this is where I'm at now.  But what I do find really interesting is that I find it much easier to be a disciplinarian with Mateo than Geno does.  And I know we're not alone in this dynamic.  More than a few women friends have told me about how their husbands either refuse to discipline their kids, or have pretty intense internal struggles over it.

Maybe these 30, 40 and 50 something dudes grew up with super strict dads and now they are processing how to handle it with their own children.  In our family, I think that may be the case.  (For those of you who know my father in law, I know it's impossible to imagine him being strict with anyone, even for a minute... ah, the freedom grandparenting brings!)

Maybe I'm reading too much into this, and clearly there are exceptions to every rule -not to mention all sorts of family configurations.  But that being said, this pop-psychologist think there's a there, there.  (Pop, ha.)

Yes?  No?

Maine

When Geno and I got engaged we were living in Jersey City, working in THE city, and very clear on the fact that we wanted to get married in Connecticut.  (In large part because we were very clear that we wanted to be living in Connecticut, like, yesterday.)  Shortly thereafter we set an October date in our little nutmeg haven.

Then, the stars aligned and we actually did to move to Connecticut.  And then I got a new job.  And then I realized that it was going to be really tricky to change my last name after just one month of working.  Plus there was the whole buying a house thing.

So - to make the logistics work -we decided to get all European and have a civil ceremony before the actual wedding.  Lucky us, our friends' cousin is a justice of the peace in Maine, and was down(easter) for making us legal.  With our parents' blessing, we drove up to Biddeford, ME, and in the early evening on the beach, surrounded by our friends Connie, Souki, Meghan and Caleb, lobster, blueberries and beer, we were pronounced hitched.  

That was five years ago, two weeks from now...  And this weekend, (after our Boston sojourn), we took Mateo to Maine for the first time.  Lucky us.

Riding the rails along the coast

This is always how I think of Maine - an island with fir trees

Five years - and from 2...

...to 3!

Playing around

Geno and "his" boat

Cracking open the lobstah

Beware of the wildlife

Ooh- this is fun!

Chilling on the streets of Portland

Love these two hooligans

Boston

I lived in Boston for six years.  The first three, (while in Divinity School), I didn't really take living in the city seriously.  I figured it was just a blip in time and despite finding the city really beautiful, it never, ever felt like home.

Then I decided to go to law school in Boston, so I figured if I was going to make it through three more years, I had to do something drastic.  This led to my now-infamous-in-my-family personal regime of "I'm going to make myself love Boston, god#$@it."  Clearly, this meant becoming a Red Sox fan, among other risk-taking behaviors.  Conveniently, this was in late 2003.  (Of course the infamy of this decision lies in the rabid Yankee-ness of anyone with the last name Ayala.)

I've been back to Boston lots since graduating from law school, but this weekend was the first time that Geno, Mateo and I visited as a family.  It was so special to literally walk down memory lanes -Dartmouth Place, Francis Ave and Mass Ave -with my beautiful boys in tow.  

I've got this, Mom

LT RU WITH ME?  Sitting on the steps of Andover Hall at HDS

Meeting the very handsome and dapper Baby William, son of my dear friend Amy

Look Mom- I'm climbing!

Law and Order

My personal favorite:  Mom, look, I'm peeing like a city dog!

Back to the square of so many amazing memories

I'm telling you- DO NOT touch John Harvard's foot!  

Mateo's first subway ride- kickin' it on the Orange Line

Widener Library in Harvard Yard...  Does anyone know if that Titantic story is true?

Post Script:  In case you were wondering, the Red Sox thing didn't stick.

Traktor

Well, hello friends.  There's nothing like starting a new job where you do a lot of reading, writing, thinking and talking to make you want to just want to watch Bachelorette (Jef! Jef! Jef!) and drink wine when you get home.  Blog shmlog.

But now that I have my feet under me at work, I'm ready to get back on the recreational writing horse.  Plus, Mateo is going through a major developmental spurt right now, (not to mention a physical growth spurt as well), so it feels like there's kid stuff to document and parental stuff to question myself, (and occasionally others), about.

To re-start us off, I think it's imperative for you to know about an underground world I have discovered thanks to the nimble fingers of my iPhone operating child.

What underground world is that, you ask?  A world that if you care to enter, you will likely feel indebted to me, for life.

And with that understated introduction, I give you Eastern European techno traktors....

Oh wait, you wanted computer generated techno-traktors?  Let me oblige you:

You're so, so welcome.

Vacation Day #3

Do you know what time the picture of this boat was taken?  I'll tell you: 6:45 a.m.  Remember those days when vacation meant sleeping in until noon?  Well, those days are OVAH people.  

That mini-rant aside, Vacation Day #3 was fabulous.  Our friends, the Mosherats, joined us late last night, so we got to spend the whole day doing things like climbing trees, taking harbor cruises, walking along the beach and buying a summer house.

Vacation Day #2

You don't want to know about Vacation Day #1.  Suffice it to say it involved a two year old crying and screaming, "Beach!!!!!" for at least an hour in the car, a husband pulling this car over right now! and me, Ms. Scared of Heights, having to drive over the Verra-frickin-zzano bridge.  The actual going of going on vacation was miserable.

Vacation Day #2 has been a pleasant improvement.  Despite there being a heatwave going on in Connecticut at the moment, the shore of Rhode Island has been much cooler.  So much so that forgetting to bring my jacket meant I *had* to buy a new one.  In the name of health, of course.  (The J.Crew here is called "J.Crew, by the shore."  Talk about marketing genius.)

Newport is the land of festivals: jazz, chowder, beer, and right now, daffodils.  The entire Cliff Walk has huge patches of daffodils planted along the path, which are truly beautiful.  (Weirdly we saw a lot of people picking them.  Um, hello?  Not the point.  Hands off, flower snatchers.)

After alternating between carrying Mateo and trying to keep him from nose-diving off the cliffs, we headed down to the beach to walk around and try to fly our new kite.  As you can see from the pics below, Geno was very successful!

We then ended the day with a feast of lobster quesadillas, oysters, calamari (even Mateo!) and the season's first Sam Summer.  (And as we speak, Geno is happily watching Sunday Night Baseball and cheering on the Yanks.  Shhh, don't tell all the rabid Sox fans around us.)  A definite, definite improvement over yesterday.

Vacation Day #3 will center on the theme TODDLERS GONE WILD, with the arrival of the Mosherats.   Depending on their level of appropriateness for the internet, pics may or may not be forthcoming.

Patience

I have updates - SO many updates.  But they have to wait just a few days more. In the meantime, here are some things to read to keep your mind off the stagnation of my upcoming news:

• The Tyranny of Monolingualism
• Katniss v. Bella
• If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon
• The three fairy godmothers: Health Care, Day Care and Education

Familia

This past week was surreal.

Sadly a number of our extended family members had really serious health crises - to the point where every phone call became more shocking than the next.  It's not my place to say much more, but any general prayers for healing that you want to throw out there into the universe would be welcomed.

And then in amazingly good news, we learned about another family member's looooong awaited pregnancy, and new job opportunities for number of members of the fam presented themselves.  Plus, in the midst of all of this my parents and sister arrived for Mateo's birthday celebration weekend.

If ever there were a string of events to remind me: the strength of family (writ large) is our ability to celebrate, struggle, love and grieve together.

On Two! Two on Two! Two Much?

Beloved baby boy,

I can still call you my baby, right? Even though you are so totally not a baby? Today you turn two years old, which on one hand is mind-bending, but on the other hand feels like old news. Aren't you supposed to be four by now? Yes, that's right, I want you to be our baby four year old. I'm your mother, it's my prerogative to be nonsensical.

Last year on your birthday, I wrote about your birth day. It was a surreal and magical experience, and it is so special to remember all, (well okay, most,) of the details. I know that every parent sees beauty in the face of their newborn, but seriously kid, you were tan bello.  Lo mas bello del mundo.

When you turned one, we couldn't resist giving you a Dr. Seuss themed party, since you were both born on March 2nd.  You have always been a hat kid, so it was only surprising to those who don't see you regularly that you kept the Cat in the Hat hat for the duration of your birthday party.  (You will notice from the background of the picture below that the adults are drinking vino.  Because that's what one-year-old birthday parties are for: dressing the kid up, while the grown ups get down.)

This year we're basically doing a week long celebration.  Last night Papa and Abuela kicked off the festivities with cupcakes and candles, tonight we'll go out for pizza and fro-yo, and tomorrow you get to have a birthday Skype session with Scott in South Africa.  (Titi Deborah's boyfriend and your man crush.)  

But wait!  That's not all!

At the end of the week Grandma and Grandpa arrive, and then on Saturday the cousins will converge.  Non-stop partying awaits my friend.  Good thing you're loading up on sugar now to make it through!

Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you.

I love you,

Mama

Parental Choice

For 23 months I put Mateo to bed every single night.  (The only exceptions being a few nights I had to travel for work and the 4 day trip Geno and I took to Portland.)  While I was nursing him it was a no-brainer that it would be me, and not Geno, to lull him off into dreamland.  Our mother-son-bedtime routine made a lot of sense.  And then when I stopped nursing him, it also made a lot of sense to keep other aspects of the bedtime routine consistent so as to not throw the entire world into pure chaos.  So mother-son-bedtime time remained.

And then...

Four weeks ago Mateo uttered five little words that simultaneously freed and killed my soul: "No Mama, Dada night night."

** This message has been brought to you by the number 2!**

Alone in the City

You know you're the parent of a small child when traveling for work to the always fabulous New York City means using your free time to:

• sleep;
• watch American Idol, The Voice, Meredith Viera's interview with Mimi Alford and The Vampire Diaries (on consecutive nights in);
• eat food in bed while watching said cultural events;
• paint your nails, twice;
• shower and bathe (consecutively);
• try on lots and lots of clothes because there's no one waiting for you outside the store or at home;
• read three magazines; and
• walk quickly down uneven cobblestone streets while carrying only your phone and wallet in your pockets.

Despite this non-stop partying on-the-road lifestyle, it was really, really nice to come home.

The Drop Off

The day my parents brought me to college there were tears, and not just my mom's.  Although I was excited about the new phase of life college promised, I really liked high school. And only in momentary flashes was I dying to get out of my parents' house, so all the promising collegiate allure of total freedom wasn't overly compelling.

It was a really hot day in mid-August, and East Coasters, let me tell you that Iowa has humidity that puts even swampy DC to shame.  I was lucky enough to be in an air-conditioned dorm, which was a gift to us all, but especially my dad who assembled the requisite freshman loft bed for my room and moved my futon in to tuck beneath it.

After all the hard work of assembling precariously designed furniture and moving in giant posters of French women on bicycles with baguettes was done, my fam headed into downtown Iowa City to get some food.  As we sat in the local Brueggers Bagels eating our sandwiches, I was suddenly overwhelmed by what was happening.  I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in and only somewhat successfully choked back sobs.  I kept on thinking about how this leaving me here all alone thing was happening way too fast.  (I am also the person who as a teenager was at a doctor's appointment by myself and when the nurse tried to give me a tetanus shot panicked because she was coming at me way too fast and ran out of the room.)  Some things in life need to eased into!

I'm not sure what the drive back home was like for my parents, and as that 18 year old, it didn't occur to me to ask them.  I can guess that it was a slightly salt-tinged mixture of pride, sadness, hope and fear.  I feel like I know this in part because it is so much of what I feel on the days I drop Mateo off in the morning at his school and his tears and calls for "mama" fill the car.  He was ridiculously brave (nonchalant?) the first week of starting his program, but soon he figured out that it was not a novelty, but the new normal, and there have been some really tough goodbyes for both of us.

Why did I make the connection between these two events?  The damn Brueggers Bagels in West Hartford Center that I pass every morning on the way to drop Mateo off.

Sob.

Arrrrrr Matey!

This weekend marked our first foray into the "birthday parties of classmates" phase of life. About half of Mateo's class (and approximately 75 other people) attended his friend Nicole's second birthday fiesta.  The theme was Olivia, the clown was named Valentine, and the face painting was off. the. hook.

Teenager

There are times when I look at Mateo and I think, "Ah, yes.  This is what the future looks like."  

An Open Letter to My Friends

Dear [insert nick name based on some sort of inside joke],

This letter has already been written by someone else, although you personally may not yet have been the recipient.  What I'm about to tell you is not unique to me, but I do hope you will find it genuine, because it is certainly meant that way.

Our friendship matters to me.

I know that I don't call as much as I used to, it's hard to find time to see each other in person, and sometimes even when I say I'll call or try to meet up, I don't.  It's not that I don't want to talk to you or see you, I really, really do.  It's just that most days the inertia of working, parenting and staying happily married overtakes me.  The combination of those three things requires a crazy amount of output, and so when I have the small window of time to call or meet up, I find myself doing something where I can quietly, silently recharge.  (Like writing, or yes, watching inane television.)

I know you know me, and I know you know I'm not an introvert.  So I'm hoping you will know somewhere deep down that this lack of calling and hanging out is not about me at my core, and is most certainly not about you.  It's about a phase.

Or at least that is my hope, because our friendship matters to me.

Please hang in there with me.  I know that may be hard to do, especially if you feel like I'm not reciprocating your efforts.  I fully realize that friendship, like any relationship, takes two people committed to staying together, so I can't blame you if you turn your attention elsewhere as well.  I just hope that our friendship matters to you as well, and you'll keep me in your heart.

You are the chinchilla to my villa, the Paltzgraff to my train platform, the I-O to my Wuh and the civil to my liberties.

Your friend,
N

Snow days

Last winter I almost lost my mind because of the snow. We were slammed with storm after storm, and even for this Midwesterner, it was too much. This year has been an amazing reprieve. (From snow that is, not from freakish weather.) It was even almost getting to the point where we were wondering if Mateo and I were going to get to try out our new snow boots. (Mateo got these, and after close to 284 returns, I finally decided on these.)

Well, the snow gods have finally answered our prayers. It's not a lot of snow by any means, but definitely enough for a little sledding and playing around with the dogs outside. Our boots are starting to get broken in, and Mateo has been kept all snug and warm thanks to a fantabulous hand-me-down snow suit from my dear friend, Julie.

I can't believe I'm going to say this, but, I actually hope we get even more snow. I had a flashback memory to my mom making snow ice cream, and I think it would be a lot of fun to make a batch of our own. (I asked Geno if he thinks that Connecticut snow is clean, and his opinion was that it would be okay unless I used it as my primary water source for 6 weeks. Good to know. If you hear I've croaked because of toxic poisoning, you'll know it was a snow ice cream overdose to blame.)