Then later in the evening, we made our first backyard campfire. We were waiting until it was dark enough early enough so we could still have a reasonable bedtime. The fire pit was a housewarming gift from a relative. (Hey EP, it might look different to you, and that’s because it is. The first one was just huge for our patio space, so we exchanged that for the one in the photo.) We roasted marshmallows, which Claire decided she didn’t like. She likes them uncooked. And she likes chocolate. And graham crackers. Just not all together in the form of a s’more. Mmmmm, I enjoyed some!

Claire was learning about heat radiation and how to figure out the safest distance.

This evening I was puttering in the garden, and I gasped when I saw the flower below. I was beginning to wonder if they’d ever bloom. Claire calls them Morning Glorias. It was the first batch of seeds we planted right after we moved in. I see a ton of buds on the vines now, so we’re in for a full bloom soon.

Now they are in the tree, fluttering about.

We watched them dance as we sat on our porch eating icy pops.

——

It’s a beautiful night, with a waning full moon. The heatwave has broken. A breeze blows. Lately we’ve been reading The Rainbabies, which features the beautiful Moon. (And it has an unexpected sweetness for me because the main characters are an older couple who dearly long for a child, and are given the miracle of that gift.)

Thus a small poem!

We live so far away from the din and havoc the comes with living in an urban area like Silicon Valley. About five miles from our home is the entrance to the Santa Teresa County Park. (There’s a trailhead about a mile from our house, but I went to the main part this time.) We see the hills from our home, so today I took Claire for a little hike. We wanted to see what nature had to offer.

Summer in California is the season of drought, dust, and death. The grasses turn “golden” (i.e., tinderbox dry and brown), and there is no rain for about five months. It is certainly not California at its prettiest. (I’m partial to the emerald green hills of the rainy season.) Here’s an example of the “hills of gold”:

And the poor parched ground:

Nevertheless, nature knowns no season. It always exists. It’s always interesting. So we headed out on a trail…

Even during summer, flowers manage to bloom.

The view from on high is expansive!

But we also had to keep our eyes sharp for other things.

Looking around reveals interesting shapes…

And glimpses of a bird soaring high in the sky (that teeny dot in the blue is not dust on your screen!).

Then we were treated to a surprise! A turkey vulture perched on a dead tree, I guess airing its wings. It sat still for several minutes like this!

Once it flew away, we returned our attention to the path.

We found a branch covered with lichen. Such interesting colors and textures!

And we also found some pinecones and hardened pine tree sap. We brought the rock of resin home for later exploration and research.

At the end of our walk, we ate a snack at a picnic table. On the way home, I asked Claire what her favorite part of our adventure was. She said it was “sitting and looking.” It was so quiet and breezy there. A lovely Monday morning.

Being Human

I wonder if the sun debates dawn
some mornings
not wanting to rise
out of bed
from under the down-feather horizon

If the sky grows tired
of being everywhere at once
adapting to the mood swings of the weather

If the clouds drift off
trying to hold themselves together
make deals with gravity
to loiter a little longer

I wonder if rain is scared
of falling
if it has trouble letting go
If snowflakes get sick
of being perfect all the time
each one trying to be one-of-a-kind

I wonder if stars wish
upon themselves before they die
if they need to teach their young to shine

I wonder if shadows long
to once feel the sun
if they get lost in the shuffle
not knowing where they’re from

I wonder if sunrise and sunset
respect each other
even though they’ve never met

If volcanoes get stressed
If storms have regrets
If compost believes in life after death

I wonder if breath ever thinks
about suicide
I wonder if the wind just wants to sit
still sometimes
and watch the world pass by

If smoke was born knowing how to rise
If rainbows get shy backstage
not sure if their colors match right

I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock
to know when to crack
If rivers ever stop
and think of turning back

If streams meet the wrong sea
and their whole lives run offtrack
I wonder if the snow wants to be black

If the soil thinks she’s too dark
If butterflies want to cover up their marks
If rocks are self-conscious of their weight
If mountains are insecure of their strength

I wonder if waves get discouraged
crawling up the sand
only to be pulled back again
to where they began

I wonder if land feels stepped upon
If sand feels insignificant
If trees need to question their lovers
to know where they stand

If branches waver in the crossroads
unsure of which way to grow
If the leaves understand they’re replaceable
and still dance when the wind blows

I wonder where the moon goes when she is hiding
I want to find her there
and watch the ocean
spin from a distance
Listen to her
stir in her sleep

effort give way to existence

–Naima Penniman

One of my sisters visited later in June, and Claire was pretty horrible to her too. After the first day in which Claire was shy and sweet, she would raise her voice to her aunt. “Don’t say words!” “Go away!” “Don’t look at me!” These demands were accompanied by screeching. (Claire didn’t have the same feelings toward her uncle, however; he was just nifty.) We took the opportunity to admonish her about being kind, but the bottom line is that in this new house and new life there was an unfamiliar person taking a lot of my attention and time, and this just didn’t sit well with Claire.

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine came to visit, and Claire behaved similarly. She warmed up to my friend a bit, but would bluntly state her wishes too, such as “Don’t talk to me.” Then last Friday, when her beloved babysitter came for the first time in a month, she decided the babysitter was no good either. After about 45 minutes with A__, she didn’t want the babysitter to sit in the same room, or touch any of her toys, and so on. I got a call about an hour before I was due home; A__ informing me what was happening to let me know. I decided that as long as Claire was safe (not self-injuring or something), that I would come home at my planned time. When I came home she’d been crying and wailing for me and clung to me.

She’s even been mean to her father in this way. And increasingly, Claire says, “I want to go back to the old house.” I conclude that this has been a seismic shift for her. If she can be taken away from her home, then what about Mommy? What if Mommy is taken away, or she is taken from Mommy? Many days she doesn’t want to go anywhere, sometimes not even outside. Not to the grocery store, the park, for a walk. Pushing her is a catalyst for a tantrum; then everyone is miserable, so what’s the point?

And the tantrums! Oh, they have become ever more voluble and frequent.

However, it’s not all negative stuff. Claire is as sweet, playful, and loving as ever — even more so. So much change in a little life…

We’ve done a few activities, such as:

Berry picking in June!

“Washing” windows:

Baking cakes (and licking batter off the beater):

Having backyard picnics:

Enjoying the sprinkler:

And making stuff, like sand clay and painting birdhouses! Claire made the bowl with a little shaping help from me, and I made the candle holder.

I painted the white coat and Claire added her flair:

Onward to August!

This is a photo of Uvas Reservoir. It was an impeccably beautiful day, taken during my sister and brother-in-law’s visit in June. I want to come here often with Claire (once she decides she wants to leave her comfortable home and explore the world).

Can it be July? Already?

Yesterday in the bath, Claire said she was performing a science experiment. She has Munchkin foam letters, and they stick to surfaces in the tub and the stall walls. So she took the letter J and put it on her head to see if it would stick. She shook her head, and it fell off. She did this four or five times. Then she said, “Let’s see if the letter L will stick.” She repeated the procedure, and indeed it did! (My occasional guilt for allowing her to watch television in the early morning was alleviated in this moment. She learns a great deal from her favorite shows: Caillou, Curious George, Olivia, Word World, Sesame Street, Between the Lions, and My Friends Tigger & Pooh.)

At the same time, she still needs lots of cuddling and mothering and fathering. Her sleep remains disrupted from the move. I added a makeshift curtain to her window to help darken the room a bit. The challenge, it seems, is that on days she naps she has difficulty falling asleep, and on days she does not nap she falls asleep early and well but it is a long, cranky, and sometimes tearful afternoon and evening until then!

Last night I rocked and sang to her, and she was all wiggles and squirms. After 25 minutes of this I told her it was time to go to sleep and I put her in the crib. She protested with a whine. I covered her and said nighty-night. Then I left. The whining continued. I did some chores in the kitchen as the whining progressed to crying. First it was protest crying — not entirely real, not fully committed — but after half an hour she was crying at full bore.

I went to her and asked, “What’s with all this llama drama?” (See books by Anna Dewdney for reference.) She asked for a tissue to blow her nose, and then I rocked her. As she lay in my arms with a tear-streaked face, she spoke in a tremulous voice. She said she’d felt alone and that she was crying like a baby so I would come back. She said she had a boo-boo on her knee, and so I kissed it. Then she explained how the Kleenex helps get the boogers out of her nose.

So I rocked and sang again, for about 25 minutes, and she snuggled against me and fell asleep. At 9:20 I put her down in the crib, and she slept until 6:45 (earlier than usual, but much better than 5:20 a.m.!)

In a few moments we’ll head out to a farm and pick berries with new friends from down the street. The boys are 7 and 5, and they love Claire and (so far) play well with her. I notice that Claire really plays well with older kids who understand turn-taking and sharing. She doesn’t follow game rules very well yet and isn’t as organized, but she has more fun with kids who don’t grab toys from her and understand when she “uses her words.” The extra benefit of these new friends is that I really really like their mom!

At our follow-up appointment on Tuesday, we discussed the situation. It turns out that Claire has asthma. This may be something she outgrows, as her respiratory system gets bigger and her immunity builds. She’s very petite. We have an asthma plan. When she’s healthy, it’s the green zone, and we need not do anything. At the sign of any sickness (fever, runny nose, sneezing, congestion, coughing — any one of these) we enter the yellow zone. We are to give her albuterol every four hours round the clock and prednisone twice a day until the cold goes away.

However, if she’s in the yellow zone more than a week, or she falls into a coughing spiral as she has, we enter the red zone and need to seek emergency attention — Urgent Care if they’re open, the ER if not.

At first I felt a little sad about pulling her out of preschool. I really want her to have the social outlet, and I want it too. The doctor pointed out, though, that if she’s sick all the time, she can’t get the social contact anyway. And preschool is a lot more exposure to illness than small play-dates with friends. So, I set about creating an at-home curriculum for us next year: reading/phonics, science, art & craft, music, games, adventure days. I’ll invite a couple friends over to join us now and then. And after more pondering, I realize that I have a gift. Soon enough, Claire will go to school five days a week and enter into her own life away from me. I have the privilege of her company for another year, at least, and maybe two.

I just returned from a day-long retreat with my friend Karen, where I realized something else. We’ve resorted to doing “puffs” — breathing ten times from a little chamber where the medicine is squirted into — because she fought the breathing treatments that took ten minutes every time. And I realized, today, that by sitting with her and helping her count breaths to ten, I am setting the foundation for her to learn how to settle herself and become aware of breath. It also helps me to stop and breathe, and be quiet. Breathing is the foundation of meditation, which leads to attention, which leads to love, which leads to patience, which leads to forgiveness, which leads to peace.

So what first seems like a hindrance has turned out to have aspects to appreciate. I’m grateful for that.

——-

I have written this post quickly, because my life is in flux and I have to give my attention to other things: dinner, and packing. I feel eloquence is lacking in the above reflection, but it will have to do. We move on Tuesday! So much to do before that!