avablog

If I could just sit inside today and look out the window I might be able to delude myself into thinking that it was a gorgeous day.  And it is sunny.  But the thermometer is reading 1°F outside right now.

Yesterday two of the four cars we have here this weekend started, one because it had its block heater plugged in all night.  Today I’m going to wait until it gets a little bit warmer (3°, maybe?) and see if the old Volvo will start without a jump.

Stay warm, wherever you are.

Last night I was driving down to my favorite Thai place in town to pick up some dinner.  The restaurant is pretty much a straight shot from our house towards downtown.  I’ve probably driven that stretch hundreds of times, and it’s stayed mostly the same over the years.  Until recently.

There’s a new, 12-story building going up near the restaurant that makes big changes to the I.C. skyline.  It was turning dark as I went past the tower last night, and I noticed for the first time the aircraft warning lights on the building’s roof.  It made me think about all the helicopter traffic there is between Iowa City and cities to the east that ferry critically ill patients to and from the tertiary care facility at the university’s hospital here.  Some of those flights come right over the new building and then must drop down to land on the helipad at the hospital.

I wondered how, or whether, this new obstacle changed the way these pilots approached the hospital.  Which in turn prompted me to think about the magnetic heading the pilots must have to memorize as they fly between all the hospitals in the Midwest.  Those are numbers I (almost) never think about, but that they absolutely need to do their jobs.

I have plenty of my own numbers to memorize.  Birthdays.  Phone numbers.  Passwords.  IP addresses.  Mailing addresses.  Most people have to carry around those numbers.  But I have close friends and family who have to memorize completely different sets of numbers to function in their daily lives.  Having all these numbers disappear would be like losing the electricity in your house; you’d still be sitting there in front of your TV, but everything would be dark.

I was trying to count with Ava the other day by holding my hand in front of her face and pointing at my fingers, slowly counting out each one up to five.  It was interesting to watch the look on her face.  It was like she knew something was going on, but she had no way to process it.  The concept that that there’s a way to attach significance to an item in any way other than giving it a name (ball, fish, dog, grandma) just doesn’t appear to register yet.

It’s the same story with colors.  Ava has a red ball.  And a yellow bus.  She has a box of big crayons that come in black, orange, pink, and blue.  But as of now, black, yellow, and pink crayons sitting together on her table are only “crayons.”  There’s no number for them in her world (“three crayons”).  No names for their colors (“pink crayon; black crayon”).  At least not in any way that she can yet convey to us.  It’s wonderful to try to think about what her mind must be like right now.  It’s such an empty vessel in so many ways, waiting, ready to be filled with all these words and numbers.  So far, her words have come like intermittent raindrops from the leading edge of a good spring shower.  I wonder if sometime soon they’ll begin to flood from her.  I hope so.

I awoke at six this morning to a tremendous flash of white light that radiated straight through the two sets of shades on the bedroom windows and made the bed look like it was sitting on the end of the runway during the finale of John Galliano’s Fashion Week show.

Well, anyway, it was bright.  I didn’t hear the thunder at first, but after a couple minutes it began to rumble out of the west and roll over the house like a bag of coconuts being dragged across an oak floor in a burlap sack.

Ava didn’t wake up at the first couple bursts, but she cuddled up against Leah and began to whine a bit as the storm drew nearer.

By the time we all got out of bed and moving around, there was half an inch of ice pellets on the ground.  I stood in the front room and listened to the angry little bits crash against our windows for a bit before Ava came in to find me.  She wanted me to lift her up so she could see what was going on.  As I held her there, our neighbor walked by with her dog, which pleased our little girl greatly.

The drive in to work wasn’t so bad.  I understand we’re supposed to start getting heavy snow this afternoon, so I assume things will get progressively worse as evening falls.  And here I was, thinking I wouldn’t get to use my snow shovel at all this winter.

It’s been 17 months since Ava showed up, and I haven’t yet figured out how she’s manipulating time the way she does.

It’s a difficult thing to try to balance having a job that will provide for your family with having enough time left outside of said job to spend any time with said family.  It seems like I walk through the door at the office on Monday morning and walk out on Friday afternoon and no time has passed.

So I started crunching some numbers.  Ava usually wakes up on “school days” around 6, on average.  We have to get out the door by 7:45 to get her to daycare and us to work.  That’s 105 minutes.  We pick her up from daycare at 5, take her home for dinner and a bath, and put her to bed at 7:30.  That’s 150 minutes.  We try very hard to maximize our time with Ava on the weekends, but she usually gets up and goes to sleep at the same times (and has a one-hour nap each day).  So, let’s say we see her for 25 hours on the weekend.  That’s a whopping 1,500 minutes.

In a week, we see Ava for 1,755 minutes, or 29 hours and 15 minutes.  A full week has 168 hours in it, minus the 49 hours we spend sleeping (if we’re lucky), so 119 hours.  It all boils down to the fact that we spend just under one quarter of our waking hours with our daughter.  It’s a wonder she remembers us at all at the end of the week.

*sigh*

This morning my mom stopped by the house for a couple minutes as we were getting ready to go out the door. Ava and Leah made Valentines the other day to hand out to the kids at daycare, and there was a special one for my mom. I was standing in the kitchen as I watched Ava hand her grandma the gift (with some coaxing from Leah).

It was an amazing moment. You know those scenes in the movies where something happens to a character, and whatever it is that’s happened triggers a big flashback? Well, this was like one of those scenes. When I saw how happy Ava was when she looked at her grandmother’s smile, it made me think of the day Leah and I told my mom that we were going to have a baby.

That’s a weird moment. Of course, prospective grandparents tend to be pretty excited when they get the news. Still, amidst all the excitement and happiness and heady emotion, there’s a real undercurrent of trepidation. Will our baby be OK? Will she be smart and strong and caring and funny? Will she be gentle with dogs? Will she love to read? Will she eat vegetables? Will she cry all night? Will she need glasses? Will we be able to take care of her? Is the delivery going to hurt?

I don’t find myself asking so many of those questions anymore, partly because Ava is OK. She’s smart and strong and caring and funny. She loves dogs and pets them very gently when we ask her to use “soft touches.” The first thing she asks for in the morning is, “book, book?” Her fondness for broccoli is inspiring. She never did cry all night, but she came close a couple times. Her vision seems to be quite good; she often sees tiny little things long before either Leah or I do. So far, we’ve been able to take good care of her. We won’t talk about the delivery….

But most of all, I don’t find myself asking these questions anymore because the answers just don’t matter. Time spent with Ava becomes nothing but a series of precious, glorious nows. No future to fret over. No past to lament. When I hold her in my arms and see her smile and hear that incredible laugh, it’s just the two of us there in that moment and nothing else. When we first told our family and friends about Ava’s impending arrival, there was no way we could have ever anticipated she’d bring so much love with her into the world.

So here’s to pleasant surprises. And love, in all its forms. Most of all, here’s to Ava, without whom none of this would be possible.

Lazy mornings are for lovers. At least, I’ve certainly always thought so. When Mark and I first met, I enjoyed nothing more than cuddling under the down comforter with him ’til late in the morning, when we’d amble over for some grease and coffee at the ‘Burg. However, since Ava’s arrival, our lazy mornings have changed. They’ve become very busy–and very early. But I still believe that mornings are for lovers–and now I have two of them.

Every morning, Ava is in our bed with us, whether she’s joined us in the middle of the night or at dawn. While she’s in our bed, she’s been known to toss and turn, sprawl between us, kick us in our faces, and pull on my hair while demanding to “nurse, mama.” Not quite as fun as snuggling under the covers with a sweetie, you think? Well, think again. Those early-morning moments with my daughter and husband are the most precious and beautiful hours of my day. There is nowhere I would rather be than in that crowded bed, inhabiting my few square inches of sheet, between piles of baby dolls and books. I look at my sleepy husband and my darling daughter–with her tousled head of blonde curls and her little pajama feet–and the sheer joy nearly takes my breath away. I wonder: How in the hell did I get so lucky? How did I end up with this life?

This morning, I left for the gym, and Mark was in bed with Ava, trying to get her back to sleep after a 5:00 a.m. wake-up. She was fussing and flailing. When I returned and sneaked into our bedroom, there they were in the half-light–my two beautiful, precious lovers–sleeping against each other in bed. Ava, clad in her pink pajamas with the giraffes, had pushed Mark to the very edge of the bed and was sprawled out on her back, her head resting on Mark’s bare chest. Her delicate eyelashes fluttered, and her soft breath filled the room. Mark’s beautiful blue eyes were closed, and they both looked so lovely that I could do nothing but watch them and think, “Yes. Yes. This is everything I need, forever.” Oh, my funny Valentines. You are my best and only gifts.

Tonight the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show begins in New York.

I love this show.  I love it because I really enjoy dogs a lot, and it fascinates me to see the way these animals seem to revel in all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the judging.  I hate to anthropomorphize these great dogs, but it really does appear that some of them thrive on the audience reactions they get as they prance, waddle, or lumber around the show ring.

I might as well get this out in the open:  I’m a fan of the hound group.  In particular, I like the 15″ Beagle.  Although I’d be pretty happy to see any hound win.  Or any dog from the working or sporting groups.  I appreciate the way the dogs in these groups have so much personality and are so intent on displaying that personality to anyone who glances their way.  What’s more, their obvious athleticism and rugged good looks make it that much easier to cheer them on.  I was really thrilled in 2004 when Josh, a gorgeous Newfoundland, took top honors.  I’ve seen dogs that were more excited about winning Best In Show, but somehow Josh’s relatively downtempo reaction befit his cool demeanor.

Last year’s winner was a beauty, too.  It was obvious upon first viewing Carlee that she was there to win the show, and she just blew her competition off the floor.

I hope these breeds can keep the streak alive this year.  There’s a rumor that Coco might try to come out of retirement and make a go at BIS this year, as the BIS judge is a big fan of the bitch.  I can envision worse BIS winners….

I got Leah subscriptions to People Magazine and US Weekly a while back so she could keep track of all her favorite celebs. I was looking at the cover of one of these rags the other day and noticed a story about Denise Richards and Charlie Sheen’s troubled marriage. The cover of the magazine showed Denise holding her infant child with a large-font headline about how Denise had to get an AIDS test because Charlie’s latest infidelity involved a hooker.

Sheesh. There are so many things wrong with this situation. Clearly Charlie is a sex addict. I mean, he’s cheating on Denise Richards with a hooker?! Is he daft? And even if you can manage to get over that mental hurdle, there’s still the fact that she’s his wife (on and off) and the mother of their child. When he picks up his phone to call the prostitute, I wonder, does his little girl ever cross his mind? And when his daughter is in junior high, she’s going to love reading all about her father’s churlish behavior (yeah, I used “churlish.” So?!). Maybe the fact that she’ll be lighting her crack pipe with hundred dollar bills will help ease the pain.

Ava loves to stand up on the couch in our living room and look out the window.  She watches the cars drive by and people walking dogs.  It’s big fun.

The problem, until recently, was that Ava couldn’t get up on the couch by herself.  When she wanted to look out the window, she’d stand on the floor next to the couch and slap the cushions as she yelled, “Up!  Up!”  Leah or I would give her a lift, and she’d commence gawking.

I was sitting in the living room yesterday when Ava walked in and made like she was going to start smacking the couch cushions again.  I was just about to get up and help her when she began scaling the ottoman, wedging herself between it and the couch as she pulled herself up and then walked over to look out the window.  It was pretty neat.  Even better, she then turned around and got off the couch all by herself.

For those of you fortunate enough to have a login for Ava’s section of our gallery, I put up a movie of the event.  Yes, that weird, high-pitched voice in the video is mine.

…is our “Learning at Lunch” series.  Today I attended a live piano recital featuring works by Chopin, Copland, Bach, and Rachmaninov.  Free.  In one of our upstairs event rooms.  Man, was it good.

Leah tells me I’m impatient. And she doesn’t mean it as a compliment.

I guess I know she’s probably right.  I actually think I’m pretty easygoing most of the time.  My crime, it seems, is that I’m a forecaster.  When I’m having a conversation with someone I know well, I can see where we both want to go, so I want to jump straight to that point without a lot of jibber jabber and polite talk.  Why wait?  It isn’t the definition of impatience, but it’s not such a good character trait; I come across as brusque or indifferent or short.

The only good thing about having a character flaw like this is that you know how it works and what it looks like, which means you have a better chance of nipping it in the bud if it starts to show up in your kid.  Ava seems pretty even tempered so far, though she does have her moments.  We’ve been chalking up her tantrums to a strong artistic / intellectual streak thus far (of course), but I suppose we’ll have that illusion shattered once she starts talking.

Oh, in case I forget to post this later, Ava did a funny thing this morning.  At some point during the night, Leah brought her into bed with us to nurse.  I was awakened this morning by a difficulty in breathing, like two little besocked feet were pressing against my windpipe and cutting off my air.  I reached up to my throat and felt Ava’s tiny feet right under my chin.  Her legs were crossed just above her ankles, and she had my Adam’s apple locked in a scissor hold.  I told Leah later that it was like waking up in the middle of a low-budget karate movie.  Maybe that little girl is trying to tell me something.

I heard from one of this blog’s silent readers last night that I’m too light on Ava content and too heavy on irrelevant, uninteresting content.  Other than Leah’s constant harping about tech-related posts, I think it’s the first feedback I’ve had on the site’s content.  I sure do appreciate it!

In response, I guess I’d say that this blog is as much for Ava as it is for people to keep up to date on Ava’s comings and goings.  I think our daughter might find it fascinating someday to look back on this and marvel at our concerns, interests, opinions, and — most of all — love for her.

And as I write this, it occurs to me that I really should open up this blog to all the members of Ava’s family who are interested in leaving her little notes.  I mean, if you’re not happy with what’s on this blog, why not write something you are happy with?  I’m sure Ava will appreciate it.

So what I’ve done is given “author” privileges to each registered Avablog user who’s related to Ava by blood or marriage.  Now, when those people log in, they’ll be able to make a post to the blog.  So that those posts aren’t available to the whole world, simply change the Post Level pulldown to the numeral 1 (the pulldown is located just below the lefthand corner of the post writing window).  If you do want the entire Internet to bear witness to your thoughts, leave the pulldown at “Public.”  (It’s not that scary, really!)

Ever find yourself in an idle moment, wondering what Ava’s doing right then?  Well, hop online and let her know you were thinking about her!  She’ll love you for it.

Well, there are two latest games, actually.

The other day I was teaching her how to snore. I’d tell her I was going to sleep, and then I’d rest my head on the floor and start making a snoring noise. After one or two good rips, Ava would yell “DA!” My eyes pop open in surprise that she awoke me. Then she laughs and smiles. Score. The game then resets when Ava leans her head on her shoulder and starts closing her eyes, which is my cue to start snoring again.

The other game isn’t a game so much as a learning process. You may remember that Ava’s just learned how to nod to signify “yes.” She’s had the head shake for “no” down for a while now. We’ll be sitting at the dinner table, Ava in her booster chair, and she’ll say “all done!” I’ll say, “you don’t want any more?” She shakes her head no. “No?” I say? She nods, indicating yes, she means no. “Yes?” I ask. She shakes her head, indicating, “No, ‘yes’ I don’t want any more.” And we go on like this for a couple minutes before she loses patience. It’s tremendously cute and absolutely hilarious.

For the last couple days I’ve been messing around with coComment, which is a neat service that lets you track all your comments at various blogs. I don’t make a ton of comments in any particular place, and I don’t visit all my favorite blogs every day, so having a place like coComment is a handy way to keep up to date without browsing all over the place.  Thanks to Greg, I now have some code over in the menu that shows my latest comments on other blogs. Sheesh, that Greg is on the bleeding edge.

Last night we played the top-ranked team in the league. As often seems to happen in underdog situations like this one, we played relaxed and had a lot of fun. The result: We took one of the five games in the match, which is precisely one more game than we should’ve won.

I suspect that our opponents were pretty beat up, this being the tail end of the season. As usual, their team comprised all guys, and they threw hard. I got in some good hits, shoulder and arm pain be damned. I even caught a couple balls last night, which is something I’d avoided in the past due to the hinky nature of the balls we use.

The highlight of the evening was a hit one of our girls got. Kelly, who’s a shoe-in for team MVP at the end of the season, just nailed a guy right in the chest. It was a superb open-court shot, and her victim looked appropriately stunned as he tromped off the court.

I’d taken a Wal-profen before the match and downed another when I got home. I set an icepak on my elbow while Leah and I watched American Idol, which helped a lot with the soreness. Today I barely feel like I played at all last night.

The next two weeks are the final tournament; I’d better check on my Wal-profen supply.

I really have quite an exhaustive internal debate about posting anything of a political nature on this blog, mainly because my experience with politics is that getting anything constructive done usually involves a lot of gnashing of teeth and rending of garments.

Leah and I caught the tail end of an interview last night in which some pundit was talking about the current Muslim uproar over the depictions of Mohammed published in the Danish press. CNN or MSNBC or wherever it was had a split screen in which one side was occupied by the guest and the other side displayed taped footage of a furious mob setting fire to the Danish embassy in Damascus.

The interviewee mentioned a point that has been brought up numerous times and is a central tenet of the debate over the nature of and provenence of radical Islam, which is, Islam has never had its reformation. Which is not to say, of course, that tyranny doesn’t still exist under the names of the world’s reformed religions. The issue on everyone’s mind is whether Islam’s clerics can lead their followers — moderates and radicals alike — to a place where suicide bombing, kidnapping, and terror are no longer acceptable ways to exert influence.

I’m just trying to figure out how to explain all of this to Ava. I suppose I’d begin by trying to make her understand how lucky she is to live in a place where she has so many freedoms, and how those freedoms weren’t always there for everyone in our country. That’ll be the easy part. From there it’s on to a description of the religious, ethnic, and sexual intolerance that pockmark the United States’ development. If she can grasp what a terrible, difficult history her own country has endured, maybe she can begin to see what a monumental task the Muslim world has ahead of it and why it’s so important that they succeed.

Every day, people die without having a chance to tell their loved ones “goodbye.”

It seems as good a time as any, what with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, to remember to dole out those hugs and kisses and words of love and devotion as freely and as often as you possibly can.

The only thing worse than living without your loved one will be living with the regret of not telling him how you felt about him.

No regrets.

It’s time to dismantle my mom’s dead iBook.  We never did determine just what was wrong with it, so it’s possible that I could get a good HDD out of the thing.  At the very least, we’ll get a working Airport card (first gen); those are going for over $100 on eBay now.  The HDD isn’t so big so really won’t be useful for much if it is still kicking.  I do have an enclosure sitting around that I can stick it in, so I’ll have a little more space…for whatever.  Maybe I can eBay some of the other parts, too.  I suppose people may be looking for keys or all sorts of things.  One never knows.

Wow. I lucked out last night and caught Prince’s first performance on SNL. That guy is amazing. I didn’t recognize the song, so I assume it’s off the upcoming 3121.

I don’t remember ever seeing a live performance like that on SNL. For anyone who doubts the guy’s musicianship (and I don’t think there are too many of those people out there), you only had to check out his blazing electric guitar work. I also loved the way he had his backup singers out in front of him on the stage (if everyone had backup singers like these three, they’d have them front and center too).
I can’t wait to get my hands on this album. Amazon tells me I have to wait until 03-21-06. Wish I could have it for our trip to CO.

I’m really making an effort to enjoy every single moment with Ava as she is now.  It’s not so difficult.  She’s sweet and engaging and affectionate and funny.  But I know the odds are she’s on the verge of a difficult developmental stage that could see her become much more assertive and temperamental.  The assertive part is fine with me; it’s the temperamental part that has me worried (she just started saying “no” this week).

So I’m stockpiling memories of her cuteness to help me weather this coming storm.  One of her most recent accomplishments is the head nod for “yes.”  If it were just an ordinary little head nod it might not be as cute as it is, but Ava has a great twist on the old classic.  Instead of simply moving her head up and down when I ask her a question, she rocks her whole upper body back and forth like a 15-year-old in the front row at an Ozzy show.  It’s hilarious.  She’s so earnest and eager to convey her desires, and when she comes across a new way to communicate, she grasps it quickly and throws all her energy into it.  Reason #989,708 why I love my daughter.  Bring on the terrible twos.