San Franciscans' Weekend Strategy: Escape the City!

It's a very odd practice for us, having come from Manhattan.

In NYC, we would "weekend" in the city.  Granted, we didn't have the money for a place in the Hamptons, but I don't think that's why we so often decided not to leave the island.  First off, I never wanted to give up my parking spot.  On most Fridays I would've fought for at least an hour to find one, so there was no way I was leaving just to go through that again.  Another reason was the accessibility of the city.  We could get anywhere via cab, subway, or shoes.  And the wealth of options for entertainment was, quite simply, more than we could ever ask for.  Sometimes we'd simply stay in just because there were too many options from which to choose.

In San Francisco, however, there seems to be a pervasive culture of "escaping the city" on the weekends.  Perhaps I'm wrong in this - having lived here only two months, and in the Richmond District at that - but I've definitely gotten the impression that most San Franciscans use their weekends not to explore the city, but the achingly beautiful natural wonders that surround it.

I've been trying to figure out why this is.  Part of it, I think, has to do with how transportation in the city works.  A combination of MUNI buses and BART can get you places, but not very conveniently and not with much stuff.  A car, however, can get you anywhere.  And unlike Manhattan, parking is relatively convenient and inexpensive.  More difficult than most cities, but still quite manageable.  With SF still being geared toward the car, despite the almost militaristic bicycle lobby, most residents still own at least one.  And this, I think, leads many SF residents to explore beyond the boundaries of home.  That and a lot of fog!

It's a very different way of living, I have to admit, but Sumie and I are getting used to it.  This weekend started for us on Friday, when we drove the 5 blocks (this would never have happened in Manhattan) to go to "Ju-Ku," a Japanese izakaya in the Richmond District.

Mimi, for once, was actually relatively well behaved.  Maybe she knew just how much her father wanted to enjoy his kushiage (Japanese fried food on sticks).  Dinner was very good, and featured the best Japanese fried chicken (karaage) that I've had in years.  Better than my own.  I left the restaurant very satisfied and a little envious.

On Saturday we headed up to Mill Valley, a small town off 101 in Marin County, to visit a great toy store we'd learned about and to explore Marin a bit more.  We really loved it up there.  It's strange.  In NYC, 10 to 15 miles out of Manhattan felt like an eternity, but here it feels absurdly close.  I can't help but think that we'll probably end up outside of San Francisco proper in a few years.  Well, we'll see.  Perhaps I'll look back on this entry in a year or two and be amazed at how ignorant and naive I'd been.

From Mill Valley we drove up to what must have been California's busiest In-n-Out Burger.  It was well worth the wait, though.  Those burgers never get old.  I can taste them now, actually.

After lunch we headed down, and then back up, into the the Marin Headlands.  What a perfect day for it.  Completely clear and a sunny 70 degrees.  This was, I think, around the time NYC was going through a snowstorm.  I guess some things are better on the west coast.  The view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate from the headlands was breathtaking.  Naturally, I had forgotten my good camera, so these pics come via iPhone.  They don't really do the sight justice.  

I've loved the Marin Headlands since I was a kid.  One of the primary reasons are the numerous military installations, particularly cannon batteries, that dot the area.  We visited the "Wallace Battery," constructed in 1942 out of fear of a possible Japanese attack on the West Coast.  The cannon are gone, but the fortifications remain.

Nature has definitely been creeping back, but that makes the sites all the more fun to explore.  Mimi enjoyed "foofing" seeds from a puff-plant (wish I knew the name of it as, given that I don't, I'm going to be shunned by my botanically pretentious sister).

Getting out of the city really was a welcome change.  And I've a feeling that if I lived outside SF, coming in for a dinner or a trip to the museum would feel just as exciting.  Looking forward to learning more about where our family be on the bay in the years to come.

12 Days On, 2 Days Off

We're quite happy it's Friday around here.  The weekend has been well-earned.

As part of her new position, Sumie takes call for a full week at a time.  The shift begins on a Friday morning, passes through the weekend, and finally comes to a close the morning of the following Friday. Thankfully, this week her call shift has been relatively light - no 2am emergency pages - but it has made for some very long days, and an even longer week.  A 12-day week, in fact.

Sumie did an amazing job over this last call.  No matter how tired she might have been, or how early she had woken up that day, once she got home she was all Mimi's.  I can't begin to share just how proud I am of her for being there for Mimi so thoroughly and consistently.  Mimi's thankful, too.  She may not be able to say so yet, but given that she yells out "Mama!" with unbridled eagerness whenever she hears the garage door, I think it's pretty apparent.

Naturally, when Sumie's on call it means that I, to a certain degree, am on "Papa-call."  Weekends are like weekdays - just me and Mimi - and I can't go out evenings as Sumie may be called in.  The first time I took Papa-call, several weeks ago, I went a bit haywire.  I've always liked having time to myself and, as I've discovered, toddlers are not very good at giving parents their "space."  As the week progressed, I felt more and more tied down.  Though I was technically free to do whatever I wanted, my actions had to meet with Mimi's approval.  As such, freedom only came at nap time.

Because the last one was a little rough, I was anxious about going through this week's call with Mimi.  I'm very thankful to report that things have improved.  The week really has, for reasons I can't fully explain, been a joy.  Though Mimi and I have had our disagreements (7 or 8 regarding the reading of books have occurred while writing this blog post.  Mimi won every time.) we're learning how to live with each other in relative harmony.  She's starting to get that when Papa's in his chair, Papa's working.  And I'm starting to get that even when I'm in my chair, sometimes there are things, like a quick book read, that supercede whatever I'm working on.

One major difference between the last Papa-call and this one has been how Mimi and I interact.  Only a few weeks ago, the relationship felt much more like care-giver and client.  But now, it's more like we're playmates.

I'm still in charge - at least theoretically - and she still drives me nuts on a regular basis, but there's a much greater sense of play, and even teamwork, in all that we do.  It's almost as if our small, daily actions - reading, flashcards, drawing, eating, napping, shopping, etc. - are helping us to form a greater dialog.  In other words, there feels to be some actual two-way communication now!

I didn't expect the change, but it is a very welcome and very heartwarming one.  I guess both Mimi and I have grown up a bit this last week.

Granted, one of us still likes to crawl under the coffee table, but I think we'll let that one slide.

I Love You, But Please...Stop Helping Me!

Last night we hosted a small dinner for two of Sumie's friends from medical school.  One of the girls brought along her two 6 month old puppies, which completely made Mimi's day. 

They were a bit more energetic than her old friend Harrychan was, so she'd get a bit scared at times, but on the whole, she really enjoyed it.  I'd have to say that, behavior wise, she was on par with the dogs.  And given that they're 3.5 in dog years already, that's not too bad a showing for Mimi.  

Mimi didn't fall asleep last night until almost 10.  I was rather surprised by this.  Granted, the dogs definitely brought out some baby adrenaline, but Mimi had been going full blast all day.  Not one to sit idly by, Mimi insisted on helping me clean house and prepare dinner.  This meant that every task I attempted took 17 times longer than normal.  Below is a quick look at how Mimi "helps" us around the house.

The day's help often begins in the bathroom.  Mimi swipes the shower squeegee from me and thoughtfully cleans the outside of the glass shower doors, which are, naturally, perfectly dry and streak free.  She'll get through 2 or 3 swipes, each accompanied by an almost guttural "wheeeee!", before she moves on to wiping down the cabinets, hallway walls, and television.  The squeegee eventually ends up in the living room, most often under the piano bench, but only after Mimi has taken another bite out of one of the poor squeegee's corners. 

After that, it's time to get dressed.  Mimi runs to the dresser and immediately picks out an outfit.  Unfortunately, these outfits usually consist of a sweatshirt and 7 pairs of pants, so I always have to make a few substitutions.  Out of sight, of course. 

 Picking up after Mimi during the day isn't much of a challenge, but cleaning up the house, with Mimi still in it, is well nigh impossible.  Let's say I want to put away Mimi's toy chest.  That's code, at least to Mimi, for her to jump inside it. 

The only way to get her out is via distraction.  Thankfully, she's a sucker for Star Wars, much like her father.

Mimi loves books, which makes me very happy, but she doesn't quite understand the concept of putting them away.  She prefers them strewn across the floor.  So, whenever I start shelving books, Mimi takes this as her cue to take out as many as possible.  In fact, in the middle of that last sentence, I had to get up and remove from Mimi's violent hands my copy of "Open" by Andre Agassi.  In four seconds she had pulled the book off the shelf and ripped the dedications page.  Nice work, Mimi. 

I have always loved books, but living with a toddler has shown me that there's one thing I hate about them: dust jackets.  They make having a library with a child a living hell.  And whoever came up with the insidiously fiendish idea of putting these on children's books should, quite simply, be tortured with a very pointy fork.   

Putting away toys is another challenge.  For some reason, whenever I put a toy into Mimi's toy basket she interprets this as me wanting her to immediately take that same toy back out and throw it across the room.  I don't really enjoy this game, but Mimi certainly does.  Here we are attempting to put away her stacking rings.  Note the 1978 Remote Control R2D2 in the background.  It's one of her favorite toys.

As I was putting away a few of her books the other day, Mimi decided to lift this same R2D2 over her head and then drop him squarely on her big toe.  It's amazing just how quickly cleaning up books can shift to cleaning up blood when you have a toddler.  And yet, I'm a bit happy Mimi hurt her foot.  We now have something new in common.  I lost a nail after inadvertently smashing my big toe with a "Return of the Jedi" arcade cabinet.  Father and daughter, each with a digit damaged by the work of George Lucas. 

As I bring this entry to a close the house is, amazingly, still quite clean.  It feels good.  And, if I'm lucky, it will remain this way for another 20 or even 30 minutes.

Compromising Hairstyles

Mimi was born with a mop top.  At one week she boasted more hair than her follically-challenged father.  At least in the back.  

Sumie and I considered trimming the mop from time to time, but we couldn't bring ourselves to submit to it.  The longer it grew, the curlier, and cuter, it got.  And so, the months flew by and the hair continued its rapid advance downward.

At 17 months, though, push had come to shove.  Something had to be done.  The situation was so dire that Mimi couldn't even play the piano without her hair blocking the keyboard!

Knowing that there's not a hairstylist alive for whom Mimi would sit still, I took the job into my own hands.  What drove me to it?  Well, this morning I caught a glimpse of my own hair in the mirror.  

 Genes aren't kind and I knew that if I didn't do something, Mimi could soon be suffering from the same plight as her father.


A bang trim was in order.  I set up her highchair and tied her favorite sleeping blanket, which needed to be washed anyway, around her neck, old-timey barber style.

I then wet down her hair with No-More-Tangles.  This made for some straight, manageable, but greasy hair.  A few forward strokes from the brush and my canvas was ready.  Except for one thing.  It was moving all over the place.

The actual cutting was, by far, the most difficult part.  I really didn't want for Sumie to come home to find her daughter wearing an eye-patch, though I guess it would've made the selection of her Halloween costume a no brainer.  After several attempts at cutting her bangs like one would at a salon, and being repaid with fierce head shaking, I took up a new strategy.  Starting on Mimi's right, I gathered a few strands of hair, perhaps 20% of her bangs, and then snipped.  I repeated the process across her forehead until I reached the other side.  Amazingly, it came out fairly even!  Not sure how that happened, but I'll take it. 

Mimi was unsure of the new look at first,

but I think that she was reasonably satisfied.  After all, the price was right! 

Somehow I don't think we'll be able to wait another 17 months before we take a pair of shears to Mimi's locks.  Maybe next time we'll actually brave a salon.  I just hope we can find one that offers general anesthesia.

Wants Beyond Words

Late last night Sumie and I concurred that Mimi's entering a new phase in her life.  Each day she makes more and more impassioned, and undistractible, pleas for whatever takes her fancy.  Unfortunately, Mimi's vocabulary, and even pointing skills, are woefully inadequate when it comes to getting her point across.  This, multiple times a day, leads to frustration...for both daughter and father. 

Let's take a look at typical day...

Mimi wakes around 8:30 and requests her father's presence by gurgling contentedly or moaning annoyedly.  Once the bedroom door is opened, she immediately sets about cleaning up the blankets and socks lying in her crib.  These are held aloft in front of the father, who understands that they are to be set aside.  Mimi then puts her arms in the air and lifts one leg onto the rail of the crib as if to launch herself to freedom.  This makes for a very precarious situation.  Mimi knows full well that the only way for her father to resolve it is to pick her up.  This he does and then immediately sets her down on the floor in response to her massive squirming cues. 

After getting changed and dressed, and being kicked out of Papa's shower, it's time for breakfast.  Mimi points at her high chair and says, "Uhhaaahhh!"  I have taken to recognize this phrase as, "Hurry up and feed me, fat man!" 

As her father prepares milk, juice, and diapers for a morning outing, Mimi decides that it's time to sit in the humidifier box.  The height of this box - joy of joys - makes it impossible for Mimi to get either into or out of.  Standing next to the box, Mimi points at its interior and grunts.  This is my signal to pick her up and place her inside.  12 seconds later, as I am pouring milk, I hear the extraction request - "Aaahhhungh!"

We eventually get into the car to go shopping.  Today is Costco.  Once out of her car seat, Mimi lets me know that she wants to walk by thrashing about as violently as she can while I'm juggling her, the diaper bag, my wallet, sunglasses, and keys.  Hand in hand we walk to the entrance where I bundle her into a shopping cart.  No objections.  For 3 minutes.

Suddenly, two aisles deep into the warehouse, Mimi opens the floodgates.  There is no explanation.  No pointing, no gestures, no grunts, just pure, abject displeasure.  A woman roughly my age who, without doubt, did not have children, shakes her head and mutters, "Jesus."  Hmm, funny that she took in vain the name of the one person who could've explained what Mimi wanted.  Miracling a bottle from the diaper bag, Papa soon quiets Mimi and sets about finishing his shopping as quickly as possible.  The two then return home. 

Mimi has her nap routine down so well now that there is little ambiguity when it comes to what she wants.  A rub of the eyes followed by a bottle in the cradle means she'll be down for a good 1.5 to 2.5 hours.

The after-nap wake-up and lunchtime feeding are a virtual repeat of the morning's activities, only this time Mimi's fully dressed to begin with.  In addition to saying it's time to eat by pointing at her high chair, she also runs to the fridge yelling, "Bi!"  She's making sure that I don't forget her bib. 

The weather being beautiful, we decide to hit the beach for our afternoon outing.  It's 7 minutes away.  Thank you, San Francisco. 

We park and make our toward the water.  Papa is carrying a diaper bag, sand pail and toys, a picnic blanket, and Mimi.  Walking through the deep sand he is, in a word, unstable.  This is when Mimi decides to rip his glasses off and throw them on the beach.  I interpret this as, "It's time to stop!"

The mat laid out, Mimi points for her pail and, shovel firmly in hand, begins to fill it. 

This lasts for about half an hour.  Until something big, blue, and noisy catches her attention. 

Mimi wastes no time with words, pointing, or even grunts.  She strikes off at full baby-on-sand speed for the ocean.  I understand this request.  I've always loved the water and Mimi has, without doubt, inherited the trait.  She doesn't need to ask twice, or even once, really, to go play in the waves. 

Covered in sand from head to toe, we take a quick bath once home.  Calm and relaxed, Mimi decides to take part in a little pre-dinner drawing.  She pulls out her drawing pad and pleads for Papa to sketch her favorite character (coincidentally, the only character her father can draw) Miffy.  She does this by shouting, "Mimi!  Mimi!"  I don't think she has her "f" sound down just yet.

Miffy in hand, she then adds her own touches.  This generally results in Papa having to erase everything and drawing Miffy once again.  Perhaps that's why he's gotten so good at it. 

Mimi's vocabulary is growing each day, but so too is the number of things she wants to eat, play with, or destroy.  I find myself uttering the phrase, "Use your words!" quite a bit these days, usually to no avail.  Still, a few are getting through, like "juice," "bib," and "go," so I guess we're on the right track.  I can't wait till she get's to the point when she can say, "Papa, would you like for me to scratch your back?"  "Yes, yes I would."

Mouth of Sand, Walk of Shame

Toddlers fall over.  It's what they do.  It's their past-time, passion, and preferred method of getting to the floor quickly.  When an adult, running full speed, falls flat on his face, people cringe.  When a toddler does it, they laugh. 

Mimi, like all girls her age, falls over constantly.  90% of the time she picks herself up, dusts herself off, and continues on her way.  But every once in a while, when she gets a little hurt or a little scared, she lets her displeasure known.  And when Mimi's displeased, she makes sure that everyone within a 10 block radius knows it.  She's quite adept at getting her point across, but this, unfortunately, comes with unintended consequences.  Passersby tend to feel sympathy for the screamer, but very little affection for the screamer's keeper. 

As a man walking the streets of San Francisco alone with a baby, I can't help but feel I'm constantly being evaluated.  Yes, men have been emancipated to a certain degree when it comes to child care, but our abilities are still very much, believe me, in question.  When Mimi is in cute mode, kicking back in her stroller and saying "Hi!" to every dog she sees, I'm a champion father.  When she's kicking and screaming, I get looks that seem to say, "Shouldn't you be locked away awaiting your war crimes trial?"  And when Mimi takes a small tumble at the park - me being the only man surrounded by mothers - I may as well be the bastard child of Stalin and Joan Rivers.  

Our trip to the park did not begin well.  We stopped by the coffee shop to say "Hi" to Mama, who had left the house to study in peace.  2 minutes into our visit Mimi decided that she wanted to "borrow" the reading materials from everyone in the shop.  This did not go over well, so I packed her back into the stroller and set out for the park.  As Mimi wailed, I walked out the door, my head held low.  Half-way down the block a woman stopped in her tracks and simply stared at Mimi, slowly pivoting, and then shaking, her head as we ambled past.  Mimi screamed her way to the park, exchanging shouts of anger for squeals of joy once the playground equipment came into view. 

Once there, Mimi played quite well.  She started off with the slides and, of course, a few trips through the yellow tunnel. 

Then it came time for playing in the sand.  I brought out her bucket and shovels and she set to work.  Before long she had been joined by two additional playmates, one three year old and one 15 month old.  After a while she was even beginning to share some of the sand toys.  Not the ones she brought, of course, but at least she wasn't hoarding.

The outing was going well.  I'm still a bit shy when it comes to talking to other parents (I'm a bit of an introvert and not that good at small talk), but this time I was actually having good conversations with several of the parents.  I was feeling comfortable, confident.  Maybe I could be seen as a good parent, despite my gender handicap.  And that's when Mimi decided to take a tumble.

Mimi had climbed out of the sandpit, which has a six inch ledge, and then decided that she wanted to get back in, only this time riding the scooter of one of her playmates.  I managed to stop her the first 6 times, but on her seventh attempt, she succeeded.  Baby and scooter tumbled into the sandpit.

The tumble was minor, she'd been though far worse without complaint, but it must have scared the dickens out of her.  Sand in her mouth and tears in her eyes, Mimi let forth a shriek - one cannot even classify it as a mere shout, scream, or cry - that was picked up on seismological equipment as far as Malaysia. 

The mothers there with me, rather than being judgmental, were actually very helpful and kind.  They even congratulated me for calming her down so quickly (I had to use milk).  But, as I left the park, I couldn't help but feel I'd let all the other stay-at-home dads here in San Francisco, and across the country, down.  That's why, despite the embarrassment, I had to blog about it. 

One of my biggest challenges with being a stay-at-home dad has been a constant anxiety of being judged.  Part of this, I think, comes from me wanting to prove that men can do this parenting thing just as well as women, but I think it also stems from my own insecurity when it comes to doing right by Mimi.  It's not that I want to assuage her every frustration or protect her from every danger - she'll never really learn to be independent that way - I just want to guide her the best I can so that she can continue to walk her own path.  And not scream too much along the way!

Insanity is... Living with a 16 Month Old

With raising a toddler one cannot help but contemplate the definition of "insanity" from time to time.

Albert Einstein's definition - insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - is a good one, and fits Mimi well, but my favorite so far takes his idea a bit further.

Insanity is knowing that what you're doing is completely idiotic, but still, somehow, you just can't stop it.
-Elizabeth Wurtzel

This definition fits Mimi, and Sumie and I for that matter, to a "T".  OK, I understand that some may think that Mimi doesn't always recognize that what she's doing is idiotic, but I beg to differ.  I don't care how old you are.  If you walk into a room, point at a sink, and then proceed to scream for 20 seconds for no reason you know full well that what you are doing is idiotic.   

Having a good definition for insanity doesn't preclude one from partaking in it, unfortunately.  One must be able to recognize insane behavior in order to steer clear of it.  Luckily, Mimi provides me with countless examples everyday.  Below are a few of the highlights from the past several days.

Insanity is...

insisting that your Miffychan toy box is actually a race car / lounge chair / art studio hybrid.

Insanity is...

thinking that wearing a baseball cap 42 sizes too large backwards makes you look tough.

Insanity is...

Papa allowing Mimi to gorge on milk on the nice furniture just because it's cute when she wants to be like Mama.

Insanity is...

closing a door you know you can't open...

and then banging on it because it's closed...

and then leaving the living room to go through the kitchen and down the hallway to bang on the other side of the door you just closed because you want to get into the room you just left.

Insanity is...

Spending 15 minutes getting the couch cushions just how you want them to cuddle up with an electronic device that you can neither read nor turn on.

Insanity is...
me thinking what life would be like without Mimi.

Insanity is...
knowing I'm stuck with this little girl for life and not wanting it any other way.

Farewell to a Mechanical Friend

Friday, shortly after noon, an anonymous man with a flatbed truck came to take away a dear friend of mine: my 1994 BMW 325is.  She is not to be blamed for her donation.  Blistering New York August commutes and frigid February nor'easters were met with equal fortitude and faithfulness.  She'd slide, she'd squeal, she'd leak rainwater down the rear-view mirror onto my trouser leg, but she always got me home.  Even when the radiator blew that hot August night, she didn't let it happen until I'd found a parking spot.  45 minutes of torture, but she did it. 

So why did we part?  The California Smog Board felt she wasn't good enough for this state.  Though she'd passed NYC smog every year with flying colors, she just didn't pass muster here.  Faced with a massive repair bill, costing more than the old girl was worth, I had to let her go.  And with very mixed emotions.  You see, our relationship goes way back.

We first met over 6 years ago when she belonged to my dad.  Sumie's parents had traveled out to California to meet my father, for the first time, shortly after we had gotten engaged.  We went to Scott's Seafood in Jack London Square and had a wonderful lunch.  I then drove my Dad back in the BMW so that he could rest his leg (his femur had been shattered in a previous accident and, unfortunately, never fully healed).  The car and I bonded then.  I even recall my dad being amazed that I didn't stall it.  "Everyone stalls this car the first time they drive it.  How are you able to do it?" he had asked.  "Not sure," I responded.  "I guess we just like each other." 

Her paint was a bit shinier then, and she didn't slip out of 1st, 2nd, or reverse, but she did have over 200,000 miles.  Despite the mileage, she didn't really show her age.  100+, or so I'm told, could be hit with ease on back roads and the advised speed for any turn could generally be doubled.  Again, or so I'm told. 

Several months after my father passed away Sumie and I came out to pick up the old girl and bring her out to NYC.  This was no trailer job.  We were going to drive her across the entire country.  And in less than a week!

After buying some compression stockings, we left San Francisco for the Yosemite Valley. 

From there our little BMW took us to the heights of the Grand Canyon, where both Sumie and I got headaches, but 225,000 mile car ran like a champ.

We sped through the southern states, making a short pit-stop in Memphis for some barbecue and Elvis. 

In 6 short days she got us from San Francisco to our home on the Upper East side without complaint and without failure.  And that's exactly how she served us our entire time in New York.  She cut through Manhattan traffic like a hot knife through butter and made mincemeat of the twisty and narrow country lanes upstate.  And on one family trip, she turned out to be Shuhei's favorite toy.  He was "driving" for almost an hour!

Through it all, she never lost her pep.  The week before she was shipped to California - and I have this on rather good authority - she could still hit over 100 late at night in the wilds of northern New Jersey.

But now the time has come to say goodbye.  The little BMW will always have a special place in my memories, just like its older sisters. 

My Karmann Ghia:

My Porsche 914:

And my BMW 3.0si:

We'll be a one car family for some time to come.  But that doesn't mean I won't be searching for a replacement.  As I've mentioned before, given my previous experiences with the California Smog Board, the next car I buy will be a 1975 or older.  It needs to be fun, relatively reliable, a good handler, and equipped with a sunroof.  The front runner is the classic BMW 2002.  A Porsche 912 Targa, if I could find one for the right price (they've gotten expensive!), would also be a good fit.  Or perhaps a vintage Mercedes 280se, but I'm not sure if I really want a four door. 

I'm very much open to suggestions.  So, if any of you have any ideas or leads, do not hesitate to share!  I'd really love to get something that will be with me for the long run.  Something that I may be able to pass on to Mimi in the future.  That way she won't have to say goodbye, like I did, to a dear, though mechanical, friend. 

Full Moon, Empty Aquarium

Life in San Francisco is often a bit grey - grey skies, grey sidewalks, grey parking regulations, and grey loitering laws.

The clouds tend to come in shortly after, if not before, the sun goes down, obscuring the stars and moon.  So last night, with its unmuddied sky and full moon, was a rare opportunity to dabble in a little night photography.

We don't have much of a view from our backyard - just more backyards and backs of homes.  But at night, with the sky lit by the moon and resident windows still twinkling with the last lights before bed, it can be rather pretty.

I should've gone over to the park, or at least to the top of our block, to take some more shots, but didn't.  I was lazy.  I did take Mimi for a long bike ride that day - she still hates her helmet and screams for up to 9 blocks to remind me - so maybe it's OK that I just came in and went to bed.

The following morning Mimi and I woke up early and took advantage of our close proximity to the Academy of Sciences.  We have a membership, so we can go anytime, and it's free!

Regular readers of this blog may remember our visit here with my Mom about a month back.  The day we went - the third Wednesday of the month - featured free admission (this was before I got my membership), so the museum was packed.  It made Shinjuku station in Tokyo seem tranquil by comparison.  What a joy it was to sneak down to the aquarium this morning and have it virtually to ourselves.  The photos below were taken in low light and with my phone (it was too early in the morning for me to remember my camera), so I apologize if they're a bit grainy/fuzzy. 

Walking to the elevators, Mimi was a bit unsure of the plexiglass beneath her feet.  Could she trust it?  The rays below her feet were a bit intimidating.

 Once in the aquarium Mimi ran for the huge floor-to-ceiling plexiglass wall.  I'm glad the walls were thick.  She loved banging on them.  She also tended to forget that the walls were there, which resulted in some significant head banging.  Ah, my daughter the metal-head.

By 10 a few school groups had arrived, which both delighted and distracted Mimi.  She joined multiple tours without asking, and often offered her unsolicited opinion of "Aaahhhh!, Bi-doh!" on the exhibits.

After about an hour Mimi was ready to go.  As we walked out into the sunshine we passed well over 100 kids lined up for a tour.  The museum had been gradually filling all morning and it had been getting harder for Mimi to toddle with impunity.  I think we'll make it a habit of going early in the morning.  That same strategy seems to work quite well here in SF.  The city is full of late risers.  More on the advantages this provides sometime in the future.

All told, it was a good day out.  We passed the playground, inadvertently, on our way home.  While were were still over 100 yards away, with but a blurry glimpse of half a slide in sight, Mimi began to go nuts. She saw the park, knew what she wanted, and made it known.  I had to "release" her from her stroller a good 30 yards before the sandpit.

If only she could get that excited about eating lunch or going to bed!