Going Back to New Orleans

It was the scene of our honeymoon, almost 13 years ago, and thanks to the AIA, we made it back to New Orleans. Though K had to spend the better part of our visit at the conference, having Grandma and Grandpa along made for an
especially fun return to
the Big Easy.

Another unexpected plus was our room. We had arranged for a suite so that while Esmé and Theo slept we would have some place to escape to and maybe, just maybe, read or watch a little TV. Instead what we got was something on the scale of palatial. Kitchen. Living room. Private patio. A conference table with seating for 12. The patio alone enhanced our stay in countless ways. K didn't make it home most nights until after 7 pm.
He'd bring in jambalaya, or etouffée or some other local delicacy and we'd open a bottle of wine and pass the evening al fresco. Laissez les bonnes temps roulez!

Meanwhile we passed our days mainly soaking in the French Quarter. With music on every corner, Esmé was entranced. She danced. She learned how to work a slide trombone. She shook that tambourine. We did make it out of the Quarter for a steamboat ride down the Mississippi on the Natchez where we enjoyed a surprisingly yummy lunch of fried catfish (it was a Friday), mac 'n cheese, collards, beans, cornbread and bread pudding.


Having G + G along meant we could treat ourselves to a night out. We chose Antoine's, one of the Quarter's oldest restaurants and one that we didn't get to on our first visit. It was quite a trip. The decor was in line with a country club circa 1960. Before excusing myself to the ladies room I predicted I'd find a faux trellis motif and kelly green carpeting. And you know what? Score! The menu was also of another era and I had to order the Oysters Rockefeller which was originated by Antoine's kitchen. And though we were tempted, we did not get the baked Alaska which was another signature dish served tableside with a lot of pomp and circumstance. They don't call it dessert here until they've set it on fire, that's for sure. Other dessert choices, peach melba and cherries jubilee. Truly the restaurant that time forgot.












All and all the food was spectacular. You just don't get food like that anywhere else. We breakfasted at Brennans and brunched at Commander's Palace (really our best meal, I think). At CP they had a strolling jazz trio that played Bye Bye Blackbird at Grandpa's request and My Blue Heaven at K's. Esmé enjoyed the culinary experience and even declared Grandma's turtle soup her favorite!

The travel was tough with two flights each way and pre-4 am wake ups and despite it all the kids did great. I am so impressed with what they're able to handle. As the last few posts indicate, we've been on the go a lot lately and they've taken it all in stride. They truly encompass that NOLA savoir-faire: let the good times roll!

April in Tampa

April is the cruelest month everywhere but Florida where there's plenty of sunshine, warm, but not too warm temperatures and flowers, flowers and more flowers. We were excited to see Nana and her new (at least to us, she moved last June) apartment, and we were anxious to see how the sunshine state does Easter.

We opted for a 6 am flight which meant waking our children at the ungodly hour of 4:30 am. And now with it all behind us, I'd do it exactly the same way again. We went from our car to the shuttle, through security and onto the plane... the only way to go when traveling with wee ones. The flight was on time and by 9 am we were touching down in Tampa. Perfect.

We were able to check in early which was a double blessing as a quick glance out our hotel window revealed an egg hunt underway. K rushed Esmé down to the scene where she was able to snag the last egg (pink, thank God) and meet the Easter Bunny himself. Fun.

Then it was on to Nana's. Her apartment building is stunning. The Mirasol was built in the 1920s as a hotel and retains much of its original charm and mystique. There's a gorgeous tiled pool set against a marina. The views are breathtaking.

Per Esmé's request, Nana cooked up her signature spaghetti and meatballs. Even Theo couldn't get enough of it.

That night K was ever so kind to give me the night off, meaning he put the kids to bed in our one-room hotel room, volunteering to sit in the dark as they drifted off to sleep freeing me to go down to the waterfront for a glass of wine and sunset. It was a genuine treat, though would have been even better to share it with him.

The next day was Easter morning where we discovered the EB even does hotel rooms. After a quick egg hunt (Look Mommy, there's an egg in the bathtub!), we visited our favorite breakfast buffet and then swam in the pool. We had 2:30 reservations at Oystercatchers where Nana and the Scarborough family joined us for a delicious and neverending Easter brunch with beautiful views of the water. Esmé loved spending time with Carly. And the Easter Bunny dropped by once again.

The next day we headed to St. Pete to our favorite stretch of Gulf beach–- The Don Cesar Hotel.




It was a fun day, lunch at the hotel and then an afternoon on the beach that unfortunately had a sour ending. During a long, trafficky ride back to Tampa complete with one of those crazy Florida rainstorms I started to experience an ever-mounting sensation of nausea. Suffice to say we made it back to the hotel just in time, and the illness didn't leave me until 3 am the next morning. I was pretty convinced, from experience, that it was food poisoning. However we just went through the same ordeal with Esmé this past weekend so now I'm inclined to believe that it's a bug. If so, then Esmé and I have each experienced three different stomach bugs within the past month. Theo has had two (fingers crossed, fingers crossed), and though K has managed to dodge these small plagues, an India trip did leave him with a case of "New Delhi belly" so needless to say the plumbing at TLGH has been pushed to the extreme.

Our last day was spent at the hotel pool. This afforded me an opportunity to catch up on some rest while E + T could still frolic with K and Nana. And then before we knew it, it was 4 am and we were once again rousing our brood for the return flight home. In both directions K was upgraded to business class (one of the benefits of frequent travel). We refused it for the flight down, and instead they offered us the first row in coach which was perfect. We had a bit of extra leg room and were positioned right by the bathroom making the flight that much more comfortable for our troop. On the return flight we didn't have time to negotiate the arrangements, so instead K sent me up to business class with Theo. Though I appreciated the cozier seat and the opportunity to eat a hot (though lackluster) breakfast after having eaten very little recently, I would have preferred to have stayed together. I think the gentleman next to us would have also preferred it that way as well. Theo managed to knock over his can of diet coke soaking both him and his seat. Oops.

DC or bust

This piece, in a slightly altered form, originally appeared here.

Recently K and I decided to take our small tribe on a weekend getaway to Washington DC. The cherry blossoms were beginning to pop, and we were desperate for a change of scenery.

We weren’t at all dismayed when our journey down I-95 was stymied by uncountable stops– potty breaks, diaper breaks, nursing breaks, lunch breaks. Nor was I discouraged by having to convince Esmé that a long car ride was fun! while not blowing through my entire bag of surprise activities and snacks in the first two hours. All par for the course as far as I was concerned. This is the stuff family vacations are made of, no?

No, the serious soul searching occurred later. After we had checked into the hotel. After we just barely made it through dinner. After we had tucked everybody in, then settled in ourselves to watch a little TV(the emphasis is on watch, of course, because our sleep arrangements were such that mute was the only volume option) that a tiny shadow of doubt began to creep across my conscience. Are we having fun yet?

Esmé sounded the first wake up call with nightmare-induced screams that seemed to reverberate off every wall. Naturally Theo followed suit. He, I was able to nurse back into oblivion. She was trickier, so we had to invite Esmé into our bed where she proceeded to toss and turn and rake my calves with her surprisingly sharp toenails. I had no idea I had so neglected that aspect of her grooming and payback is, well, not conducive to sleep. Morning couldn’t come soon enough, and it didn’t until Theo took his turn sounding the wake-up call. As we once again resumed our respective roles resettling our brood, K and I both wondered out loud, and not without a touch of jealousy, what the occupants of the neighboring rooms would be receiving as compensation for our suffering.

And yet we managed to salvage our day, an ice-cold one at that, despite a serious case of the crankies on all our parts. We seized some photo ops, with smiles both forced and genuine. Tooled through some museums. All the while using snacks much like a lion tamer uses treats– as a reward, as an appeasement, as a bargaining tool. Even our children know enough not to bite the hand that feeds them… loot from Trader Joe’s. And so we even made it back to the hotel in time for a fun, pre-dinner dip in the pool. But while I observed E + T slogging through the day—truly enjoying themselves at some moments while clearly not at others ––I couldn’t help but still wonder if this was such a good idea. They are so little. And routine is everything for them. And here I am tossing it all out the window, throwing caution to the chilly DC wind all for my misguided belief that we could manage a little fun outside our comfort zone.

And so after a much better night of sleep—exhaustion has its benefits––we directed our car northward for the trip home. This leg was not only hindered by the usual stuff—see above––but traffic and misguided detours also played a role stretching the journey hours beyond our expectations and leaving me plenty of time to still doubt my judgment. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe next year we’ll be able to get out more, do more, have a life beyond Maplewood.

But then, mercifully, something pulled me out of my anxiety-driven inner dialogue: two great belly laughs erupting from the back seat. Theo was clutching Esmé's blanket with a smug, sly air of satisfaction. Reaching across to his car seat she tugged it free and quickly reclaimed it giggling all the way. No sooner was it back in her possession did Theo make his move again, yanking the blanket back to his side of the car resulting in peals of laughter from both. And suddenly I remembered. I remembered being holed up in the back of the car with my big sister. And just when it seemed like we’d never see life outside that Datsun, my sister would do something to break the monotony. Usually something silly. Whatever it was it made enduring the less glamorous parts of our travel better than bearable and forged in us a sense of solidarity that only those who are not in control of their destiny can share. We were only along for the ride, after all. We had no choice but to trust the people sitting up front. And it wasn’t always clear that they knew what they were doing. Giggling was likely our best option, too.

So they might not have gotten much out of Washington DC beyond the breakfast buffet and hotel pool. So it may take days, weeks even, to get them back on a proper schedule and in more bearable moods. But the thing that they’ve taken away from this mini experience is far more monumental than anything DC can offer. They’ve learned that their parents can and will wreck havoc on their lives, all in the name of family fun, and their best defense will always be each other.

History repeats itself

Last week I had one of those low moments in my career as a mother. It will go down as a day I will never forget, the memories of which will be cataloged according to the dewey decimal system of my mind right next to this one. Category: visits to the ER.

It was Wednesday. Wednesdays have recently become date night here at TLGH. To sort of balance things out with K's travel, we have hired a babysitter and established a semi-regular routine of weekly dinners out just the two of us. Consequently Wednesdays can be a little hectic. I need to have the kids fed, bathed and PJ-ed by 6:30 so that I can then have Theo nursed and settled in his crib before the babysitter arrives at 7. Any number of things can stymie our progress and something almost always does. But this last Wednesday was going smoothly. Esmé and Theo ate well and efficiently. Having a dinner that's wrapped up in 30 minutes or so is not the norm for us. Meals can be slow affairs. Mostly thanks to Esmé. She's a social eater and loves to talk and regale me, and her entourage of imaginary friends, with stories. Occasionally she'll pause to take a bite. And though I enjoy listening to her, once Theo's fussing starts to take the form of food chucking I'm ready for dinner to be a wrap. And so this particular dinner went well. Esmé went upstairs ahead of us because she needed to go potty. I started to straighten up the toys while Theo trailed behind me, undoing much of my work. Seeing the futility of my cause, I scooped him up and headed upstairs. As is my habit,I plopped Theo down on the floor of our bedroom and then started back to the hallway to close the gate that barricades our staircase. En route, Esmé called my name. Somewhat dramatically she implored me to close the bathroom door in the name of privacy, "Please Mommy, I don't want Theo to come in!" she urged. Shaking my head and laughing to myself, I closed the door. "Click" went the door. "Check" went my mental checklist and in my mind the task at hand was complete. I started picking up toys and collecting PJs. Onto the next thing.

I was standing in Esmé's room when I heard it. Heard the awful, never to be forgotten sound of a tiny body bounding down a full flight of hardwood stairs. Landing finally at the bottom with a piercing scream and cry. I don't remember descending those stairs myself. I do remember seeing his splayed body and contorted, beet red face in full cry.

My first thought was that maybe I shouldn't move him. Maybe his back was broken. But then I could see he was moving his arms and legs, and my mommy instinct was too powerful to resist, I just had to pick him up, hold him in my arms and start somehow to make it all better.

Then I wondered if I should call 9-1-1. Though he was hysterical, I took solace in his cries. It seemed to me that a crying baby under these circumstances was better than a silent one. I called Kris instead. He told me he was almost home, already in our neighbor's car. He told me to hold tight. Meanwhile Esmé, still on the potty, was crying and calling out. She knew something happened. She knew Mommy was upset. Theo was hurt. But she was paralyzed with fear and confusion. I kept calling to her that Theo fell down the stairs, that Mommy needed to take care of him that I needed her to be a big girl and clean herself up and get herself off the potty.

"But why, Mommy, why did Theo fall down?" she cried.

"Because Mommy messed up. Mommy made a mistake," in my angst I responded.

"But why did you mess up, Mommy, why?"

"I don't know, baby. I don't know. Because Mommies mess up sometimes"

I offered Theo to nurse, and he readily latched settling immediately as I finally started to cry myself. Kristopher arrived home with our neighbor, Tara, who was prepared to stay with Esmé until the babysitter arrived. Meanwhile we raced off to the ER.

Theo passed the physical examination with flying colors, and we both breathed a sigh of relief with this first hurdle behind us. The ER pediatrician told us that if Theo were 3 years old, he'd send us all home right then and there. But since he wasn't, he also recommended a CT scan to be extra sure. We didn't hesitate. A wheelchair delivered Theo and me to radiology where I had to pull on a lead apron while Theo was swaddled in a lead blanket. He cried a little, the only time throughout the entire ER visit, as they strapped him in for the scan. I remained with him, holding his chin steady per the radiologist's instructions. The apparatus whirred and hummed around his tiny little skull while his eyes locked with mine. It was over very quickly and the hour the radiologist estimated for the results was more like a half hour, thankfully. And it was good. Everything as it should be. I am so grateful.

And there isn't a single bruise on his perfect little body. Not a scratch nor a welt. Esmé has taken to asking me if I've closed the gate when we're upstairs– something I really do appreciate– and has even gone so far as to close Theo in the bedroom as an extra measure of precaution as I go to secure the gate.

Theo really does seem none the worse for it. Though I know I won't ever be quite the same. But as I replay those awful moments, kicking myself every time, I also try to focus on his resilience. He's a tough little cookie, and he's going to need to be in this calamitous world. And so will I.

Theo's First x's Three

Turning one is a big deal. Such a big deal that we decided to dedicate three celebrations to the milestone. The first was a family party at Rocco's Pizzeria in P'burg. Here Theo was happy to share the limelight with his cousin Bini, a.k.a, Richard, who was celebrating a milestone of his own: turning two. The boys enjoyed their party immensely where about 50 well wishers gathered to toast the boys on their special day. Sarah outdid herself as usual, making a each boy their very own drum-shaped cake. It was all we could do to keep the kids from beating the cakes, they were that realistic. And delicious too.






















Party number two was hardly a party at all, but I couldn't allow the actual day of Theo's birth to go unrecognized. So on Wednesday, the 9th, Daddy made an extra effort to get home early so our little foursome could enjoy a dinner out. On T's behalf we selected Sona, our local Indian establishment where Wednesday is buffet night! Theo thoroughly enjoyed his first tastes of basmati rice and chick peas. Then we returned home to open gifts and enjoy a celebratory carrot cupcake.




















And then we decided to have our neighborhood friends by for a third and final celebration. Here we supped on mac 'n cheese (a Theo fave) and stewed tomatoes (a new Theo fave). I made a tiger-shaped cake (our boy was born in the year of the tiger), and Esmé and her pals were more than happy to help Theo out with the ceremonial blowing out of the candle.



So with this milestone now behind us we're excited to see what the next year brings for Theo. I have to confess that we've been getting a little impatient with him lately-- we're ready to see him reaching for that next level. I think it's the cross second-borns must bear. Our expectations for them are high, and that isn't always fair. Especially since the standard by which we're judging them is more our perception of what the elder was doing than anything else. And my memory, addled by sleep deprivation, pummeled by the multi-tasking marathon that parenting two little ones can be, is far from reliable.


So I am trying very hard to let Theo be Theo and do his Theo thing on his Theo schedule. But it's especially hard because this blog exists so I do have some well documented evidence of what Esmé was able to do at this stage of her development. So I fret a little. And I worry. And I mainly feel super guilty that it's my fault. That Esmé-the-only was able to flourish thanks to all the one-on-one time she was treated to with me. And being a second-born myself, I am especially sensitive about letting Theo get his due. Only it's so much harder juggling two and giving each the time and attention they need.




So I talked it over with the doctor at his one-year visit, and she concurred that he's lagging a little in a few areas. But she also assured me that nothing is wrong. He will get there. And what we're likely seeing is a facet of his personality more than anything else. You see, Theo is very chill. If he's not happy with his current situation-- be it he's tumbled onto his tummy, a certain toy has rolled out of reach --he doesn't work too hard to change it. He's more apt to sort of accept it and move on. Although, not literally or physically move on, more like, "OK, I'll just lie here then," or, "I'll just play with this toy." He also tends to have his own take on things. When you wave at him he doesn't wave back at you, instead he turns his hand so that he can also wave at himself and in so doing he usually launches into some mouth banjo. It's pretty cute. Or if you clap your hands, he doesn't respond by clapping his hands. Instead he takes his hand and smacks your hand. A slightly different approach, but he's getting the idea. And after much focused attention this weekend, Kristopher was able to get him to go from being face-down on his belly to sitting up on his own. So I do think he could benefit from more focused time and attention.


So Theo, my gift to you on the occasion of your first birthday is more of that sort of focused time and attention, for sure. But I'm also going to balance that with simply letting you be you. You, Mr. Out-of-the-Blue, will never cease to surprise us, so I trust that you know what you're doing. I have a hunch that you will always know the plan before I do and be able to see the big picture before I can. And judging from this little one-year glimpse you've given us of the boy, the man, the person you'll become, I know I can expect nothing less than extraordinary.

He scoots, he scores!

So, what are the odds that we would have two, yes two children who choose scooting over the traditional crawl? Who knew? Theo is indeed on the move, and after much experimentation (about two-months worth), he seems to be settling on the scoot. His scoot, however, is a lot less graceful than his sister's. Where she slid artfully on her posterior, with arms perfectly positioned to maximize scootability, Theo prefers to raise his bottom, rock a bit to inch himself forward then while lowering himself back down he rounds it all out with an arm shuffle that buys him maybe a millimeter more ground. It's extremely, almost painfully, inefficient. He doesn't seem to mind. And just like with Esmé, it is something to see.

Hearts & Bones (or teeth or hair)

Happy Valentine's Day! I must admit that I much prefer celebrating Valentine's with kids than I ever did strictly as a couple. As a couple you're compelled to go out and eat some over-prix-fixed meal where I'm pretty certain more time and energy is devoted to the naming of each course (Love Me Pork Tenderloin, anyone?) than in the actual care and preparation. With kids you can do crafts! And eat candy! Both of which, thanks to more snow! And ice! We had ample opportunity to do. And now that one of my oldest and dearest friends has decided to add her crafting (among other things) two cents to the blogosphere, I've no reason not to drag out the Elmer's. So, this is what we accomplished...






And speaking of accomplished. For school, Esmé was required to bring in 20 Valentine's cards for each of her classmates. The assignment included having her attempt to sign them herself. Recently returned from another week in India, I thought Kris might like to oversee this task. Timing is everything, and the two didn't get to their "homework" until nearly 7:30 Sunday evening when Esmé's energy/ambition/enthusiasm/goodwill were all seriously flagging. I, of course, allowed events to unfold as they may and reserved any and all judgment of K's timing until after the task was complete.

Of course I didn't. I was too plagued by flash-forwards of hastily executed book reports and shoddy dioramas and late Sunday nights bleeding into early Monday mornings to not open my mouth.

But, truth be told she did OK. And even better than I expected because going into the task I knew she was capable of writing a very legible "E" and "T." And wouldn't you know it, by the end of the exercise, she pretty much could do the "M" on her own and was beginning to get the "S" down, one of the trickiest letters if I don't say so myself. Here's what she was able to do the next day:



I helped her with the "S," but that's all. The rest is all E-S-M-E.


Theo experienced his own milestone recently. No, he's still not crawling yet. But he did have his first haircut. Such a contrast to Esmé's first haircut which came more than six months later. She could sit in the seat and was even reading a book while the stylists clipped away. I had to hold Theo up, and true to form he approached this new experience with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

But in the end I believe he was pleased with the results. He did tell me later that next time he'd like her to take it up more around the ears. What can I say, this is new terrain for me.



And I totally neglected to mention in my last post that Theo has two new teeth in his possession. And I believe more are imminently on the way. According to Esmé once Theo has his teeth he will be able to talk to her.


Naturally.