Dayjamas

Tilden Park

Soakin' up some California sunshine.

Fickle not pickle

This morning Kiku couldn’t decide what to have for breakfast, changing her mind three times.  I told her she was being fickle.

    “Oh, yeah, I wanna pickle!”

    “No, not pickle, fickle.”

    “I want a pickle, mama!”

    “Fickle.  It means that you’re always changing your mind.  You can’t decide what you like or dislike.”

    “Pickle!”

Kiku wasn’t the only one feeling fickle today.  Last night the three of us returned from a five-day trip to the bay area, and I woke up this morning feeling somewhat unsure about whether I really wanted to move back.  This is after making the BIG DECISION to move a few months ago...in the dead of winter.  (My advice to anyone considering moving away from Seattle: never decide in the winter.) The trip itself went smoothly and it was great to spend time with good friends and family, but I was a little overwhelmed by the whole place. 

I’ve definitely crossed over. 

I’m not sure when it happened, but I know I didn’t feel this way when we visited last summer.  Sometime between then and now I became a Seattlelite and stopped being a bay area girl.  When I stepped off the plane last week, it didn't feel like home.  I felt like a visitor.  I didn't "get it" anymore.  People seemed to be racing everywhere, whether by car or foot.  It felt edgier, grimier, more stressed out, more me-first.  I even found myself disliking the intensity of the sun.  It seemed too bright, and I practically had to glue my sunglasses to my face.   A few mentally unstable types approached Kiku and I (this never happens in Seattle) while we were out and about.  There was the odd guy who offered Kiku a dot-shaped sticker, and then followed us into the grocery store to offer her more stickers.  Harmless enough (probably), but my mind couldn’t get around the possibility of the dots being laced with LSD. Then there was the time when we were walking down the street in a somewhat upscale neighborhood and a tattered woman covered in sores asked me if I knew where the Laundromat was.  I told her that I didn’t live there and she proceeded to violently scream, “no one does laundry around here!” to me and everyone else around.

These kinds of interactions never used to faze me.  It was just part of my everyday environment and it felt normal.  Seeing someone pace back and forth while talking to themselves used to be normal.  Having a homeless person bark at me or call me Yoko was normal.  Now it feels threatening.  I’m sure it’s partially due to my maternal instinct to protect my daughter.  But even so, I’ve gotten soft. 

Seattle is nice, calm, slow paced, easy, clean, and, well, normal.  People (including the bus drivers) smile and say hello, drivers aren’t aggressive, rushing isn’t de rigueur, and there are fewer people flying their freak flags (or at least they’re quieter about it.)

I feel calmer and safer in Seattle.  My mind is clearer.  It’s easier to live here and there are fewer things to worry about.  So why move?  If this is such paradise, why do we want to go back to the land of over stimulation?  Up until recently, there have been three main reasons. 

1.    The weather
2.    Missing loved ones
3.    The blandness factor

But now I'm getting more used to the weather, and the only months that really get to me are Dec-Feb.  It might be more bearable if we can get away to a sunny spot every winter.  I certainly miss my friends and family, and I don't want these people to be strangers to Kiku, but what if we committed to visiting three or four times a year?  Maybe that woud be ok.  Then there's the blandness factor.  Over the past four years I've found myself craving more interesting, stimulating interactions with people who were less reserved.  But now I'm wondering if it matters so much anymore.  Large urban areas are interesting but they come with a price. 

I can't believe I'm actually feeling this way.  I've bitched about Seattle for four years.  It's been hard to adjust to the culture and I haven't felt like I've wanted to stay for the long run.  And now this is happening.  I'm starting to, umm, like it (maybe even love it?) here.  Although it could be that I just need to get used to bay area living all over again.  You know, grow back a thicker skin and adjust my "normal" meter.  The question is, do I want to? 

I'm just too damn fickle.

Abbreviated

Kiku has started abbreviating words, like "peet" for peanut butter and "peep" for people.  And then there's "I want crack" for I want crackers (a little scary, but still cute).

My favorite is "MaPa."  She'll sometimes use this when referring to both JJ and I at the same time.  What can I say, the girl's efficient.

Just say no

This afternoon I was making tuna salad and had various condiments out on the counter, including the relish.  Kiku loves pickles and asked if she could eat relish straight out of the jar.  "No, sorry," I said, "we only eat relish mixed with other things."  She continued to ask, and by the third or fourth time I started wondering to myself why I wasn't allowing it.  We let her eat dill pickles straight from the jar, so what was the difference?  Why was my first reaction to say no?  I guess there's just something distasteful about eating condiments alone.  Take ketchup, for example.  We'll let her dip french fries into it but then get uptight the minute she starts eating it by itself.  As long as her meal doesn't consist solely of condiments, should it really matter?  It all goes to the same place, and besides we all know ketchup is a vegetable!  Same with relish.

Despite my realization, I couldn't go back on my answer for fear of "giving in" or "being inconsistent."  It ended up not mattering, though, because she picked the relish pieces out of her tuna salad, put them in a pile, and spooned them into her mouth.

Kiku isn't at the point yet where she's asking, "why not?"  But it's coming.  Soon.  I need to start practicing the old adage "think first and speak later."  When Miss Persistent gets a little older, she's not going to accept "no" without a good reason to back it up.

Get your whirly on

This morning I took Kiku to Whirligig!, which is a carnival devoted solely to bouncy houses and inflatable slides.  I have to admit that I found the whole thing a bit odd, especially given my past associations with bouncy houses (they always seemed so cheap carnival-esque with their buzzing generators).  But hey, I'm not complaining, because now that I'm the proud mother of a toddler who can't keep her feet on the ground for more than 30 seconds, I get it.  I'm so grateful that someone, somewhere, had the vision to create these huge, inflatable houses o' vinyl where kids can safely bounce their hearts out and go completely nuts.  It sure beats jumping on the sofa, and Kiku had an absolute blast. 

Wash, rinse, repeat

JJ left for NYC this morning and he'll be gone for an entire week.  Kiku and I dropped him off at the airport curb and as soon as we drove away I could feel sadness welling up inside of me.  Kiku noticed my tears and said, "what's wrong, Mama?"  I told her that I was already missing Papa and she said, "it's ok, Mama...talk to me...tell me about it."  I felt the lump in my throat turn into a little giggle.  This is what I often say to her when she's upset and/or crying.  I love it when she repeats things back to me when the tables are turned. It's like walking around with a tape recorder and having everything you say, good or bad, played back when you least expect it. I don't know if Kiku truly understood what she was saying, but I do know that my sweet little daughter was trying to comfort me.   

"Face"

"Fruit Salad"

It's all about the experience

This morning the whole family hopped on the bus and headed downtown to the Seattle Aquarium.  Kiku had a great time looking out the window and talking to people sitting nearby.  Riding the bus made me feel like we were taking a little adventure.  I know it's a little sad that this is what constitutes an adventure these days, but we almost always take the car (or walk and/or stroller for short distances).  It felt good to leave the car at home for a change. We miss a lot of the real world by isolating ourselves in our vehicles.

When we were walking around the aquarium and pointing out different sea creatures for Kiku to look at, I noticed that she was more interested in exploring the emergency exit doors, or checking out the kid in the corner holding a bag of goldfish crackers.  I think it's *finally* dawning on me that I shouldn't let my expectations get in the way of her having a good time.  If she doesn't give a rat's ass about seeing the jelly fish or eels and would rather spend her time playing on the big octopus board designed for photo ops, so be it.  I mean, why were we there in the first place?  I don't know when I got it in my head that my daughter should automatically be thrilled by marine life.

On the bus ride home, Kiku kept asking about the people sitting across from us.

    "Why are the people different this time?"

    "Where did the other people go?"

As Roger Daltry says in the amazing Wheels on the Bus video, "everybody on the bus is going somewhere, everybody's got something they gotta do."

45-minute toddler activity