Cousins on the Loose

On Monday evening, Mimi, Sumie, and I received my sister and her son Alder, who is a mere month Mimi's junior.  Though they've only me each other a few times, they're already best buds.  On Monday Mimi was jumping up and down on the couch, pointing out the window, and chanting "Alder, Alder!"  They were both a little shy upon seeing each other again, but soon warmed up.  By the time we all sat down to dinner they were inseparable.  Here's the two of them posing for a Baby Gap ad. 

Tuesday found us at the Bay Area Discovery Museum.  Across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County, this is a wonderful, and relatively reasonably price, museum that helps children discover the art, nature, landscape, and even commerce of the Bay Area.  Here Mimi is exploring a re-creation of Northern California's creeks and streams, complete with ragged rubber fish. 

The museum consists of 8 buildings filled with exhibits, but like most toddlers, Mimi and Alder weren't all that impressed by the doings of adults.   Save the massive Brio train set that ensnared Alder at the end of our stay, the preferred exhibit of the day was a muddy puddle at the end of a cement tunnel.  I suppose if I had been wearing boots and were only 3 feet tall, it would've been my favorite as well. 

The two cousins would fight over toys from time to time, but could usually reach a happy conclusion before any adult intervention was needed.  They even shared story-time together. 

 On Thursday, having spent Monday and Tuesday with Grandma and Grandpa and Wednesday visiting friends, we made the journey up to Sacramento to see Great Grandma.  Here's Mimi listening to a few rhymes from Great Grandma's big book of poetry. 

 The two also attempted a duet at Great Grandma's piano.  They'd tried this at home earlier with little success.  Despite Mimi's rather frenetic page turning, they never really came close to a tune.  Had a lot of fun, though. 

On Thursday night Mimi and I dropped Alder and Julie off with my Mom, who would take them to the airport on Friday.  It was sad to see them go.  Mimi went through at least 30 "bye-byes" by the time she'd been strapped into her car seat for the ride home.  They haven't known each other very long, but I have a feeling Mimi and Alder will be friends for life.  Hopefully that will give them sufficient time to work on their piano playing. 

Self Diagnosis and a Trip to the Seashore

Mimi is finally feeling better.  Hooray!  To be honest, she wasn't down that long - only 3 days - but that's an eternity when you're trapped inside.  Both Mimi and I were getting cabin fever by Friday night.  Mimi had it so bad that she began diagnosing herself.  She started by taking her temperature...

...which she found it to be a bit high.  This required further investigation.  Is it a chest cold?  Flu?  Perhaps a virus?  Mimi decided to check her vitals and give her lungs a listen.

 Unfortunately, she was still stumped.  Oh well.  Perhaps a nice bath would help. 

But that didn't do it either.  On Saturday morning Mimi was still under the weather.  She finally gave up and decided to see her doctor.  Luckily, the doctor was in and she had just the remedy Mimi needed: a 3 hour nap on the couch. 

Full of energy Sunday morning, Mimi let us know she wanted to get out.  "Go!  Go!  Go!" she chanted, pointing down the steps to the front door.  We bundled her up and headed north for Point Reyes. 

Around 1:00 we stopped off at the Hog Island Oyster Farm in Marshall (a bustling town of 50).  The oysters were amazing.  So fresh and sweet.  And the setting was gorgeous.  Next time we go we'll be a bit more adventurous and shuck our own.  We weren't quite ready to try this with Mimi around.  Generally, toddlers and knives don't mix. 

Blissed out on oysters, bread, and cheese, we headed for Drakes Beach.  Mimi, who had been hacking up a lung only 24 hours earlier, insisted on running into the surf.  I suppose she does take after her father in some ways. 

Rescued from the crashing waves, Mimi pointed out the birds as they swooped down from the cliffs above.  "Patta, patta, patta!"    Mimi's bird impersonation had the unfortunate effect of scaring away all birds.  Not the outcome I think she was hoping for. 

Sumie and I are so glad to have our little girl back.  Seeing her so sick, watching her struggle with her cold and cough, that was, by far, the hardest part.  The constant nose-wiping wasn't fun, and the missions for milk at 2:00am were frustrating, but nothing compared to simply seeing my little girl so out of sorts and not being able to do anything about it.  I suppose that when it comes to their kids, the last thing parents ever want to feel is that there's nothing they can do. 

Home Sick with Robot Cat from the Future

By the time we put Mimi to bed Wednesday evening, we knew her cold had finally won out.  She'd been fighting the sniffles for at least a week - her little nose producing more snot than should be humanly possible - but had remained otherwise healthy.  That's typical for our little girl.  Difficult in almost every other conceivable way, she's always been a healthy child.  I suppose that's a fair trade-off.  Seeing her so lethargic and cranky over the past few days has been painful.  She's trying so hard to be happy and to play, but she just can't find the motivation.  And she doesn't know why.  It's frustrating for her.  But we're finding little ways to make her more comfortable. 

Today Mimi and I are having a traditional American sick-day and staying home from daycare to convalesce with a little TV and some serious napping.  Normally the TV stays off during the day, but being sick, Mimi gets a treat.  The first thing she asked for after Mama left for work was "Na-no."  That's her word for "Doraemon," Japan's favorite robot cat from the future. 

Doraemon is to the Japanese like the "Peanuts" comic strip and holiday specials are to Americans: very near and dear.  Despite rather different premises - a young boy and his dog vs. a young boy and his robot cat from the future - they're actually quite similar.  Both center on a looser-type main character who, despite any temporary victories, never quite manages to come out on top.  In Doraemon, the Charlie Brown character is named "Nobita."  He is in fourth grade and is the worst in his class at just about everything.  Doraemon was sent from the future by a descendent of Nobita's to help him improve his grades and to become a bit more successful, or at least competent. 

But Doraemon is no tutor.  He has a magic pocket filled with devices that help Nobita accomplish his goals and go on adventures.  There's the "Doko-demo-door" (Anywhere door), which will take you wish; the "small light," which can miniaturize things; the "translating gelatin," which, when eaten, allows animals to talk with you; and the "takeh-coptah" (bamboo helicopter) which is a small propeller you attach to your head that lets you fly around the neighborhood.  Literally hundreds of inventions have been introduced in the series.  It's one of the remarkable and endearing aspects of the show.  I think it really clicks with a kid's imagination.  I know it did for Mimi.  Doraemon has been my favorite Japanese character since I was first introduced to him 15 years ago.  It amazes me that he's already my little girl's favorite as well. 

Getting Mimi to eat with her cold has been a bit of a challenge.  She's keeping fluids down, but solid foods tend to come back up rather quickly.  This morning some yogurt was placed before her.  Rather than eat the yogurt, Mimi decided to lean back and contemplate it.  Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but cute.  

Staying home sick means exactly that: staying home.  Even in bad weather we still try to get outside to play - on a walk, drive, or shopping trip - at least once a day.  Both Mimi and I have a touch of cabin fever now.  We can only read, color, and nap so much!  Take a look.  Mimi agreed to draw with me for a while...

...but soon became disgusted with my complete lack of artistic ability.  

It's tough seeing my little girl under the weather.  She really wants to play and sometimes gets a bit frustrated by her own lethargy.  "Why do I feel like this?" she seems to say. 

"Well, honey, " I wish I could respond, "You're sick.  It's OK.  It happens to all of us.  You and I will stay in, rest, and before you know it, we'll be out playing again."  Of course, I can say this, and I have, but I don't think the message gets through.  Mimi just wants to feel like her normal perky, pushy self.  Hopefully she will by Monday.  Her cousin Alder is coming down from Oregon for a visit and she needs to be in top form for her favorite playmate!   

I Am Not a Grandfather!

Everyone once in a while life has a way of imitating Monty Python.  One of my favorite sketches involves the communistic peasant "Dennis" talking politics with Arthur, King of the Britons.  Here's the opening of the sketch.

Arthur:  Old woman!


Dennis:  Man!


Arthur: Man, sorry.


Dennis:  I'm 37.


Arthur:  What?


Dennis:  I'm 37.  I'm not old.  

Arthur:  I just can't call you "man."

Dennis:   You could say "Dennis."


Arthur:  I didn't know you were called Dennis.


Dennis:  You didn't bother to find out now, did you?  Just because I'm down here on the ground doesn't mean I should be automatically treated as an inferior.


Arthur:  Well, I am king....

Dennis:  Oh, king, eh, very nice.  And how'd you get that, then?  By exploiting the workers.  By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma that continues to perpetuate itself in our society.  If there's ever to be any progress...

Anyway.  Sumie was on call this past Sunday and Mimi and I needed to get out of the house, so we drove over to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Pleasanton.  While there, we hit the park.  And while there, at least for a little bit, life imitated Python. 

As Mimi played with Grandma...

I got to talking with a fellow father who had come by with his five year old son.  Shortly into our conversation he looked over at Mimi and asked, "Is that your granddaughter... er, or daughter?"

Granted, I look old for my age.  I get that.  The last time I was carded for alcohol was when I was in High School.  But I really don't think I look like a grandfather just yet. 

That grandfather comment, even if only a Freudian slip, left me a bit out of sorts.  Imagine how a 64 year old woman would feel if she was honestly carded for buying beer.  Now imagine the complete opposite of that.  That's basically how I felt.  The fellow who called me grandpa was actually quite nice, and I enjoyed talking with him, but the fact that he was 45 didn't really pick up my spirits. 

After Mimi gave us her impression of the boy in the bubble...

it was time to head back to Grandma's house.  A few books and a bottle later, Mimi was down for her nap. 

About five minutes after she went down, Randy came out and asked me if I'd like to play 9 holes at the local pitch and putt course.  I hadn't golfed in at least 15 years, but agreed to give it a go.  We had a fantastic time.  I'd liked playing golf in the past, but always got too frustrated and angry when things went wrong to really enjoy it.  This time out we decided not to keep score, and that made a huge difference.  I'm thinking of starting to play more and, if I do, I think that's how I'll start.  No score.  Just fun and a little exercise. 

Hmm.  Looking back over this post, maybe that guy at the park was more insightful than I thought.  I'm a balding, overweight man who recently gave up his long term career, spends most of his time at home, and is thinking of taking up golf.  If it weren't for the lack of grandchildren, I guess I could be a grandpa. 

MessMaker 5000 - The Final Word in Filth

Nearly two years ago, around mid-May 2010, Sumie and I received our first MessMaker 5000.  We'd considered getting one shortly after we got married, but ended up waiting about four years before moving forward.  When we finally decided to go ahead with the purchase, we were both excited and anxious.  I suppose the waiting period does that to you.  A lot of thoughts go through your head over 9 months.  Will it actually destroy as much as I've heard?  Is it a life changer?  Can I really not do without something that will almost assuredly put a fist through my vintage speakers? 

When we first received our MessMaker 5000, I was a bit confused by its performance.  Our model didn't seem to make much of a mess - it could only filthify itself and anything within a 2-foot radius - but it sure as hell was loud.  It was also very distracting.  Every 2-3 hours it would go off, demanding milk.  And it was expensive!  I suppose I fell prey to the same marketing plan everyone else does.  "MessMaker 5000 - Yours for only one night of fun and no money down!"  I have to admit, the initial investment was negligible.  But good lord, after only two months of use, I was shelling out money left and right.  In NYC the going rate for MessMaker upkeep was $1,700 per month.  And that was basic service.  We had friends who had gone with in-home MessMaker maintenance and it was costing them upwards of $3,600 a month.  Granted, they didn't have to drop off their MessMaker in the morning and pick it up at night, but man, that's a lot of money for something that does little more than vomit milk on your shirt from time to time. 

After about a year our MessMaker became mobile.  As the months went by and the MessMaker learned to stand, open cupboards, unspool toilet paper, drool aggressively, and produce noxious waste, we really began to get our money's worth.  As promised, our home became shabbier and shabbier while the MessMaker grew ever louder, curious, and violent.  Now, at nearly two years into MessMaker ownership, I think we're finally starting to experience full filth mode. 

Like all MessMaker 5000s, ours requires constant distraction in order to operate at peak efficiency.  The other day this meant I had to set up a wooden railway.  I suppose this was required so that the MessMaker could place each piece of track in a different room of the house and the individual cars could be hidden in the kitchen, bedroom closet, and toilet.  Anyway, that's what happened.  Our MessMaker is a bit quirky and prefers to destroy vintage toys over new ones.  Note the 1960s packaging.  Perhaps our MessMaker fancies itself a modern Sally Draper. 

All MessMakers are inherently creative.  Perhaps that's why so many households have one.  Here, our MessMaker has found a new way to create filth: feeding ham to inanimate objects. 

One of the primary ways MessMakers create filth is by demanding something, playing with it for 2 minutes, and then abandoning it.  Now, this wouldn't be such a big deal if the owner could immediately put the item away.  But MessMakers are programed against that kind of rational behavior.  Once something has been brought out, even if it's not being played with, it must stay out for a minimum of 4 hours or the MessMaker will revert to tantrum mode.  As a result of this programming, our living room looks like this...

our hallway like this...

and the MessMaker's storage facility like this.

Below you can see our MessMaker in action, examining a car and determining the optimal place where it will cause serious injury. 

Occasionally, the MessMaker will take a break to do something seemingly constructive.  Here ours is drawing at the kitchen table. 

MessMakers are specifically designed to look cute when completing simple tasks, so don't be too taken in.  When I saw my MessMaker scribbling at the kitchen table this morning my heart melted.  But that's just what it wanted.  5 minutes later, when I removed the MessMaker from the table, I found 1,500 pen marks gouged into the kitchen table.  Yes, the MessMaker cunningly balances filth with cuteness.  This enables it to destroy your belongings with impunity.  I have to admit, it's a rather ingenious strategy.  

Those without a MessMaker in the home may think that one is more than enough, but amazingly, most people who purchase one MessMaker eventually end up getting another.  Even Sumie and I, despite our MessMaker 5000's tremendous reliability when it comes to destroying our home, are considering investing in a second one.  Foolish, I know, given that MessMakers tend to outlive their owners and only grow more expensive with each passing year.  Still, there's something very endearing about the MessMaker line of products.  I think it's that darn cuddle factor they've programmed in.  There really is no getting around it, no matter how filthy your living room may get. 

Little Puddle Jumper

Even as a little kid - well, at least as far back as I can remember - I've enjoyed rainy days.  Not that I love a life in the cold and wet, but I do like a bit of drizzle, damp, and rain from time to time.  Thunder storms are particular favorites.  As a kid up in northern California I'd sit and watch the rain fall and the lightning strike from the relative security of our front porch or back patio.  25 years later you could find me on the balcony of our apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side, in the middle of a Nor' Easter, relishing the rumble of the thunder and actively ignoring my wife who kept mumbling about a dry living room. 

The past few days have been stormy here in San Francisco and I haven't minded it a bit.  In fact, I've been out more than ever.  I've also learned a little something new about my little girl.  Not sure if she enjoys storms as much as her father, but she definitely likes puddles. 

The sidewalks were wet after I picked up Mimi from daycare yesterday.  As we made our way home, Mimi began running for every puddle she could find.  It was cute, but she wasn't exactly dressed for it.  The pants and jacket were fine, but she was wearing her favorite pair of red patent leather shoes.  Not exactly puddle stompers. 

As soon as we got home Mimi switched into her rain boots and we hit the streets.  Puddles abhor hills, so the pickings were slim immediately in front of our house. 

We bumbled down the sidewalk to the street below.  The driveway cuts made great stomping grounds, but the fun was short lived.  Mimi kept making a break for the larger puddles in the middle of the street.  Not the safest activity for a toddler, so we decided to check our backyard for some suitable puddles. 

Unfortunately, with all the freshly and well-laid concrete, the puddles were few and far between. 

Mimi found one, though, and it kept her busy until she discovered all the flowers sprouting in the March rain. 

Our landlord planted "flowers" for us.  That's all I know.  She said that they'd basically take care of themselves and there was a wide variety so we'd get blooms several times throughout the year.  I'd like to share their names with Mimi, but I've never had an aptitude or even interest in gardening. 

Still, I really do want to share with Mimi, as concretely as possible, the terms for the little discoveries she makes each day.  So far she's got the idea of "flower" down.  And she knows it in Japanese as well: "hana."  I think she likes finding flowers.  I suppose she should, being a little girl and all. 

Some sharp-eyed readers may have noticed the pattern on Mimi's coat.  Before you think I'm spoiling her, sending her outside to play in the puddles dressed in Burberry, know this.  I found the jacket at Goodwill.  It's used, has no label, and cost $4.00.  Thankfully, Mimi doesn't know the difference either way.  The brand doesn't impress her and the fact that it's used, and quite possible fake, is of no concern.  It's the best of both worlds.  To Mimi, it's just a jacket perfect for a day out in the rain.  And that's perfect for me as well.

Why I'm Still Losing My Hair

I've been growing "a bit thin on top" since my early 20s.  For years I dismissed it, assuming my then girlfriend, now wife, was just using some odd argument for me to get a haircut.  And then, six or seven years back, I was sitting on my mom's couch when she walked behind me, stopped in her tracks, and said, "Oh no.  Honey..."  There's really no getting around the fact when even your Mom is terrified by the sparseness of hair back there.

More than cures - I've tried Rogaine in the past with mixed results - I'm interested in causes.  I've chalked my hair loss up to two factors: genetics and stress.  There's not much I can do about the genes (my mother's father and her brother both went bare early), but the stress, that's something I think I can tackle.  And that's why I thought that my hair would start to grow back, or at least stop falling out, after I left the stress of work and became a stay-at-home dad.  What I didn't know, though, is that while work creates one kind of stress, toddler herding, despite what wistful empty-nesters might tell you, is fraught with a special stress all its own.  Here are some examples.

Take walking down the street.  Simple, right?  If you can put one foot in front of the other, stop at red lights, and start again at green ones, you've pretty much got it.  But throw a toddler into the equation, and a simple sidewalk stroll becomes a calculus word problem in Arabic.  And you don't know Arabic or calculus.

Unless sprinting after us, running downhill, or chasing down a dog, Mimi averages about 5 yards per minute on your average sidewalk.  She's simply too fascinated by the surroundings.  People, brick walls, gravel, broken glass, flowers, weeds, and even used gum keep her enthralled.  Just two days ago we spent 5 minutes looking at a discarded Toblerone wrapper.  "Just pick her up," you say?  Ha.  You don't know this child.  She'll throw a fit if carried and if you try to strap her into a stroller, she'll do an impression of World War III.  The only way around it is to hoist her on my shoulders.  This, actually, isn't too uncomfortable and makes for some speedy progress. 

There's just one problem.  While carrying Mimi on my shoulders does help to relieve stress, her method of holding on isn't so healthy for my hairline.  I think I lost more hair in ten minutes with Mimi on my shoulders than I did chasing her down the street all week. 

Staying home should be more restful.  Well, it should be, but Mimi has hobbies.  Sumie wanted to get Mimi into paper crafts, so she got her a pair of safety scissors (which we use) and a glue stick (which she insists on wielding).  Instead of cute cut-outs pasted neatly in a beautiful book, we end up with a lumpen, sticky mass of white paper, crayon, and, for some reason, lint.  Even when the cut-outs are relatively under control, they still tend to travel.  Yesterday I yelled out to Sumie that Mimi had left a number two in her crib.  Sumie was worried she'd pooped in there.  Nope, it was just an actual number two. 

Even dinner comes with its own special challenges.  We try to distract Mimi with a little learning during her meals.  This often helps with her chewing and we get a little bit more down that finicky gullet.  Last night, though, Mimi wanted to commune with her numbers, so she wriggled out of her high chair, jumped on the table, and made her way for the number chart.  It was a tough call: table manners vs. love of numbers.  We went with the love of numbers.  We can always address table manners later. 

I really don't think watching this kid is going to get any less stressful anytime soon.  So, I'm resolved to find an alternative means to reduce my stress and, I'm happy to say, I think I've found a solution.  My favorite way of working out stress in high school and college was to take my Karmann Ghia, or later, my Porsche 914 out to play on a twisty road.  I've been thinking long and hard about this and I believe that my hair loss started when I sold my 914 and was, for the first time since I was 16, without a German sports car.  To keep my hair, I think I'll have to get another one.  A 911 Targa should do the trick.

Not only will the excellent performance relieve stress, the open-air motoring will stimulate follicle development.  There's even a backseat for when I need to take Mimi!  Rogaine used to require a prescription.  I wonder if I could get one for this course of treatment.  I'd gladly put up with even a 50% copay!

Weekend - Lazy Parents vs. Toddler

Weekends are for sleeping in, decompressing, and perhaps recovering from a previous night's activities. 

There's just no denying this irrefutable, immutable, irrepressible fact of life.  It is not a fact, however, that all fully appreciate or accept.  Morning people, youth sports league directors, and "weekend warriors" all, to some extent, have failed to grasp the overall purpose of the weekend.  But no one, no matter how happy in the morning, besieged with soccer games, or intent on hitting the trail head before sunrise misunderstands weekends more than toddlers. 

Mimi, of course, is no exception.  During the week Mimi usually wakes up sometime between 7:30 and 8:30.  This is perfectly acceptable behavior and while I'd appreciate a little more rest on a Saturday or Sunday morning, I'd still take it.  My darling Mimi, though, likes to get an early start on most weekends.  This morning we got a reprieve (being summed to her room a little after 8:00am), but most weekends begin with yelps for attention at 6:30 or 7:00.  This is cruel and unusual parental punishment.

Yes, yes, yes, I know I used to do this to my own parents.  I remember waking up at 6:30am to watch Mr. Ed on many a Saturday morning.  But it was Mr. Ed.  What four year-old wouldn't wake up early to catch a talking horse on a surfboard?  Mimi, though, wakes up early simply so that she can jump back into bed with us.  It's cute, granted, but if you happen to innocently fall back asleep while she's watching, she'll sit on your head. 

After being pummeled in our own bed until 9:30 or so, Sumie and I finally got up and started getting the house ready.  We were having friends over for lunch at 1:30 and we had to cook and clean.  Normally this wouldn't take all that long, but with Mimi on the prowl, the most basic tasks can become almost insurmountable.  As an example, let's take a look at fundamental and relatively mindless morning routine: brushing teeth.

For those without toddlers, this is a doddle.  You stumble into the bathroom, grab a toothbrush, put a dab of toothpaste on it, wet it, shove it in your mouth and brush.  A minute later you take it out and then rinse with some water.  An amoeba could do it.  But throw a toddler in the mix, and the whole operation goes to hell in a handbasket.  As soon as you put the toothbrush in your mouth - and no sooner, mind you - the child will ask for her own toothbrush.  This you give to her, along with a dab of training toothpaste.  By the time you begin to slurp up the inevitable runnel of toothpasty-spit slurging from the corner of your mouth - the one still crammed with your own toothbrush - your child has swallowed the training toothpaste and is now demanding juice in high-pitched wails.  It takes you 4 minutes to find her juice cup, which she left under your desk in the guest bedroom, 2 minutes to wash it, and 1 minute to fill it.  7 minutes isn't all that long, but it's plenty of time to ensure that enough goo has dribbled down your chin to require changing your shirt.  This you do and then look down at your, for the time being, satisfied toddler.  

Face sufficiently mopped up, you put new toothpaste on your brush, and a new dab of training toothpaste on your little girl's, and finish up your brushing.  If you're lucky, the toddler will play along.

Cleaning is another challenge.  When we had friends over pre-Mimi, it would maybe take us an hour or so to make sure the house was spic and span.  With Mimi, quite simply, one of us has to kidnap her and head for the park, store, or other diversion to let the other clean in peace.  We've learned this the hard way.  Take a look at the picture below.  You'll see a neat and orderly kitchen and dining table.  The floor is also freshly vacuumed.  There's just one thing out of place.  Can you spot it?

Today, to let Sumie clean, I took Mimi down to the shopping street to get her a pair of safety scissors.  The way down went well.  We got what we were looking for and Mimi, as a reward, got a pinwheel.  On the way back, though, she got a little fed up sitting in her stroller.  Here's another situation in which toddlers turn a task that should take 5 minutes into an endeavor of epic proportions.  Not only was Mimi no longer content with being in her stroller, she was now refusing to let me push it!  "Get away, fat man!  This one is mine!"

 Amazingly, she actually made some progress.  Sure, her rate of travel was about 1/167th of my own, but she was moving forward.  Thankfully, toddlers tend to tire quickly.  After 10 yards Mimi handed me back the reins and we waddled our way back home. 

When we got home the house was clean - thank you, Sumie! - and Sumie was free to distract Mimi while I cooked.   By the time our friends arrived the house was still relatively clean and lunch was almost ready.

Spending a weekend with a toddler is a bit like tag-team wrestling.  Even now, as I'm writing this blog entry, I had to tag in Sumie so that I could use my computer in peace.  As soon as I'm done I'll have to tag Sumie out so she can have a little peace while I bathe Mimi.  But after that will come sleep, I hope, and the main event will be over.  At least until 6:30 Sunday morning.

Backyard Botanicals

It was a sunny but very blustery morning.  But, like Pooh, that didn't stop Mimi and me from heading out for a little adventure this morning.  Mimi's goal: play.  My goal: wear the toddler out so we can both take a nap. 

We decided to take a stroll through the Botanical Gardens in Golden Gate Park.  These gated grounds require an entrance fee, unless you just happen to be a San Francisco resident.  NYC, take a tip from San Francisco on this one.  Even small perks for your residents can go a long way! 

As soon as we entered the grounds, Mimi leaped from her stroller and started running down the paths at random.  In order to take a picture, I had to let go of the stroller, which was rather stupid given I'd failed to put on the brake.  This resulted in the stroller following Mimi on its own, eventually passing her, and then being chased by a toddler in a pink pea coat who decided she wanted juice. 

We headed over to the moon garden.  Well, Mimi decided we'd head over to the moon gardern.

Hidden in the trees is a small viewing platform in the middle of a serene little pond.  The only paths leading into this secluded spot are pocked with sparsely laid stepping stones.  The zen-like feel they give the garden is great, but they're not exactly ideal for tipsy toddlers and fat men wielding strollers.  Despite the rough terrain, we made it to the platform.  

The view, even with minimal sunlight, was far better than my ancient iPhone camera can reveal. 

Mimi was intrigued.  She stood there watching the pond, chin on a plank, for a full 2 minutes.  That's a good 3 hours or so in toddler time. 

From the moon garden we headed over to the Garden of Fragrance.  Tucked behind the largest hill in the Botanical Gardens, the Garden of Fragrance offered some shelter from the wind and a host of pungent plants for Mimi to explore.  "Iiniyoi!"  (smells good, in Japanese). 

We only stayed about an hour and a half in the Botanical Gardens, but they were a perfect place for Mimi to explore and work out some pent-up energy.  Mimi's still a bit young to get a lot out of the gardens, or most of San Francisco's attractions for that matter, but she still enjoys her outings nonetheless.  I'm looking forward to revisiting the places we frequented with Mimi as a toddler when she's several years older.  I wonder how her perception will change and if she will have retained any memories or connections as a result of her toddler visits.  One thing I do know, though.  It'll be nice to explore without a stroller.