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.

Words are Highly Underrated

Mimi's vocabulary is developing day by day.

We speak to her in both English and Japanese, though English seems to be dominant these days.  We'll eventually balance that by enrolling her in a Japanese preschool here in SF.

At a little over 16 months, she's already developing a working vocabulary.  I guess that's a result of her being so headstrong.  She wants what she wants.  And she's beginning to realize that the only way she'll get it is by asking for it.  As such, her vocabulary has grown substantially in terms of nouns.

Here's a selection, with their phonetic equivalents where applicable, of Mimi's vocabulary:

Mama:  Mother
Papa:  Father
Mimi:  Herself
Wan-wan (Japanese): doggie
Nyan-nyan (Japanese): kitty
Bi:  Bib
Buh (book) / Huh (hon, Japanese)): Book
Ne-ne (Japanese): Sleep
Shuz: Socks and Shoes
Die-pah: Diaper
No, Arghh!, Wah!: No
Joos: Juice
Doh-zoh (Japanese): here you go
Goh!:  Let's go
Bah-bah:  Bottle
Stah-pi!:  Stop it!
Yo-ee-sho (Japanese):  Ah, there we go

There are more, I'm sure, but it's hard to recall all of them.  Imagine coming up with every word you know.  It's tough! 

Of course, her working vocabulary, what she understands when spoken to her, is far larger.  She's able to understand some basic commands, but only when she wants to.  If I ask her to get her shoes, she'll seek them out.  When I want her to pick up her blanket in the morning or after a nap, she does so without a fuss.  When it comes to eating her dinner, she just turns her head and screams. 

She's also become a veritable mocking bird.  The other day, while making burritos, she piped up with "tortillas!"  It wasn't repeated again, but she got it just right the first time.  A week or so before, while I was looking for Mimi's immunization records, I dropped a box on my foot.  Under my breath, not knowing she was right behind me, I whispered, "shit."  And a half second later, five feet below me, I heard a gentle little "shih!"  Sumie and I definitely have to be careful.

Still, we can't help but teach her a few bad things.  After all, we don't want her to be a goody-two-shoes!  Sumie and I tend to tease each other in the evening.  When it comes to teasing Sumie, it's all about her glaring lack of street-smarts and mechanical intuition.   For me, the massive gut, hick-town upbringing, and ongoing lack of a job come into play.  Regardless of the topic, the teasing usually devolves into one of us saying, "Stop it!" and teasingly smacking the other.  This has had an unexpected impact on Mimi.  Her first "phrase" was "stah-pit," combined with a little smack to the leg.

But it's not only her words that are developing.  Mimi's been picking up some of our routines as well.  When it comes to closing doors, she's all over it.  She even makes sure her fingers are out of the way.  Say it's time to climb the stairs.  Not only will Mimi remove her shoes before going up, she'll even close the child proof gate!  But our favorite is when Mimi decides it's time to throw something away.  She'll pick something up off the floor, such as a miniscule piece of onion skin, open the cupboard door below the sink, place the paper-thin refuse in the trash, and then close the door.

Once the cupboard door is closed, she'll then secure it with the child-proof latch.  Rather ingenious, I think. 

We're continuing to read her books each day, in English and Japanese, and share music, both children's songs and classical.  She's learning more and more.  Hopefully she'll soon be able to use all the words in that little brain of hers to start asking for things.  That would be wonderful.  Screaming and pointing, I have to admit, is getting a little old.

An Average Evening: Lemons, Helicopters, and Passing Out

On most evenings we have about 2-3 hours after Sumie gets home before Mimi goes to bed.  This is our family time and it's generally filled with cooking and eating dinner, washing up, putting Mimi's toys away seven or eight times, the occasional bath, and reading stories.  It's a pretty full slate for only three hours, but Mimi is somehow able to impose her own agenda as well each night.

Several nights ago Mimi decided to take a liking to lemons.  Around 6:30pm she decided that lemons were her new favorite toy.  I still don't fully understand the attraction - she doesn't drink lemonade, take lemon in her milk, poach halibut in a lemon butter sauce, or even suck on sour lemon drops - but I suppose they are colorful, smell good, fun to throw, and make a satisfying "thunk" when they land on the kitchen tile. 

Mimi managed to play with this basket of yellow citrus for over an hour. 

 I think she'll enjoy lemonade in the future.  Here she is attempting to drink a lemon.  She doesn't quite have the concept, yet. 

The evening isn't all about citrus love, however.  Mimi's joys are always counterbalanced by things that make her scream, whine, or cower.  This time it was my remote control helicopter.  This noisy little flea, which weighs little more than an ounce or so, struck abject terror into Mimi at first. 

But with time, and a few gentle passes overhead, she began to find it interesting. 

By the end of the evening she'd applaud each successful landing.  And yes, it is difficult to fly a helicopter and to take pictures at the same time.

I've always loved machines, but I had no idea one could bond so quickly with a helicopter.  It makes me wonder.  Does she think it's an animal, like her stuffed dog and cat?  Does it have free will in her world?  Does it want to be friends?  Can it be trusted?  Why does Papa sometimes follow it around the house?  I wish that I could peek inside. 

Once we're done with dinner, and we've gone through Mimi's flashcards and a few books, it's time for Mimi's bedtime bottle.  I guess it had been a long day because Mimi, who usually sucks down her bottle in 5 minutes to return to play, was soon completely passed out.  Must've been some pretty strong milk...

Tuckered out, Papa takes her to bed.  At 16 months she's just taken to laying her head on my shoulder.  She'd always keep her head up as an infant, but now that she's a little older she seems to take some comfort in Papa's ample padding.  Maybe it's just that the house is rather cold and Papa radiates a lot of heat...

Mimi generally sleeps through the night and wakes the next morning ready to play.  Here she is still in her jammies.  She insisted that I take this picture in front of my MacBook with my iPhone as a little "thank you" to Steve Jobs.  She knows the role he played in making sharing Mimi's life so much easier than it would have been even 5 years ago. 

But with each passing there is a new arrival.  Just this morning Mimi learned that she has a new baby cousin.  Haruki Ling was born this morning to Kae and Eddie Ling around 6:00am!  Mimi will be working hard to become a good role model for him, I'm sure of it. 

A Day for Meat Wrapped in Dough

The Richmond District of San Francisco, though rather foggy, has a lot to offer.  First off, it's between two fantastic parks: Golden Gate Park to the south and the Presidio to the north.  Second, there are multiple mini-parks as well.  Perfect for a quick afternoon play session.  Here's Mimi making her way through a tunnel for the first time!  She was a bit unsure at first, as usual, but soon loved it and refused to come out.  My body was...how shall I say this...a bit too generously proportioned to go in and get her out. 

Third, though the neighborhood, particularly Clement street, is known as San Francisco's second Chinatown, there's a wealth of astounding and affordable restaurants hailing from almost every culture across the board.  Dim Sum is cheap and plentiful at "Good Luck" on Clement, the Banh Mi (Vietnamese Sandwiches) are to die for at Little Vietnam Cafe on 6th ave, and the best garlic sausage you'll ever find is at the Seakor Polish Deli on Geary.  Mix in some fabulous pizza at Giorgio's, savory burritos at Gordo, and a few succulent burgers at Bill's Place, and the Richmond gives many Manhattan neighborhoods a run for their money. 

The historical Irish and current Russian population also adds to the culinary prowess of the neighborhood, particularly when it comes to the meat stuffed in dough category.  Stuffed pies and pastries are foodstuffs sadly overlooked here in America.  We have the often poorly produced pot pie, as well as bagel and corn dogs, but nothing to match a good English or Irish pasty.  And that brings me to John Campbell's Irish Bakery and their perfectly filling $5.00 pasty.  It's basically a shepherd's pie in flaky crust.  How can you go wrong?

But if $5.00 is a bit too steep, may I suggest a peroshki.  The Moscow and Tbilisi bakery offers beef piroshkis, each the size of 7 churros, for a mere $2.00 a piece.  If ever I need to live on $4.00 a day, this restaurant is how I would do so.  The picture below is but a snippet of the entire piroshki, pared down so that it could feed me, Mimi, and half of Wisconsin. 

Why have we, as Americans, forsaken these amazing foods.  They're inexpensive, portable, filling, and delicious!  Even Japan has their own take on them with the curry donut!  I can't explain it.  And don't try to say that calzones or, God forbid, "Hot Pockets" are the same thing.  That's just not the case.

Even babies love them.  After just a month, Mimi has already become a devoted fan.  Of course, a piroshki needs to be part of a balanced meal - like the one below with hearty udon noodles and tasty, vegetable-laden salad.

As you can see, Mimi approves.

Cooking for Mimi is often a challenge.  She rarely likes the same thing from one day to the next.  We're lucky if we can stretch what appears to be a favorite food into the next meal.  But, for some reason, she consistently devours pasties and piroshkis without complaint.  Perhaps she is my child after all...

Wake up! I Wanna Play!

Twice a day this phrase blares from the confines of Mimi's bedroom.  Closed doors and solid walls cannot hold it back.  Granted, she does not put her request so concisely and ungrammatically.  In the morning, Mimi brings out her father with either a massive and piercing wail - which could wake a heroin addict from even the deepest stupor - or with sweet and gentle babble, which I imagine is her personal commentary on the skill with which she's thrown her bedclothes to the floor.  In the afternoon, between 2pm and 4pm, Papa will be called from his book or his writing with a gentle to aggressively insistent "ih-hi, ih-hi, ih-hi, aaaaaahhhhhhhh!"  No matter what, though, when I go in to get her, I'm always greeted with a sweet smile.  It helps to take the sting off those cut-short mornings and interrupted afternoon naps.  

Yesterday though, for the first time, this same phrase was uttered in my home with Mimi sound asleep.  That's right.  I said it.  I was bored.  I didn't want to read.  I didn't want to watch Top Gear.  All I wanted to do was play with my loveable, but insane, little girl.  And so, I wanted her to wake up.

I opened the door to her room.  On any other day this would be absolute folly, bordering on the edge of suicidal behavior.  But I didn't care.  This was going against every previous fiber of my being.  Each afternoon and each evening - and I don't think this is going to change, actually - I start yearning for Mimi's eyes to get heavy.  When they do, and she finally submits to the crib, it means I get a little precious time to myself.  This time is worth its weight in myrrh (and this calculation is done with each half-hour equating to 2 metric tons).  Here I was with time to myself - I could listen to music, play Gran Turismo, eat a burrito, read European history focused on the 1930s and 1940s, search for vintage audiophile gear, the possibilities were endless - and yet all I wanted to do was submit myself to the whims of a little girl who says "Wee!" like a chain-smoking and drunken Frenchman.

To be honest, our playtime gets more fun each day.  With each new activity I see more and more of her individual personality coming out.  Of course, sometimes it's unpleasant (random passion for or hatred of certain books, for example), but most of the time she surprises me and leaves me laughing.  I never really know what's going to happen.

Here are a few pictures of Mimi at play.  The first three were taken at the Children's Park in Golden Gate Park, which is just phenomenal on a sunny day.  Like her father, Mimi has a passion for water.  Despite the many toys and distractions, she always makes a beeline for the flooded section of the sandbox.  This makes for a messy stroll home, but she loves it!

And then there's the backyard.  Fewer distractions here, so yesterday Mimi decided she'd be mesmerized by the sky.  This was cute until our next door neighbor decided to introduce herself, for the first time, just as Mimi was pretending to be a pseudo-philosophical college student high on some very introspective pot.   

Me wanting Mimi to wake up, despite it resulting in less time to myself, has been a welcome development.  It's rather sad to think that before I know it Mimi will have little interest in playing with her father.  She'll just want to text her friends.  And that's why I need to make the most of the time I have with her now.  It's also why she's not getting an active mobile phone until she's 27.

Cute on the Front Lines

One of the benefits to living in San Francisco is being immersed in living history.  Everywhere you turn there's a link to the past, be it a building, a monument, or even a transportation system.  New York, since its inception, has been a city bent on transforming itself.  Only recently has an earnest effort been made to protect and preserve some of the city's gems.  Our old apartment building, the Cherokee, is one of these landmarks.  San Francisco, on the other hand, has done a better job of maintaining the massive architectural and engineer projects, as well as the historical homes and neighborhoods, that not only give a great city its character, but also tell its story.

A vital and strategic port to the U.S. since 1850, San Francisco also has a tremendous and well-represented military history.  As a kid I remember taking a trip to the Marine Mammal Sanctuary, which is up in Marin.  Seeing the process of sea lion rehabilitation was interesting, but what really fascinated me were all the nuclear material warning signs above the doors to the massive, and now defunct, missile silos.  The bay area is filled with these visitable and explorable nuggets of military history.  They're seamlessly blended into the parks, waterfronts, and thoroughfares.  And so, as a military history buff, it was time to take Mimi for a quick visit to one of the old battery installations along the coast.

Unfortunately, many of the installations were under renovation, but we were able to get down to Baker Beach and toddle around the battlements.

All the strolling soon tired Mimi out, so she sat back in the clover (it wasn't actually clover, I just don't know the name of the green stuff she's sitting on).  She must've liked the view because she was content for a good 20 minutes.

The fog was quickly rolling in, so we had to cut our visit short.  Here's a picture of the Golden Gate.  Obviously, this is not how it's most often photographed, but for me, this is how I tend to think of it: shrouded in fog.  Often like much of this surprisingly cold city!

At least there's some sunshine in the forecast for next week.  Maybe we'll be able to get across the bridge and see those sea lions again. 

Sandbox Sympathy: The Art of Sharing

Mimi may only be 16 months old, but she already has a motto: "Share Nothing"

This unfortunate and honestly rather embarrassing credo of Mimi's has been in place for some time.  We first noticed it back in New York when she'd take to bossing children 3 times her size and 5 times her age.  Now in San Francisco, the city of peace and love, Mimi is blatantly rebelling against the spirit of her new city by wrenching toys from the hands of her unsuspecting cousins, swiping remote controls from her parents, and hoarding hotel shampoo bottles in her bunny basket.  And when you ask her about it you never get a straight answer.  She just babbles some excuse, generally "Bookah, bookah, bookah, boooo, dido, dido, dido, dido, ahhhhh?" and then toddles to the other room to rifle through my wallet. 

Mimi's approach to sharing is particularly challenging, at least for me, when we visit the park.  Our outing yesterday began well.  Mimi tackled the stairs of the small slide independently, even making way for other children as they scrambled past.  Here she is at the bottom of the slide. 

And what do you think it is she's reaching for?  My iPhone, of course.  And she didn't get it because I'd never get it back.  This caused a "misunderstanding" between us.  I said, "No."  Mimi said, "Ahhhrrr!"  It was time to find a new activity.

With Mimi still objecting to my cruel monopolization of her iPhone, we walked to the "deep end" of the sand box.   There we were lucky enough to come across a bucket and some scoops.  Mimi was overjoyed.  20 straight minutes scooping, sorting, spreading, and dumping went effortlessly by.  I even got to check my e-mail. 

We almost always come across sand toys when we go to a park.  Often they have been left behind - a kind of community donation.  They're generally in poor shape, but still hold sand, and that's all Mimi needs.  Unfortunately, the ones Mimi was playing with belonged to a sweet little girl and her mother who, in the midst of Mimi's playtime, had to go home.  It was time for us to go as well, so I handed them back to the kind and considerate family.  Mimi, however, was not pleased.

As I attempted to bundle her into the stroller she let forth a stream of obscene baby babble that, if translated into "adult," would've been banned from all the major television networks, Showtime, HBO, and even Howard Stern.  Maury Povich may have let it slide - like he has his career - but that's about it. 

Embarrassed at the situation, I looked over and saw the little girl who had loaned us the bucket was concerned about Mimi.  She looked downright sad for her.  And she couldn't have been more than three.  Inaudibly she must have asked her mom about it because I heard the response, "She'll be alright, honey."  It was a mere 5 seconds after that comment that I finished preparing Mimi's bottle and popped it into her wailing mouth.  Silence and smiles prevailed.  The little girl looked relieved and her mother commented on the miraculous power of milk.  The outing ended on a good note all around.

I'm sure that Mimi will learn to share in time, but I'm beginning to think it's going to take a lot of patience and guidance on behalf of her parents.  She's looking out for number one right now.  I've a feeling a younger brother or sister may seriously challenge that approach.  For the better.  

Lastly, I'd just like to thank all the American Dairy Board for their excellent work.  I, for one, am deeply and humbly in their debt.

Bored? Here's a Bucket!

Occam's Razor (roughly phrased and blatantly simplified for my own purposes): 
When faced with multiple hypotheses, all other aspects being equal, the simplest explanation is generally correct. 

It's a rather straightforward concept and a great principle to keep in mind: don't confuse the issue with elaborate explanations, though they may sound more impressive.  For instance, the other day I couldn't find my car keys.  After two minutes of desperate and distracted searching, my fecund mind began to picture my innocent wife snatching said keys from the counter, thrusting them into her purse, and taking them with her to the hospital via bus.  Obviously she had done this intentionally.  Perhaps because I had told her in no uncertain terms the night before that I needed the car.  She wanted to punish me.  But for what?  It was while considering the 34th vindictive possibility for her "rude personal transgression against me" that I discovered the keys hiding in my pocket.  "Ah yes," I thought, "that certainly makes more sense."  Sorry, hon.   

As a new parent, I've found that sometimes I am similarly over elaborate when it comes to entertaining my child.  In a previous post I had mentioned that a barren back yard is hard to play in.  It needs equipment.  Thus, I went out and bought some.  Several days of play, though, has taught me that I was perhaps over-thinking the problem.  Before I bought that first ball the yard was already equipped with a hose and a bucket.  Mix in a sunny day and you have endless possibilities for play. 

To be fair, this wasn't any ordinary bucket.  It was an ordinary watering bucket.  And, for reasons I still can't explain but kind of understand, Mimi loved it.  She wanted to water everything.  Except the plants.  Completely filled it would weigh well more than Mimi, so I was kept rather busy refilling that jug every 2-3 minutes as Mimi scampered about the back yard bringing refreshment to cement and dead wood. 

Eventually, of course, she tired of the bucket.  This meant it was time to bring rain on a sunny day.  Take that, Credence Clearwater Revival!

The nozzled hose became my weapon of choice.  The spigot turned to full power, I would take my aim as Mimi walked unsuspectingly along the garden square. 

My own child ruthlessly in sight, I would fire a two to three second burst high into the air. 

A second or two later the rain would come crashing down, oddly localized right over Mimi's head.  This was generally followed by manic giggling (from Mimi, not me). 

Thanks to the can and the hose, we turned what could've been 10 to 15 minutes of outside boredom into over an hour of enjoyable, and cheap, adventures.  I can't wait till she gets a bit older so I can turn that hose on her full force.  Just like my parents did to me.  I understand it now.  It's all about gentle payback!

Sun, Sand, Surf, and Spew

I've always loved convertibles, but they've played only a minor role in my automotive life.  My 914, which I had for a scant 3 years, was a targa, so at least I could take off the roof.  Not that it was ever really on.  It actually snowed on me in that car.  For me, and pardon the cliche, there's nothing better than an open road in a car with the top down.  And I want to make sure Mimi develops a similar mentality ASAP.  So, when my Mom offered that we take her convertible Volkswagen Eos on a sunny drive up into the Marin headlands, I jumped at the chance.
Heading north across the Golden Gate Bridge we soon found ourselves headed for Mount Tamalpais and Stinson beach.  This meant time on Highway 1, which is, I have to say, God's greatest gift to the automotive enthusiast.  Mimi had fallen asleep, so we kept the top up all the way to the beach.  Upon arriving, on an atypically bright and sunny day, we realized something.  Today wasn't just Mimi's first trip in a convertible, it was her first time at the ocean!

We found a nice spot well removed from the surf and set out our trusty picnic mat.  Mimi, somewhat perplexed by the unstable brown stuff underfoot, stuck to the mat at first.

That brown stuff looked familiar, though, and before too long she'd made the connection.  It was the same stuff she'd dumped all over herself in that cement box in the park in NYC.  "This is sand!" she realized, "I'd better start throwing it at people."  And so she did.  Within two minutes half the picnic mat had been buried. 

A water lover like her father, Mimi was soon drawn to the waves.  With Mama's help she made her way through the unstable and tricky drifts to the cool, damp, and infinitely more stable sand at water's edge.

 The excellent footing gave Mimi newly found confidence and it was all we could do to keep her from racing into the waves.

Her first real wave, though, which came up to her knees, was a bit of a shock.  "Why is this so cold?" she seemed to shriek.  "And what's happening under my feet?  The ground seems to be going away!"  Before long, though, she'd gotten her beach legs and was making the most of it.  She eventually tired Sumie out and we had to send in a substitute.  Grandma was happy to oblige.

We eventually returned to the car, crusty but happy, and put the top down for the drive home.  Mimi loved it.  She can be a bit of a screamer in the car sometimes, but the full view of the amazing scenery was providing a welcome distraction to both baby and parents.  I began to think that maybe I should get a convertible someday, too.  I tend to enjoy driving more when there's no screaming.

But, even with the excellent views out of a convertible, there's no getting around the fact that Highway 1 is a very enjoyable but very twisty road.  The kind of road that brings things up that are better left down.  Five miles in I glanced over at Sumie, who was looking a little green, but hanging in there.  She'd stopped talking, which meant she was feeling a bit nauseous, but could handle it.  Mimi was quiet.  I thought that maybe we'd make it to the main road without incident.  And then, just as I was getting comfortable, came the unmistakable sound of vast quantities of semi-digested milk, juice, and Japanese pretzel sticks being hwarfed violently back into the light of day.

5 minutes later, after changing Mimi's clothes once again and wiping down her unfortunately still rather stinky carseat, Mimi seemed to be in good spirits.  We bundled back into the car and I gingerly made my way down the mountain to the main road without further incident.

Despite the vomit, I'm still quite intrigued about a convertible as a family car.  When the top's down it's far easier to get the kids in and out of car seats.  And we live so close to the beach, amidst such wonderful scenery, that it's virtually criminal to deprive them of an unobstructed view.  It's going to take a lot of research, but I have time.  I have no idea what car we'll eventually get, but I do know that we'll be going back to the beach.  Though Mimi won't be able to say so in words, I'm sure that she'll insist on it.

Dinner for Two? We're out of Practice!

As a family, we're pretty good at dinner.

We generally cook for ourselves, eat together around the kitchen table, and make less of a mess each day.  Well, at least Mimi does thanks to her new bib, a gift from her adopted Grandmother, Mrs. Hoshino, in Japan.

We can even entertain with general ease.  Last week we invited our friends Hanayo and Juan over for steak and salmon.  A delicious dinner was on the table 30 minutes after firing up the barbecue.  I cannot begin to express just how comforting it is to be able to grill again.  There's something in every man's soul that screams to set fire to meat.  It also means that I'm less likely to do the dishes!

Nearly 16 months of dinner for three has taught us how to cook quickly and efficiently.  By learning how to cut down on our prep and clean-up time, we've been able to eat as a family each evening without it feeling like a chore.  We were feeling good about our dinner skills.  But all that changed Saturday night.

With Grandpa Reber out of town on a hike, Grandma decided to come in and stay an evening with us in San Francisco.  This meant that for the first time since Mimi's birth, Steve and Sumie had the opportunity to go to dinner as a couple.  We were excited.  We'd had the occasional lunch together when Mimi was in daycare, but we'd not been on a date in 16 months.  Perhaps more.

And so we prepared.  Thanks to a local foodie show, we settled on a nice little restaurant in Hayes Valley called "Sauce," which offered portobello mushroom fries, tater tots in truffle oil with gruyere and bacon dipping sauce, and many other tasty tidbits that reward the palate and punish the waistline.

The food was great, the ambiance relaxed, and the restaurant relatively quiet.  Everything we were looking for.  But despite the great setting, something was off.  After nearly a year and a half of eating with baby, Sumie and I were woefully out of practice when it came to a couple's night out.

Our conversation, though engaging, focused on the following:  Mimi, finances, three-year-plan (where will we live and how will we afford it), work, and life-balance.  It was all good, necessary conversation, but not exactly what one would expect on a romantic night out.  By dessert our talk and our topics had finally started swinging around to us; the two of us.  It had taken nearly two hours, but we eventually did get beyond the baby, the house, and work.

The drive home was fun.  We both realized that, as a date, it wasn't all that successful, but in recognizing that, something clicked.  Family will always come first, even, at times, at the cost of our personal relationship.  But if we try, if we give it some time, we can always find that connection we shared when it was just the two of us.  With Mimi in our lives we not only have a new source of joy, a new way of living, but also a new means of making us reaffirm what made our relationship so special in the first place.