Spring Onion Squash

I had a really weird dream the other day. I usually don't remember dreams, but this one stayed in my memory after I woke up. The dream started with me somehow being in charge of a bunch of prisoners. Apparently they were low risk prisoners, because the prison looked like a barn, with each inmate housed in a stall in the barn. They were all dressed in street clothes instead of prison garb, so don't ask me how I knew they were prisoners. Then for some reason, I took off all my jewelry and left it on the windowsill of one of the stall/cells because I had to go hang out with the actress Clare Danes, who was working at some kind of cosmetics store. Huh? After hanging out with her, I went back to the barn/prison to check on the inmates and I realized that although my necklace and watch were still there, my engagement and wedding rings were missing. So I yelled at all of the inmates and threatened to feed them food that would make them gassy as punishment (perhaps my subconscious mind sympathizing with my poor little boy boy, who screams as if tortured when he has gas). After interrogating each prisoner, I find my rings, which have simply dropped out of sight near where I originally left them. Then at the end of my shift, I go home and find Ian feeding Jackson his first meal of baby food. I'm a little peeved in my dream, because Jackson is 3 months old and I've read that most parents wait until their babies are 6 months old before starting with semi-solid food. Then I ask Ian what kind of baby food he's feeding the baby. He says that it's spring onion squash. First of all, what is spring onion squash? Does it even exist? Second, who would put onions in baby food? And third, why in the world would I actually remember that? So that's my weird dream. Any dream interpreters out there who can tell me what kind of madness my sleeping mind has cooked up?

Clarice

Grandfathers

Jackson has 4 living grandparents and 1 great-grandmother. We've been trying to figure out what he should call them. We're still trying to figure out the grandmothers, but I think we have some good ideas for the grandfathers.

Ian's dad, John, is from England. Apparently, the preferred name among the Brits is Granda. That didn't stick so well with his 2 other grandsons (who can talk). I started calling him Papa John when Ian and I got married. I think Papa John will stick for Jackson as well.

My dad, Timothy, is from Hong Kong. In Cantonese, the maternal grandfather is called gung-gung (as opposed to yeh-yeh for the paternal grandfather). It works sometimes. But since my father has been so very, very, very active in capturing Jackson's every move in digital form, we think maybe we'll have Jackson call him Papa Razzi.

Clarice

Vegas with infant

Just got back from a 5-day trip to Las Vegas. It was for business, not pleasure. I went to attend an Orthodontist's convention. Since Ian could only come for the weekend, my parents joined me to share in the care of Jackson while I was in lectures. Going to Vegas was a rude awakening for me. I really, truly realized that I'm not single anymore.

I know it may seem a bit belated that this past weekend was when the alarming reality hit the hardest. Yes, I've been married 15 months now. But the first few months were the honeymoon period, the next few were dealing with the shock of getting pregnant, and the rest of the time was focused on preparing for Jackson's arrival and tying up loose ends with work so that both of us could make time to be at home with him. Neither of us really made major changes in how we lived our lives with so many other things to distract us. We were like two single people living together. And, yes, I've been a parent for nearly 3 months now. But since I'm on maternity leave, I haven't yet re-entered the world I'm familiar with. It's like I'm in vacation mode without it being a vacation. Having Jackson to care for is a pleasant, but surreal existence right now.

Going to Las Vegas reminded me that I'm not single anymore. I've been there many times since coming of age. It's familiar, with activities and a lifestyle that seems distinctly associated with my single life in my mind. In Vegas, you can stay up all night, lounge around the pool, and sleep until the sun goes down again. There's the surfeit of buffets to indulge in (and I like eating), a wide range of shows for entertainment, and bright lights and loud sounds to engage the senses. In Vegas, alcohol flows freely and clouds of smoke pervade the environment. And of course there's the allure of gambling (I'm a sucker for video poker and craps). And I missed just about all of it. One buffet and one show in 4 days. I don't really count the 9 hours of orthodontic lectures I attended among the fun things. My friends invited me out, Ian had some ideas for a date night (which we did), and even my parents made some suggestions that I enjoy myself. But there was someone I was with who needed me every 3-4 hours for nourishment and needed a nap at just the right time and wasn't allowed in the casinos and got fussy when out too long and was at a developmental stage where he couldn't take all the smoke and noise and needed diaper changes every so often and... who I love. So this time I didn't experience Las Vegas as I have in the past. Don't get me wrong. I don't actually need to do all that happens in Vegas. And most of the time, I don't even like to do all that happens in Vegas. But I think I like having the freedom to choose to do some of what happens in Vegas. And that came and went with my single life. Because now I have not just one, but two other people I have committed to serve.

So for just a moment while holed up in a timeshare in Vegas, I mourned the loss of the freedom that came with my single life. But then I thought about the way Ian greets me when I come home, the way he offers to do the things I don't like to do (like going grocery shopping and taking out the trash and lifting heavy things), the way he warms up my side of the bed for me when it's cold, the way he laughs at my dumb jokes, the way he doesn't get mad at me when I get mad at him. And then I thought about the way Jackson stretches when he wakes up, the way he looks at me out of the corner of his eyes when I bend over his crib because his head's too big to hold in any position but off to the side, the way the top of his head smells, the way he hyperventilates and windmills his arms in excitement when he realizes that I have a load of milk to feed him, the way he coos and smiles in response to my smile. And it is all so worth losing the life I had before.

Clarice

Cutest baby in the world

Yep, another Jackson post. We just can't help ourselves. Could you resist with such a blessing?

I was recently reminded by my friend Amy about a conversation we had about 5 years ago, when her first child, Zane, was born. I was admiring him (I think), when she gushingly proclaimed, "Isn't he the cutest baby in the world?" I was a bit flummoxed regarding a correct response, as I recall. I did indeed think he was a very cute baby, but I wasn't sure if I could confidently agree that he was the cutest baby in the world. After all, I hadn't actually seen all the babies in the world to know if it was true. If I said yes, I would be lying (because I'm certain that among all of the kids who were babies at the time, there would have been at least one to rival Zane's cuteness). If I said no, she might take it the wrong way and think that I thought Zane wasn't cute (which wasn't the case). Apparently I replied, "I'm sure that all parents think their babies are the cutest in the world." When I look at that response in text, I can see how it might have seemed cruel or sarcastic. Pretty dumb response at any rate. But Amy reassures me that I said it in the most diplomatic of ways. I'm certain that I must have meant it in a way that confirmed Zane's cuteness.

Well Jackson and I took a trip to the Grove on Saturday. We were on a mission. We had exactly 72 minutes to buy birthday presents for his Grandma and his Auntie Cal and get back home before he would have a hunger meltdown. But all these people kept hindering our mission because they wanted to coo at him and tell me how cute he was. I was happy to agree (in spite of our rush), because Ian and I happen to think he's quite cute. In fact, we make sure we declare it to each other at least a few times a day just in case the other forgets this fact. Back to the Grove... After the 894th person (perhaps an exaggeration) stopped us to comment on his cuteness, I thought to myself, "Do all babies get this kind of response? Could I possibly have the cutest baby in the world?" Then I was horrified. My fear was only partly because I had joined the ranks of those parents who think their babies are the cutest in the world (which would actually put me in pretty good company). Actually, I was quite fearful about the idea of actually having the cutest baby in the world. Well... not really (because I'm sure there's at least one other baby who may be cuter), but I was a bit dismayed about the idea of possibly seeing my cute little boy turn into a knockout of a man.

It probably sounds ridiculous that the idea that this child might grow up to be attractive puts me in a pensive mood. It's just that I've been thinking about what kind of values I want to instill in my son. I really want him to be concerned above all else about the content of his soul. I want him to pursue the character of Jesus. But living in Los Angeles is so counter to this idea at times. There are beautiful people all over the place who place such high value on being beautiful. And people seem to treat the attractive differently. I sometimes wonder if growing up with the kind of special treatment afforded to those with outer beauty does something to the mind. Neither Ian nor I had this problem. I was rather average looking as a baby, gawky as a child, and surly as a tweener. Not much on the outside to draw positive attention. Ian was a cute baby and child, but had dreadful fashion sense to tone down his cuteness. Adolescence was an entirely different story for him. Let's just say I'm glad I met him when he was done with puberty. But neither of us really had to deal with people responding positively to us based only on our external appearance. We basically had to merit any good will. So I'm spending a few minutes thinking about this for our son. How can I teach him to value internal beauty over external beauty? Well, I guess I have a few years before I have to worry about this. Or...he may lose his cuteness and I won't have to worry about it at all. In the meantime, I'm sure I'll think of other weird things to obsess about regarding his future.

Clarice