Papoe

Love and marriage and tourism

October kicked off with a little celebration of tourism. Love and tourism. Love and marriage and tourism.  And most importantly, no children.

Nearly four years ago Khary and I exchanged wedding vows and embarked on the crazy life we live together. Somewhere I have a copy of my vows, where I talked about knowing the moment I met him that he was one of the kindest men I’d ever met, and one of the most persistent. That part got laughs because most of our family and friends knew about the years he tried to court me. Woo me. Sweep me off my feet. During those years, I wanted to be friends. And then one day, I wanted more. That was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

If we were to redo our vows, Khary would insist on making his funny. I had made him promise that he would not TRY and be funny because he needed to profess his love for me (he did). He told me after that he wished he had tried. Because I got the laughs.

We escaped the sunny side of the bay and ventured back to San Francisco to get our anniversary on. The plan included a stop at Fog City Diner for lunch, a short Bay Cruise, a Pedi-cab ride back to the ferry building, wine and oysters and the Hog Island Oyster Co., and then a little rest and relaxation in our hotel room before dinner.

The rest of the night was pure Chez Romance—riding the 38 bus down Geary Street surrounded by a bunch of drunk people. It was one of those nights, when cabs were full or nonexistent. But it didn’t spoil our mood (almost, but the wine helped keep me happy). We still had a fabulous dinner and finally managed to hit up one of our favorite spots in the Mission: Bar.

In the morning I missed the girls but we managed to stretch the morning out to afternoon because kids do not understand anniversaries or hangovers.

The second and third decision I’ve ever made: Jocelyn and Aja.

Sibling school pictures!

The royal treatment

When I was eight months pregnant with Jocelyn, Khary said that he didn’t want to celebrate Father’s Day. Despite the fact that he had bought me my first Mother’s Day gift the month prior, he claimed that until he met our baby nose-to-nose, he wasn’t truly a dad. I didn’t argue and we were able to laugh about it [the word preemie remained outside of our realm of understanding for another year].

Now that he’s a dad of two, Khary got the royal treatment. That is, he mentioned that he wanted to take a series of golf lessons and I thought that would make a really nice gift. So I handed him the check to pay for it. I also chose the girls’ gift for him: two mini bottles of hot sauce because he likes things spicy. Nothing says love like habanero sauce. Next year I hope to set them free in a dollar store and see what they come up with on their own. I'm guessing it'll be something pink, with sparkles.

We celebrated by going to the zoo. This was actually our third choice. The A’s game was sold out (damn Giants fans) and the horses weren’t running. Jocelyn is at an age where she remembers most things that we tell her, and she was very excited to go see the horsies. A good substitute, in her book, will always be a giraffe.

I always knew that Khary would be a great dad. We have similar backgrounds—we were both raised by single mothers, and we talked often (before having children) about how we would raise them. But sometimes talk is just talk, and having children can change people. If it has changed Khary, it’s only for the better. Seeing him with the girls will always bring a smile to my face.

I'm a lucky girl to have those three.

Be careful of words, even the miraculous ones*

Words have not come easily for Aja. She communicates in shrieks and screams and gestures. We have a tendency to baby her at times because there’s a natural inclination to think that she doesn’t understand what is being said or asked of her. But she gets it. She knows what she can get away with and she’s milking it for all it’s worth.

I attended the first of a two-part language class for babies and toddlers that have language delays, thinking that this would help me help her. But much of what was discussed was about determining if there was comprehension happening, and we have that. We know when she wants more of something (scream A), when she wants a toy that Jocelyn has snatched from her hand (scream B), and when she is hungry/tired/pissed/uncooperative/has-a-stick-up-her-butt (high-pitched screech).

Then one day she answered YEAH to my question. And then NO. She said HI. And then she said MAMA. Clearly. Not the baby-mumble-rambling, but clear as day: MAMA. She continued to say it often, every day.

But I soon noticed something. There was a certain time of day when she said it more often than others—when Khary got home from work. He arrived home the other day and she bounced up out of her seat on the couch, running haphazardly around the corner and through the kitchen to get to him. She screamed at the top of her lungs, over and over: MAMA! MAMA!

She is referring to him.

I find that sometimes words are overrated.

*From the Anne Sexton poem, "Words."

Choosing favorites

It may be taboo to admit that you have a favorite, or you may insist that the love you have for your children is equal. I would argue that there are shades of truth in the land of favoritism, in the sense that one child can make you laugh in the midst of a tantrum, while the other can melt your heart with a gesture of a pinky. So if I can’t choose between my girls (which I really can’t do), then they should not be allowed to pick a favorite parent.

Right?

You might think this talk of favoritism is about The Fun Parent v. The Mean Parent, but it’s not. I can be both of those things. I can also be the Relaxed Parent, the Artistic Parent (if you count stick figures), the Dancing Parent, the Bad Singer Parent, and the Don’t Bother Me Before I’ve Even Smelled the Aroma of Java Parent.  

I won’t go so far as to say that Jocelyn has a favorite, but she’s my girl when it comes to waking up in the middle of the night, lounging around for the first fifteen minutes of the morning, and storytime before bed. There was a time when I was her second choice. But then it happened. Aja. And Aja makes it known that she has one true love: Daddy.

The moment that it became clear where Khary fit in the order of Aja’s heart, Jocelyn chose not to play the parent-tug-o-war and snuggled up to me on the couch. Now I know that Aja loves me. She smiles her toothy little underbite smile when she sees me in the morning, she climbs on my lap and throws her arms around me neck for a baby hug, and she grunts and babbles and claps when we toss a ball back and forth. But then Khary comes home, and she forgets I’m in the room. She’ll insist that only he feed her, rock her, and cuddle with her. Some nights that’s okay. If she’s going to fight me, he can have her. Take her. Make googly eyes at one another, I don’t care. I’ll relax and drink my wine or just curl up and go to sleep.  

I stopped taking it personally months ago. I just find it humorous that Aja chooses to periodically remind me that I’m second best (or third, if you count her adoration of Jocelyn). The other night she screeched and screamed and fought my efforts to feed her. I stopped, put her down on the floor, and she screeched and screamed some more. So I tried the bottle again, to no avail. Enter Daddy. He picked her up, put her to his chest, and she looked over at me and smiled.

It’s amazing how much her little face speaks to me, even when no words come out of her mouth. Just the other day she got her 15 month shots. Through spilling tears her eyes clearly said, “You bitch. You just let that man stab me in the leg. THREE TIMES!”

I’m sure that she told Khary all about it during their cuddle session that evening.

 

Do you believe in favorites?

"Do NOT go into the light. Stop where you are. Turn away from it. Don't even look at it."

My favorite movie when I was a kid was Poltergeist. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I resembled Carol Anne, the little girl that was pulled into the depths of hell (I suppose it was hell), or that I thought the idea of the supernatural would be fun—the 1^st half of the movie showed the fun. Not the second half. Not the skeletons in the mud pit or the pulsing closet. I wasn’t scared by any of it, and I only averted my eyes when the man pulled the skin off his face and the maggots scrambled out of the piece of raw meat (that part was just gross).

And yet I do not like scary movies.

Khary and I made a bet years ago (the details of which I forget). The winner got to choose a movie. I lost. And then we made another bet. And another. Somehow an agreement was formed—one that stipulated that I would watch three scary movies a year with Khary.

I have not held up my end of the bargain.

I watched the movie Open Water, which Khary claimed was NOT a scary movie. But it secured the notion in my mind that I will never go scuba diving (not to mention I had a psychic tell me to never to go scuba diving. Although it may have had more to do with going with the pseudo-boyfriend I had at the time). I want to be able to see my feet in the water and know that nothing is going to mistake my toes for lunch.

Khary likes to watch cheesy movies on the Sci-Fi channel like DinoCroc or MutuantFish. He’ll turn them on saying, “I just want to see the Beastie.” The Beastie is always some badly animated beast that jerks and tweaks with old technology, but causes the hero and heroine scream in horror. And Khary laughs. I’ve gotten sucked in enough to wait for the Beastie, before going back to my crossword puzzle or nap. It’s never worth watching to the end.

The Beastie’s apparently don’t count towards our bet.

Halloween is this weekend, which means that there’s nothing Khary would like more than to watch a scary movie. If I had to (which I don’t), I’d give him the first Halloween. It’s got a creep factor to it, but then crosses the line to ridiculous when Jamie Lee Curtis insists on never turning on a light. But the new Exorcist or Paranormal Activity 2?

No. Thank. You.

I do think it would be funny if on Halloween there were a channel that went off-air. It would be like the Halloween Yule Log.

Photo courtesy of fullhalloween.com

They’re here.