After turning off the lights in Polina’s room at 6:40 pm, she magically ran out at 8 pm. Ever the inquisitive, she asked what we were up to. When she learned Peter was making pasta (“I’m in the mood,” he said), she said she wanted to eat too. So there you have it. She ate pasta and then joined us on our bed in the living room (because we are remodeling) watching her first national convention.
Yesterday was Peter’s 50th birthday, and what proper way than to celebrate it with a windstorm?
Today Polina and I visited the Seattle Japanese Garden with another mom, Tina, and her daughter, Riley. We originally met each other the old-fashioned way- in person in the children’s section of our local library. Our children began playing together and I was impressed by how kind her daughter was to Polina. They played well together and we exchanged numbers. More
I was cooking dinner this evening when I heard, “Babbi Babbi Boo!” I looked outside to see Polina blowing dandelions and sprinkling the dandelion florets with her fingers. “Babi Babi Boo!” she repeated, impervious to my existence. I soon realized she meant “Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo.” She was imitating the Fairy Godmother from her favorite story, Cinderella. Oddly, the florets do look like the glimmer from Fairy Godmother’s wand.
Saturday began a bit differently than usual. Pete had been away since Wednesday night in San Francisco. Aside from the usual stress and anxiety that builds up during the week that doesn’t offer much breaks, I was particularly on edge. He was coming home that night, and I couldn’t wait.
I was texting with someone who contacted me via craigslist about buying a crib mattress. I was selling ours. We hardly ever used it because Polina woke up not longer after I would set her down in it. As a newborn she slept next to me and she preferred it. I caved to her sleeping with me because I didn’t want to use the crying-it-out method.
Periodically I would look up to check on her. Then I looked up and saw her on top of my car, my two-seater that Pete traded with me when we had Polina because he didn’t want me to drive with a baby in that thing. She was perfectly calm standing on top of the roof. Apparently, she isn’t afraid of heights, which would be even more evident as the day progressed.
She wanted to use my car as a slide down the front windshield. She refused to let me help her. She wanted to get down herself. So I helped her gently, so it didn’t look like I was helping. It worked. She was happy as a clam.
We drove to town to meet my friend David for lunch. It was great to talk to him. I don’t have too many friends, and he is one of my oldest. My oldest friends happen to be male. I don’t know why that is. It will be six years since we met working together leading treatment groups for drug and alcohol users involved in the criminal justice system. He has his problems and I have mine, but we can laugh and support one another. I cherish that more than anything, because this can be a very cold and painful world.
Afterward, Polina and I headed to a former navy complex that reopened as a park. As is typical of Washington state, there aren’t many signs, at least compared to Philadelphia where I grew up. In Philadelphia, the signage is so clear that it can become comical because there are so many of them one after another. Even on trails it is virtually impossible to get lost because just when you think you are alone in nature, in the middle of nowhere, there is a sign.
Not so in Washington. I think it’s part of the passive-aggressive vibe to this place, like you’re supposed to know where you’re going and if you don’t, then you don’t belong there. This happens all the time in residential neighborhoods that are built like corn mazes and streets that change their names three times within 5 minutes of driving. I don’t get it.
Anyway, it’s easy to get lost around here, even if you’ve lived here for 16 years like I have. I hadn’t been to this park in a while, so we went down one path, didn’t find what we were looking for and went down another path. Polina insisted that I carry her on my right side. Even as a baby, she protested when I held her with my left arm.
The problem now was that my right arm was ready to fall off from carrying her down to these places I didn’t want to go. I saw a spot by a grove of Madrone trees and we sat down. There was a cool breeze, a stark contrast to the almost unbearable heat of the prior weekend. Polina was restless and wanted me to keep carrying her. I showed her the bark of a Madrone tree. I rubbed it on my skin and it was soothing. It helped me to calm down. As a kid I liked to rub leaves on my cheeks and forehead. I don’t know why I liked it, but I did. Anything smooth or soft works. I taught Polina, and she calmed down. (!)
Then I taught her how to pull the bark off the tree. It’s as thin as paper. Not peeling the bark off a Madrone tree for me is like leaving a line of chalk on the chalkboard. It’s irritating and I have a compulsion to erase it, except in this case, it’s about peeling. As I peel the bark, it feels good to “liberate” the tree. The trunk underneath is smooth and I gently caress it so as not to nick it with my fingernail. Polina also liked peeling the bark. It was mildly hypnotic watching her do this quietly for about 20 minutes. Maybe she was mesmerized.
Then off we went in another direction and found some blackberry bushes growing by the side of the path (previously a road.) Most of them weren’t ripe yet, but there were enough that were to fill our bellies. I taught Polina to pick the black ones, not the red ones. She quickly learned and began eating. After every bunch she said, “messy,” indicating that her hands were messy. Of course, she’s picking blackberries. But Polina doesn’t like messy anything. Fortunately, intuition told me earlier that morning to bring a washcloth, so after every bunch I had something with which to wipe her hands.
Walking further, we came to some stairs which I had remembered from my last visit. I had slight vertigo from looking down these stairs. I needed a hand rail. Not Polina. She insisted on going down by herself. She learned a new word this past week: “sama,” which means “by myself” in Russian, which she has no trouble saying to me. (Several days prior, when I opened the door and turned the light on to take her to the bathroom, she turned off the light, closed the door (leaving me in the bathroom), then after a few seconds, casually opened the door and turned the light back on again.)
Polina, perhaps channeling her peasant ancestors, loves to be barefoot, even in weather that I would consider chilly. There is a school of thought that says connecting bare feet to nature is beneficial for good health. Does asphalt count?
It was 5:50 pm. Four hours before Pete’s flight arrived. It didn’t make sense to drive back home only to come back down again later. I decided to go to town to see what was open on a Sunday evening. I chose Thai, and it was a good decision. Polina, the picky eater, ate all her beef noodles. We killed some time there and sooner rather than later, it was 9:45 pm.
We finally picked Pete up from the airport at about 10:40 pm. Polina was asleep in her car seat, but she woke up briefly to greet him. She was so happy to see him. The recognition in her eyes quickly turned to excitement… It is gratifying to see her bonding with a healthy human being who also happens to be her father. It was a positive end to a positive day.
