Abram's Debut

My slippers swished and swooshed across the checkerboard tile in a quickened pace. My breathing accelerated and office papers whooshed into a flutter as I sped past.

Seeing the closing doors up ahead, and with a finger held out in firm command, I yelled, "Hold that! ...that!...Uhhhhh-" 

Oh no. That thing was happening. You know, that thing that happens when you can't retrieve a word from your brain because your Brain Librarian -the lady living in your head who normally sifts through the chaotic folds of your cerebral cortex in order to retrieve appropriate nouns for basic speech - Yeah, that Brain Librarian - well, apparently she decided to take a little vacation to Brain Maui...again.     

"Hold that UPPY-DOWNY thing...or so help me!" I cried. 

The elevator's innocent passengers took cover as Handsome slow-motioned belly dived into the elevator, holding the doors open with his out-stretched body so I could board. Am I embellishing this story a little bit? Yes. Yes I am. But I swear to you that we were going to catch that elevator no matter what! There was too much at stake. 

Once aboard, John tapped his toe frantically while the elevator descended. I opened my phone to check the time. 

"What time is it now?" Handsome blurted out.

"8:05" I moaned. "Now we're 5 minutes late!"

As soon as the elevator opened we bolted down the hall, pushed open the doors leading to where he was staying, and surveyed our surroundings. 

A woman with thick glasses and an attitude saw us come in and marched her hips right on over to us and sassed, "He's been waiting for you. And he is not. happy. 

We started walking to his corner of the room and I practiced in my mind what I was going to say: 

"We didn't mean to be late, it's just that - There I was up in my room and I suddenly realized that I had some time to eat food. Well, one thing led to another and I was going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, and I even thought about bathing myself, but of course I didn't because that's when I realized that it was time for me to come back down to you..."

But that's as far as I got with that pretend conversation because it was at that very moment we saw him.

Normally when we came down to feed him, he would be lying in his little bassinet, just like all the other NICU babies in their bassinets. But not this time. Instead, this is what we saw... 

Imagine a very, VERY disgruntled King of England, in all of his regal splendor, shrunken down into a 7-pound, chubby-cheeked, buttoned-nosed, devastatingly cute baby. And that baby is wearing the teeniest tiniest pair of corduroy overalls while swinging in a cuddly little cradle that's playing sweet arpeggio lullabies. And that King of England baby is staring across the room at you with his stern deep, dark blue eyes wanting to say (but, of course, unable to say because he's only 3 days old):

"Where in the DICKENS have you been?! I'm positively famished! And if that's not enough, the nurse lady whom you have placed in my charge furthered my humiliation by placing me in this swinging, singing contraption of death!! Get me out of here! And for heaven sakes! Get me some food!!!!!"

So that's what we saw. And you want to know what Handsome and I did when we saw our royal dumpling in this little vignette? We did the only natural thing parents do who are sleep deprived, energy deprived, and for all intensive purposes, traumatized by months of pregnancy, hours of labor and days of NICU living - we burst into giggles.

Handsome swooped down and picked up our little peanut. We snuggled him, and kissed him, and fed him - all while giggling uncontrollably. 

Annoyed nurses and parents kept casting glances our way, obviously questioning our sanity - with good reason. We had lost it. But it felt great!

There we were - a happy little family of three, squished together in our corner of heaven, giggling like maniacs.

First Family Photo

And that's a pretty good description of what life has been like for the past year. I very often see myself as an overworked, unworthy servant to his highness, the baby. And the baby, Abram, is very often frustrated and confused because he doesn't understand why it's taking us so long to figure out what he is so desperately trying to communicate. And Handsome and I are very often stressed and running around trying to figure out what the heck is even going on. But no matter how stressed out, or sad, or overwhelmed we all get, it somehow always ends in giggles. 

As soon as we pulled away from the hospital to take Abe home, John and I gave each other a high-five because we believed we had this parenting thing in the bag. Yeah, the week-long NICU stay had been a little chaotic, but we would soon be home and things would surely be less hectic. And how hard could it really be to take care of such a sweet cuddly little guy?  

The Day We Took Him Home

Twelve hours later at 3 AM the baby was screaming, the changing table was covered with pee after a failed diaper-changing event, I was sobbing and totally topless with milk spraying everywhere (TMI, but this story has to be told!), and Handsome was running around like a crazy man offering the baby toys, bottles, binkies, Vodka (Okay, not Vodka but it did cross his mind) and whatever else he could find in an effort to appease the child. And then the baby got the burpcups. You know burpcups, right? When hiccups and burps join forces in a bubbly unending fit of madness? Actually, let's not go into the burpcups. Let's just say that it was at that moment we both wondered if the hospital really made the right choice in releasing the baby into our custody. We had no idea what we were doing.

We didn't get a lot of sleep that first month...well...we still don't get a lot of sleep, but that first month was the worst. Abram was waking up regularly for feedings which was definitely an adjustment to our sleep schedule, but he was also doing this thing periodically throughout the night where he would just suddenly start gagging and heaving and choking on who-knows-what. In an instant Handsome and I would bolt out of bed, fly to the bassinet with Handsome prepared to perform CPR and me, prepared to call 911. And then just as suddenly Abram would let out a teeny tiny little sigh and snuggle back into a deep sleep as if nothing had happened. Hearts pounding, Handsome and I would crawl back into bed and lay wide awake for at least 20 minutes recovering from the ordeal. It was only the beginning of our late night adventures.

Two months into his little life I sat in our family room with the lights dimmed after I had fed him. My  eyes drooped as I stared down at his tiny face and wondered at the little person I held in my arms. His eyes searched the room around him. His mouth hung partially open as he peered up at my wedding portrait hanging over my head. What was he looking at? He was too little to understand the picture. Maybe he liked the black frame contrasted against the white cinder block wall? After a few moments his thoughtful gaze panned over to the sliver of moonlight poking through the white sheer curtains. The white moonlight almost sparkled against the fogged window pane and a small, white moonbeam shined into our dimmed apartment. Abram couldn't look away and, truth be told, neither could I. It was a captivating scene that would have gone unnoticed but for the curiousness of my child. I looked around the crowded family room that held two couches, a baby swing, a changing table, and a rocking chair. There was clean laundry scattered across the carpet yet to be folded, papers and books stacked on the kitchen table with dirty dishes yet to be cleaned. Disappointment and stress filled my chest as I thought about everything that needed to be done.

Abram suddenly broke his gaze from the window and pushed his little body away from me with his toes until his head hung upside down over my knees. As he examined his world upside down his little mouth opened again as if he were staring into an enchanted forest filled with pink dancing fairies and blue neon waterfalls. I was amused. He was looking at the same bit of family room I had just inspected, but I didn't see any pink fairies. I looked again through my baby's eyes, and wouldn't you know it? Soft amber light bubbled from the parchment lamp and poured over the couches like honey creating chocolaty shadows and a golden haze. It was pretty enchanting - dirty dishes and all. The little boy speaks with his eyes and I've learned to listen.

One day he started to smile and I have never been the same since.

And when he first giggled? Oh! I gasped and giggled right along with him, and then Handsome came home and we all ended up on the floor together, holding our bellies, giggling with glee. 

2

What a cutie. But sometimes I needed him to go to sleep for his sake and mine... One day, after long deliberations, the little dude finally fell asleep in his swing for a nap. 

Swish, swash, swish, swash hummed swing as I tiptoed over to Handsome for a little kiss. We were overjoyed! "We're kissing!" we laughed to ourselves, "It's a miracle!" and then I accidentally giggled out loud.

"Oh no," Handsome said.

"What?" But he didn't have to answer for me to know. I flipped around and froze because Abram's eyes were wide open and he was looking directly at us. 

Handsome started to move towards the baby since crying seemed inevitable at that point, but I held Handsome in place and whispered, "No! Don't move.....If we stay very still he won't be able to see us."

Swish, swash, swish, swash.

Like a beautiful ice sculpture, Handsome and I stood motionless in a contorted pretzel trying to not move a muscle. After a few seconds Handsome leaned over and whispered into my ear, "George, he's a baby, not a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He can see us right now." 

And with that, Abe burst into a wail and we burst into giggles.

Oh well.

Giggles didn't adorn every situation, though. No. There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. Abram's tears and my tears. I don't think I'm ready to talk about the tears. I don't know if I will ever be ready to talk about the tears. Just know, there were tears.

But while we're on the topic of the horribly tragic, let's talk about tummy time for a little bit. Or "workout time" as Handsome insists we all call it since "tummy time" is obviously for dorks and our baby is not a dork.

Forty-five minutes. That's how long your infant is supposed to spend on his tummy every day. For those who don't know, tummy time was invented after pediatricians started advising infants to sleep on their backs to avoid SIDS. SIDS statistics drastically decreased for those who followed this recommendation which was good, but then pediatricians noticed that babies who didn't spend regular time on their tummies had slower physical development. So tummy time became a thing.

"Piece of cake," I thought while reading through my parenting books BEFORE Abram was born. "I'll just roll Abe onto to his tummy for 15 minutes three times a day. It'll be cinchy."

My child started screaming as if I had laid him down face first into a fiery pit of burning coal and poisonous scorpions, which, to be clear, I had not. All I had done was roll him over onto his stomach for tummy time, ahem, workout time. After two minutes and fifty two seconds I rolled him back over. "Okay," I thought, "We're going to do 15 three-minute increments of tummy time until he gets used to it. He never got used to it. We tried all kinds of things. We laid him on our chests, we laid him on our knees, Handsome would count out reps every time Abram would lift his head off the ground, but to no avail. The kid hated tummy time. Until one day he discovered a glorious trick.

Okay, I know he looks happy here, but I'm
telling you, he hated tummy time.

While pushing his upper body off the carpet, Abe suddenly rolled over. He blinked in surprise when he realized he was no longer on his stomach and then he smiled. From that point on, workout time lasted about 1 second - the amount of time it took Abram to flip over to his back. I would sit on the ground next to Abe for 15 minutes rolling him onto his stomach over and over again while he would subsequently roll himself back over onto his back over and over again. Good times.

After a few months Abram realized that rolling wasn't just good for getting out of workout time - it was good for chasing toys! He started rolling across the room to get balls and books and scissors...oh shoot! Handsome and I suddenly realized we had to baby proof the floor. Rolling was pretty awesome, but it had its limitations.

And then one day Abram's life changed. He realized he could use his arms to drag his body to whatever destination he pleased! Folks, the kid mastered the army crawl! I sent footage to the Inspector General at West Point for top military officer training. So, yeah, he was good. And after a broken glass canister, we baby proofed the lower shelves.

It was at this point we started noticing how much he liked to move around. Like, he liked it a lot. He was always a super wiggly little guy, but when he started moving around on the ground...man, the kid was fast. Like a little snake! It was super cute, but as his 24-hour-a-day caretaker, it was also a little unnerving. And then he started to normal crawl and his speed drastically increased. And then he decided he liked to find little pieces of plastic hidden somewhere deep in the carpet that only he could see and stick them in his mouth like candy. And then he decided he liked to Kamikaze himself head first down flights of stairs, and then he decided that his wet fingers fit perfectly into light sockets, then he decided swimming face down in the bathtub was super fun, and then he decided he loved dogs and tried to rip their faces off every time he met one. Basically Abram decided that the most dangerous things that he could possibly do, those were the things he wanted to do. And his speed and abnormal amount of energy gave him a clear advantage.

I had a lot of goals as a parent when Abram was first born. I wanted to teach him sign language before his first birthday and help him count to five, feed him the healthiest food in the world and keep him away from all that processed gunk. I was going to strum him a hand picked collection of guitar lullabies every night before bed, and teach him Spanish. I don't even know Spanish, but somehow I was going to teach it to him. Great goals, great intentions, but when Abram was about 7 months old I threw all those goals out the window and replaced them with one simple goal: Keep the baby alive. I still tried to do the other stuff as best as I could, but my top priority was to keep the boy alive.

Abe and his body guard.

This method of parenting has worked out pretty well, and miraculously, Abram is still with us.

Anyways, now it's time for a picture recap of Abram's First Year:

An hour old

I don't think I got dressed for the first three months...

Tough guy.

First bath at home. He didn't like this one, but
now he cries anytime we take him out of the tub.

So little. 

At the Pumpkin Patch

Blessing Day.

Abram and the lights.

Christmas elf.

Swinging

April Fools' Day

Playing with the water.

Month by month...

Notice how they stop at 7 months...
"keep the baby alive" is all we cared about
during months 8-12. 

Some stuff about Abram...

He likes dogs. A lot. This is him crying because the
dog he just met had to go home. This happens a lot. 

Abram has great hair

He likes to go for walks.

He's a little obsessed with water.

He makes friends where ever he goes.

He's got a dad that loves him. 

And a mom that loves him, too. 

The boy grew and today he is one-year-old.

I thought I would be excited about it. I've been looking forward to being done with the infant stage for a long time. The spit up was disgusting. The late nights and early mornings almost pushed me over the edge. The breastfeeding and then pumping was pretty awful. The daily near-death experiences have aged me 10 years. I'm not really a baby person.

But as I sit here on my couch thinking about Abram blowing out the candle on his cupcake and the epic chocolate beard that followed, I'm a little heartsick. It's the end of an era. The end of my first year as a mother and the end of Abram's first year of life. 

His squishy little newborn face, his little army crawl, his smile with only two little teeth - all of those experiences are now memories. He'll never be that tiny baby again. I thought this realization would cause me to start singing "Hallelujah!" or to dance through the house with glee, but no. Instead here I am, sobbing on my couch. Sobbing tears of relief - we made it! We got through that first year! But there are also tears of sorrow. Even after all the hardships of caring for an infant, I realize I am sincerely going to miss that chubby-cheeked little King of England snuggled up in a ball fast asleep on my chest. That first year is over. What a shame. 

But what a debut!

--------------------------
Pregnant with Abram
Abe's Birth Story
He's a Sky Full of Stars (1 year old)

Ralph

Looking through a lens

"I don't want you to walk out with answers; I want you to walk out with questions. My job is to make you think."

I scribbled the phrase on the first page of a fresh notebook and sat back slouched in my plastic chair preparing for another fall semester. It was my senior year and college had lost its novel appeal several semesters before - I was ready to be done. The lecture continued:

"In the 1800s humans discovered that a social world exists. Society has a power of it's own. We don't even get here without two other people. The Western aristocracy had the luxury to philosophize all day long about sociological ideas, but they didn't want to do very much about it because they liked being aristocrats. But then Americans got hold of Sociology. Americans destroyed the contemplative class giving rise to a restless spirit - a vacuum to be filled with new ideas and inventions. We started becoming aware of choices and we started becoming individuals."

The teacher towered over the class and I held in a laugh. This guy was huge! How tall could he be? I thought. Six-foot six? Six-foot seven? His formal title was Dr. Brown, but he wasn't big on self-promoting formalities so all his students called him Ralph. His massive Andre-the-Giant hands delicately punched the remote propelling his PowerPoint presentation along and he easily paced the front of the classroom in two long strides. He seemed like Santa Clause, Socrates, and a modern-day Molly Brown all rolled up and squished into the human version of Chewbaca. He spilled ideas into our brains with jolliness, profundity, and a sparkling hint of irreverence and I decided I liked him. But I didn't realize then the significant impact this giant would make on the rest of my life.

"Education is the pursuit of truths, not the defense of truths," Ralph explained in a subsequent lecture, "If you focus on the defense of truth you have damned yourself," He spoke with his words and his hands. Sometimes his hands would expressively swish and swash and sometimes his hands would karate-chop the air when he was making a really important point. "One of the indicators of a highly educated person is their realization of how little they know. Mark Twain penned, 'It is a very unimaginative person who can find only one way to spell a word.' Sociology allows you to see the millions of contradictions we live everyday."

Ralph's lessons were thought-provoking, fun, and uncomfortable. He challenged our ideals and questioned our common-sense reasoning. "George Bernard Shaw argued, 'normal people adapt to society and abnormal people don't, which means that all social change depends on the weirdo.' Zimmel concluded that the role of an artist is to push the envelop and be the misfit. Societies who get rid of the artists become stagnate because no one is driving change. Human beings work with the knowledge they have and they are constantly reinterpreting history. But exegesis is just as important as exposition."

"The search for truth is the human endeavor, not the discovery of truth."

I dashed across the crowed square slapping the concrete with my flip-flops. I jumped up the stairs in three solid bounds, screeched to halt in front of the classroom door, and leaned against a wall heaving like a maniac in an attempt to catch my breath. Late again.

It was nearing the end of the semester and my senioritis had weakened my punctuality. When I finally recovered from the sprint across campus I stood up and peered into door's window waiting for the perfect time to make my tardy entrance. The room was darkened and a projector displayed pictures of students riding elephants and hiking through jungles. I quietly opened the door and found a spot in the back of the room.

"The Southeast Asia Internship is meant to give you chance to learn from another culture and see the world from a new paradigm. Most of you will stay with host families and teach English to young school children," Ralph explained. "We'll have an info session later this week."

Psssh. Yeah right. I wasn't going to Southeast Asia. It was my last summer at BYU and I wasn't married yet! It was my last summer to catch a husband!

Later that day I sat with my classmate and friend, Sabrina Packer. She suddenly turned to me and said, "You have to come with me on that Southeast Asian Internship Ralph talked about today."

"What?" I whined. "You actually want to go?"

"I really, really want to go. How often will we ever get a chance like this? I don't want to look back at my life once I'm married and with kids and wish I had taken advantage of this opportunity. It will be life changing to live in Thailand for three months. You have to do this with me!"

Ralph almost fell out of his seat when he saw Sabrina and I walk in for the internship info session. "He came up to me after the session with a huge smile and said, "I am so excited for you to come with us, George. This is such an incredible opportunity and you're going to love it!"

Haha. Ralph actually thought I was going on this internship. I was just there at Sabrina's persuasive request. There was no way I was actually going to go to Southeast Asia.

Four months later I was half way around the world in Chang Mai, Thailand trying to figure out what the heck I was doing there.

Me in Thailand, what the heck!

I honestly don't know how he did it, but Ralph somehow convinced me to go. The internship was his baby and the enthusiasm that burst from his eyes whenever he talked about the Thai people, the Cambodian temples, or the Laos waterfalls - well, it was just plain compelling and exciting and dang it, Ralph was just so inspiring and attending the internship seemed like the right thing to do. My friend, Sabrina, didn't even end up going, but there I was in Thailand in the company of fellow students with Ralph at our helm - ready for an adventure.

I was reading back through my Thailand blog and found this post:

"The group of students and teachers I am traveling with took a road trip last Wednesday. My professor, Ralph, just arrived in Thailand last Sunday so he came with us and we all drove to Burma together in a big travel van. He is definitely one of my favorite teachers of all time. On our drive we asked Ralph questions about history, philosophy, religion, and current events. Ralph would go into these awesome impromptu philosophical lectures that deepened our thoughts and rattled our beliefs. He’s the kind of teacher who carefully prods you to reach inside yourself and examine the beliefs and cultural ideas you never thought to consider. Lectures like that shake up my intellectual and spiritual insides and force me to evaluate myself. It’s sometimes painful, but I end up understanding myself and my surroundings on a more profound level."

Ralph philosophizing on the way to Burma

One day while slipping and sliding down a natural waterfall in the Chang Mai jungle I sliced my hand on a rock. Blood was everywhere and Ralph decided I needed to get it sewn up. So I hopped on the back of his little moped and we flew down the mountain to the nearest Thai hospital. He checked me in and sat with me while I was stitched up. He told me stories about past Thailand trips and his visits to Jordan and South America, he laughed with the doctor and made friends with all the nurses, and I felt special because he personally assured that my wound was nursed. I still have the scar today and I smile every time I see it and remember the experience.

A gross, but sentimental picture

Southeast Asia introduced me to wonderful people, new ideas, and a beautiful culture. I left with a deep desire to better the world around me. Before I came home from the internship I wrote, 

"At times, running away from home may be necessary; it's helped me step back and closely examine myself and where I've come from. But the real challenge, and I guess the whole point of life, is learning to muster the strength and humility required to go back—and not just to go back, but to go back and make it work, to encompass the strengths from both worlds for the purpose of creating a beautiful life, and to do it with the people I love."

Ralph's Soc 429 class and his Southeast Asian internship changed my life forever. 

Back home and standing in my Church's gymnasium before a small gathering of close friends, family and Ralph, I gave a little personal college commencement speech since I was out of the country for my real commencement. 

"Ralph always jokes that we’ll never be able to sit through a casual dinner conversation again after taking sociology classes and he’s right. I will never see the world the same again. And I can only hope to one day achieve the honorable status of being that annoying individual who can’t sit through any conversation, no matter how trivial, without seeing straight through glaring social generalizations that have no basis for reality, and then who has the audacity to point out to the members in the conversation that their argument is based completely on thin air, thin air that has accumulated over time and space and taken on a life of its own and become so reified, or so real, that people actually make it their career to study this thin air, and we call those people…sociologists." And I tipped my hat to my professor.

He then stood at the front as my "keynote" speaker and encouraged me to be a life-long learner and a life-long teacher - always searching for truth and always encouraging others to break through their limits and transform the world around them for the better.

A few years later I wrote Ralph about law school. Did he think it was for me? He wrote back an honest reply explaining that he didn't think it was a good fit and suggested I consider other opportunities. He talked about my strengths and gave some suggestions. His words helped me reevaluate my career ambitions and set the stage for a new direction in my life. I felt grateful to have him as a mentor. I imagined that I would approach him throughout the years for continued advice and friendship.

But last November I received this email:

"For those who have not heard, Ralph (the crazy tall guy that took us all out on so many different adventures) was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I have not heard from him yet what the prognosis is in details (he had a series of biopsies this past week), but pancreatic cancer has a 1 year survival rate of about 15-20%, 5 year survival rate of 5%."

"What?!" I cried.

Handsome looked over, "What's going on?"

"Ralph, my professor. He has cancer. It's bad. He's probably going to..." My words trailed off and my eyes filled with tears. I closed them and tipped my head back resting it on the back of my chair. "Thanks a lot life, you've done it again: Squashed a bright spot before its time."

I showed up to Ralph's house with other students for a Thanksgiving dinner. He was thin and pale and his eyes were happy, but heavy. He gave me a huge Ralph hug and crooned to my infant son. We sat reminiscing about how he convinced me to go to Thailand and laughed about my spliced-hand incident.  Sharing pumpkin pie and turkey he explained his treatment and the grim statics of his type of cancer. He asked about my life since graduation and I told him about some of my jobs and said, "Now I have a baby and I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Ralph looked at my baby and pointed, "That's what you're going to do."

After a few hours I left and said goodbye. One more bear hug and I teared up,

"Bye Ralph." And he smiled.

That was the last time I saw him.

Last Monday death extinguished the giant. It sucked him out of this world with a swift icy grip and the sun responded with dimmed light. I am bereaved of a teacher, a mentor, and a friend and I am left struck in awe at the beauty and cruelty of life.

In his last lecture titled, "Crossing a Frontier by Exposing Yourself to New Ideas," Ralph offered the 13 most important principles he had learned in life:

1. Search for truth vs simply defending truth
2. Scholarship: The language of the search for truth- READ and read broadly
3. Be an intellectual "migrant." Question "reality" and cross a frontier
4. Step outside of your box. Build a new one, and then step outside of it too.
5. Embrace the contradictions, they are opportunities to cross frontiers
6. Be yourself, but if yourself is a jerk...be someone else!
7. Dare to be different, but know why you are-- different with a purpose
8. Live life fearlessly ("The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man but one")
9. Speak Truth to Power
10. Look for ways to affirm versus destroy without lowering the bar
11. Allow yourself to be taught by others with a different perspective from your own
12. Joy in Interaction- The Relationship
13. Life is in the journey, not the arrival

The guy was an influential researcher, an executive director for the Rural Sociological Society, a renowned educator, a life-longer learner, a husband and a father, but Ralph Brown was also my friend. 

That son-of-a-gun wrangled the politics of his university, fought his way through red tape, and successfully created a myriad of enlightening learning experiences for the students he loved. But despite his academic success, he took time to speak and counsel with me individually. He always remembered important details about my life and joyfully inspired my pursuits. If I had been the only student with whom he paid this special consideration, it would have been commendable, but this is how he treated all of us. He truly loved his pupils. 

And he fulfilled his initial promise to me back in that Soc 429 class years ago: he gave me questions instead of answers and I am better for it.

Death took Ralph, but it can't take his words. We, as his students, have embodied his teachings and we will scatter his influence across our lives.

Goodbye Ralph, take care friend. And good luck on your next adventure. 

For those interested, here's Ralph's last lecture:

Walking to the Park

Abe and I go to the park everyday, but today we walked to the park and this is what we saw...

When we got to the park we started to play: Me with my camera and Abe with the dirt. 

Abe always makes friends where ever he goes. 

We think about deep things when we're at the park.

Abe, being a new mom has been a struggle. I won't sugarcoat it. It's been quite an adjustment to suddenly be 100% responsible for a precious little life. But these trips you and I take to the park where we escape the dishes, and the laundry, and the loneliness in exchange for the trees, and the sticks, and the dirt, and the ducks...well peanut, they've been some of the happiest moments of my life. You've been a sweet little friend and I'll miss this time with you.

Trip to Michaelene's

I've started taking pictures again. I stopped because I was burnt out: Burnt out from trying to make every moment feel artistic, burnt out from seeing life through a viewfinder. I just wanted to live life and see it through my own eyes.

But I recently had a paradigm shift where I instantly became very aware that life is a cupcake and a teacup. Sweet but fragile. And that's when I knew I wanted to start taking pictures again. I want proof that I was at this tea party. Mostly I want to leave something behind. Breadcrumbs.

We woke up last Saturday...

...ate breakfast...

...got in the car...

...and drove to Aunt Michaelene's.

Abe kept himself occupied while riding in his carseat.

When we arrived Tori was there looking fabulous, as always.

Abe was going nuts in the water, as always.

And everyone enjoyed splashing around under the crusted August sun, as always.

The Dissent

I spend my days in the tops of the trees
Searching the sky for balloons.
But ebbing currents disturb the leaves, part the limbs, and
Disclose the Empty Eyes that haunt from below.

Far underneath the braided canopy
Of twigs and sticks and branches and trunks
Lay a beast that carried me in his mouth
And spit me out on this bit of earth.

A bit of earth that floats,
It floats in a boundless water drop.

I sit in the tops of the trees and dream
Ignoring the earth below and
The beast and the bees and the snakes and the spiders;
I'm lost in a beautiful dream
Imaging a life will come.

A life of floating in coral blimps
Leaving billowing paths behind.
Carried away to land of peace,
Carried to a land of honey.

"Take comfort, my heart, there is no beast
Circling our tree house home, I'll soon be rescued from
Depravity, a beautiful life will come."

The dream inspires endurance

To sojourn the lonesome terrain. 

The dream inspires survival

Upon this abandoned isle.

But the ebbing currents will not be dissuaded
From disturbing the leaves and parting the limbs
Revealing the Empty Eyes,
Revealing my inescapable fate.

I am weary of living in trees.

Scream at the sky for rescue.
Find solace in a prospective balloon.
But I've lost my voice and my hope is squelched in the
Vacuum of space and stars.

Ergo I leave the canopy's cradle
And descend to the cracking boughs.
And there I watch and hope for ships
To beach the water's edge.

But I've seen no vessels dot the sea,
No messengers have come to me.
And yet the beast's Empty Eyes keep watching me,
Though I fix my gaze on the droplet sea.

I am weary of living in trees.

The boughs are breaking, my grip is slipping
And I descend to the twisted roots.
Hidden beneath a lace of tubers,
I reach for any happy truth.

But I feel the Empty Eyes.
They rest upon my figure.
His polished, bared teeth prod through the roots
And my neck is tickled by his breath and dripping saliva.

Peeling bark, shadows and moss
Make poor friends in a room of timber.

I am weary of living in trees.

Weary of wishing for
Balloons and
Ships and
Abstract happy truths.

Weary of hoping for perpetual existence
Away from this bit of earth,

Pretending the beast is slain.

The roots crack, they break apart.
As I climb from my woody cage.
I press my toes in the mud and sand
Taking my stance on the tangled floor.

Lungs expand with organic breath
Breaths of active life, of
Thriving briers,
Flowering groves to
Decaying logs and swine.
My diaphragm sups vitality and I
Grip my dukes for a fight.

A blow to my back rips my flesh to the spine
Knocking the breath clear out of my chest.

I'm slammed to the floor by his
Solid paws and
Thunder crashes out his jaw
Blasting my face with rotting blood
Fangs gaping and unhinged.

Locking the gaze of the
Empty Eyes with my
Deep Blue Eyes
I glimpse in the back of his skull,
Nothing.

A sickening silent stare,

Then I scream:
"I'll not live in fear of you!"

He gruffs a laugh in reply.

But I cry:

"You brought me here!

"You may take me away! But

"I'll make my life my own!"

I'll make my life my own.

Ripping my shoulders from under his claws
Digging my nails deep into the earth I
drag my body out from under his weight and
I run.

Looking back at the beast he circles and
Parades his coat of striped citrus and ink
Unobstructed by branches and leaves.

Satisfied by acknowledged existence

That I accepted my inevitable fate

The Empty Eyes disappear in the shadows

Preparing a capricious pounce.

And I am not afraid,

But pleased

He let me live this long.

Light toes and quick feet propel my frame
To the peak of the highest sierra.
Sinks my heels in fresh mud on the apex
As I drink in the panoramic realm of
Thick wild trees,
Clear open lakes,
Deep foreboding canyons,
Cruel icy crests,
The beast, and
Me
All floating on an endless water drop.

And bleating to the whole of the earth
I cry,
"My home!
I'm home."

I construct a cozy cottage
With wide picture windows
And bask in sherbet sunsets,
Gulp liters from springlets,
Delight in sugary pears,
Tend the broken wings of blue jays,
Holiday on the beach's carpet,
And scale and climb the trees.

I weep in the bitter, harsh storms;
I bleed when thorns snag my flesh;
My body wrinkles and ages with time.
I absorb the harsh contrast of life,

Searching the stars for reply.

But whether I'm rescued by ship or balloon,
Or devoured by an Empty-Eyed tiger,
I will savor my brief existence.
I will make my life my own.

And I will create bare-handed
For myself and all folk
And for all who will ever proceed
A life filled with strawberries and smiles and peace,
The life I imagined would come.

The life I imagined would come
When I lived in the tops of the trees.

Boy Power: What I Want My Son To Know About Being A Man

Dear Son, 

Society often presents a distorted and rigid perspective about a man's identity. As your mother, I want to give you a broader and more accurate picture of who you are and who you are capable of becoming. Throughout your life you will very likely struggle with many or all of the qualities I mention below. That's okay. In fact, it is commendable. Your goal is not to become perfect, rather, your goal is to adopt an attitude of consistent, gentle course correction. A rich and full life is one of continual growth, adjustment, and balance...and the occasional character overhaul every decade or so. I use your father as an example in all the traits I list below and though he is not always as perfect, my words fully capture the man he seeks to become. I encourage you to look to his example, but I also hope you will become your own man. 

1. A Man Nurtures Others

As a man, it is your responsibility to nurturer the world around you. To nurture means to care for and encourage growth and development. Cultivate another's confidence through your words and actions. Set jealousy and envy aside, and instead recognize, empower, and rejoice in the strengths of others. It is not enough to respect the Earth, but you must better the Earth. It is not enough to respect the people around you, but you must inspire their growth. Look to your father as an example. Notice how he supports and cheers my personal advancement. Notice how he takes an active role in your development. Notice how he lifts others in all his interactions. He doesn't just love or manage, he nurtures. 

2. A Man Protects Others

As a man, it is your responsibility to protect your family, your friends, all children, the elderly, the disadvantaged, and anyone else who finds themselves being unjustly attacked. Defend their rights and their honor with maturity, strength, and integrity. Never seek cheap acclamation by preying on the weak - this will only undermine your identity as a protector and as a man. Look to your father as an example of a protector. Notice how avoids jokes about the elderly and the disadvantaged. Notice how he jumps to defend his family whenever we are in harm's way. Notice how he defends those who are unjustly ridiculed. Notice how he is quick to protect. Notice how his protective nature fosters peace more often than hostility.

3. A Man is a Homemaker

One of the greatest responsibilities a man possesses is that of homemaker. Although society looks down on homemakers, whether they be mothers or fathers, wives or husbands, bachelors or maidens, or hired help, the role of a homemaker is one of the most crucial and influential roles in society. You will find great satisfaction in creating a clean, healthy, and happy environment for your family or household. Don't ever let anyone tell you that because you are a man, you will never make an adequate homemaker. Your gender does not inhibit your abilities, and in fact, your gender enhances your abilities to excel as a homemaker. As a protector, you will want to keep your home sanitary to protect against germs and filthiness. As a nurturer you will want to prepare healthy meals so that your family can enjoy the benefits of good nutrition and you will want to decorate your home in such a way as to promote good energy and happiness. Regardless of how you distribute household responsibilities in your future family, always consider yourself a homemaker. Look to your father as an example of a homemaker. Notice how he picks up after himself and washes dishes daily. Notice how he takes on household chores despite his busy work schedule. Notice how he is concerned with sanitation. Notice how he takes an interest in purchasing special candles to give our home a pleasant scent and a homey feel.

4. A Man is Virtuous
A man celebrates his sexuality. He is not ashamed of his body or his passions. He acknowledges all of his sexual desires, but only gives heed to the desires that bring balance, peace, and loyalty to himself and others. He engages in sex to express love and to receive love. He enjoys the pleasure of the moment. He does not allow his sexuality to become an object of addiction, but if it does, he does not demonize himself. Instead he carefully restores balance, joy, and intimacy to this area of his life either on his own or with the help of others. He never selfishly engages in sex at the expense of another. He views his sexuality as but one exquisite facet to his multi-faceted identity. Look to your father as an example of virtue. Feel free to openly discuss with him any questions or concerns you have regarding this area of your life. 

5. A Man Is Prepared to Provide for His Family
As a man, it is your responsibility to be prepared to provide. This means doing whatever is necessary to provide your family with food, shelter, clothing, health care, childcare and simple comforts. Depending on your family's circumstances or preferences, you may not always be the breadwinner for the household. However, you should actively pursue a career so that you will be able to provide when needed. Do not sacrifice your role as a nurturer and protector to take a job that goes against your ideals. Never engaged in deceitful and unethical practices within your profession. A man does not find his worth in job titles, but in the integrity of his work. Look to your father as an example of someone who is prepared to provide. Your father employs energy and creativity to each work project he is assigned. He actively seeks education within his field. Although he wishes to build a respectable career, he would never be ashamed of taking a less-desirable job for the sake of providing for his family. He is a hard, honest worker.

Although providing is a fundamental responsibility for a man, it is not his only responsibility. There may come a time in your life when disability, disadvantage, or circumstance prevent you from being able to provide. If this is the case, put all of your strength and effort towards nurturing, homemaking, and protecting your family and the people around you. You are still a man even if you are unable to actively provide.

6. A Man Constructively Expresses Emotion
As a man, your life and the lives of those around you will be greatly enhanced if you constructively express emotion. Although you will have your own unique way of sharing personal feelings and ideas, and you may only share them with a few individuals, share them. Emotion is one of the most defining characteristics of humanity. Your capacity to feel deeply is what makes you human. It is beautiful and heroic. You can express emotion constructively through avenues such as music, art, prose, poetry, speech, discussion, construction, design, etc. Emotion is not always rational, but it is always valid. If you bottle up your feelings and repress expression, your suppressed emotions will become toxic and destructive. Look to your father as an example of one who constructively expresses emotion. He initiates positive discussion with me regarding issues he feels strongly about. He will sometimes express his emotion in solitude by silently reflecting on his feelings. Sometimes he expresses his emotion by playing the guitar or writing in a journal. Sometimes he expresses his emotion by throwing things. But even when experiencing deep anger or sadness, he never resorts to any form of verbal, emotional, or physical abuse. He channels passion into constructive expression.

7. A Man's Worth is Not Based on Money
One of the biggest lies our society feeds young men is that their worth is based on the amount of money or power they accumulate. Financial responsibility is a worthwhile pursuit. Providing for your family's basic needs and comforts is a worthwhile pursuit. Seeking to earn a little extra to enjoy a few of the finer things in life is a worthwhile pursuit. Falling prey to the fallacy that the worth of a man corresponds to the size of his pocketbook is a damaging, destructive disease that will shatter the essence of your very manhood. Look to your father as an example of one who does not base his worth on money. Although he works to responsibly provide for his family and excel in his profession, he is not obsessed with making money. He purchases possessions as a way to enrich our life, not as a way to prove his personal worth. He freely gives of our excess, not spending too much time determining if the receiver deserves the gift.

8. A Man's Worth is Based on Whether He Improves His Sphere of Influence. 
Every man lives within in a sphere of influence. Whether his presence impacts close loved ones, acquaintances, strangers, enemies, animals, forests, dump grounds, governments, companies, a pile of rocks, whatever - a man's worth is based on whether he improves what he affects. If you feel let down by your inadequacies, examine each area of your life and remember the ways in which you have enhanced your surroundings. If you feel empty inside, fill that void by bettering the world around you. Build a bridge, write a book, empower a friend, defend a belief, fight for good. Look to your father as an example of one who improves his sphere of influence. He looks for inefficiencies within every organization he joins and creates solutions. He uses kind words and humor to buoy my spirits. He offers advice to friends and family. He jumps to serve others when he sees a need. He cleans a smudge on the fridge if he notices it. Every situation, person, organization, and environment is improved by his existence.

Son, you are magnificent. Your life is full of purpose and significance. Regardless of the twists and turns your life takes, you will find strength as you seek to become a better man. I am proud of the person you are today and I have confidence in the person you will become.

Love,
Your Mother

Good News/Bad News

The good news is that the baby has reached a new developmental milestone: exploration and discovery.

The bad new is that my lingerie and books are scattered across the room.