Merry-Go-Round

Happy July 4th everyone!

It's been an eventful week around here so I've been a bit remiss about my blog entries. Last Friday night, an insane storm blew in and knocked down trees throughout the city and beyond. Not surprisingly we lost power, but when it still hadn't turned on by morning - and between temps in the upper 90's, no electric, and a toddler - Joe and I made a split decision to pack up the car and the child and all the food we could salvage and take the 2.5 hour drive North to Joe's parents house. That was 7 at a.m. and by 8:45 the wheels had hit the pavement and we were off. We live in a 1915-built house in an old neighborhood that is notorious for losing power for up to a week at a time.

 Once we were able to hear the news we found out that 660,000 people were out of power within the surrounding area and the outages are ongoing 6 days later. Although I received a text from neighbors this evening letting me know the power was back on, we decided to stay put through the weekend. As it turns out two of Joe's closest high school buddies are also in town this week with their wives and kids who are all within week/months of Taran's age. Plus, we planned to have family drive down to see us on Saturday to celebrate Taran's second birthday, but it seems sort of silly to have them drive down in two days when we are right here, right now. So anyway, we walked into the house on Saturday morning and my father-in-law informed us that our area of Columbus and surrounding states had experienced a "Dorito". I was a bit bewildered to what he was referring but it turns out there is a storm system called a "Derecho". ("You say Dorito, I say Dorecho"...la la la). Who knew? No one I've talked to has ever heard of such a thing so I certainly don't fault the man for being a bit perplexed by the name. But it was quite serious and winds reached upwards of 90 miles an hour. I guess that explains it. It couldn't have been a more perfect week for the power outage to happen - I'll spare you the details and just say that any other week it would have been impossible to leave with work, but this week, all the stars aligned or something and Joe and I were both able to leave with not too much finagling. And Taran couldn't be more thrilled. As far as he's concerned every morning at Ye Ye and Nai Nai's is Christmas morning. So he's been waking up at 5 am and immediately asking to see them. I keep trying to explain that waking up earlier won't help him to see them any faster, because despite the force and enthusiasm of their love for him, they still manage to sleep until a reasonable hour so he might as well do the same. So far, this message has not struck home. I do love that he loves being around family so much. He's just been this radiant ball of joy since we got here. An exhausted ball, but a radiant one.

He's just as happy as can be as long as his posse is near.

Sometimes his unbridled enthusiasm can lead to some sticky spots. This seems to be particularly true when it concerns his interactions with other toddlers. I love that he wants to "hold the hand" of everyone he meets. And for those who are old enough to be amused by this, it's no problem. Yesterday at the playground, for example, he heard a couple of boys talking on a platform high above us. He of course wanted me to take him up to investigate and before I had even finished climbing the ladder he said to one of the eleven-year olds perched up there..."hold the hand?"

Luckily, the boy was super friendly and great with little ones and was totally pleased to hold Taran's hand and play with him.

I think the distinguishing feature for when it's been ok and when it hasn't comes down to body size. Taran will very nicely ask to hold the hand, but then, without waiting for an answer, he will snatch the unsuspecting victims hand up and shoot off in a mad tear, unwilling participant bumping along behind him. Not surprisingly, this has led to a few tears being shed by the small, hapless participee in question (yes, I know, it's not a word and spell check is yelling at me, but you know what I mean). To see Taran's face in response is totally heartbreaking. He's totally crushed and upset that whatever friend he's wanting to be near is a) crying and b) doesn't want to hold his hand. Ugh. This is not one of the joys of parenting. Because how do you explain to a not-quite-yet two-year old about boundaries?! I was totally in an out-of-perspective funk after this happened several times this week with different children, thinking "Are these the kinds of experience that put a black spot on our souls? When our joy and our passion run face first into a wall, is that how we get jaded?" Yes I know, I know, totally melodramatic. Blame it on the sleep deprivation. But seriously. Our kids will have to have their feelings crushed sometimes in learning about the world and learning to exist harmoniously in relationship to others. As I was driving along pondering all this one day, a song came on my cd player that the whole family loves, including Taran (It's the best when he tries to sing along without knowing the words and his mouth is opening and closing in an imitation of singing with a lot of made up words thrown in). The words reminded me that life is a double-edged sword and that the beauty in life can only be experienced because we also know pain. Somehow it felt like Taran was sending me a message in loving the song. Like he understood what the song was saying and that he chooses to eat life in all it's complexities. I know... deeper than a two year old is capable of. But I felt better after I had the thought.

Random Reflections

Taran's second birthday is coming up in just a few weeks (?!) and Joe and I have been discussing what special things we want to get him. But observing him this week really cracks me up because our concept of a special toy and his concept of a special toy are vastly different, and honestly I have more respect for his point of view.

The bucket of rocks I picked up were a big hit and he's found all kinds of interesting things to do with them like dropping them in the sound hole of his guitar, attempting to lodge them in his ear canals and wear them as hats, learning about the basic principles of balance and physics...

The cheese cracker is an essential component in this balancing act - without it all would be lost.

For the most part, I really love seeing what enjoyment he gets out of everyday household objects. Of course, I'd be a little happier (or at least less mortified) if he weren't so fascinated with things like my dirty underwear.... or my box of tampons. Sorry, I know, TMI.

On the less gnarly and embarrassing side, he can make a violin out of anything. This morning he was supremely pleased to be holding "two violins!!" at once. Just in case you have trouble distinguishing what are violins and bows in the following picture, the violins are the wooden frying pan and the blue shovel, the bows are the french press handle and the drumstick.

There is nothing quite so lovely as the imagination of a two year old....

But dinners with Joe come pretty close. The thing about being an academic is that the job never ends. This means that Joe works every night of the week except Saturday, our date night. But honestly I look more forward to our evening ritual of dinner together, after Taran is down and before Joe starts work again, than I do of our date night. Date nights can be pretty lame affairs - we are usually wiped out come Saturday so we aren't game for doing much exciting. Last week I think we did half a NY Times crossword and then I passed out on the couch while Joe practiced guitar.

But I cherish the chance to connect over dinner and share all the little details of our day. I'm really touched by how sacred Joe holds this ritual, no matter how busy he is. Most of the time, the conversation runs towards the mundane but every once in a while, a question gets raised that leads to some surprising revelations. Tonight, randomly, I asked Joe if he would have gotten a tattoo, what would it have been -  About 9 years ago I got a tattoo in a parlor in Grenwich Village in NYC. I'd been thinking about it for three years prior, but the decision to do it at that moment was impulsive, like many other things I do. The tattoo is of a phoenix, for all the obvious symbolism. - Anyway, his response: A line from the Maya Angelou poem "Still I Rise". I was a bit floored because it's the verbal equivalent of my tattoo and I never even knew he'd had that thought. 

It was interesting to hear what drew him to the poem, how it struck a chord in him on what it meant to have a sense of pride in oneself. In Chinese culture, and definitely in his family, being prideful is not  encouraged. But as a teenager, he realized the value and the importance of pride, not as a boastful thing, but as a healthy love for oneself. So we listened to the Maya Angelou poem together and then we went off to our respective corners in the house, he to work, and me to write this post. It was just a short, sweet moment, but I love that after half a decade, I'm constantly learning new things about this man. 

Father's Day is just two days away and the other thing I've been thinking about this week is how lucky Taran and I are to have this pride-ful, huge-hearted, fiercely loyal lion of a man in our lives. Thanks babe. I love you so much.