new generation

I am my father.

I got a picture in the mail the other day. It's a blown-up black-n-white image of my dad and myself at the beach when I was very small. I'm not sure how old the Me in the picture is -- old enough to stand, with support -- but probably eight to ten months, or right around Dylan's age now.

This picture is a wonderful thing to have, but what's especially fantastical about it is how I saw myself in the photo when I slipped it out of its envelope. I knew what to expect. I knew who were in the picture and how it was composed. But first laying eyes on it I saw myself not in the little boy, but in the man holding the little boy steady on a sandy beach in front of a large driftwood log.

I've never looked like my father before, but I'm not the only one who was thrown by the image. When I layed it out on the pool table for Cheryl's folks to see, they looked at it and asked if it was from our recent vacation. I look so much (now) like my father did (then) that we're being mistaken for one another by people who have a damn good idea of what I look like.

Wow.

Dad

hoarse

Dylan,

You've been going through Nap Boot Camp this week.

When it's nap time, you go down, whether you're into it or not. Mom tells me you cried yourself to sleep at both nap times today, but at least you slept well after.

When I came home tonight the sound of your voice made me think you had a cold. Mom explained you were just hoarse from all the crying.

Dad

homecoming

Dylan came home late Saturday night. He flew well, thanks to a lot of work from Mom and a lot of time spent on The Boob. He was up waaay past his bedtime but that didn't keep him from waking up at his (new) normal waking hour of 4am PDT. Dylan ate, then played while I lay on the floor nearby until he said he was ready for a nap a couple hours later and we both went back to bed.

Later Sunday Dylan and I decided to make an impromptu trip to the aquarium. It was about D's nap time and the aquarium is almost an hour and a half away, so he was happy to sleep 99% of the trip. It was a pretty busy day at the aquarium. Probably a lot of families making an outing of their last summer weekend before school starts. I was glad we decided to buy the membership cards after our last visit because I got to avoid the line stretching out the front door and all the way up the block by going through the Members Entrance where there was no wait.

Last time we were there (with Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Todd, yay!) Dylan was thrilled with the marine life. This time he seemed as taken by the evidential evolutionary progress of the many bipedal hominids, their offspring in particular. And his appreciation of shore birds has gone way up since his beach-bumming days in Maine.

I carried Dylan around in the Bjorn for the better part of four hours, minus two diaper changes, three feeding attempts (two successful) and some fun time crawling around the special 'under 3 yrs old' section. I think I have a hernia.

Dad

flight 179

Dylan,

You're flying home tomorrow night. Mom tells me you've been extra-fussy pretty much all week. I'm worried about how rough the flight will be for you since it's an evening flight. You'll be woken by every seat belt *ding* and every comment from the cap'n, and that's only if you manage to get to sleep in the first place.

I'm sorry for Mom that I'm not there to help, but at the same time I'm kinda glad to not have to go through it.

Remember, D: Nice Matters.

Dad

latched

I finished installing latches on all the cabinets in the kitchen. They are very annoying.

Dad

kilter

In an e-mail from Mom:

"D seems a bit off-kilter since Mon...I think he misses you."

I miss you too, D.

Dad

freestanding

Dylan,

You're starting to demonstrate that you can stand on your own with nothing to support you but your own two feet. You will occasionally do this of your own volition in a distracted sorta way when you're focusing hard on some thing, such as a slice of nectarine making its way toward your mouth. More often, you do it as part of the 1-2-3 Game, where Mom will stand you up and start counting out loud after she's let go of you.

Sometimes you fall and she catches you, and you enjoy doing that over and over, falling as if on purpose -- making no real effort to stand. More often though, what brings you down isn't an inability to balance but the realization that you are unsupported. When you recognize this state of things you usually lower yourself down onto your seat. I think it's fair to say that you can stand just as long as you want to -- you just don't wanna.

On the beach Saturday you stood by yourself till the count of 17. Obviously you had something else on your mind.

Maybe we'll have to re-think the name of that game.

Dad

moving furniture

Dylan,

You've developed a real knack for re-arranging furniture.

You've made a hobby of grabbing the wooden barstools on the tiled back porch of the vacation house and pushing them forward and back like you're rowing a boat.

It's noisy and gives you an obvious sense of self-satisfaction.



Dad

playpit

Dylan,

We just got back from a great day at the beach. I dug a hole in the sand and you played in it for almost two hours!

The hole was about 18" deep with a 2' circumference. It was very cylindrical thanks to the high water table and constant bottom-up erosion. I used the sand I'd dug out to build a wall most of the way around the pit, leaving about an 8" shelf for you to hold on to and leave your toys. Mommy took a nap on the beach and you just played and played. You must have eaten tablespoons of sand in the process.

I'm flying home tomorrow and I'm already looking forward to my Anchors getting in a week later.

Dad

applause

Dylan,

You've learned how to clap your hands together.

Dad

ahem

Dylan showed us a new trick this morning. If you clear your throat (or make comparable sounds) he responds with his version of the same.

This was very cute at first, and D even started initiating the reciprocal.

It became less cute when he practiced it so much that he threw up on the floor.

Dad

d be nimble

Dylan,

You can stand up and, steadying yourself with one hand, reach down and pick up a tennis ball with the other.

Two weeks ago you were still at risk of falling back and whacking your head on the floor anytime you were standing up.

Dad

adapting

Dylan,

You cried yourself to sleep this afternoon.

The day's schedule and your very short mid-day nap colluded to leave you over-tired. Mom took you home to feed you and give you another nap but you just didn't want to be put down. Eventually, she did the right thing and left you in your crib to find your own way. After 20 or 30 more minutes of spirited crying, you slept.

It would be nice if we had the time and ability to map all our days around your natural sleep/eat/wake rythms. Since we don't, you're learning to adapt.

Dad

handy

Dylan,

You routinely pick up a tennis ball with your left hand, then transfer it to your right hand to play with it.

Dad

pounding blueberries

Maine is famous for its wild blueberries. I know, I know, the lobstas and clam chowda are pretty well known, too.

We've been eating blueberries at a pretty good clip while we've been here. Dylan especially loves them. He's tried a lot of new foods here including watermelon, pluots, cantaloupe, lentils, cannelli beans, yogurt, oyster crackers and more, but the blueberries have the distinction of an established daily maximum.

Blueberries are, of course, a choking hazard. So we cut them into quarters before giving them to The Boy. Sometimes he'll pick them up himself, cheerios-style, and sometimes we'll feed them to him one at a time. Either way, he'll just keep pounding them down until he gets the "all gone" sign.







Dad

boston

Cheryl went to Boston to hang out with old friend Colleen. Dylan and I played and napped together all day long.



Dad

I see myself

Dylan,

People always tell me that you look just like me or that you obviously take after my side of the family. It's not too difficult to look at the blonde hair and blue eyes and see that you don't exactly look like Mommy, and traits like your skin tone are easily attributed to my mother's influence. When you were first born you reminded me of my own father, and I've since seen hints of (my) Uncle Joe, (your) Uncle Todd, and others here and there, but not myself.

Putting you to sleep the other night was the first time I'd ever really seen what's so plain to everyone else.

I was holding a peaceful, sleeping, little version of me. I was a little surprised, not by the fact but by the suddenness. By the clarity of it.

It reinforced the idea that it's my job to raise you to be a better me than I am. To lean on my strengths, sure, but also to lean on my weaknesses. And my mistakes. To use them all to guide you and to teach you and to provide for you. To get you (at least) one step closer to all that a man might be, given every tool and every opportunity.

Dad

sucking towel

Dylan,

In the bath tub you always want to suck on the wash rag. Rather than fight you for the soapy rag I'm washing you with I routinely give you a separate "sucking towel" while you're bathing. Sometimes I even soak it with cold water first.

You attack it as if you're parched and it's your only water source of the day, practically drinking from the towel.

It's pragmatic because you're much more amenable to having your face washed when you're not trying to mouth the soapy rag all the time.

Dad

tiny dancer

Dylan is a big music fan. Ever since Cheryl enrolled in a mommy/baby music class he's been all about the rythm.

Almost any time he hears music or singing he does a little shoulder roll manouver and sways side to side. It's a little dance that he does to let you know he's diggin' the groove.

Now we sing to him constantly.

Dad

itsy bitsy spider

Dylan,

Your favorite song is The Itsy Bitsy Spider and whatever song is in second place is so far behind as to have faded into irrelevance. You've loved Itsy Bitsy from the very first time Mom sang it to you.

You love it so much that we can use it as a tool to stop your crying. In the carseat on the tail end of a long drive or while your diaper is being changed, if we break out Itsy Bitsy we're always rewarded with a cheerful smile, sometimes even when we leave out the hand motions.

You love it when the rain comes down and tickles the length of you from head to toe, and when the Sun comes out you love to watch it move back and forth across the sky.

This morning you were even putting the fingertips of both hands together during the climbing phases. Very impressive.

This isn't the only song you've heard/seen that has hand motions along with it, but for reasons you'll probably never be able to explain, it is absolutely your favorite.

Dad

toss up

Dylan,

I have memories of my Dad, with his bear paw hands, tossing my youngest brother in the air or holding him in some unconvential one-handed grip. And I remember that while some fretted, I thought it looked like fun for both of 'em.

I was right.

My hands are as long (if not quite as massive) as Grampa Russ' and if you haven't eaten too recently I sometimes grab you by the rib cage and toss you in the air above my head a few times. It's probably the best way to see all your teeth, the way it makes you smile.



Dad

big little boy

Dylan,

Last night after Mommy put you to bed she told me to peek into the Pack 'N Play and see just how big you look when you're fully laid out. I could tell you had been dead asleep when she put you down because every limb was limp and fully extended. It was the first time I ever sensed that you would be growing out of the Pack 'N Play. Your extended toes were all the way to one end and your head extended past three quarters of the length of the thing.

You looked tranluscent in light-blue pj's and what little little light leaked into the room. And you looked huge.



Dad

I am the greatest father who ever lived

Not really.

But I did get a compliment today from someone I deeply respect and it made me feel like I'm on the right track.

Dad

good-bye

D has turned the charm up a notch. A big notch.

He's learned how to wave hello/good-bye to people. He'll do it readily when people wave at him and he loves the interaction.

Of course, everybody gets a thrill out of a super-cute little boy squealing and waving at them.

Dad

signs

Dylan has adapted a new sign for "ceiling fan". He flaps his wrist like he's waving, but he adds a little rotation to it to mimic the movement of the blades. He's been doing it every time we enter a room with a ceiling fan, whether it's on or off.

He really got a thrill when he realized that he could communicate this to other people and elicit a consistent response. He'll sign "fan" and it makes everybody smile and say "fan, fan" and do Cheryl's original sign for fan which is an upwards pointed finger going in a circle.

He's suddenly trying to communicate a lot more with his hands.

Dad

beach boys

Dylan, Grandpa Joe and I went to the beach together yesterday. All the ladies (Mom, Nana, Aunt Sue, and Auntie Em) were out shopping.

We played in the sand.
We splashed in the warm tidal pools.
We chased sea gulls.
Dylan ate sand. GJ and I ate ice cream.

Dad

"dada"

My first morning in Ogunquit (after a night that wasn't as long I might have hoped) Cheryl set the boy on me, "alarm-clock style". He crawled to where I was sleeping, and I knew he was there, but I was tired and I wanted to sleep some more. He whacked me across the cheek and said "dada". I woke right up.

He said nothing else, before or after. I don't know if it qualifies as a word, in the vocabulary sense, but it's officially the first time he's called me by name, and after being away from my boy for a week it was nice to see he still knew who I was.

Dad

daddy pillow

Dylan fell asleep on my shoulder while we were at a family reunion at Foster's Clambake (and lobster, too!). It was very loud with cafeteria-style seating, high ceilings and even live music. He slept 35 minutes. I had just flown all night from SFO but suddenly my food no longer mattered.



It had been a looooong time (in the Dylanized sense of the term) since he had fallen asleep on my shoulder. Months.

Dad

anticipation

D-

I can't wait to see you tomorrow.

Dad

D is a fish

From Mom:

"its hot hot hot...and very sticky...we spent most of the day in and out of the water...D is a fish. water is coooold."




Dad

natural

Dylan,

Know this:

I will always see excellence in you. And beauty. And talent. I will always assume that you will be a natural at whatever you do.

This is not to say that I'll be disappointed in you when you fail (you will, I might) or that I'm trying to hold you to a high standard.

It is to say that I will always believe in you, by default. Always see the most and believe the best. Always.

I will smile when I see you excel, and think "of course".

dad

remember?

Dylan,

I wonder what you will remember. Or if, really. I can't say that I have any memories lingering from when I was 9 months old (or so), but then I couldn't tell you which or when my oldest memories are anyways. I had no sense of time or age at that time and at that age.

So I wonder if you'll remember anything from this fabulous vacation you're on. Will you remember the heat (97F w/92% humidity)? Or the feel of the sand... in your mouth? Will you hold an image in your mind of the tide pools you sat and played in like cool little bathtubs? Or perhaps a gull you stared at, up close, conceptualizing "bird" for the first time?

Maybe years from now you'll have looked at the photographs of you in your special sun-suit with the matching hat sooo many times that the lines will blur -- you'll create memories to match these images. Memories where you'll see yourself from the outside, like those I have of my grandfather and me.

I think if anything you will remember an image of Mom and a sense of happiness.
A feeling of being loved by everyone around you as they joy in a holiday in Maine for cause you won't likely appreciate for many many years: Gathering with distant family, basking in each other's company in the beauty and freedom of summer days away from the routines, the responsibilities, and the compromises of everyday life back home.

Dad

d-proofing

We've been a little behind the curve on baby-proofing the house. We've been pre-emptive on a couple things like lowering the crib mattress at the first sign of escape potential but I've yet to install latches on the kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and our method of blocking The Boy from the entertainment center's acronymous inhabitants gets weaker by the day now that he's able to muscle the footstools out of the way. For this last I've schemed a solution of heavy-duty plexiglass and brass hinges, but schemes alone don't keep a boy safe.

We were fortunately gifted with a couple bags of baby-proofing supplies from a friend with an apparently considerable surplus, and I've supplemented the stockpile further already. I can see why some of the items went unused, and they may remain that way until I pass them on to the next person -- after all, we're not padding this place up like an asylum. At least not yet.

By the time d gets back from his vacation I'm going to have this place all readied. I'm gonna have to.

Dad

oceans away

Dylan,

Congratulations, Dylan. Only eight months and three weeks old and you've set foot in the waters off both the East and Left coasts. You're one wet foot ahead of your daddy, but not for long!

Mom says you enjoyed playing in the surf, chasing the receding waves. She even dragged you around waist deep in the frothy Atlanticness for as long as she could handle and you weren't complaining.

Back on the beach you made repeated attempts to eat the sand, apparently unperturbed by its incredible likeness to... well, sand.

Mom has designs on a really large beach blanket.

Remember Son, that there are still two (or three, or seven, or eight -- depending on who's talking) more oceans out there, and if you should ever get it into your mind that you want to stick a foot in those waters too, there's only one thing in the world that can stop you.

Dad

pictures, then and more then

Feb 23, 2006:

Nov. 7, 2005: