Bikes, Booze & Babies!

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Jason and I took a vacation sans child to Napa Valley at the end of the summer. We stayed in a small town in wine country called Calistoga. We rented bikes, bought bag lunches at the town general store and used a map to guide us to the wineries we were in pursuit of. We. Had. The. Best. Time. Ever.

We met another couple along the bike path, Gina and David of San Diego, CA. They too, were vacationing without their children. It was an instant friendship, almost as if we had been friends for years. I guess good wine has a way of making that possible!

In order to get to this one winery, Dutch Henry, we had to bike up two, ginormous half mile hills. The guys tackled the hills without breaking so much as a sweat. Gina and I weren’t exactly looking for that kind of workout, but we survived it nonetheless. Well I did. Whether it was the wine, the hills, the menagerie of animals at Dutch Henry, or a combination of the three, Gina got a little sick. But she eventually rallied on. What a trooper!

Our favorite winery along our bike excursion was called Lava Vine. The place was pretty much a party. If you’re ever in Calistoga stop in, I promise you won’t leave.

There’s something so earthy about wine country. It smells like one big, pungent cork. I will always remember the light, carefree feeling of my wine buzz, coupled with hot California sun on my shoulders as we rode alongside vineyard after vineyard.

We didn't plan our outfits. Swear.

We ended our booze cruise with an awesome olive oil tasting in town, followed by happy hour at the cottages where Gina and David were staying, a dip in the hot springs pool at our hotel and dinner out at Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena.

The next day, with a slight wine headache, we texted with Gina and David as we drove south and out of beloved Napa.

Next stop: San Fran!

My niece Diya is so incredibly cute. And she’s SO incredibly active. A typical Taha. That child didn’t stop moving and she was just two months old! It was so nice to get to meet her and watch Aki and Sarita navigate their way into the world of crazy, sleep-deprived parenting.

As much as we want to have another child of our own, seeing how much work they are putting into it, was somewhat of a deterrent. It’s sad that I nearly forgot what it’s like, but hey, it won’t stop us from trying :)

I was so nervous to hold her. Sadly, I don't remember when Mylo was that tiny :(

 

 

Sidi’s Back!

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This is a partner post. Opinions expressed here are my own.

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Today, my dad resumed his weekly childcare visits with Mylo. Since I went back to work when my son was about eight months old, my dad began babyitting Mylo at least one day per week. And when my mother-in-law is in France each summer, he comes to Brooklyn from his home on Long Island to be with Mylo two days per week.

But all that changed in August. My dad’s love of sports and challenging himself physically finally caught up with him. For the last couple of years he developed what started out as an aching pain, and wound up as debilitating pain, in his leg. After many doctor’s visits, MRI’s and second opinions, it was determined that he needed a total hip replacement.

I’ve missed running with my dad these last couple of years. What began as a hobby became a way of life for my dad over the last decade. I ran a marathon first, but when the extensive training began to take a toll on my younger body, and my love life, my old man eventually surpassed me in running long distances. He even became a seasoned “ultra runner.”

Before the start of the 2003 NYC Marathon

The decision to do the surgery was a no-brainer, however the decision to speed up the date of it, happened almost overnight. It was a big adjustment for everyone, namely Mylo, who was used to having “sidi” around a couple of days out of the week. But I know it was just as tough on my dad. Holed up at home unable to drive, or to sit comfortably on anything other than a special highchair, I know that his romps around Brooklyn with his grandson, were sorely missed.

Sidi and Mylo in Brooklyn a couple of weeks before the surgery

I’d be remiss not to mention my mom’s role in all this. She woke at the crack of dawn to accompany my dad to the Hospital of Special Surgery in New York City on the day of his surgery. She was there to help decipher doctor/healthcare speak. And she was there when he woke up and came out of surgery… all while having her trusty iPad on hand. If she wasn’t playing Words With Friends she was playing Scramble With Friends. Lucky for us, my mom hasn’t feasted her eyes on FoxyBingo.com… yet.

So things are back to normal. Mylo’s in daycare Mondays and Tuesdays. He’s with his “goomah” (my MIL), on Wednesdays, with Sidi on Thursdays and with me, on Fridays. We save the best for last in this family. LOL

 

The last of my craigslist cats

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Eight years ago I stumbled across a post on craigslist.org under the “moving/garage sale” section. It read “Being Deployed, Need a Temporary Home for My Cats”. Against my better judgement, I clicked on it.

I lived alone at the time and my childhood cats, who were growing old and dying, were at my parents house where they belonged. I had love and time to give, and the fact that it was short-term was intriguing.

The cats’ previous owner and I typed up a make-shift contract that stated that I would shelter, feed and care for her cats for up to one year, at which point she would return for them. My mom and dad forewarned me that she wouldn’t be coming back. Turned out, they were right.

My new cats came with the names Kitty and Neitzsche. Kitty’s name suited her. However Neitzsche’s never did. Because of her cute and compact size, my brother dubbed Neitzsche “Nugget.” Nugget or Nug, quickly turned into “Bug.” How her nickname became “Dee Dee,” I can’t quite recall, but she wore that name well.

Me and the girls

Dee Dee was an ultra-independent cat. She didn’t demand a lot of food, nor did she require a ton of lap time, either. What she loved most in life was running water. A lot of cats love running water, I know, but Bug’s affinity for water was like no other. It started at the bathroom sink, where she would hang her head under a strong stream and literally sop herself soaking wet. When she became bored with the bathroom sink, she moved to the bathtub. Bug sharing the tub with us while we showered, pretty much became par for the course. And most recently, since we moved to our new apartment, it wouldn’t be strange to find Dee Dee sitting all zen-like, on the back deck during the middle of a rain shower.

Bug hanging in the kitchen sink, waiting, hoping and praying for the faucet to come on.

Bug despised every dog – no matter how unassuming the pit bull or how tiny the chihuahua – who passed through our home. She wasn’t big on food, but Dee Dee had food quirks nonetheless that I adored. She didn’t care for meat and had a thing for vegetarian Chinese food. Specifically the mushrooms and tofu from my hot and sour soup. Explain that one, because I certainly can’t.

Nor can I explain how she suddenly fell sick this past weekend. She was likely coasting through renal failure for quite some time and this past weekend it hit her like a ton of bricks. The vet said that her skyrocket kidney levels may also mean cancer. When I touch Dee Dee’s frail little body her boney spine and unkempt coat is not lost on me. But what is, is the golf ball-sized kidney, protruding out from her side.

I feel terrible that she is in pain right now. Bug is on the bed with me but unable to sit in one spot for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Strange fluid seeps out from the corners of her mouth and the smell is wretched. Her body is shutting down.

Tomorrow the vet will come and we will say good-bye. Mylo, who only calls her “Dee Dee” – who calls all cats “Dee Dee”  because of her – won’t remember Bug when he grows up. This makes me sad.

I’ve had to say good-bye to four cats in nine years. My heart is heavy right now. Real, real heavy.

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This blog post about Bug and penned by my husband, reminds me why I love this man so. He captures his relationship with the Bug so well and I love him for it.

A Much-Needed Vacay

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As I type this I am sitting first-class on a plane (we just happened to luck out with miles) next to my husband Jason. We’re California-bound with a stopover in Dallas. When we arrive in Cali we’re jumping in a car and driving almost two hours to Calistoga, a small town in Napa Valley. Yes, wine country! I cannot wait to have this time alone with my husband. But an even bigger reason to take this trip, and to justify leaving our kid at home with his grandparents to go taste wine, is that we are combining it with a visit to San Fransisco to meet my baby niece.

Diya Shireen Taha was born on June 6th. It is my first niece and I cannot wait to hug her, hold her and look for my sweet brother’s likeness in her eyes hair. Diya has her mom’s eyes and my brother’s dark curly hair.

Diya at two months

The last time I was in Napa with Jason was in the fall of 2009. We were visiting my brother and Sarita in San Fran. They rented a limo with some friends and took us on a day trip there.

I’ve been known to let loose and have some drinks from time to time. And my husband’s been known to be a bit of a wine-snob (although he disagrees about this). Knowing this is important because it explains why we thought Napa was a little piece of heaven on earth. We loved it. As the wineries flowed it was time to head back to the city. We reluctantly said good bye to the cloudless sky, rolling hills and buttery wines of Napa and vowed to return some day.

Ok, maybe there were a few clouds in Napa after all :)

Napa, Diya… here we come!

 

 

Happy 2nd Birthday Mylo, My Love

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I thought the first year of your life was the best year of my life. I thought wrong. This past year was even better. And so it will likely be that each year you get older, before you become an adventurous and defiant, testing-the-limits teenager, I will love being your mom more and more.

You amaze me with all of your developments, your likes and dislikes, and you make me smile regardless of what kind of day I am having. When you hit 14 months old I thought you were a handful. Walking, but not yet talking, you needed constant supervision. At 17 months things shifted and became more fun. You began showing signs of independence, such as feeding yourself with an adult-size fork and walking up the stairs to our first floor apartment. You were this age when you first uttered the word “Eee-dee,” your name for my dad whom we call Sidi and who is a big presence in your life. You said his name with such purpose and then broke out in a huge smile when we exploded with delight. Somewhere in your 21st month you went to bed and woke up the next morning with hair on your legs. You were 22 months when you first urinated on the potty. And even much younger when you became aware of your poop. Don’t worry, I won’t embellish on that one! You recently began chasing pigeons at the park. Not to taunt, but I’m not thrilled about it nonetheless. I love you bud, but no kid of mine will harass animals.

Your fascination with trucks and construction sites is a constant reminder that I am raising a little boy. You get a kick out of high-fiving and fist-bumping dudes whom you do not even know. You like to hide from me and get a rouse from making me look for things I need that you intentionally hide. You stop me in my tracks when you do these cute and mischievous things that show your big and emerging personality. I am in awe of you, and I love you.

Happy Birthday Budinsky!

My big boy on his 2nd birthday!

 

 

Mylostone – Choo Choo Train

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A couple of weeks ago Jason took the car and the dog out east to visit friends in Montauk and left me and Mylo home to fend for ourselves. We all met back up in my hometown on Long Island at the beginning of the weekend, which required me and Mylo having an adventure together on his first, real train ride. Subways he already has down pat, but a real choo-choo-type-train he’d yet to experience.

We walked from our apartment in Brooklyn to the Long Island Rail Road’s Atlantic Terminal to embark on a route that I had taken hundreds of times before. Prior to getting a car in 2007 the Atlantic Terminal (called simply “Flatbush Avenue” those days) to Northport, was a trip I knew all too well. I can’t say I’m a big fan of the LIRR and that I miss it one bit, but it was such a pleasure to see the joy in Mylo’s face as we rode through tunnels, sped past trucks and played peekaboo games with the commuters who sat in the seats around us.

A couple of photos from our memorable trip…

My curious kid.

Note to self: Never take a seat next to an Emergency Exit window with a toddler again. Ever.

Guck-Guck

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In the early days of Mylo’s life, when the joy of knowing he was a boy began to set in after his birth, the day dreaming began. Having grown up in a family who loves sports and played sports, and having married someone who is also very athletic, I’ve been conjuring up images of an athlete. I have visions of kicking a ball with my son. I want to teach him how to head the ball without being afraid of it and I hope he’ll grow up to see the value and joy from running. My husband wants him to play football. He wants our son to negotiate a football field with poise, power and purpose. Jason’s a HUGE Eli Manning fan. Of course I prefer he doesn’t play any sport he can hurt his brain in, so, we’ve settled on baseball.

But it seems Mylo has settled on trucks. For now.

In raising a male, it somehow slipped my mind that little boys, even grown men, love things that operate. Case in point: last week we were at Cadman Plaza park while two men in a utility truck were fixing a lamp post with a crane. Mylo was enamored by it. I held him in my arms and got as close as safely possible so he could watch. It happened that he was not the only one fascinated by the operation. An older gentleman on a bench sat with his fist under his chin, staring too.

A hard covered tot book simply called “Trucks” became Mylo’s best friend when he was 14 months old. He would let us know he wanted the truck book and that book only by motioning toward it and urgently calling out “gat-gat, gat-gat!” Last night he went to bed with his Trucks book under his arm. He is almost two years old and they are still best buds.

On Mother’s Day while strolling through Chinatown with my parents I bought him his first toy fire truck. Mylo didn’t let go of his new truck for at least one week. It was the best $4 I’ve ever spent. The fleet has since grown to include a subway car, a mail truck, a bus and a plane.

Mylo's guck-guck fleet

Mylo’s vocabulary has also grown.

The word “truck” is no longer “gat-gat,” but “guck-guck.” And before I know it, it will simply become “truck.”

I look forward to having conversations with my son. To hearing him speak in full sentences and listening as his voice deepens and matures. But right now I just want to bottle up all of these cute words and annunciations he makes and open up the jar 3, 10 and 20 years from now to remember how happy they make me.

 

 

Making Sense of a Miscarriage

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On the last Friday in February at a music class/open play session with my son Mylo came a rush of something moist between my legs. I knew almost immediately what was happening but did not go to the bathroom. When open play ended we were one of the last to leave. Afterwards, we paid a visit to a neighborhood bakery and shared an over-sized vegan chocolate chip cookie. Even the cold February rain outside did not beckon us home. I was in no rush to discover what I was certain awaited me.

Not long after we got home the cramps started. I called my midwife on the phone who sounded less than optimistic, “Shit, why does this always happen on a Friday,” she asked, rhetorically. Gulp.

Weeks after the miscarriage I had a disturbing dream. A moving boat. An accident. Someone in the dream called for women and children to get off the boat first. I was toward the front helping someone, indifferent to the fact that the order applied to me. Then someone held a baby upside down in the air, asking “who’s child is this?” She was wearing fuchsia-colored  pajama bottoms and I gathered that she was being held upside down because she did not survive the crash. The baby had blondish hair, like my son, but it was not curly. After a few moments when no one stepped forward to claim her, they lowered her down a conveyor-like pole. The older women on board looked at me knowingly, and shamefully, as I continued helping the injured.

I’ve interpreted this dream in ways that has brought some closure and helped to make some sense of the loss. For a multitude of reasons I feel confident and sure that it was just not our time to have another child. At times I still feel sad, but I have also made my peace with it.

My Big Bro

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My brother Aki is one of the most sensitive people I know. It is one of the qualities I love most about him. The other day when we video chatted via gmail with Mylo, he welled up with tears. I called him on it, but in hindsight I knew damn well why he was misty-eyed. Besides the fact that he hasn’t seen his nephew in a while, he is expecting a tyke of his own in weeks, maybe even days.

It’s almost impossible not to feel like an emotional basket case during the imminent arrival of your first child, the little person you do not yet know but who will change your life forever. I have no doubt that seeing Mylo triggered a happy place for my brother, a place he does not yet know but has spent the last nine + months dreaming about.

I am so excited to watch him become an incredible and doting dad. But I feel so many other things, too. His starting a family means less visits back East to see us. And because we’re on different coasts I don’t expect that I’ll get to know his daughter as well as I would like.

It feels like just yesterday when Aki and I were cruising in my mom’s BMW with the sunroof open, going over the Robert Moses Causeway Bridge. The sun beating down on our curly hair, the ocean’s breeze on our face, we were young, unattached and full of possibility. Now we live on different coasts, have started families of our own, and are on other ends of the spectrum career-wise.

My brother and his wife’s future is taking off. They have a baby on the way and their careers have been prosperous. I couldn’t be happier for them. I only have one sibling and yet sometimes it feels like the distance between us is growing.

Aki & Sarita sharing a weekend alone before the baby

 

Mother’s Day Deserved

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When I was seven months pregnant people were wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day – on Facebook and in passing friends and neighbors on the street. It didn’t feel right. I hadn’t the faintest idea about the huge role I was about to take on, but I thanked folks all the same.

Last year, when Mylo was nine months old it still didn’t feel like “my” day yet. Just the day in which I’ve honored my own mom for the last 30 + years.

But this year feels different for some reason. My son is almost two years old and he’s a handful and a half. He was an active baby and he’s even more active now as a toddler. I love him more each day, even if those days are challenging. There are times I don’t feel like the greatest mom, but I know I’m doing my best. I imagine I’ll carry this sentiment with me for the rest of my life and so it makes perfect sense why Mother’s Day exists. Because even if I’m not the best mom, I am honored, and thanked, for trying to be on this one day every year.

Mylo came home from daycare with this card on Thursday. Obviously, it wasn’t a solo effort. But if it was, then my son really IS a genius!

The daycare ladies really know how to tug at your heart strings :)

I loved my first Mother’s Day card, on what feels like my first real Mother’s Day.