make like a tree and be

It'd been a while since I'd gone to yoga. I used to go during the evenings on weekdays. But I felt like that cut into my family time so stopped going altogether. This doesn't make much sense, I know, but trying to find a good time to fit yoga into my schedule, when busy with my new job and internship and working on our websites and my thesis, proved difficult for me; especially since I'm super sentimental and find it hard to get out of the house when I "should" be spending time with Lilly and Anne.

However, yoga really is such a good investment in my health and well-being that I should make the time for it too. Anne and I decided that Saturday mornings, after she gets back from her yoga class, would be a good time for me to go; it would be a good start to the weekend (which we like to think of as family time) and leave the rest of the day open to do things all together.

Leaving the studio last Saturday, I was feeling energized. Sure it helped that we had perfect spring weather. But my practice that morning was great. A bit stiff, yes, but great. During class the instructor said something that made me think (something he had recalled another instructor saying) which made a lot of sense and can be thought of as a good outlook in our everyday. We were just finishing tree pose when he reminded us that "a forest would be boring if all the trees were the same."

Every person is different, every practice is different. In yoga we must remind ourselves that our practice is exactly where it should be for us individually. And we must remind ourselves that our practice will change, as will the needs of our bodies. We shouldn't force a pose, but instead we work with our bodies to find the pose that fits with the abilities of our bodies and our needs during that practice.

In our daily lives we might be tempted to compare ourselves with others, and try to mold ourselves and our lives into the form of others; we might push ourselves into doing something that is not right for us at the time.

I think it's truly interesting when you consider just how different trees and plants really are, and how with every day each grows in new, totally unique ways. Think of how, for example, the plant in our kitchen window reaches for the sun; and how, if rotated in its place, it reaches for the sun in a new direction, completely changing form and the possibility of growth in the future. Or how, if trimmed and pruned, trees grow new branches. To grow and thrive, these are all living with their needs in mind, so to speak.

Something like that. We spent the rest of the day outside. Originally with the intention of working in the yard, we let ourselves relax and enjoy the spring day; the winter this year has been long and cold, keeping us like many Minnesotans indoors, waiting for better weather to get outside and re-energize ourselves. We worked a little, played a lot, went for a walk into town, and opened our porch for the afternoon. Lilly got to play on the slide next door, ride her trike, blow bubbles, and even dig around a bit in the sandbox (which was opened for the first time to dry out). She even skipped her nap and went to bed earlier than usual. Which gave mama and papa some time to re-energize in other ways.

life with Lilly

I love this picture, I've set it as my desktop background. Lilly looks like a little thief: the striped shirt, the profile, the "caught with her hand in the cookie jar" look, without the telling, knowing look on her face. She wasn't doing anything, really, just playing with the cables behind the entertainment center; I was trying to get a portrait shot of her when she turned to grab the cables like the curious, wants-everything girl she is. Plus the picture shows off her beautifully-shaped head, which looked just the same the second she came out into this world; her cheeks and chin and nose, too, aren't they cute.

I love my daughter, though a times she can be trying. She has her phases. But I figure it's me that needs to shape up and be a better papa, those times I feel a twitch of grumpiness fluttering up through my chest, coming to rest in tense knots on my shoulders and neck.

Now she loves to play at this and that: so long as we play with her. It's the impression. She does play on her own quite often, runs off into the other room with her sack full of goodies and her box or whatever new toy she's found. But when she does want you to play with her you have to do it her way and be fully attentive, not off on some daydream about that book you've been meaning to write, or that thesis you better damn well get around to. If you aren't nearly 100 percent, she'll call you on it. Then she gets grumpy or looses interest in any one activity after a second or two: she wants the computer, the keys, the wallet, a pen; she wants to watch her DVD or play with the photo magnets on the fridge or dump her water on the ground so she can wipe it up dry.

Sometimes I feel like it's a lot. To be at that level for four hours, say, it's hard to keep my head in it. But I always get sentimental (after the grumpy, tense part) and think about how it's all the time I've got with her and I better make the most of it; she's going soon, or worse, she's already gone and she wants nothing to do with me. I can't get enough of her. Give me Lilly 24/7, I think, it'll be the best thing I do all day.

It's OK to be bored. It's not always meant to be fun: as I've said, it's trying, tense; it's up sometimes, and other times it's down. It's gonna be that way. It's everything I could want and more, if I just "be" there with her, be there with her and feel life chugging at its long choo-choo ride: across the plains and the mountains, the expanse bridge across the gully below; through the rundown town in the middle of nowhere, the busy city, industrial rail yard, wherever; underneath the ocean and out again on the other side, we come to this place where the sun-filled sky colors the green grass on a mound of earth, I stand there with my daughter at my side--she's always that small, always that big--just the right size so I can rest my palm on her crown of baby soft hair, as we look out together at the rest of that beautiful life in front of us, surrounding us. I'm OK with the occasional boredom. And I can order a massage. Sure I'll get gray hairs, and in fact I already have. It's all what I'm in for, and I'll take it one day at a time, at a time, for as long as I can.

Enough of that rant, you say, give us more pictures and be done with it. Granted. I leave you with this: our precious Lilly, during her favorite pre-bedtime ritual--tonight she even said it, bade, a look of pure delight--bathtime!

Something about fatherhood

Just a quick post since I should be working. Lilly is 11 months today. Almost 1 year. Which is hard to believe, time goes by so quickly. I've been thinking about fatherhood. I've been thinking back on everything. Trying to remember what it was like before Lilly, that's to say waiting for Lilly.

Recently I read a friend's blog post in which he was complaining about baby books for fathers-to-be. I recognized the picture he had posted of The Guy's Guide, which is mostly crap. In response I posted a comment:

The best advice I was given, which wasn't advice, really, but just something to turn around in my head before and especially after the birth and even now at almost one year, was from a friend: he said to me, Get ready for a whole new kind of love. And it's true. At least for me. Another thing, which I heard on NPR, and on a totally unrelated topic, was that parenting is the hardest job, and it's given to amateurs. This provided a little breathing room. And finally, in a book I received from my father about fathers and daughters, you know, one of those gift books with quotes, I read something like this: The hardest part of parenting is letting your hopes for you child outweigh your fears. There you have it.

There's no telling what advice is best for fathers (or for mothers). Really it's different for all. Of course. Some like funny, some like facts, others like tips and others timetables (please excuse the alliteration). Anyway, the point being... Is there a point to all this?

I just thought I'd share. What has been the most remarkable thing about becoming a father is that whole new kind of love: that ever-expanding love I feel for my daughter. I am forever grateful and happier for it.

march april may june

Wow! February is almost over—and I'd just like to remind you all that we're having ourselves a little baby in May or June. That soon, already?

For some that may seem like a long time off but for us, whose lives are about to change Big Time, it 's not very long at all. We've been preparing for almost five months now (we found out in October, a month after the fact), and with just over three months to go, I can say, for myself (me, Papa), I still have a lot of preparing to do. Sure, is anyone ever fully prepared? Maybe not. But, like I said, "I still have a lot of preparing to do!"

I've been reading books, magazines, setting the house in order, so to speak, and I've even felt some of those biological, inner-workings starting to take over; all that, and more time is all I ask.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm super excited. But can't I just set the world straight before the due date?

I heard an interview on NPR in which a Rabbi and author said something interesting; he said, "Parenting is the hardest job, and it's given to amateurs."

It's true, really. And it makes good sense: you're going to do some things right, you're going to do some things wrong, and you're going to do the best that you can. So prepare all you want, but leave yourself some room to make mistakes.

half way to fatherhood

Today marks the last day of the first half of our pregnancy. We are very excited and anxious about the ultrasound tomorrow. Hopefully we can get a picture to share. If not, you can still count on more "baby belly" pictures.

Tonight I baked a spinach risotto, and made a mixed green, cranberry and sunflower seed salad; plus a basil, garlic, Parmesan baguette from the Brick Oven, with sliced smoked mozzarella cheese and French herb mustard; some spay roses for Anne, to top it off, with candles and music – all so she knows how excited I am that we will be having a baby together!

Yes, I know what you're thinking, but I love going over the top for her. And I look forward to spoiling our child with all the same love and attention.