Build Your Wagon, and Come Along!

Our Christmas this year was one of firsts: our first Christmas living in California; Sumie's first Christmas as a full-fledged doctor; my first Christmas as a stay-at-home dad; and Mimi's first Christmas when toys meant more than wrapping paper.  It was also the first year that we had to spend considerable time not only opening gifts, but building them.  Me, I actually love this.  Normally. 

Building anything with Mimi's help requires, how shall I put this, a bit more patience than I was born with.  Or will ever have.  Or God every expected of anyone.  She's a task-master with the unfortunate habit of flinging tiny nuts, screws, bolts, and washers great distances while screaming.  This is the Mimi school of management.  I will say that it's an effective motivator.  Whatever project you're working on, if she's helping, you'll try to finish as quickly as humanly possible. 

This year Grandma and Grandpa gave Mimi and wonderful red wagon.  In a box.  Unassembled. 

"No problem," I thought, and went to fetch my tools.  Mimi was intrigued by the wagon's many functions.  Seats up, seats down, one seat up and the other down.  The combinations were endless!

Normally, putting together a wagon like this would take me at most 10 minutes.  But wagon building, as I found out, is far more difficult when someone insists that the wagon be occupied throughout the construction process.  It takes even longer when this  person also screams, throws your tools, and drools on you.  And there's nothing you can do about it because the person is too cute.  And don't be fooled by my T-shirt.  No amount of Ivy League education will prepare you for the wrath of a toddler waiting for her new toy. 

After a while, Mimi stopped "helping" and just sat there wondering when her incompetent oaf of a father would finish. 

And do you think she thanked me once the last nut was tightened?  No.  She just wanted to know where I'd pull her!

Mimi loves her wagon.  As I was washing the car last night she pulled it around the empty garage, pretending she was heading west.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that we were already about as west as one can go.  Soon she'll be pulling her stuffed animals down the block with it.  Hmm, maybe I can send her on a grocery run sometime soon.  I wonder if Safeway will sell beer to a toddler on the basis that she can't open the bottles.

Santa = Screaming and Anguished Newborns and Toddlers, Annually

My family has a Christmas tradition of playing Santa. 

It began with my Mom's father, who donned the red cap each year for his son and three daughters.  Years later, my father followed in his footsteps, bringing one special gift to my sister and I  every Christmas Eve.  Around 8pm, after Dad had excused himself with an upset stomach or severe exhaustion (in later years, my sister and I would encourage my father to "go take a nap" on Christmas Eve), we'd hear sleigh bells coming up the porch to the front door.  Santa would sit with us, share the presents he'd brought, get assurances for our behavior next year, and then leave with a cookie or two.  And he always wore the hand-made red felt suit crafted by my grandmother.  The same suit I wore for Mimi two nights ago. 

On Christmas Day, Sumie, Mimi, and I gathered for a family party in the east bay.  This was with my step-father Randy's side of the family.  They had, thanks to my mother's encouragement, adopted an annual visit from Santa.  For the past several years, Jeff had played Santa for both his own kids and his brother's.  But the eldest, age 8, was becoming a little skeptical.  It was time for a change, so I agreed to take on the challenge.  After all, it would be Mimi's first visit from Santa.  Maybe she'd take to him if he were more familiar. 

Santa came in with sleigh bells ringing.  The kids flocked to the door.  Even Mimi.

The three boys - even the doubting Thomas 8 year old - had a wonderful time with Santa.  The two little girls, both younger than the boys, had a different take on the fat man's visit.  Lucey, who is 2 years old now, was scared, but still brave enough to sit next to Santa under mommy's careful watch.  Mimi, however, wanted nothing to do with the loud, bearded, and fashionably questionable visitor. 

Here's a picture of Sumie, Mimi, and I before I dressed as Santa.

And here's one after.

Mimi's rejected me countless times, even kicking and screaming, but never did I think I'd inspire such abject terror in my little girl.  At least Sumie was brave enough to give Santa a little cuddle before he had to head back to the north pole. 

It was a wonderful Christmas holiday.  Incredibly busy - hence no blog posts - but wonderfully well spent.  Though this was technically Mimi's second Christmas, I think it was the first one she really enjoyed.  Apart from that visit from Santa.  I wonder if she'll feel differently next year.  I'll probably play him again.  And, most likely, I'll be rejected.  I guess my years in high school were good practice for playing Santa for toddlers. 

Adventures for the Small

One's view of the world makes all the difference.  I'm not speaking metaphorically here.  As Mimi and I palled around yesterday I couldn't help but wonder what I'd make of the world were I in her shoes.

First off, everything is huge.  In the Mimi-scaled world we all drive monster trucks, wear impossibly gigantic shoes, and store things - rather inconveniently, Mimi feels - on shelves 30 feet up.  Life must be a bit mystifying from such a perspective.

At less than three feet tall, Mimi can really stretch her food dollar.  A 59 cent roll that I'd devour in a few bites will last Mimi through the aisles of Safeway,

the entire car ride home,

and through lunch, dinner, and breakfast the next day.  That's thrifty.

At the playground, crossing the sandpit is a massive undertaking.  It's about 30 feet across, tops, but to Mimi, its the Sahara.  So I can only imagine what she thinks of the beach.

It's not exactly Laurence of Arabia, but the scale is right.  Mimi was just a spec on the horizon.  But that didn't stop her.  There was sand to play with...

and feet to clean.

Eventually, we left the soft sand and headed for firmer ground near the water.  Mimi, despite her size, is not phased by the ocean.  She loves the water and no combination of temperature, danger, or daddy disapproval will keep her from it.  Soon both our feet were freezing, but we were having a great time.  Mimi's size meant I was constantly lifting her up out of the waves as they crashed in.  Great fun for Mimi, but a bit cold for me.

Wishing we could've taken some pictures in the water (watching a toddler playing in the waves is work enough without lining up camera shots), we packed up and headed back to the car.  The walk was only 100 yards or so, but between the slippery sand and my body laden with bags, balls, towels, and toddlers, it looked well over a mile.  For Mimi, who was sitting in the crook of my right arm, it was no distance at all.  Funny, that.

We took a few extra minutes to watch the sunset, me behind the wheel and Mimi cuddled up in her car seat with a towel.  It was the first sunset I remember watching deliberately - actually taking the time just to watch the sun go down - since I was on the sea of Japan, well over five years ago.

As the sun slipped behind the sea, size became irrelevant.  We both became very, very small.  And it was great.

Is That Her Father?

Genes are funny things.  How can random assortments of proteins be so kind in some instances (Sumie and Mimi) and horrifically cruel in others (that would be me)? 

Mimi is, of course, a mixed child - half Japanese and half white.  And one can tell.  I think her eyes share the story best: wide, open, and bright, they still come to a distinctly Asian point at the corners. 

This combination of genes makes Mimi a bit of an ethnicity chameleon.  In Japan, she'll definitely be viewed as a "gaijin," or "foreigner."  Conversely, to the vast majority here in the states, she's Asian.  This makes for the occasional awkward encounter for her overwhelmingly white father.

Finishing up our Christmas shopping on Saturday, we came across a local toy store.  I love these.  Though a bit more expensive, they often have some great toys you can't find anywhere else.  This store was no exception.  At one of the play tables was a blue substance called "Bubber."  It's a play-doh-like modeling compound that doesn't dry out, crumble, stain, or get worked into carpets.  What's more, Mimi loved it.  Here's a dramatic re-enactment staged at her own play table back home.

At the toy store, a little girl, no more than 6 years old, sidled up to Mimi.  Sumie stood alongside them.  As they played, the snot draining from Mimi's perpetually runny nose began to hit critical mass.  She needed a tissue, stat.  Sumie called me over and I, tissue in hand, began to administer toxic clean-up procedures.  And then I heard a small, timid, concerned voice:  "Is that her father?" 

To say the question was asked in horror would be a slight exaggeration.  Slight.  The little girl was obviously concerned.  She'd put together that Sumie was Mimi's mom, but how could this lumbering, pudgy, pasty monstrosity be related to the cute little girl with dark curly hair?  And why the hell was he wiping her nose?!

I couldn't help myself.  I responded, "No, I'm just a complete stranger who likes wiping noses."  Sumie, thankfully, jumped in and reassured her, "Yes, that's her daddy (sigh)." 

It's natural to think some of your personal preferences are genetic and that these may carry over to your progeny.  Neither Sumie nor I enjoy dancing.  So much so that we crafted an entire wedding, our own, without a single dance.  There was a slide show, even a live performance on the guitar, but no one cut a rug.  For years we'd chalked up our dancing troubles to genetics.  Mimi, however, may be proving us wrong.

Last Sunday was Sumie's holiday work party.  It was set to start from 4pm.  Naturally, we arrived at 5:30.  Normally I'm punctual to a fault, but delays are expected when you're foolish enough to let a toddler help you dress.

Despite Mimi's help we did eventually make it to the party.  We caught the very tail end of dinner, which meant that as soon as we sat down, everyone else hit the dance floor.

This was Mimi's first time at a real party and she was a bit apprehensive.  After much beckoning, we brought her out to the dance floor.  The new faces, setting, and music were a bit disorienting, I'm sure, but Mimi held it together.  She didn't shake it out there, but she didn't freak out, either.

She lasted about 10 minutes or so before leaving the ballroom to see the trees in the hall  "Ah," Sumie and I thought, "our genes are kicking in.  She's seeking out some peace and quiet."  How wrong we were.

After abusing the trees for a while, Mimi ran back toward the ballroom.  She didn't go in - it was still a bit much for her, I think - but she did catch the beat and start bopping.  When Mimi dances she bounces up and down roughly to the beat.  This continues until the end of the song, when she breaks into violent, Frankenstein-esque clapping spasms. 

Mimi was finding her dancing shoes.  By 8pm, she was done with dancing in the hall and ready for the big time.  She sprinted into the ballroom and hit the dance floor, bopping away completely unfazed by the giants swinging dangerously around her.

Sumie and I were floored.  Was this energetic and gregarious little dancer really our daughter?  We eventually relented and joined her on the dance floor. 

Despite appearances and certain unshared preferences, I still do think Mimi's my child.  Her love of books, cars, and R2D2 is far too strong for there to be any doubt.  Sure, there will be differences along the way -some major, some minor, some devastating - but she'll always be my little girl.  Even it means I have to dance.

Candied Pistachio Steak Salad - Cooking Leftovers with Mimi

I consider myself a decent cook.  And by staying home with Mimi, I've had some extra opportunities to improve my skills.  I don't tend to do anything fancy - 9 times out of 10 it would be wasted on a finicky toddler and an exhausted wife - but I do like to experiment, and there's no better way than with leftovers.

Our fridge always has a few tidbits, a few remainders, that have no use alone, but could fill out a more complete meal.  I genuinely enjoy rummaging through our stores putting together different combinations that may just result in a decent dinner on the table.  Mimi, of course, loves to lend a hand.  In addition to yanking every glass bottle out of the refrigerator and dangling them over the tile floor - she's innately brilliant at this - Mimi's wonderful at selecting (and filthifying) all the pans I'll need. 

Cooking is a tough job, though, so Mimi likes to take an occasional break.  This time it's with a Porsche.  Wish that I could do the same.  

The other night, with Sumie on call and coming home late, I needed to come up with something I could serve to Mimi around 7pm, but would keep until 10 or 11 at night.  I'd be making it from whatever we had in the fridge.  After some serious rummaging, here's what I had. 

1. One pound of rib-eye steak (frozen)
2. Romaine lettuce
3. Croutons
4. Mayonnaise
5. A dribble of Caesar dressing
6. A bag of pistachios
7. Havarti cheese

Not much - some bell peppers, mushrooms, or corn would've been nice as well - but enough to get the job done.  I decided to make a steak salad.  Mimi could have some of the steak with her dinner and I could prepare the salad, but not mix it until Sumie got home so that it'd be fresh.  It was coming together.  But a steak salad with just lettuce, dressing, cheese, and croutons is lacking.  We had no bacon (if in doubt, add bacon) no blue cheese, no red or fried onions.  Nothing that could, for lack of a better term, add a bit of zing.  Struggling for a solution, that's when I hit upon the pistachios.  "Hell," I thought, "Why don't I candy them?  That'll work!"

Naturally, I had never candied anything in my life, but that didn't stop me.  I poured a few spoonfuls of sugar into a non-stick skillet, threw in a chunk of butter, and cooked it on low heat until I had what looked like caramel.  In went the pistachios (which Mimi had helped me shell).  I mixed for a bit, again on low heat, and then, with all the pistachios fully coated, let it rest.  Half an hour later I came back to find pistachio brittle!  Buttery, salty, sweet, and good.  I set some aside for snacks and the crushed the rest to mix in with the salad.

 After grilling the steak on the barbecue, I let it rest a while and chopped the lettuce and grated cheese.  I then made a salad dressing from the remaining Caesar dressing, mayo, garlic, and fresh ground pepper.  With the salad prep finished, the steak had cooled at it was time to feed Mimi.  I sliced up a bit of the steak (Costco rib-eye is delicious and very reasonably priced), shredded some lettuce, and warmed some frozen peas and carrots (the girl must have her veggies).

Mimi loved her dinner at 7:00 and Sumie, who didn't get home until 10:30 that night, appreciated coming home to some fresh food (if not such a fresh husband). 

We cooked often in NYC, but after moving to SF, it's three meals a day at least 5 days a week.  The change has been a good one, particularly for Mimi.  One thing hasn't changed, though.  She must have juice with dinner. 

She'll start eating just fine, but if she doesn't have her juice after five minutes or so there will be hell to pay.  One can hear screams of "Jooosh!" even from the far reaches of the back bedroom (where I sometimes hide).  And so, while we don't need to worry so much about the food in our fridge, the drinks are a different story.  There are no leftovers for juice!

Bah-Poh and Cha-Chu: Making Sense of Mimi-Speak

Our morning routine deviates little. 

Mimi wakes, gurgles or yells, and then helps me pick up any discarded clothing and blankets she'd chucked over the side of her crib.  Then it's arms up, a lift out of the crib, a kiss from Papa, a kiss for Papa, and a clumsy, still-sleepy sprint into the living room.  Upon arrival, Mimi then calls out "Bah-poh!"

This, in Mimi-speak, means "diaper."  I still have no idea why.  Most of Mimi's words bear a vague resemblance to the genuine article, but "bah-poh," which was one of her first words, I just can't figure out.  When she first said it, I thought it might be babble, but she stuck with it.  Amazingly, we both understand each other.  I still say diaper, she still says bah-poh.  It works.  I guess that's enough. 

So, when Mimi runs to the coffee table, where we keep her changing pad, and yells out "bah-poh," I know just what to do. 

She knows, too.  On some days she'll even lay out the changing pad and supply her own "bah-poh." 

After the diaper change, I'll often bring up iTunes for a brief bit of distraction (usually music) as I prepare our breakfast.  Mimi knows that this may result in a chance for some "cha-chu."  That's "Thomas the Tank Engine" to you and me. 

As I've shared previously, Mimi loves Thomas.  She's still devoted to him.  She just can't say his name that well.  Still, it's closer than bah-poh.  With "cha-chu," Mimi seems to at least recognize the "ah" sound at the beginning of Thomas and the "uhs" sound at the end of it.  It's not perfect, but I do think it shows that her ear is developing.  Like "bah-poh," "cha-chu" has remained constant.  It seems to be a word Mimi has really locked in. 

She's learning new words every day and with each one her pronunciation seems to be a bit better.  Consonants at the ends of words are still a bit tricky, but sometimes she's able to nail them.  Just this morning, after taking a bag from her head, she repeated after me, "Baaahuuuuhhh"  (I'd said "bag," just in case you were wondering). 

She doesn't have the /g/ sound at the end just yet, but what she said wasn't just "bah" either.  She knows there's something that for the word to be right, another sound needs to go at the end.  It's only been in the last few weeks that Mimi's discovered this. 

Mimi's speaking vocabulary waxes and wanes depending on the day, the hour, her concentration, and her mood.  Here's a survey of what she has now, at a little less than 19 months old.  I'm sure I'm missing some, but these are the most prevalent.  The words on the left are what Mimi says.  Some of them will be Japanese.  The words on the right are the English equivalent. 

1. Mama:  Mom
2. Papa:  Dad
3. Bah-poh:  Diaper
4. Cha-chu:  Thomas the Tank Engine
5. Bah-bi:  Potty
6. Bi:  Bib / beep sound for pressing buttons
7. Joosh:  Juice
8. Shuz:  Shoes
9. Nah-ooo:  No
10. Gah-ooo:  Go
11. Bah-boh:  Milk bottle, juice bottle, anything that holds liquid
12. Ah-Fee!:  "Gone Fishing," from her favorite Thomas song
13. Te:  Hands
14. Ah-sh:  Legs
15. Mimi:  Mimi
16. Bah-uh:  Ball

Her listening vocabulary is really growing.  For instance, a few weeks ago she knew hair, eyes, and nose in Japanese (kami, meh, and hana).  Now, she knows hair, eyes, nose, lips, teeth, hands, stomach, legs, sweater, and pants.  She also knows "ears," but in Japanese, this posed a problem.  "Ears" in Japanese is "mimi," which caused our little girl all kinds of confusion.  We'll be keeping that word in English for the time being.

She's also beginning to understand more complex phrases and commands.  If I say, "Where's Mimi's hair?" she'll point to her own.  I can then change it up to "Where are Papa's eyes?" and she'll point to my eyes.  On the street I often ask her to find her car.  She'll tear down the sidewalk passing up multiple cars, even white ones, until she comes to our little white wagon.

Yesterday I think Mimi took a big step forward.  We were getting ready to go to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  I wanted Mimi to wear her cute white sweater, which was hanging on her chair.  In the kitchen I asked her, "Mimi, go get your white sweater."  Her first response was a blank, "Huh?"  But after a few repetitions, she ran into the living room and came back with a sweater.  And it was the right one! 

It might have been dumb luck, but the look on Mimi's face told me different.  She ran into the kitchen excited, knowing she'd understood.  Knowing she'd figured out Papa's code.  My reaction, of course, made her even happier, but you could see in that little face that she recognized she'd cracked something new.  These are the moments with Mimi I truly treasure.  Watching her make connections and seeing the world grow before her eyes.  It doesn't get much better. 

The Writing on the Wall...and Door, Couch, Chairs...

Crayons: harmless in an adult's hands, potentially horrific in a child's. 

Generally, Mimi's wields her crayons responsibly.  She knows that she's allowed to draw on her coloring board and scrap paper only.  She's still not that accurate - she gets as much on her table and chairs as she does on her coloring board - and sometimes she'll mistake a book for scrap paper, but she basically knows, and follows, the rules. 

Except for when she doesn't. 

The misbehavior started off innocently enough.  A couple days ago I was preparing lunch in the kitchen.  Mimi had been in the living room, playing with her legos.  I figured all was going well.  Mimi was playing and being quiet.  On second thought, perhaps too quiet.  It's one of the ironies of being a parent.  When life is at its most peaceful, that's when the child's most destructive.  I walked back into the living room to discover this on the wall. 

But that wasn't all.  A quick survey of the damage revealed three scrawled walls, a tagged door, two abused books, and one defaced puppy. 

Like a dog yet to be house-trained, Mimi can't help but mark her territory.  While writing this post I've intervened on behalf of three books and a coffee table.

Thankfully, Sumie bought "dry-erase" crayons.  These things are amazing!  I can clean up almost anything that Mimi tags, except for bare wood and cloth.  The leather couch?  No problem!  And it's a good thing, too, because Mimi really went to town on it last Tuesday. 

She loves drawing, but I'm afraid to give her anything beyond the crayons she has now.  Markers are out of the question.  So too are paints, pens, and pencils.  Well, I suppose pencils would be OK.  I'd just need to keep them under lock and key.  Something at which I'm not very good. 

Any thoughts from those of you who have kids now?  How do you keep the writing, drawing, and art going without turning your home into a multi-colored nightmare? 

Daycare: Take Two

This morning found me dressing Mimi for her first day of daycare here in San Francisco.  We'd found an excellent home-based center a few months back and, knowing Mimi needed more time with kids her own age, decided to enroll her for twice a week.  This would be just enough for Mimi to improve her social skills and for her father to regain a smattering of sanity.  The day she'd start seemed, and literally was, months away when we'd first enrolled, but it snuck up on his with amazing speed.  Mimi was ready, though. 

And I was excited to finally get some things done around the house.  With Mimi by my side, I couldn't even clean out so much as a drawer without her poking her nose into things. 

Even with the benefits daycare would provide both me and Mimi, I was a little anxious when the time finally came to start up again.  Our last experience, despite the excellent facility and compassionate staff, had been a tough one.  In fact, it's one of the factors that led me to be a stay-at-home dad. 

With Sumie in the midst of her nephrology fellowship and me still working a full-time job with  massive travel obligations when Mimi came around, we had no choice but to enroll her in daycare at the tender age of six weeks.  We weren't happy about it, but we'd lucked out with getting a space at a fantastic facility directly across the street from Sumie's hospital. 

From the beginning, Mimi was not a fan.  Bringing attention to her displeasure was a difficult task.  She couldn't write, she couldn't talk, she couldn't moan and mumble, and she certainly couldn't walk out.  She could scream, though.  And this she did with wild abandon.  We were heart-broken, particularly Sumie who had the tortuous job of dropping Mimi off and leaving her behind each morning.  But we were assured that things would get better.  "Every child is different and every child needs some time to adjust."  Mimi, however, is not "every child." 

Things came to a head after about two months.  You occasionally hear of kids getting kicked out of high school for drugs, grammar school for fighting, and maybe even preschool for biting, but when was the last time you heard of a 3-month-old getting kicked out of daycare.  The child can't even roll over!  And yet this is the situation we were facing with Mimi.  A sad story all around.  There were days when Mimi would literally yank her hair out in anguish.  One afternoon the tantrums were so bad that Sumie was called in from the hospital just to soothe her.

With the help of the daycare staff, we were eventually able to turn things around.  Somewhat.  We'd see a little improvement over the course of each week, but with every Monday it was like starting over with massive kicking, screaming, and sobbing.  The improvements, gradual as they were, eventually began to add up.  By the end of her first year, and the end of her time in daycare, Mimi had finally become comfortable with the situation.  Well, perhaps that's not entirely accurate.  Despite her being only one year old, I'd say she'd just resigned herself to being in daycare.  She'd made tremendous strides, and had made one close friend in Azurde, one of the care givers, but she never fully made that "adjustment" we'd been told would happen in the first few weeks. 

And this is why today was such a blessing.  Mimi arrived at her new daycare and immediately hit the toys.  "Papa, you can go now!"  she seemed to say. 

A few minutes later, I did just that.  I waved goodbye to Mimi and she toddled away to meet her new friends in the back yard.  As I walked down the stairs down to the street, I was a bit choked up.  It had been 12 seconds and I already missed her.  And she didn't even so much as bat an eye when I walked away. 

I stayed home today - cleaning the house in record time thanks to Mimi's absence - wondering when the phone would ring.  Amazingly, it never did. 

Sumie came home just before 5 so that we could pick up Mimi together.  Upon arrival we found Mimi sitting at a table, book in hand, smiling away.  It was remarkable.  We learned that she'd napped, eaten well, and had mixed in wonderfully with the other toddlers from the very start.  Sumie and I looked at each other wondering if Maya, the primary caregiver, was talking about the same child I'd dropped off in the morning. 

Mimi obviously enjoyed daycare today.  So much so that when she got home, she grabbed her daycare bag and ran for the stairs.   She even packed a favorite toy.  I have to say that I like her taste. 

Tonight I am so proud of my little girl and so relieved that she can finally be happy without her mother and father constantly by her side.  I like to think that I may have, over the past six months, played a small role in making this possible.  Or, it may just be that Mimi's so sick of being around me that anything is an improvement!

More Sharing; More Obstinance

On Sunday Mimi received a visit from her cousins, Shuhei and Asuka, and their parents, Shu and Kayo.  It was a bit of a surprise visit - they were coming by with a giant load of persimmons for us - and I was a bit apprehensive about how Mimi would behave.  She'd refused her nap that day and, as we've seen in these pages previously, she hasn't always been a sweetheart when it comes to sharing. 

Mimi, though, had other plans.  I think she just wanted to play.  So, when Shuhei and Asuka began rummaging through her Star Wars bath toys, sitting in her rocking chair, and drawing at her new table, she let it slide and joined in.  In the past, Mimi would play, but she liked to be on her own.  And when it came to her own toys, she was very protective.  The toy she wanted to play with was always whatever toy the other child had.  By the end of playtime, she'd have a "hoarder's pile" of toys she'd pilfered from other toddlers.  But this time - and I have no idea what sparked the change - Mimi's play was different.  Not only was she sharing, she was collaborating. 

Here's Mimi and Asuka at Mimi's table.  Notice that there are papers and crayons still on Asuka's side.  Amazing!

Shuhei and Asuka then took turns pushing Mimi in her rocking chair.  She loved it!  More importantly, she didn't hoard the chair once they were done.  She simply ran off and let Shuhei use her chair for a while, without complaint!

Mimi even got into the spirit of sharing.  Shuei had received two new Transformers robots from his uncle and one of these two was always in his hands.  That meant he was interested in them and, as Mimi was quick to notice, one was always in reach.  Mimi couldn't resist.  Shuhei, much to his credit, deigned to let Mimi play with his new toys, though he did look a little concerned from time to time.  And Mimi, amazingly, learned that it could be fun to give things back to their original owner.  In fact, she loved it.  Now if only I could get her to feel that way about letting her father work on his computer. 

I was a very proud, and quite surprised, Papa last night.  Mimi's been wonderfully giggly and cute this past week, even more than normal, but she's also been tremendously obstinate.  Every infectious giggle or heart-wrenching little smile has been balanced by manic tantrums and brazen refusals.  She's been particularly challenging in two venues: clothing and sleeping. 

First, clothing.  Observe Mimi in the beautiful hat she insisted I place upon her head.

Mimi managed to rip this hat off, despite it being tied firmly to her head, in a scant 1.7 seconds.  It's been a similar story with jackets, onesies, shirts, sweaters, and socks.  She'll demand a specific piece of clothing and then, once it's on, flail about screaming bloody murder and gouging out her eyes until it's removed.  I know she's a toddler, but c'mon.  If I did this just once, my wife would have me committed.

Sleep has been the other challenge.  Just a week ago, when nap- or bed-time came around all I had to do was give Mimi her bottle, let her drink it down, say, "Ne-ne" (Shall we sleep?"), pick her up, and lay her down in her crib.  She'd even rest her head on my shoulder and pat me on the back when I'd say, "Cuddle, cuddle." 

Today, things are different.  I do think she's teething, but there must be something else going on as well.  Two nights ago Mimi channeled Mike Tyson and went to work on my face with her hands, my gut with her legs, and my forehead with her own.  It wasn't pretty.  We weren't able to get her down until 11:00 that night. 

Naps are even worse.  Yesterday she rejected the entire concept of napping.  This doesn't make for a happy Papa, especially when he has a cold.  But it didn't stop there.  Mimi had another surprise for me.  She'd decided to take her napping rebellion up a notch by combining it with her disdain for clothing.  I had put Mimi in her crib wearing a shirt, sweater, pants, and socks.  Here's what I found wailing at me a scant 30 minutes later. 

Despite the rebellion, Mimi's come a long way since we've moved to San Francisco.  With each day I see more and more of her personality poking through the growing pains.  And I like what I'm seeing.

Papa! Hey, I Can Say Papa Again!

It's been a quiet weekend so far.  We'd had grander plans for today, plans that better fit the glorious sunshine, but after awaking with a massive sinus headache this morning, I decided to nap as Sumie and Mimi played the morning away in the park.  I was feeling better, though not 100% (still not there), by the time they got back. 

I'd wanted to go out to play, but, in hindsight, I'm glad that I didn't.  Mimi sprung a little surprise on me when she returned and I don't think it would've happened had she not spent some substantial time away from her father. 

I was still in bed when Mimi and Sumie returned.  As they clambered up the stairs I set my book aside and started calling out "Mimiko!  Mimiko!"  I heard a squeal, followed by the violent patter of a little girl who can't yet bend her knees while running.  She burst into the bedroom and pointed right at me. 

Out of bed I stood before my two-foot tall inquisitor with her scowl of severe concentration.  What was going on in that little head?  Was she mad at me?  What had I done?  And what's with the pointing?  "Infidel!" she seemed to cry.  But then, finally, something clicked, and out came the two syllables she'd be struggling over for so long.  "Papa!" 

She'd remembered.  And damn if she wasn't proud of it.  Back and forth from Mama to Papa she ran, calling out "Mama" as she hugged Sumie and then "Papa" as she sprinted towards me.  This went on for almost ten minutes.  She couldn't get over her accomplishment.  To be fair, she's still not 100% accurate.  Mimi managed to call me "Mama," "bapo" (diaper), and "bapee" (potty) in her excitement - she's still coming to terms with the term - but overall, I think she's got it.  It's amazing how the connections are forming in her brain.  I knew the word "Papa" was in there somewhere.  It just took the right circumstances to bring it back to the forefront and, hopefully, lock it in for good. 

The rest of the afternoon was lazy, but good.  We had a little lunch, which suited Mimi just fine.

Nice and full, she turned to scribbling at her table and then some quality time with her friends C3PO, Storm Trooper, and Yoda. 

Mimi, learning how to share more and more each day, made sure Mama got to have fun with the Star Wars gang as well.

Ah, in another year or two it'll be time to bring out the original Star Wars stuff for Mimi.  If her language development continues, I think she'll at least be able to say "Thank you, Papa!" when the time comes.  At the very least I hope she won't call me "diaper."