From the Mountaintop Archives

Bathing Cousins

B.C. When I was four or five, I took a bath with my cousin Jolly in the upstairs pink bathroom at our old house in Watertown CT.  We lived in school housing at Taft school, a private boarding school where my parents taught.

It was the 1970's and one of my mom's friends--a women's libber, in my mom's words--made sure to teach all the girls in the playgroup all about our bodies. Jolly, born in '73 like me, pointed down and said, "Your missing something."

 

"No, " I replied. "Boys have penises. Girls have vaginas. And we all have fannies."

As I write this, my parents are in the kitchen debating whether I mentioned my clitoris or not.

 

Mom says I did. Dad doesn't think so.  It seems a bit grown up for a four or five year old but you never know. I like to think I've always been a little precocious.

Enjoying Christmas Vacation on the Cape

I'm not sure which part I'm enjoying the most:  Bringing Elias outside for walks without worrying his little limbs will freeze; being the last person out of bed each morning; visiting with family and old friends; being taken such good care of by my parents; or watching Elias fall in love with his cousin Tess.

He calls her Tessarooo like my Mom does and wakes up in the morning wanting to "Paaaayyyyyy".

This morning he sat up in bed and said-- "Stuck the landing!!!!" --a phrase he stole from Uncle Andrew and Aunt Elise, referring to Tess's hop from the steep slide at the park. Elias didn't just take the term but made it his own catch-phrase, cruising around the playground repeating it again and again.

And though he can't stand, he's fearless when it comes to climbing up and sliding down.

 

I know I go up and down when it comes to my hopes and fears about Elias's future.

But Elias is not afraid. He is just a little boy excited to play.

Worst Present Ever

B.C. (Back in May, I said I would sometimes share posts from my life prior to Elias—Before Child—and probably because I am in my parents house on Cape Cod, where I spent all my summers growing up, I am reminded of my life before I became a parent.)

******

An old boyfriend says to me: “I got you a present.” His hands tucked behind his back, he tells me to close my eyes.

“Open!”

With arms outstretched and palms upward he offers me a small lightweight fishing rod.

Fishing is not a regular pastime of mine but he had just told me weeks earlier, as he packed his gear, that he wanted a smaller rod to add to his collection.

******

Anne-Marie is having a contest: The Worst Christmas Present Ever!!!

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When I was seven or eight, I wanted a pet hamster and asked Santa for one for Christmas.

When I crept downstairs on Christmas morning to look under the tree, I saw a cardboard box with holes in it to allow whatever was inside to breathe.

I tried to look in one of the holes but it was too dark, so I listened. I swore I heard a rustle.

“I can hear it moving!” I told Andrew. “I got a hamster!!!!!”

We had to wait for our parents to open gifts and we weren’t allowed to wake our parents till seven. Then Dad had to make coffee and shave before we could even open stockings, which we unwrapped one at a time from youngest to oldest all sitting on our parents bed.

(We did this until we outgrew the bed in high school despite my protests that we always opened our stockings on the bed and it wouldn’t be the same to do it in the living room. I tend to cling to some traditions as I fling away others.)

Next we ate an egg and sausage casserole for breakfast—the same recipe we used this year-- before we again took turns opening the presents under the tree from youngest to oldest.

I couldn’t wait to open up my big gift and finally hold my hamster. When the moment arrived, I peeled away the scotch tape and carefully opened the box.

I’m sure my face fell.

Inside the box sat a lifeless stuffed hamster in a metal cage. It even came with directions on how to feed and care for my new pet.

******

I’m not sure which was more disappointing, the fishing rod or the stuffed hamster. But at least my parents aimed to please their little girl’s desires. They just knew that not only would our Siamese hunting cat torture a poor helpless hamster but it would be their responsibility to care for it as much as I insisted I would do it all.

As for the fishing rod, there was nothing about that gift that was for me.

Luckily, that’s one fisherman that got away, and the one I caught gave me, among other things, two homemade gift certificates for Christmas; one is for a dance class of my choice and the other is for a weekend backpacking trip with a friend. And it doesn't even have to be him.

What is your worst present ever?

Images from Christmas Day

I'm being called to the kitchen for lobster dinner now. Mmmmmmm.....

Merry Christmas

Cousins

Within an hour of our arrival last night my Mom's nicely decorated house had been reassembled. With a pair of curious two year olds wanting to touch everything we quickly found new places for bells, cranberries, candles, shells, great Grandma's saucers, M & M's, and clay coasters.

My Mom had baskets of blocks and plastic horses but little hands reached for intricate wooden ornaments and stereo buttons. Drawn to the breakable with one exception: the stuffed singing snowman played so often that his rendition of Jingle Bells grew lathargic and garbled as we sat around the fire telling Nana and Papa about our trip.

Elias slept for two hours of the five hour flight, his head on my lap and legs on Nick's. When he woke he bolted upright and said "Airpane!" Followed by, "Tess up there!" Cousin Tess sat two rows ahead of us and did not sleep the whole trip; but she made friends with the little boys ahead of her, drew pictures, played with playdough, and walked up and down the aisle.

It is hard at times not to compare Elias to his ten months younger cousin and to imagine what it would be like if he could run by her side.  As we left the plane for Logan airport, Tess kicked her legs and swung her arms and danced in circles, estatic to be able to move freely at last.

I still want that freedom for Elias.

And if it happens I will do my own version of the Tess dance.

************

Dear Santa,

I know it's late in the season for letters and that you and your elves are busy delivering presents across the globe but I write to you on this Christmas Eve day with one wish.

Please help my little boy learn to walk.

I don't care if he needs assistance or if it takes him years of practice and he never gets it quite right.

There is nothing material that I need, this Christmas or for any more, just my baby's steps.

Or the strength to accept that whatever will be...

...will be.

All my love,

Christy

The luck of the draw

Thank heavens for friendly airplane passengers!

The woman with the window seat, a teacher in bush Alaska, welcomed Elias on her lap so he could look out the window at all the lights. She let him touch her face and stand on her legs so he could peer at all the other passengers heads in front of us. She held my drink and I held hers when Elias squirmed from one person to the other. She played high five and low five. And quite frankly, I don't want to imagine what the flight would have been like without her kind presence but with someone who did not want to be touched by the exploring hands of a child.

Thank you Nicole. May your vacation be filled with intoxicating adventures--(her bush community has no restaurants, bars, theaters, or shopping malls)-- and may you have a safe return flight to your village home in Alaska.

We are in Seattle with my brother Andrew and we get to spend the evening with more Seattle cousins. Then we fly East on Saturday.

I'll write again on Christmas Eve.

If you have to travel, I hope you are all surrounded by friendly passengers.

"Airpane ride to Nana"

And Papa, and Uncle Andrew, Aunt Elise, and Cousin Tess.

Elias doesn't know that this exciting event means he will be stuck in a seat for hours unable to explore every corner of the airplane as he complains, "Down...down...DOWN!"

Oh boy, here we go...

Good bye little blue house in Spenard.

One of the many benefits of living in Alaska is that when it snows almost a foot on the day of departure the expectation is that your plane will still leave as planned.

Let's hope this still holds true.

Holiday Confusion

"All done dinner," Elias says after spitting out his first bite of scallops.

He sneaks his ribs between his tummy and the tray and drops his carefully cut pieces on the rug. "Uh, Oh, dinner fall down."

Elias seems to be celebrating Independence Day instead of the Season of Giving.

"Walker tired...crawl!" He buckles at his knees and refuses to practice walking. His Funky Cool Braces are being sent back for a pair that flexes more in the toes and we are still waiting for a walker that is sized to fit him.

In a bout of independence of our own we decided not to bring the loaner walker with us on our trip even though Mary, his physical therapist, recommended we do. The decision is partly logistical. Nick and I return to Anchorage separately and I'm not sure how I would carry Elias and his walker that he'll claim is too tired to travel the airport concourses.

And Elias is not really ready to walk.

(Yes, that was hard to type.)

His hips and knees turn inwards causing him to trip over his feet. His shoulders are not aligned over his pelvis. He makes my sway back look like a plain. He can't seem to find his center of gravity. And it is beyond---well, all kids look funny when they first start walking.

Most kids learn how to stand independently before they take their first steps. This is what Elias needs to practice, standing on his own without holding on to chairs, counters, walls, legs, or the handles of a walker. So we will practice.

Every once in a while, he stands from his core, and makes it look easy, for a second, before he falls.

"Fall down...boom."  --sorta like how my portrait pics keep falling on their sides:

After a couple mouthfuls of saltwater during swim therapy on Monday, Elias figured out how to right his body in the pool with the help of a foam floating device. Unassisted, he traveled between Kristin and I, reciprocally  kicking  his little legs. The same little legs that so often seem beyond his control.

A surge of independence that provoked cheers.

A far cry from the exasperation evoked by spit scallops and rejected ribs. The frustration of responding to "get down" only to hear "stay in" the moment my arms reach out.  The hurt of refused kisses, hugs, and snuggles. The slap of a blond head that turns away as I draw near.

I know that these two independent poles are connected.

Its just that one end stabs as the other lifts.

And no one could have possibly prepared me for this.

Just another manic Tuesday

I forgot to eat joy for breakfast.

I ate anxiety instead, causing me to run from one project to the next since PT this morning: swim therapy, shopping, cleaning, cooking, decorating, planning, preparing, listing...

...at least I know I'm not alone.

The celebrating world is wound up, beginning to fray, but determined to hold tight for another few days.

help?: I CAN'T WAIT FOR HELP

Elias's first offering of a cheesy smile for a camera.

(With a hairdo that is in style)

Not his real smile.

One he learned from watching adults pose for pictures.

Sorry, it's still sideways.

I asked for help.

Something I'm not very good at.

I spent 21 days on a glacier expedition, from the Matanuska Valley to Valdez, roped to a traverse team all at least half a foot taller than me. 

Pulling half my weight in gear, I trudged through knee deep snow counting my steps till each rest stop.

I couldn't match their strides.

After seven days, the pure exhaustion of extending my natural stride forced me to ask my rope team to slow down.

I hated to ask.

But resignation didn't sew my words. Only the desire to persevere.

I need to sit a while at this next rest stop. Relish in the help of grandparents loving hands.

Harness the peace this holiday proclaims.

Replace cheesy grins with genuine goodness.

Eat joy.