Favorite Things

For Santa and Rudolph

Christmas Spirit

I had hoped to get an earlier start, but by the time we managed to get out the door, in search of our tree, it was already dark and snowing. The sidewalks were covered with a heavy dusting of white and the falling snow sparkled under the glow of street lights. Everything ugly about our neighborhood faded into the shadows. With a fresh cloak of snow the city is simply beautiful. And quiet. Nature is the great equalizer. You don't need money to have the snow fall on your face, fill up your boots, and remind you that this life, the only one we have, is perfect. And so Uta and I (with Kiki tucked in her sling) set out on foot, in the dark of night, in a snowstorm, with a very special quest at hand, to find the perfect tree.

Uta wanted a tree exactly the same size as himself. Papa H was working late and could not help with the hauling. I of course had the baby to hold. So I told Uta he could have any tree he liked, as long as he could carry it home by himself. Backed by a month and a half of karate training, Uta felt powerful and strong, and eagerly accepted my terms.

It was love at first sight, from across the street, in the dark. "That's the one!" Which one? Where? As soon as the crosswalk light changed Uta made a beeline for it, greeting the poor thing in a hug that nearly took down the whole lineup of trees. The lady from the shop came out to help us. She complimented Uta on his fine selection and told me the price.

Uta carted the tree back, five long blocks, on his shoulder, without complaint, stopping now and then to switch sides and catch his breath. He sang christmas carols all the way, mixing up the words and melodies, but belting out a christmas spirit that could stir the hearts of any and all, even the toughest of Scrooges. Even me. At one point Uta turned to me and declared, in all earnestness, "It really is the most wonderful time of the year." At that moment I felt just like the grinch did at the end of the movie when his heart grew three sizes bigger.

"He puzzled and puzzled till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more!

I could rant for hours about all that I wish was different in my life. Its a no good 'poor me' soundtrack that is causing worry lines to collect on my brow and muscle aches to dig deep into my shoulders. And yet for my children, the very same life that we share is rich and abundant. How can that be? This home that we share, the one that never measures up for me, is the home that will hold the most magical of memories for them. They don't need a snowstorm to see the perfection, they wake up happy and naturally delight in what comes. Our days are exactly the same and yet our experience is totally different. This is their childhood! And it is a really good one. They are surrounded by love. And though I manage to forget it most of the time, I am too.

Big News

Uta has announced (in all seriousness) that he will be taking an extended break from being a secret agent so that he can better focus his attentions on being a cook. This news is widespread. Several faculty members at Uta's school have come to me to express their udder surprise and dismay. Uta has been a secret agent at school since his early days in pre-k, and apparently its been no secret to anyone. But his watchful eye in the hall will be sorely missed. Uta feels bad about it but he must follow his heart, and his heart is telling him to cook. His specialty at the moment is sauteed carrots. His new secret weapon? Butter.

Rock and Roll

Hurray for snow!!!

Let it Snow!

To be continued...

Boys will be boys?

These days everything Uta touches somehow morphs itself into a weapon.  A half eaten piece of toast is not just a half eaten piece of toast, it's a gun. Nothing is off limits. Baby monitors, glue sticks, water bottles, vacuum cleaners; all guns. Is this a typical case of 'boys will be boys'? Or are these the early warning signs of some grave trouble to come? I'm concerned. Truly.

The Perfect Hat

Kizuki has already outgrown all of her newborn hats. She has several others that are slightly too big and make her squawk out in protest when they slip down over her eyes. The hat that fits her just right, and never elicits any complaints, is the one handmade and given to her by her Great Grandmother. (Little Grandma, as Uta is fond of calling her.) It is no small success to find the perfect hat for one's baby when facing months of cold ahead. Leave it to Grandma to keep this child warm! Thanks Grandma. The only problem is that Uta likes it too! One more, please.

Update #3 (Papa)

This is long overdue. But never the less, we are very proud of Pop for making his Chelsea debut. The art world is a better place because of it. And this is only the beginning. What's happening in his studio now makes me giddy with happiness, its that good!. Congratulations Papa H.

Update #2 (Uta)

Uta's belief in Santa is devout. He doesn't believe in God, he says, because he never received any letters from him. But Santa always leaves a thank you note for the cookies he gives him and because of that he hasn't a single doubt in his existence. When asked what else he believes in, Uta responds, "Cooks, of course, those I've seen." 

There was no fooling anyone with the Santa at the Karate Dojo's holiday party, he was skinny as a rail and had a mustache that went up over the top of his nose. The kids didn't care, or even seem to notice, they were having way too much fun. Uta is still loving karate, but even more so he is loving his new found community. 

I'm afraid our days of magical thinking are numbered. Every day Uta looks less like the little boy I know so well and more like a teenager. Yikes! But Uta promises he'll be a nice teenager. He says he won't wear his pants so low that his undies show and he won't curse on the subway. Well, thats a little comfort. I guess.

Update #1 (Kizuki)

Kizuki is three months old today! She is as chubby and happy and content as any baby could hope to be. Every day she reveals to us a little more of who she is and we are all totally smitten, even Uta. Uta's friends, who have little sisters, have been warning him that sisters are big trouble. Uta, as a result, has been reserving judgement on our girl. She has responded to his suspicions with complete adoration. There is no one she loves looking at more than Uta, her gaze tracks him everywhere he goes. Uta counted 14 and a half smiles that she gave to him within the first three minutes of waking this morning. Uta told me now he is sure she loves him. (He had been wondering about this since the day she was born. How can you tell when someone can't talk?) On the inside of the birthday card Uta gave to Kiki, it says, "I am lucky I have a good sister." 

Belly Boing

Uta says I currently look like 'Belly Boing' from the Japanese show Deko Boko Friends. Belly Boing is pictured above in the front row on the far right. Not a very nice thing to say, but a little bit true. Belly Boing has a big belly and his shirts are always a bit too short to cover it. (Me too.) Belly Boing is always hungry and likes to eat sweet things most of all. (Me too!) My belly, however, does not sound like a drum when you hit it, no matter how many times you try.

Night Duty

I'm going on three months now without decent sleep, more if you count those prenatal big belly nights of insomnia. I'm pretty tired. Some days, try as I might, I just can't blink the fog from my eyes. Last night Kizuki slept from nine to two, which, according to baby books, constitutes sleeping through the night. That doesn't exactly feel like a full night of sleep to me, but certainly preferable to the nights when she wakes up hourly. Last night Uta was feverish and coughing and needed his own night time parenting. Navigating through the house in the dark is effortless, my eyes easily translate the shadows. I refill the vaporizer, change a diaper, take Uta's temperature, get him some juice, resettle the baby, resettle myself, and sleep (a little). Shuffle and repeat until the sun rises and Kiki's eyes are wide and bright and smiling. The nights aren't bad, its the mornings that pose a challenge. 

Kiki's Curl

Metro North

White belt

Uta is in pursuit of a black belt. He doesn't quite get it though, that there is work to be done to earn it. Its not an effortless path he's stepped onto. When he was given his white belt he was also given a syllabus of what is to be learned in order to be promoted to an orange belt. I've explained this to Uta but its a reality he seems ill equipped to handle. He likes to say, "What if Sensei thinks I'm soo good he just gives me a black belt right away?" Not going to happen. Not ever, never, ever. Even if you are so so soo good. But his eyes glaze over with a veil of make believe and my words don't have a chance of penetrating. 

We signed Uta up for Karate due to a bit of late onset jealousy. About a month after Kizuki was born Uta started having these bouts of pure rage. He would scream at the top of his lungs the most venomous words he could think up and flail about like a feral child. It was frightening and heart breaking to witness. I never imagined such anger possible from him. But there he was, despite my disbelief, punching the wall with all his might and telling me to "GET OUT!" 

I hoped Karate would provide a bit of an outlet for his frustrations, or even just a temporary distraction from it all. If nothing else, it might just be fun for him, and he would get to look really cool in his uniform. Turns out to be all of that and more. Ganbate Uta kun! (You can do it!)

Do over

Yesterday I plum forgot to draw. I did my mark (and a little bit more) religiously for four days. And then somehow the whole commitment vanished from my brain. My day began too soon, after a sleepless night, with an explosive diaper and a bloody nose from my two children respectively. Then a mad dash to get Uta to school on time with Kizuki in tow. This means timing and hopefully spacing all of Kiki's bodily needs to avoid  a baby meltdown on the L train. Oh and then there are Uta's bodily needs, which somehow I manage to overlook more often than not these days, the sad price of being the oldest I guess. 

Once at school, Uta's class performed a poem of Thanksgiving for the whole school. Uta was stellar, in my motherly opinion, and I couldn't help but tear up like the complete (and proud) sap I have become. Kizuki, very respectfully, slept through the entire thing. But almost as soon as Uta had taken his bow, he was by my side in hysterics with another, very profuse, bloody nose. This is about how my day proceeded, with poop, blood, and tears, alternating and often times overlapping until I was so bleary eyed with exhaustion I could think of nothing but sleep. And didn't, until I woke up the next morning, and then remembered about the 108 days. Oops.

Pop said very nonchalantly, "Start again". Oh? I can do that? I thought I had to label my forehead with a big black Sharpie, FAILURE. I thought I had to beat myself up with disappointment for all of eternity. Simply start again, and again and again, if need be. No judgement?! No shame? This is revolutionary! Its not the 108 days that matter, its today. And although I didn't draw yesterday, I can always draw today. Today is all that matters. Today is day one.

Kanji Mobile

Uta made this kanji mobile for Kizuki. She loves it. She will gaze at it for a long time, completely content with her world.  And I get to wash the dishes! A very good mobile indeed.

108 days

There has been so much that I have wanted to write about recently, but so much that I just couldn't bear to put into words. Putting pen to paper instantly causes tears to well up in my eyes. Perhaps its a touch of the baby blues. I hope. But I suspect it goes a bit deeper than postpartum hormones. Sadness is no stranger to me. I'm afraid I have always puzzled over how to be happy. Papa H is one hundred percent certain that the only remedy needed is for me to begin drawing again. Accordingly he has prescribed 108 consecutive days in which I merely make a single mark, or more if I am inclined, just not less. I'm up for the challenge, a single mark I can handle, I hope, otherwise I have good cause indeed to be depressed. I am on day two.

Karate Kid

(Uta far left)

Kiki's First Portrait

by Uta

Loves

Happy Halloween!

Bad Guys Beware

Our door is locked, bolted, chained and reinforced by an army of paper Gundam dolls. There's no getting in.

Neglect

Last night's dishes are still sitting in the kitchen sink. Our venus fly trap has completely wilted. The fish tank water is taking on a murky shade of green. The mountain of laundry accumulating on the floor is twice as tall as Uta. There is next to nothing to eat in the fridge. There are legos simply everywhere. 

The level of neglect in this house is truly painful to witness.

The baby, however, is thriving!

The Collection

Uta just completed his third Gundam model (purple left). He has become a little obsessed. He woke up early Saturday morning to get started, determined to finish in one day. I thought it would be impossible. These kits are designed for kids fifteen years of age and older. He barely spoke to me, refused to eat, and was finished by noon.

T-shirt

Uta has been making these great T-shirts for Kizuki. There is a pokemon one, a frog one, but the one shown here is my favorite. A T-shirt covered in bugs, front and back.

Pink

I thought that it could be avoided, but apparently the power of pink is far greater than I could ever have imagined. We started off in the clear, or so I thought, with a box full of boy hand me downs. Kizuki has been wearing green and yellow and even the forbidden blue! I thought we had that other color beat. But it was just laying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. This weekend the skies opened up, and pink pink PINK fell upon us from every which where. It was an ambush like no other. Kizuki made her debut into the world to visit family and was showered with gifts. Everything we received is wonderful and much needed and, yes, PINK! All of it! Piles of packages, from many well intentioned loved ones, on two different continents, who apparently are all in cahoots. I know when I am beat. I am powerless to pink. Pink reigns on. 

But why? Can anyone explain? I can think of nothing so lovely in nature that is the color pink. Oh sure there must be a few flowers, but what comes to mind first are pigs and raw meat, frozen toes and pimples. Am I missing something obvious? I must be. Don't get me wrong, I like the color, I do. I especially like the extremely pretty baby clothes we are now in possession of. I just don't understand why Pink has hijacked the wardrobe of little girls across the globe. That said, Kizuki will be very stylin in her new digs, pink from head to toe, Monday through Sunday, from here on out.  

Not So Secret Santa

Grandpa T has dedicated himself to single-handedly filling in all the gaps (chasms?) in our baby wish list.  From infant car seats to baby leg warmers, his little grand daughter will want for nothing. In addition,  he has been the go to guy for any and all Uta pickups that Papa H couldn't do during my house bound days. It makes no sense geographically for this job to fall on him, but it has meant the world and more to Uta to see his Grandpa's smiling face waiting for him in the school lobby. We are deeply grateful for his generosity and time. Thank you Grandpa T!

Loving Kizuki

Pumpkins!

Confession

This little girl makes me work for her sleep. It's unbelievable how much jiggling, bouncing, swaying, dancing, and pacing I must do to achieve even a little slumber time. I'll try anything, and have, to lull her into dreams. I discovered, through desperate efforts, that the sound of running water works like magic. But this means standing with her in the bathroom with the faucet running at full force. I am willing to abandon any and all environmental morals if it means a little sleep for the baby (and me!), but I'm not so crazy about standing in the bathroom through the wee hours of the night. So I thought, embarrassing though it is to confess, there must be an 'App' for that. (My mother, for one, will not know what that means... App: a little program, game or tool of some kind, that you can put on your phone.) Sure enough there is. A free App called WhiteNoise. 'Extreme Rain Pouring' works like a charm. Uta prefers 'Beach Waves Crashing', but on this matter he doesn't get to vote. Besides, I think he's just being contrary.

Big brother

Mostly Uta loves his little sister. He thinks she's the cutest thing he's ever seen and has decided to marry her when she turns five. He is extremely proud and protective, and genuinely delighted she has joined our family. But this is not entirely a happily ever after romance. Uta is human after all, and seven, and just the slightest bit jealous. Since becoming a big brother he has developed an overwhelming urge to punch. Papa H has to take him into the bedroom, equip himself with pillows, and let Uta punch his heart out. 

On some level he's just got to be frustrated, its not physically possible to give him the same kind of attention he had before. Baby's are squeaky wheels by nature, and Uta is doing a stand up job taking care of himself when he needs to. But something has to give on occasion. I'm glad when it does. His occasional melt down seems healthier than being a constant trooper.

This new violent streak is never directed at the baby. It will, however, surge to the surface in her defense. I made the fatal mistake of shushing her and Uta started posturing to hit me in the head. This girl will not get messed with on the playground. Her brother is a bonafide psycho.

Kizuki today...