Toddler Wrestling

I have no brother. 

No, I haven't been betrayed.  It's simply a statement of fact.  It's also why I think wrestling has always been a bit odd to me. 

Friends of mine with brothers, however, seemed to wrestle at the drop of a hat.  Visits to friends with brothers generally started off normally, at least for me.  We'd begin with some toys, a bike ride outside, or perhaps a video game.  But within a few minutes, having been lost in my own pursuits, I'd turn to find my friend locked in a life or death struggle of kicking, punching, screaming, laughing, spitting, mocking, stomping, head-butting, and, of course, farting.  I'd generally go on playing by myself during the debauchery.  Particularly if I had access to Legos. 

In short, as something one does for fun, wrestling was always near the bottom of my list.  So it is with considerable surprise that the favorite activity of my newly-walking daughter is to beat the living crap out of me. 

Having sought me out, Mimi's plan of action will differ depending on whether on sitting, standing, or laying down.  Standing: she'll just ignore me or maybe, if I'm lucky, give my leg a hug.  Sitting: this usually results in her bringing me a toy or a book or, more often, a scrap of something she's ripped to shreds out of sight in another room.  Laying down: to Mimi, this is a clear invitation to abuse.  She'll generally begin with a lunge onto my stomach, followed by several kicks to the face as she climbs on top of me.  Now in position, Mimi will proceed to pound my chest with her forehead while giggling.  Seriously, what's wrong with this girl?  Satisfied with the damage inflicted, she'll then climb down with several swift kicks to the groin. 

It's not a pretty sight.  Each time I rise from the floor, defeated an in abject pain, I wonder how I got myself into this abusive relationship.  But still, at the same time, I'm thankful for it.  It's actually starting to grow on me.  Let's take a closer look at this strange new phenomenon. 

First off, Mimi identifies her prey.

She then determines a route up the target that will provide the greatest bodily harm. 

There's still danger, though.  Mimi knows that despite her prey's fat and lumpen body it may try to fight back.  She looks for a weakness. 

And, having discovered one, quickly renders her prey blind and helpless. 

The target now fully disarmed and defenseless, Mimi goes to work.  There is no photographic evidence of this.  It's rather hard to take pictures while being pummeled. 

5 minutes later, the defeated father whimpering on the floor in the fetal position, Mimi kicks back with a celebratory swig of victory milk. 

When Mimi came into my life I knew there would be some rough-housing.  I just didn't know how much fun it would be.  As might be expected, Mimi's enjoyment of violence isn't confined to wrestling alone.  She also enjoys being bonked on the head, spun around the room, flipped upside down, and tickled into submission.  But that's for another post.  Perhaps to come when she draws first blood. 

How Quickly We Forget What's Free

With Sumie attending a board review course this weekend and all of next week, Mimi and I will need to work extra hard to keep entertained.  Today, Sunday, was made a bit easier with a trip to the weekly flea market that's held in the southern tip of Bernal Heights. 

I've been going to flea markets, happily, for as long as I can remember.  And I've watched them change, unhappily, for the worse.  A good flea market should be one part second-hand shop, one part garage sale, and one part rubbish dump.  Nothing should be priced and everything should be paid for in cash - but only after bartering.  Today, though, many so-called flea markets are either outdoor, once-a-week antique shops or collections of regular dealers selling cheaply imported and even more cheaply made crap.  So it was a very pleasant surprise to find that the Alemany Flea Market was a true "flea." 

Mimi and I spent about spent about 90 minutes strolling up and down the stalls.  By the end of or visit, which just happened to coincide with the end of Mimi's only bottle, we had purchased only one item: a vintage Sony AM/FM Tuner.  Having only spent ten dollars, I left happy.  It's a pretty little unit, designed in the late sixties as an integral piece of the first mini-component stereos every created.  Despite it's small stature, I put it at the top of the stereo cabinet, and I think it tops everything off rather well.  It's almost like have HAL from 2001 in my living room.

I'd been looking for a nice, but cheap, vintage tuner for my stereo for the past week or so.  It has to do with our decision not to get cable.  In NYC, each time we moved we'd plug our TV into the cable outlet and hope something would be there.  Each time we did we were rewarded with the major networks, the Food Network, TBS, and the Manhattan Neighborhood Network (which deserves its own post).  Here in SF, however, there was no cable jack in the living room.  Unable to check for free cable, and unwilling to pay for it, we attempted more creative solutions.

We had internet, so we first tried a web-based entertainment schedule only.  As I've written before, I'm a Netflix streaming fiend.  Within a day or two, however, I determined a Netflix only television diet wasn't going to cut it.  We then got Hulu Plus, which expanded the options, but was really just more of the same.  Something was missing.  It took us a week to realize that we wanted our local television back.  

By this point Sumie was ready to break down and get cable.  I had nearly given in to her pleas when I remembered something from my childhood: television antennas.  To get any stations where I grew up one needed a massive, roof-perched television aerial.  A directional one was best.  We controlled ours from inside with a massive dial that rotated said antenna north, south, east, and west.  I still remember spinning the dial from north to south and then running outside to watch the antenna turn.  This antenna could, on clear days, pick up KTVU channel 2 out of San Francisco, which was nearly 200 miles away.  It was fantastic.  And it was all free.

How had I forgotten about this?  Granted, my family and I had been enjoying cable since I was 10 or so, but still.  Why was I so ready to shell out considerable cash for something I could get for free?  Yes, we'd only have the major networks and local news, but that's plenty of television when one has the internet on tap!  Having finally remembered that television could be free, I popped down to the local Radio Shack and, after a modest outlay of 30 dollars for an updated set of rabbit ears and about an hour of antenna positioning, was rewarded with crystal clear, digital reception of Fox, ABC, CBS, NBC, WB, and 3 PBS channels.

Sumie was astounded.  The picture was great, better than we had enjoyed with cable in NYC, and we finally had access to all the local and national programming we needed.  Well, almost.  

Another week went by.  The local channels were great, but something was still wrong.  In New York the major networks broadcast the vast majority of the Yankees and Mets baseball games.  That doesn't seem to be the case in SF, even for the local teams.  Giants baseball, save for the rare game on Fox or NBC, is on a cable only channel.  This is wrong.  I couldn't get cable, but at the same time I wanted to watch the Giants.  Once again, I turned to the internet.  Once again, I struck out.  My only real option was to buy a season pass on MLB.com and stream the games to my Apple TV.  I was about to order the rest of the season when it struck me: what about radio? 

That's when I decided to get a tuner.  And it's been great.  After I returned from the flea market I put Mimi to bed (it was well past her nap time) and plugged the tuner into my stereo.  I turned the dial to AM 680, home of the Giants, and picked up the game from the 7th inning.  Though they lost, I really enjoyed listening to that game on the radio.  It's tough at first!  The format forces you to get to know the names of the players, to consider their level of play, and to picture the action as it happens.  I actually had a little trouble following the game at first, but after an inning or two I was genuinely getting into it. 

The radio play didn't stop with the Giants' unfortunate loss.  Mimi soon woke up and so I tuned in the classical station on the FM side.  She approved!

This may be rather corny and old fashioned, but I'm quite excited to share radio with Mimi.  It's a medium I think we've taken for granted for far too long.  At the touch of our fingertips we have the world.  And it's all free.  Not only that, the format forces us to use our minds to picture events, to piece together a plot, or to remember stats that would otherwise be strewn across the television screen.  As an educator, I can help but think that radio may be better for Mimi than television.  Not as good as books, but still, if the programming is right, quite beneficial.   

I don't think I'm becoming a Luddite.  Maybe I'm just a bit antiquated in my thinking.  Well, at least my daughter will grow up knowing what a "dial" is thanks to my "antique" tuner.  And if you don't think kids today don't know what a dial is, I dare you to ask any 4 to 7 year old what the term means.  You'll be lucky if they do so much as identify it as a type of soap.   

Getting the Gear...to Read?

It seems that today even the simplest activity requires an obscene amount of gear.  Take running.  When I started running in high school - wishing now that I had kept up with it - all I did was purchase a pair of shoes and new batteries for my Walkman.  Granted, I looked like a bit of a berk in my ratty t-shirt and was nearly thrown of balance by the violent jostling of that 1.5lb cassette player in my right front pocket.  But the cost to start was virtually nothing.  Today, to start running, the initial outlay could well run above 500 dollars between the breathable shirts, orthopedically contoured shoes, bounce-secure headphones, and new songs off iTunes for that perfect running playlist. 

When it comes to gearing up I've tried keep it toned down.  I love cars, but I've only one car-themed piece of clothing (a BMW knit cap).  Bicycling?  No spandex to date and my steed is the mountain bike I got for Christmas in 6th grade.  Running?  Well, I just don't do that anymore.  But there's one basic hobby, perhaps the most simple of all hobbies, for which I seem to be breaking my "keep it simple" rule: reading. 

Of course, one needs books.  This has never been a problem for me.  Be it history, fiction, Elizabethan tragedy, Japanese surrealism, British automotive journalism, or trashy horror, I've got something on tap in either physical or Kindle form.  What has caused issue with my little reading hobby is how I read: voraciously and on my back. 

I never really enjoyed going to bed, even as a child.  In fact, I appreciate that luxury far more now than I did when I was eight.  To placate their little insomniac, my parents came up with an ingenious solution, one I plan on using for my own kids.  I was allowed to stay up as late as I wanted as long as I was reading.  Some nights ended close to my bedtime.  Others went until 10 or 11.  A few mornings must have been tough, but this little piece of parenting helped to instil in me a life-long love of reading.  Unfortunately, it also virtually ruined me for extended reading in any position other than laying down.  As such, finding the perfect chair is perhaps the most important aspect of my reading gear-up process.  Happy to say that I have found it.  A chair and ottoman combination I've lusted after for 15 years or so.  But, as it hasn't arrived yet, I'll have to reveal it in another post. 

Sumie and I did find a very comfortable interim chair and ottoman set at Ikea.  Amazingly, it was the cheapest one they had, but by far the most comfortable.  Lucky thing, that.  We need this second chair, even though the first is already ordered, to help flesh out the second item on my list of reading gear: a dedicated room. 

Having a reading room is, admittedly, a significant luxury.  But one I think, if done correctly, is well worth the investment.  The large room at the front of our house has two entrances, one off the kitchen and another off the hallway.  It is semi-divided into two rooms by a pair of built-in bookcases.  Traditionally, the room off the kitchen would've been a formal dining room.  The room off the hall, which the bookcases face, would've been the family room.  We did things a bit differently.  Not really needing a formal dining room, we turned the room off the kitchen into our Family Room, complete with TV, couches, and toys.  The room off the hall is in the process of becoming the reading room.  Currently it's outfitted with a fireplace, rug, chair, and stereo.  Again, having a dedicated room like this is a huge luxury, and a bit of a sacrifice when it comes to space, but I do think it'll have a tremendous impact on Mimi.  We'll have a dedicated space in our home for flipping through pages.  I can't wait to see her in her little rocker, the same one I had when I was a child, reading alongside Mama and Papa. 

The room right now, like my gearing-up process, is still a work in process.  There's so much more to consider.  Is the lighting just right?  Do the chairs impede the sound from the stereo?  Do I need a pipe and smoking jacket?  What about a cocktail cabinet?  And where can I find someone named Jeeves to serve me brandy?  Yes, as you can tell, this is going to take some time.  I'll provide an update once it gets closer to completion but, for the meantime, Here are a few pictures of how it looks so far.  Cozy, I think.

And, of course, no post would be complete without a picture of Mimi.  Here she is enjoying one of her own favorite hobbies.  This one genuinely doesn't need any gear.  Besides Tupperware. 

Food on the Fork, Floor, and Forehead

Three times a day Mimi and I gather round the kitchen table for a meal.  This makes for 21 meals a week, 90 meals per month.  And with all this practice, as well as excellently modeled dining behavior by yours truly, Mimi still seems to think that food belongs anywhere but her plate. 

Before each meal I chop up whatever we're having into "Mimi pieces."  This makes it easier for her to fling them into those hard-to-reach corners under the fridge and table.  From there the bib goes on, and is then immediately removed.  This process is repeated ad nauseam because I have yet to find bibs that fasten like handcuffs.  Eventually Mimi is placed in her highchair and the tray, laden with food, is snapped into place. 

We generally warm up with finger foods.  These can range from chicken nuggets to bread to spaghetti.  Often, this first course is a tamer version of whatever I'm having.  When it comes to finger foods, Mimi has two eating styles.  The first I call "finicky mouse."  She'll seek out the tiniest piece on her plate, grasp it between her thumb and forefinger, hold it aloft in triumph, and then proceed to take multiple infinitesimal nibbles.  This style is contrasted by the "famished python."  Mimi gathers at least half of the food on her plate in both hands, mashes it into a hearty paste, dislocates her lower jaw, and shoves the mound, now roughly the size of a small badger and seeming to struggle just as violently, into her mouth.  Her hands then ball into fists to beat the oversized bite into submission and down her throat. 

Once the finger food session begins, I have about 3 solid minutes to prepare the next round - the utensil course.

Sometimes the utensils, a fork and spoon, appear with a bowl of yogurt or applesauce.  Usually, though, they come out once Mimi loses interest.  With a fork and spoon in hand food that had been tossed aside only seconds before becomes irresistibly appetizing.  It's almost magic, really. 

It's taken a few weeks, but Mimi's really starting to get the hang of her spoon.  Today she'd refused to touch her mac and cheese, but once she had that spoon, she went to town. 

With food on the spoon Mimi then uses a two-pronged attack to ensure that each morsel makes it into her mouth.

Partway through this stage she'll generally ask for some juice to clean her palate.

On good days the meal's over when Mimi starts eating the spoon rather than eating with it.  Today was a good day.  On bad ones, Mimi tosses her plate to the floor then rubs her filthy hands into her hair.  I'm not quite sure how she knows exactly what not to do.  Perhaps kids just come programmed that way. 

Slowly but surely she's becoming a better eater.  I'm looking forward to the day she can tackle a piece of pizza on her own.  What luxury that would be!

Yes! I Will Pay $25.00 for Toast!

Moving into a larger home, particularly when it's located across the country, brings some considerable challenges.  When we first came to SF I thought the primary difficulty would be finding a place to live.  It was tough, but in hindsight, not really that bad.  Within a week we'd found a wonderful new home.  Shortly thereafter, our belongings arrived from New York.  And that was when the penny dropped.  We had a home, but beyond a couch, crib, bed, and stereo, there was nothing in it!

Equipping a new home is no easy task, particularly when that home is twice as large and located in an entirely new neighborhood.  Sumie and I now had about 1,200 square feet, but we had furniture for roughly 400.  We'd used the cross country move as an opportunity to purge some of those belongings that, while still serviceable, had run their full course was us.  One of these was our trusty, but now filthy, sticky, and smokey, toaster oven.  I had no problem parting ways with this faithful fellow in New York.  Little did I know just how much I'd miss him.

It was our second night in the new place.  Our belongings had yet to arrive from New York, so we were getting by with a card table, an airbed, and a pack-n-play.  Needless to say, little comforts went a long way in such spartan surroundings.  As such, I'd picked up some amazing hot pastrami from AK Meats.  I'd been dreaming of the sandwich I'd make with it all day.  Peppers and onions were purchased, along with spicy mustard and a loaf of fresh sourdough (yes, I know I should have it on rye, but, for some reason, rye and I have never gotten along).  Everything was set but for one thing.  I needed to toast the bread. 

Regardless of the city, toaster oven options are seriously limited after 9pm.  Without a Target or K-Mart in sight, I was reduced to the last ditch minor appliance option: the local drug store.  Walgreens was able to provide my fix with a $25.00 black beauty from Sylvania.  Even in the box it looked like utter crap.  But when a man needs a toast fix, he doesn't sweat the source.  All that matters is that crispy, crunchy, toasty goodness.  Despite Sumie's objections, and my own severe aversion to ever buying anything cheap, I plunked my money down. 

15 minutes later the claimed four-slice wonder, which barely fit two, was smoking away.  Unfortunately, it wasn't the toast that was smoking.  It was that black hunk of crap from Sylvania.  Brand new and already, on its maiden toast, it was on fire.  It was my own personal "Titanic" moment.  Granted, the scale was a bit smaller and no one drowned, but it was still distressing.  I pulled out the bread - not toast - once the fire alarm started blaring.  Thankful I had saved the box and receipt, I resigned myself to a soft-bread sandwich. 

I was frustrated that night, but had relearned a valuable lesson: buy quality or go without.  I've managed to stick by this mantra for the past three weeks, and I'm glad of it.  The majority of our rooms are still relatively empty as a result - one is occupied solely by an airbed, inflated to make the room feel a bit more useful - but the few things we have purchased we'll keep for years to come. 

And that's my basic strategy for our new home.  We're going to purchase items that we'll be proud to keep for the next 20 years.  It's going to take a lot longer, but it'll also be much more fun.  I've already scouted out some vintage furniture stores here in SF, one visit resulting in a score of two end tables from the 1960s at a very reasonable $50.00.  And today, our rug purchasing patience paid off with our discovery of Albert at Aladdin Carpets.  He runs a very small, very local shop with some of the best prices in the city.  Not only did we get a great deal, we helped to support a local business, which is definitely a plus.  It's going to take many weeks, if not months, to really get our place liveable, but, despite the inconvenience, I think we'll end up with some fantastic pieces and get to know our new city a bit better in the process.

Mimi Update:  The day after Mimi first walked she woke up having forgotten her new skill.  By the afternoon, however, she was once again tearing through the house.  She hasn't stopped since.  She still likes to use her walker from time to time, though.  With that in hand she can nearly run.  Here's a picture of her sprinting down the hall wrapped up in her mother's nightshirt.  I guess she missed mommy that morning.

We've also taken to playing in the backyard, which is much more fun now that Mimi can walk.  She loves strolling around the patio.  She also loves picking up leaves.  She likes her patio clean, I guess.  Here she is handing me one of her finds.

Unfortunately, she doesn't hand me all of her discoveries.  Some of them go into her mouth.

Well, at least it's an all natural diet. 

American Families and Swedish Furniture

Though I have yet to experience the majority of San Francisco neighborhoods, those I have visited seem to be rather segregated.  Some are predominantly Chinese, others white, black, or Hispanic.  In each of these there's always a mix of races and ethnicities, but, so too, always a preponderance of one group that, to varying degrees, stamps the neighborhood with a particular identity.  On Sunday, however, I found a place, a relatively small patch of land, that truly is the Bay Area's melting pot.  More on that at the end of the post because I really should begin at the beginning, and that's in Palo Alto. 

Late Thursday night Sumie's brother and his family flew in from Tokyo to begin a new chapter in their lives here in the Bay Area.  Sumie's brother will be getting his LLM at Stanford while his wife and two very cute kids improve their English skills and enjoy the states for a couple years.  Sumie and I gave them a day or so to settle into the student housing and then went for a visit this Saturday.  What a difference the last few months have made.  Previously, seeing Shu and his family required a 13 hour flight from New York to Tokyo.  Now, it's down to a 45 minute drive.  It really is a luxury having family nearby.  Even if you're the one doing the helping.  There's something about being able to "be there" for family that is very reassuring. 

Our visit was short, but  great fun.  The student housing is phenomenal, with three cozy bedrooms and a wonderful little park for the two kids.  I think Mimi's going to enjoy her visits out to Stanford.  And she's quite happy to have two new playmates close by. 

Sunday was filled with even more family.  This time we headed north on 80 for Sacramento and my Grandmother's house.  This trip was definitely going to be a test of Mimi's stamina.  Would she be able to handle two hours in the car each way, a host of unfamiliar faces, and a carpeted living room?  We weren't sure. 

At my Grandmother's we were met by aunts, uncles and cousins.  Gina, my cousin closest to my own age, brought her two boys, Ethan and Noah, who, though older than Mimi, were wonderful playmates.  Mimi, of course, started off as her bossy self.  Her first act was to impatiently wrench the shape sorter box from the mild and considerate hands of Noah.  What a gentleman.  He didn't put up a fuss at all.  Mimi, that's how you should behave.  Yes, I know the box is yellow and filled with lots of colorful plastic shapes, but you should show a little restraint.  It's just not lady-like to be so demanding.

Mimi was better outside.  Her walking skills have blossomed beyond all expectation and she was navigating concrete and grass with equal agility. 

She even worked a new favorite toy, a rubber ball, into her walking routine.  After a few attempts, she was able to go from sitting to sprinting with ball in hand.  As you have probably guessed, she kept a death grip on this ball making few efforts to share.  Occasionally she'd bounce it over to someone, but if it wasn't returned immediately...  well, it's rather frightening what a determined 15 month old child can do.

Our visit was quite idyllic, the entire family sitting out in the back yard, playing together, and chatting over what's been happening since we last met.  I had forgotten just how great a place a backyard can be when it's filled with the right people. 

Mimi observed some of the more vigorous play from the sidelines. 

Though she is now an accomplished walker, Mimi still uses a full range of strategies for getting around.  If she's holding something, she'll often "scooch," which is her unique butt-scooting technique of locomotion.  If she trips while walking, or really wants to move quickly, she'll crawl.  As such, and we should've realized this before we left home, there was little hope that her white pants would last through the day.  They served courageously and will be put to rest with full honors. 

And yes, I do think it's rather ironic that a pair of pants so filthy, soiled so far beyond repair, proudly proclaim, "I Love Mommy!" 

With a quick change of pants Mimi was able to close out the visit by reading with Grandma.  This may very well have been the highlight of the day for both of them. 

Soon it was 3pm and Mimi hadn't even so much as rubbed her eyes.  Sumie and I were amazed but, not wanting to press our luck, we packed up and headed for home.  Mimi was asleep by the time we turned onto the freeway. 

Mimi's nap, however, was cut to a scant 40 minutes because by the time we got to Davis, our first Alma Mater, I insisted on getting a burrito from Dos Coyotes.  The car stopped and Mimi started. 

For the remainder of the trip Mimi remained awake.  She'd had a very full day and so it was with great trepidation that we decided to enter the Ikea in Emeryville, just across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco. 

This Ikea was just like every other I've been to: huge, bewildering, and filled with items I kind of want, but don't really need.  What distinguished this one from the others is that its aisles were filled with persons of every race and ethnicity imaginable, and in perfect balance.  It was remarkable.  When choosing a place to live everyone seems to self-segregate, but when it comes to buying furniture, we're all Swedish.  I still can't get my mind around it, but I like it. 

We didn't come out with any furniture (I'm getting pickier in my old age), but we did fill up the car with pans, picture frames, and two huge (and badly needed) rugs. 

And how did Mimi do?  She was a champ.  Not a squeal, not a whimper, not a whine.  She'd been up for 12 hours by the time we hit Ikea with only 45 minutes of nap.  We were absolutely astounded.  Our amazement continued as Mimi, now back at home, flung her new wooden push-cars here and there stopping only to take the occasional hit of "carpet vapor" off the new rugs to keep her going.  By 9:30, Sumie and I were virtually passed out on the living room floor (we can do this now that we finally have a rug again!) and Mimi was still tearing about the place.  What an amazing baby.  Thankfully, she agreed to go to bed at 10:00 and slept soundly through the entire night. 

All told it was a great weekend.  And a busy one.  So, after reading all this, I hope you now understand why this post is a day late.  Quite simply, my baby just wore me out!

Beware the Baby of Soggy Bottom

Sumie and I woke this morning to a rather grey and dismal day.  The fog was in and hanging low; oppressive, but not suffocating.  As I rolled back from the window to help Sumie out of bed I thought to myself, "It's going to be a damp day."  How right I was.

An hour or so later I heard low, contented babbling coming from Mimi's room.  I peeked my head in to find a mop-headed toddler smiling away.  She had woken up happy.  Thank goodness.  The night had not gone well.  Screams at midnight were reprised at 3:00am with even more piercing wails.  Both were resolved with milk.  This bought us some sleep, but it also meant that, with Mimi fully loaded, her diaper could hit critical mass before she woke in the morning.  Her smiles seemed to indicate we had escaped the danger.  Her clothes, however, did not.

I arrived at the crib rail to find a giggly child absolutely drenched from the waist down.  There were mornings when she'd been a bit soggy before, but this was something new.  Honestly, I didn't know where to begin.  Mimi had the right idea, though.  She grabbed a tissue and started wiping.  Granted, it was an area of the crib she hadn't saturated - if she had I would've have been drowned - but it was a start.

The primary challenge was getting Mimi from the crib to the bedroom, which has the changing pad, without contaminating half the house.  Grasped under the armpits, Mimi swung like a pendulum as I walked through the hall, into the bedroom, and searched frantically for the changing pad.  This presented another problem.  I couldn't set Mimi down, I couldn't hold her against my chest, and she refused to stand on her own.  How was I going to pick up the changing pad?  Some precarious balancing and a quick flick from my right foot proved sufficient to send the pad flying from the dresser to the bed.  All those years of youth soccer finally paid off. 

Cleaned and dressed, I took Mimi to the living room for breakfast where we shared leftover Dim Sum and a Woody Allen film (that's another blog post in itself).  We then set out for a spot of shopping. The Irish bakery, which has amazing pasties, was followed by the local ice cream parlor, where we picked up two pints of homemade goodness.  I absolutely love the food at the Irish bakery, but I always feel insecure ordering there.  Though I've visited England several times now, I can't remember how to properly pronounce "pasty."  Is it "past-ee," like a letter "e" from the past, or is it "paste-ee," like what people say about me when I'm at the beach?  If anyone can help, please let me know.

Having secured our provisions we headed home.  Several days ago, on a similar run, Mimi had managed to bring up half her bottle all over her sweater.  Today seemed to be going better.  She'd only been drinking water and that seemed to be staying down.  Near home, Mimi began whimpering and I looked down to see that her water bottle was empty.  Odd, I thought.  She never drinks that fast.  Well, somehow Mimi had figured out how to empty an entire spill-proof water bottle onto her left leg.  Basically, I was right back where I started this morning, only at least this time it was just water.

We returned home, where I changed Mimi and then threw her newly wet clothes, along with the soiled items I'd washed that morning, into the dryer.  Nothing has made me feel more of a "grown-up" - not getting married, having a child, or buying a home - than having an actual washer and dryer combo.  I still find it odd.  Why is my concept of adulthood tied to the acquisition of laundry apparatus?  Maybe I'm more influenced by commercials than I thought.

Stripped of her wet clothes, once again, and equipped with a new diaper, Mimi decided to kick back with a collection of articles from Top Gear's James May.  She may not know how to read, but she already has great taste in books.

Mimi is now dry and down for her nap.  I'm hoping she'll wake up dry as well.  Not that I mind changing her, but at this rate, I'm going to run out of onesies! 

Extra, Extra! Mimi Can Walk!

Although Mimi has been strolling with her walker, or with her hand tightly grasped in Sumie's or mine, for the past month or so, she had been hesitant to take steps on her own.  Just a bit insecure, I guess.

That all changed yesterday.  When Grandma was visiting she made a few cautious steps between me and the couch.  She'd attempted this before, generally when she was so obsessed with something beyond her reach that she forgot to be afraid, so I didn't take it as a breakthrough.  By the evening, though, Mimi was ready to walk.  She started off with about 5 steps, shuffling between Sumie and me, but that soon grew to 20+.  Before we knew it the clock had spun past 10pm and Mimi was making laps around the house.

This morning she's back on her walker.  I wonder when she'll remember that she can actually walk on her own.  She's staring imploringly at me now, as if she wants me to remind her of something.  I'm holding off for a few more minutes to see if she'll figure it out again on her own.

Until then, I'll be watching the video below.  Maybe I'll show it to Mimi to jog her memory (please forgive the pun).

From One's Childhood to Another's

The word of the day: Nostalgia.

My mother came by this morning, after making a run to our storage garage in Paradise, with some remnants of my childhood for Mimi.  Even as a child I appreciated hand-me-downs, but perhaps that's because my hand-me-downs were of particularly fine quality.  For example, my first train set was my father's - a 1955 Lionel Steam engine complete with whistle tender and barrel car.

Today Mimi received several items that came new to me but descend to her with more memories than she can possible fathom.  The first is my rocking horse.

My Grandpa Mac, my Mother's father, had produced one of these rocking horses for the families of each of his children.  Made of solid mahogany, it served my sister and I faithfully, as well as countless eager and rowdy friends, for years.  Now, after 15 years in storage, he has returned to service once again, chomping at the bit for a new rider.  He's a little worse for wear - his handle is looser than it once was and his tail is nigh nonexistent - but he still looks beautiful.  Mimi's a bit small to ride him on her own, but she'll get there before I know it.

Mimi's favorite item so far, and perhaps mine as well when I was a kid, has been my childhood rocking chair.  She was a bit skeptical at first - "This chair might not be entirely stable!" - but she soon took to it.  Within an hour or so she was able to set herself on the precarious perch, rock to her heart's content, and then slip back down to the floor.  By the end of the afternoon she was beginning to scoot across the room in it, frenetically rocking forward with upward kicks and downward head thrusts.

With this addition to our meager collection of furniture we definitely need to get some rugs for our hardwood floors.  Rocking and scooting were only two of the three actions in which I excelled in my little rocker.  The third, and by far the most enjoyable, was tipping it over from any and every angle.  Forward, back, to the side, it didn't matter.  As long as I ended up in a non-sitting position, I was happy.  Mimi's going to be the same, I can already tell.  Rugs are definitely in order.

Seeing these little items insinuate themselves back into my life has been a blessing.  I watch my daughter play with them and I remember, if only minutely, what it was like to be her age.  I've also been contemplating just how we pass on our childhood to our own progeny.  Having lived in Japan and Manhattan for the past ten years, I've become accustomed to throwing things out in order to manage the tight quarters.  But, having returned to California and come across some of my childhood treasures, I'm thankful that I grew up in a place where my family could stockpile the ephemera of years gone by.  The vast majority of it, at some point, will eventually be sold or tossed out.  But what a joy to have access to those items you had forgotten and, now rediscovered, could never do without. 

Today we also visited the San Francisco Academy of Sciences.  It was my first trip to the storied museum in the past 20 years.  Is it as good as the Museum of Natural History in NYC?  No, I don't think so, but it is in my backyard and it is phenomenal.  Mimi was particularly taken with the aquarium.

Grandma, having brought down the nostalgia, joined us at the museum.  She was a tremendous with Mimi as we navigated the crowds. 

The roof of the museum is a "living roof," covered with grass and other plant life.  This keeps the museum cooler during the summer and warming during the winter.  Remarkable... if I hadn't seen it already on the roof of my host father's office in Japan.  That man never ceases to amaze me.  Still, the best part of the day was on the roof, where Mimi was free and set about exploring the railing.

I can't wait to continue to explore this wonderful city with Mimi.  And to share with her the memories associated with the mementos saved from my own childhood.  Who knows.  Maybe she'll share them with her own children some day. 

What Makes a House a Home?

It's been roughly a week and a half since we moved into our house in San Francisco.  The first six days were spent in rather spartan fashion - a card table, air mattress, and a pack-n-play being our only furniture.  Even with the arrival of the moving truck, the place is still quite empty.  Our furniture, which had more than adequately serviced our 600 square foot one bedroom, seems almost lost in our new digs.  Consequently, with only half the rooms liveably furnished, we're still living in about 600 square feet of space.

Nonetheless, this formerly anonymous Richmond District house is slowly becoming our home and it's got me thinking.  Just what makes a house a home?  When does that change occur and what's it based upon?  Does the neighborhood matter?  How about the weather? 

There are hundreds of factors - too many to list, or even identify - but I've come up with a couple that have been standouts over the past several days.

The first is establishing a routine.  One of the most hectic aspects of any move is that each day brings a new task to do, a new obstacle to overcome.  Getting settled, at least for me, has meant not so much putting away all the boxes but slipping into a regular, and quite familiar, daily routine.  This, of course, is centered around Mimi, so sometimes it begins at 9:00 (like today) and on other days at 6:00 (like Sunday, unfortunately).  It's reassuring to have this schedule back; a link to our previous life in New York.

As before, each day really begins with the "ih-hi, ih-hi" of Mimi's wake-up announcement.  

This is usually followed by her immediately demanding something: milk, a blanket, a 2011 Porsche Boxster Spyder... today it was a shoe.

Having secured the object of her desire, she then wanted to put it on.  Mimi's getting much better at dressing herself.  While shoes are still a bit of a challenge, she'll occasionally be able to put on her socks all by herself. 

 Of course, there are still some issues.  Yesterday she was attempting to put on a bra which, to her, was a very fashionable, double-layered hat.  Luckily she reneged on this style choice before it was time to hit the park. 

Breakfast quickly follows a change of clothes.  Although the room is different, the process is basically identical: same chair, same foods, even the same table.  Unfortunately, we're also currently stuck with the same episode of Thomas the Tank Engine Songs.  We've seen this special so many times that the tunes are now even invading my dreams.  It's like a Nightmare on Elm Street, only with catchy tunes and British Middle Class morals. 

Having our belongings from New York here has also had a major impact.  Though the house is far from fully furnished, it at least now reflects the life we've led.  Ties to the past abound, which makes life in the present a bit cozier, a bit richer.  Take the picture below.  This is of our "library," which, given the complete lack of anywhere to sit, is basically unusable.  Still, at least to me, it's a comforting room.

It begins with the books.  Whenever and wherever I set out my books I immediately feel more at ease.  There's also the cedar chest I bought for Sumie, which I had somehow managed to wedge into the front seat of my old Honda Civic in order to bring home.  On the mantle rests the Seth and Thomas mantle clock that I had watched as a little kid, waiting patiently in my little rocker for 2:30 and Scooby Doo.  This is joined by a Japanese Calligraphy print penned by my host father in Iruma, Japan.  With these items in place, our new house is beginning to feel a bit less foreign and more familiar. 

Of course, there's so much more to it than just routines and ties to the past.  That both Sumie and I are now enamored with Golden Gate Park has gone a long way to making us feel comfortable here.  So too has finding a Japanese Curry restaurant, within walking distance, that rivals anything we'd had in Tokyo! 

It will take months, but with good memories, good food, and sunshine and in plentiful supply, I do think we'll be able to make this house our new home.  Now, if only I could get a proper barbeque! 

Non-bearded, Pudgy White Man Claims San Francisco Residency

Relocation Adjustment Therapy - San Francisco (RATS)
Transcript: New Client Meeting - Friday, August 12th
Client:  Steven Kemp

RATS Agent: Welcome to San Francisco, Mr. Kemp.  Or shall I call you Steven?  Steve?  Maybe we should start with a hug.

Steve: Yeah, um, sure.  (Hugs Agent).  Steve is fine. 

RATS: That's great, Steve-o.  So glad we got that settled.  And I'm so happy to begin working with you on settling here in occasionally sunny San Francisco.

Steve:  Thanks.  Like I put on my application, I just moved from New York City and I'm having a little difficulty making the adjustment to San Francisco.  I was hoping that you could help.

RATS: New Yorkers can be particularly difficult to re-educate, but I'll do my best.  You weren't living in Brooklyn by any chance, were you?  That would make the process much easier. 

Steve: No, Manhattan.  Upper East Side.

RATS:  OK.  OK.... um.... Can I be honest with you, Steve?  I've never dealt with an Upper East Sider.  I've only been with RATS for 8 years now.  We usually funnel the Manhattanites, and most of the Texans, to our more experienced staff.

Steve: Maybe I won't be too tough.  I'm originally a Nor-Cal kid.  20 years.

RATS:  Have you ever used the term "hella" as an intensifier?

Steve:  Of course.  I was hella good at it.  Even used "hecka" when I was in Junior High.

RATS: Good.  Alright, maybe I can do this.  We'll only be dealing in stereotypes to begin with, so it shouldn't be too tough.  Let's start with the basics.  I see you're still wearing a black shirt, and a button-down one at that.

Steve: Is that a problem?

RATS: Unless you're a Goth, yes.  But don't worry.  This happens all the time.  We'll give you a flannel and several sweatshirts branded with local microbreweries before you go.  You can accessorize with either Birkenstocks or a hemp necklace.

Steve: I'll take the hemp necklace.  My wife doesn't allow Birkenstocks.

RATS: No problem.  Now, it says here that you're 34 years old and currently unemployed.  And yet you don't have any facial hair.

Steve: I'm a stay-at-home dad.  And I'm writing whenever I can.  Regarding the facial hair, it just doesn't work on me.  I end up looking like a fat cross between Charles Manson and Macauly Culkin.

RATS: I suppose you can get by.  You'll just need to dress down a bit more.  Try wearing some ripped jeans.  OK, next I'm going to ask you a few questions to get a better idea of your "San Franciscaness."  Do you like fog?

Steve: I do, actually.  I'm not a fan of the heat and I don't mind cloudy days.

RATS:  That's great.  How do you feel about hybrid cars?

Steve: I know this will count against me, but I don't really care for them.  They take more energy to manufacture and many people who buy them end up driving more than they would with a regular car.

RATS: Ouch.  That's bad.  Close to blasphemy.  But there may be a way out.  How do you feel about bio-diesel? 

Steve: That I like.  It amazes me just how many people have converted their vintage Mercedes 240ds to run on it.  I've even thought of getting one myself, but I doubt my wife would ever let me.

RATS: Phew.  We made it through that one.  You said you have a wife?  Is she Asian by any chance?

Steve:  Yes, she is.

RATS:  That's a point on the plus side.  So, can you speak Mandarin or Cantonese?

Steve: Neither.  My wife is Japanese. 

RATS: Oh...  Well, that changes things a bit.  We have a Japan-town, but the Japanese population here is pretty small.  You at least know how to use chopsticks then, right.

Steve: Right.

RATS: Good.  Every little bit helps.  Now, I'm going to ask you some multiple choice questions we've compiled specifically for New Yorkers coming to San Francisco.  The answers are numbered.  The lower the number, the more you're like a New Yorker.  The higher the number, the more you're like a San Franciscan.  Get it?

Steve: Yeah.  Go ahead.

RATS: You're in a grocery store.  The clerk says hello.  You respond in kind.  He then asks you how you're doing.  You...

1. Get offended because it's none of his business and immediately feel he has some ulterior motive
2. Respond with "Fine." 
3. Respond quickly, but ask the same question to the clerk in return
4. Tell him about your entire day, your family, and your hopes for the future

Steve: I'd have to say it's somewhere between 1 and 2.  More likely 1.

RATS: Alright.  Something for us to work on there.  Next question.  You come to a four-way stop.  Someone has stopped just before you did.  He sits there for 20 seconds before waving you forward.  You...

1. Cannot even begin to contemplate the idiocy of this man
2. Are thankful that at least you didn't have to wait any longer
3. Wave and say, "Thank You"
4. Refuse to move and instead wave him through the intersection

Steve: When I first got here I was a 1, but now I'm definitely a 2.

RATS: Excellent!  OK, last question for this section.  This is a difficult one.  There is a pervasive homelessness problem in San Francisco.  You feel the solution is to...

1. Import Rudy Giuliani and just get it over with
2. Strengthen the loitering laws
3. Increase funding for social services and shelters
4. Force supermarkets to provide the homeless with a shopping cart upgrade every two years, just like other companies do with cell phones.

Steve: I'm afraid that's a number 1.

RATS: It looks like we have a long way to go, but don't worry, we'll get there.  Last question, do you have a recent picture of your daughter?

Steve: Yeah, sure:

RATS: Of all the pictures you have of your daughter, why this one? 

Steve: Well, she's holding a bowl that I used to use as a kid and I needed to find a way to work it into my blog.

RATS: I see.  I think we'll need to meet again in the near future.  I'll have more questions for you and you can update me on your progress.  It's going to be a long and sometimes arduous process, but you'll get there.

Steve: Thank you for your help today.

RATS: My pleasure.  Don't forget your sweatshirts on the way out.  Oh, and can I interest you in a "CO-EXIST" bumper sticker.

Steve: No.  No, thank you.  I think it's still a bit early for that. 

The Art of Dislodging a Toddler

This post is going out quite late, but that's only because it's being written from the comfort of my beloved couch.  The movers finally came!  Many thanks to Grandma for coming over and watching Mimi as the movers brought in the remnants from our life in Manhattan.

With all the boxes in I can't help but feel we're missing a few things.  The house still feels rather empty.  The apartment in NYC had been bursting at the seams with boxes.  We could've been featured on that show "Hoarders."  I'm sure that I would've been the one to get the psychologist: "Steve, I recognize that you have a strong connection with these items, but look how full your life is now.  Is that broken and sun-stained remote control R2-D2 really necessary?"  "Yes.  Yes it is." 

Mimi has spent most of her time over the past week exploring our new home, particularly the cabinets.  She began by mapping out the kitchen, opening the cupboards one-by-one and then throwing the plastic shelf-liners on the floor.  Satisfied with her progress, she climbed under the sink to inspect the garbage disposal. 

Seeing that the undersink electrics were in good order, she decided to check out the corner cabinet.  This one was particularly fascinating.  That one small door in the corner held a massive crawl space.  Mimi wiggled her way through the opening, seeking out the space her mother and father will probably use to store fondue sets and impulse buys from Ron Popeil.  A full ten minutes went by before Mimi decided to come out of the dark.  This posed a problem.  Easy to enter, the ledge and small opening made the cabinet very difficult to exit, particularly for someone whose head accounts for 25% of her body mass.  The cabinet is only about 3 inches off the ground, but from the right perspective, even that can be quite daunting. 

Mimi has also been fascinated by the bathroom.  Yesterday afternoon she was squealing with delight as she tottered around the toilet. 

This love affair was short lived, however.  Later that night she decided that the back of the toilet was even more interesting than the front.  And it was, for a while.  Just when you think your child is the most brilliant little creature in the world, she goes off and gets her head stuck behind a toilet.  I reached around and grabbed her head with one hand, her body with the other, and twisted both until she finally slipped free.  It was a little like one of those Mensa block puzzles, only this one screamed.  That makes it harder, I think.  Yes, I did consider getting my camera and yes, I'm glad that I didn't. 

A little bit wiser thanks to her cabinet and toilet ordeals, Mimi has confined her spelunking to bookcases and boxes. 

I'm sure that Mimi will be a huge help over the next few days pulling paper out of boxes and "cluttering" the house to make it feel less empty.  With her help, this house is slowly becoming more and more our home.  To be honest, having a couch again hasn't hurt either!