How Can a Chair Cause so Much Trouble?

Several weeks ago, most likely while I was watching Jeopardy! (I have yet to make it through even a single round undisturbed), the following discussion took place.

Sumie:  Hon!  Come here, quick!


Steve:  What?


Sumie:  You've got to see this!


Steve:  I've got to see what?  (I didn't really want to see anything at that point.)


Sumie:  I just taught Mimi something.  


Steve:  You just taught Mimi what?  (It's amazing how often this kind of conversation occurs from opposite rooms of our, thankfully, small home.)


Sumie:  Just come here.  You have to see what she can do with her chair!


I walked down the hall and into Mimi's bedroom.  There I saw a pugnacious and overjoyed bundle of energy stretching tiptoe on her little chair, gleefully flicking her bedroom light on and off.  

Sumie:  Isn't it amazing?  All I had to do was bring the chair over here, put her on top, and show her how to flick the light.  


Steve (not exactly overjoyed):  Yes, that is fantastic...  Hey, um, where's she going with that chair...

Where she went was, of course, the kitchen.  The most dangerous room in the home.  Within half an hour Mimi learned that, thanks to her chair, she can access almost everything that Mama and Papa had previously put off limits.  Mimi now roams the house with her little chair actively seeking out the most expensive, breakable, susceptible to toddler spit, dangerous, toxic, staining, or irreplaceable items previously out of reach.  Below, we find Mimi ascending her chair.  What could she be after? 

If you guessed toddler-scalding hot water, you're right!  Mimi is overjoyed at this new prospect for inflicting searing pain and costly injuries upon herself when her parents' backs are turned.  

Granted, the chair isn't always used for evil.  Mimi often just wants to help out.  Here she is attempting to wash her spoon (which happened to be clean)...

...and  helping Mama wash veggies for dinner.  Yes, Mimi's assistance is still more hindrance than help, but, I have to admit, sometimes it's rather cute. 

Before Mimi discovered how to use her chair for mischief, Sumie and I thought we had the house fairly well baby-proofed.  How wrong we were.  Let's take the kitchen as example.  Previously, the worst Mimi could do was ransack the Tupperware drawer.  Now she can get into almost everything.  So far we've had to either push back or relocate the following:

• hot water pot
• bills and important notices
• knives and cutting boards (when preparing foods)
• our machete collection
• the AK-47 and the vintage Thompson sub-machine gun (well, let's face it, we've had to remove all our automatic weapons from the kitchen)
• Sumie's open-beaker assortment of hydrochloric acid
• and, last but not least, my William and Kate commemorative flamethrower (lighting the stove will be far less fun)

Even with all the changes, and the additional anxiety, it's been fun watching Mimi discover her first real tool.  This simple device, a portable step, has literally opened up a new world for Mimi, and she's having a ball exploring it.  Yes.  She's learning how to manipulate the world around her to get what she wants.  Much like she's already done for years with her parents.  

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.

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.

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.

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!

A Baby, a Bicycle, and an Out-of-Shape Papa

Thanks to the insidious and ridiculous California vehicle emissions laws, we are now a one-car family.

The California Smog Board and I go way back.  It's been a contentious relationship, to say the least.  My first Karmann Ghia, a red 1968 beauty, had been converted to dual carburetors.  As such, even though it ran cleaner than a stock engine, it failed the visual smog inspection.  Lucky for me, my father managed to total the car before we had to convert it back to stock.  My second Karmann Ghia also struggled passing environmental muster.  My Porsche 914 passed with flying colors when I first bought it but, after two years, the rubber attachment to the smog pump had worn out.  They don't make them anymore.  It took 3 months to smog that car.

And so it came as no surprise that my 1994 BMW, which passed the emissions test with flying colors in New York, failed miserably here in California.  It looks like it will cost more than the car is worth to get it to pass smog, and that's only good for two years.  And so, with my poor car in storage awaiting a sympathetic mechanic or charitable donation, we are a one car family.


For the most part it's working out rather well.  Sumie is able to take the bus to work 2 to 3 days out of the week, so I have the car about half the time.  Our neighborhood is definitely walkable - and I need the exercise - so when I'm without the car Mimi and I limit our adventures to the stroller accessible.


Walking, for the most part, has been great, but it has severely limited our range.  Without the car we can venture, at most, a mile or so out before we need to come trudging back.  Mimi's patience and my feet have kept us rather close to home and with so much to see in Golden Gate Park and the Presidio, we were really missing out.  We needed a new form of transport.  We needed a bicycle. 


And now we have one.  Well, I guess technically we've always had it, just not with us.  My red Schwinn mountain bike, purchased brand new when I was in 6th grade, has been rescued from storage and brought back into operation.  This is the same bicycle I rode in college.  The same bike that survived a 20mph collision with a three-foot pole, a misjudgement on my part that sent me flying, shoeless, a good 10 feet or more.  It's good to have it back.


I picked up a bicycle trailer for hauling Mimi.  I'm not the most coordinated of men, so I'd rather Mimi be safely behind me in a topple-proof cart than strapped to the frame of my bike when I inevitably fall over.

Our first ride was short, but a lot of fun.  We covered, at most, 40 blocks with only a few minor hills.  With pit stops we were out a scant 30 minutes, but by the time I returned, my legs were throbbing, my lungs burning, and my head pounding.  The Mimi-trailer package weighs about 50lbs - a considerable payload for a bicycle - but it's no excuse for my severe huffing and puffing.  I had thought with all my walking that I was building some strength and stamina.  I had thought wrong.  And so, now that I have my own helmet and a sturdy bike lock, we're going to do some exploring and try to get Papa back into at least "mildly morbid" shape.


I hope that Mimi enjoys these bicycle outings we'll be taking.  She liked the first one just fine save for one continual annoyance: her helmet.  She loves playing with it at home - ripping out the pads and twisting them into her hair - but when it comes to wearing it, she's not a fan.  Here she is before our ride.  Note that she's using both hands in a vain attempt to rip that helmet off.

And here she is upon our return.  She's still trying to remove that pesky helmet, but at least she's down to one hand.  Maybe that had to do with the death grip she had on her bottle. 

No idea when I'll have a car of my own again.  Maybe sometime in 2012, maybe 2013.  But I am sure of two things.  1. Mimi and I will be going on plenty of bike rides on non-rainy days; 2. My next car will be a 1975 or older.  California Smog Exempt!

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. 

Chance of Rain: 30%; Chance of Meltdown: 100%

Going out with Mimi is always a gamble.  No matter how much milk we take or how many toys we pack, she will eventually have a meltdown.  It's just a matter of time.  We've gotten to the point now that we usually reach home, or at least the car, before the histrionics begin.  But there are times when Mimi just simply loses it and cannot be consoled.  And so, each trip out, no matter how exciting the prospects, begins with a slight sense of trepidation.  Will we get through the event without mishap?  Will I be able to navigate the streets of San Francisco, which I'm still learning, in peace, or accompanied by piercing screams?  Will the strangers we pass think of me as a calm and collected father or as a man so incompetent when it comes to parenting that even sea monkeys should be spared from my care?  Will the outing end with a smile on my face or tear and saliva stains on my shirt?

As you may have guessed, we tend to choose our outings carefully.  Last weekend the Farmers' Market at the Ferry Building seemed like a safe bet.  And, thankfully, it was a welcome and wonderful outing. 

We arrived at the market early.  Well, early for us.  Getting anywhere with Mimi by 10:00 in the AM is quite an accomplishment.  Fresh fruit and vegetable stands surrounded the renovated ferry building, along with a number of food venders, each with a considerable line.  We browsed through the stalls with Mimi in her stroller.  The serene shopping lasted a good 15 minutes.

When Mimi began to squirm and moan Sumie pulled her out and, instead of carrying her, allowed her to toddle alongside the stroller for the first time.  We were amazed.  What a walker she turned out to be!  This allowed us to head over to the Golden Gate Meat Company to get some pastrami.  A quick note on this pastrami: on "Yelp" it is voted as one of the city's best, but that's just not the case.  It is delicious, but it tastes far more like smoked brisket than pastrami.  If you're wanting pastrami, this isn't it.  Ok, back to the story...

With "pastrami" and breakfast sandwiches in hand, we headed out to the benches overlooking the bay.  Mimi ate standing up - her preferred eating position when we're out - and quickly polished off half the breakfast sandwich.  Full, she decided to befriend a little Japanese girl sitting next to us.  They didn't talk much, but they did seem to like each others' shoes.  Just before we went back into the market a kindly man offered to take a picture of us.

The fruits and vegetables at the farmers' market are amazing, but by no means cheap.  Don't even pretend to think you're going to get a deal here.

The standout item of the day, which was also a bit pricey, was a natural soda carbonated by lactic fermentation.  Very cool and very tasty.  Even Mimi enjoyed it, though half the soda ended up on her shirt.

We returned home without incident.  Overall, an great day out.  Short, but much appreciated.  I'm hoping that once Mimi gets a bit better at communicating we'll be able to take some longer trips.  But until then, we're sticking to 3 hours or less!

So, You Think You Can Make Me Nap?

A Look Inside Mimi's Brain at Nap Times

Saturday: 1:00pm
Where are we going?  Oh, the kitchen, to get my bottle?  Foolish parent.  Don't you know it's Saturday?  Mommy is home.  You may not think I understood this, but I know she was on call last weekend and now that she's here, I'm going to make the most of it.  


Alright, we're in my room now.  You've given me warm milk and turned on the sleep sheep.  I hope you know that laying me down in my cradle with warm milk and soothing ocean sounds may have worked in the past, but not today, buddy.  That's right.  Go ahead.  Shut the door and go out to the living room to watch your precious episode of Top Gear while I down this bottle of milk.  I'm going to get your hopes up by being quiet, lull you into a false sense of security, and then blow your little mind.  

(5 minutes pass)

Oh, look who's back?  It's Papa.  That's right.  Pick me up and give me a kiss.  Cradle me and put me down in the crib on my back.  Where's my blanket?  Ah, very good, you didn't forget.  That's right, go ahead and leave.  Now I'll just sit back and (yawn) bide my time.  

(5 minutes pass)

Wah, what?  Damn!  I let that fat bastard lull me to sleep.  Well, it's time to let him know that that crap ain't gonna fly on a Saturday afternoon with Mama home.  

I'll start off soft.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  Soft and quiet with a few little whimpers of discontent.  Let him think I'm just turning over or kicking off my blanket.  From there I'll take a solid 5 minutes to work myself into a wailing frenzy.  

(5 minutes pass.  Significant teeth clenching in the living room occurs.)

That's right.  I can hear the two of you arguing.  You want to come get me, but you're still going to try to wait it out.  Idiots.  For that insolence I'm going to up the ante.  Here comes 10 minutes of contented babble.  I'm going to make you think I'm playing.  And then I'll play my trump card - 5 minutes of pure, unadulterated silence.  

(15 minutes pass)

I can still hear you, you fools!  Listen to you!  Talking about the morning's trip to the Ferry Building and the upcoming visit with Grandma and Grandpa this afternoon.  The two of you sound so content.  It's almost as if you're savoring this time you have without me.  Well, I'll soon put an end to your ignorant delusions.  Here it comes.  I'm gonna scream at the top of my lungs until you burst through the door thinking I've given myself a hernia or contracted appendicitis.  

(7.5 excruciating minutes pass)

Ha-ha!  Look who's come skulking into my room.  It's Papa.  And he's picking me up.  Excellent.  Papa - please understand that it hurts me to say this - for a man with so much supposed experience and learning you really are quite easy to manipulate.  Honestly, why don't you challenge me a bit.  After all, I'm 16 months old now!  

These parents of mine need to get craftier and I can absolutely guarantee that they're not going to do so without some serious tutoring on my part.  I can already tell that they'll try to put me down again around 3:00 or 3:30 before Grandma and Grandpa come.  Let it be known I'm not going down.  And if they try again halfway through the visit, bollocks to that!  I'll wail from the very start.  They'll be lucky if they get 5 minutes alone in the living room!  

Honestly, it's not that I "enjoy" inflicting such pain on them, but they're ignorant.  They need to learn.  It's not my fault I can't talk yet.  This is the only way I can show them the error of their ways.  They'll just have to hang tough until they get their act together.  I'm more than willing to wait.  

Oh, and at dinner, just to mix things up again, I think I'll put some udon noodles in my hair.  That will keep them perplexed for a bit.

As you may have guessed, it was a challenging weekend.  Sumie was on call the weekend before and I think that Mimi has been too excited having her home all day to get any rest.  Despite the bedtime battles, it was a wonderful weekend.  More on our Ferry Building visit and trip to the flea market in posts to come.  Also, even without a nap, Mimi had a great time with Grandma and Grandpa.  It's amazing how she can still find energy to play despite going non-stop all day.  She is, despite her age, definitely hard core.

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...