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Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Two Videos
Posted
11:35 AM
by sean
Here are two videos. Barnaby walks his stroller, above, and Barno Puts Pees In A Bowl, one of my all-time favorites.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Barnaby Learns To Eat
Posted
11:38 PM
by sean
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Barnaby Is One
Posted
9:08 PM
by sean
There was a city on the edge of a desert, and in this city there were seven boys who grew up together. They were friends, more like brothers, defending each other from older kids and fighting with each other when there was nobody else to fight. They were boys together and, after a time, they discovered they were becoming men together.
They had to choose careers, and, wanting to stay together, they decided to join the military and be part of the group that is responsible for building the wall on the edge of the desert. They thought it was ridiculous, there was nothing out there but the desert, but the town fathers believed the wall was important, essential, and that building it was not just noble but critical. Without the wall, who knows what will happen.
Each of the young men, kids really, were given a huge pile of bricks and enough water and mortar and steel to build and maintain the wall for years and years. It was a job too big to even see, and all seven of the friends set the bricks in piles, the mortar mix in bags, and the steel bars leaning in the sand.
They spent their days playing games, their nights at the watering holes and restaurants. They wrote letters and made music, the mocked each other's poetry and attacked anyone else who did the same, they teased one another and savaged anyone else who laughed. And slowly, after some years, they turned to the job at hand. They started thinking about the wall.
One by one, they realized that the wall had been built too far into the desert. The sand swirled around the base of the wall sections that their fathers had built. They looked at each other incredulously and laughed. Why would they build the wall so deep? The picked up their piles and moved them back to start a new wall.
But it took time, years. They were methodical, they lined up each section and designed corners that faced the desert like the prows of seven ships, and they began laying down the bases. Their days, they still played games, mostly. At night, the still told stories and wrote songs, mostly. But they also worked on their walls. They visited on another, marveled at each other's prowess, joked about their pace and meticulousness, and their walls began to rise, inch by inch, as the kids became men.
One day, the friend who's wall had grown the highest came and gathered the rest to his wall. They sat on the wall and they looked out on the desert and they said nothing for a second. Either they had mismeasured, or the desert was closer. As they debated, one friend saw that their father's walls were now surrounded by sand and, even more, they could see over their father's walls now to their grandfather's walls, the crumbling tops of which could just be seen sticking out of the dunes.
In a panic now, the friends went back to their walls. The walls were not to protect from an enemy that would never come, they were to protect against the encroaching desert, that would come no matter what. Each friend now devoted their days to the wall, there were no more games, there were no more jokes. They would go days, weeks, without seeing each other, and when they saw each other now, very often all they would talk about was the wall.
The months stretched into years and the friends grew older. The walls grew and grew, higher and higher, and each of the friends became consumed with protecting the town. The elders knew the wall was going up, and the knew it was being built well. Each of the friends found their wives and had their kids, and they became masters of building the wall.
The wall was nearing completion and, as they looked back, they saw that the town had quietly and carefully moved the tents and buildings back away from the wall. They were laying the bricks at the top and looked down to see that the desert was now up against the base, their grandfather's wall was gone and only the tops of their father's wall could be seen. The sand dunes started creeping up the front of the walls and they could see now that their wall looked just like their father's wall. The smiled at one another, knowing now that they were foolish to think they knew better.
The wall was finished and the friends, now men, now almost old men, got together one night to talk about the wall. One friend began to ask the question they were all thinking. Why? Why would they build the wall, when the desert would eventually swallow it anyway? Their grandfathers knew that the wall they built was gone now, dissolved into sand, and their fathers knew that it was only a matter of time before their wall became sand as well. They knew that their wall was good, it was the best wall yet made, but they also knew that, no matter how good their wall was, it wouldn't hold off the desert. It can't, no wall can, the desert is inevitable.
That one friend asked for an audience with the elders, and the chief agreed. "Why do we make the wall?" he asked. "All of the walls that have been built have disappeared, they aren't even memories any more. Even your wall, the one that you built when you were a boy and a young man, it can't even be seen now. Why do we make the wall?"
"You weren't making the wall," the eldest told them. "The wall isn't important, the desert will destroy it, and our city will move again. The desert comes and goes as it will, there's nothing we can do to change it. You weren't making a wall. The wall was making you a man."
Barnaby, the man I am now, I owe to you. I know I can do nothing but watch as you become the man you will be, but more than anything I have done for you, you've brought out in me the best man I've ever been, and you've reminded me how much better a man I can be if I keep trying.
In a life that has been miraculously blessed, you are the very best thing that has ever happened to me.
From now on, this blog is going back to theater and fast food and random political thoughts, (on top of being a daddy-n-me blog) and it's going to be updated many times a week. I gave myself a year, and the year is up. If I don't try to expand my life beyond being just your father, I won't be the father that I want to be.
Happy Birthday, my love. You are my gift.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Guest Blogger Jordana
Posted
3:39 PM
by sean
In no way is this related to Ian's wife Tessa writing his blog. I think Jordana has a far better understanding of the boo and hasn't written much down about him since we started this little adventure, so she asked if she could write his eleven month blog.
From her...
***
In the early months it's difficult to distinguish personality from developmental stage. Most of what your kid does and even feels is a function of them working to acquire whatever the next skill is. Sure, temperament varies from kid to kid, but that can also change for the same kid in the course of a month or, y'know, an hour. This is profoundly reassuring when he's being a butthole or if you've screwed something up, because the clay hasn't been fired yet and you can undo almost anything in almost no time. But then there's the curiosity, the wondering who he'll be and what he'll love. And the moments that seem to give glimpses of his essential nature are among the most thrilling.
From her...
***
In the early months it's difficult to distinguish personality from developmental stage. Most of what your kid does and even feels is a function of them working to acquire whatever the next skill is. Sure, temperament varies from kid to kid, but that can also change for the same kid in the course of a month or, y'know, an hour. This is profoundly reassuring when he's being a butthole or if you've screwed something up, because the clay hasn't been fired yet and you can undo almost anything in almost no time. But then there's the curiosity, the wondering who he'll be and what he'll love. And the moments that seem to give glimpses of his essential nature are among the most thrilling.
Okay, Barnaboo, here's what I think we know about you. Feel free to make a liar of me as it suits you...
You've got your dad's feet and forearms. You've also got his strength and enthusiasm. You've got my tendency to escape into a corner when you max out on people or stimulus. You've got your Uncle Ian's coloring, Aunt Michelle's zany smile, Uncle Steve's drive to figure out how things work and Uncle Kent's wiggly eyebrows/concentration tongue. We know you're winding down for the day when you get your dreamy eyed Aunt Sabrina face on.
Your milestones tend to evolve rather than occur. There haven't been a lot of eureka moments, but that's an easy trade off for getting to watch you mix the mortar and lay the bricks. You start early and arrive on time. You've got just enough frustration to keep you constantly moving forward, but that seldom outweighs your joy in what you can do right now. Most things have come pretty easily to you. Sleep did not. But you've worked through it and it moves your papa and me to tears just thinking about how far you've come. We love to sneak in and watch you sleep.
You love your grandparents like crazy. You love dogs so much that we're going with "dog" as your official first word (although it could be argued that "ball" came first). We're pretty sure you have a crush on Aunt Deb. You adore the teddy bear Uncle Seth gave you and are always willing to take a break from your busy day to give it a cuddle and a beatific little smile. You love lights, leaves, swings, music, climbing stairs, eating, dancing, banging, clapping, waving, high fives, books, baths, beards, empty diet coke bottles, soft things, bumpy things and pretty much anything we tell you you're not supposed to have.
When you feel hurt or wronged or scared, you give us the sad face (an absurdly histrionic commedia mask of melancholy). And lots of times that's enough. We've had a hard time getting a picture of it, because it goes away so quickly. I think you just want us to acknowledge that something bad happened and to acknowledge you for being brave about it before you're ready to move on. Sorry we can't stop ourselves from laughing.
The baby is starting to drift away as the toddler begins to take shape. You're understanding more and expressing yourself more clearly every day. You're frighteningly mobile. I love who you're becoming, but I'm already starting to miss who you've been. When I meet someone cool these days, my first impulse is to say, "You've got to meet my kid. He's just the greatest little guy." And you are. But I don't say that--at least not most of the time--because who wants to listen to somebody talk about their kid?
Your milestones tend to evolve rather than occur. There haven't been a lot of eureka moments, but that's an easy trade off for getting to watch you mix the mortar and lay the bricks. You start early and arrive on time. You've got just enough frustration to keep you constantly moving forward, but that seldom outweighs your joy in what you can do right now. Most things have come pretty easily to you. Sleep did not. But you've worked through it and it moves your papa and me to tears just thinking about how far you've come. We love to sneak in and watch you sleep.
You love your grandparents like crazy. You love dogs so much that we're going with "dog" as your official first word (although it could be argued that "ball" came first). We're pretty sure you have a crush on Aunt Deb. You adore the teddy bear Uncle Seth gave you and are always willing to take a break from your busy day to give it a cuddle and a beatific little smile. You love lights, leaves, swings, music, climbing stairs, eating, dancing, banging, clapping, waving, high fives, books, baths, beards, empty diet coke bottles, soft things, bumpy things and pretty much anything we tell you you're not supposed to have.
When you feel hurt or wronged or scared, you give us the sad face (an absurdly histrionic commedia mask of melancholy). And lots of times that's enough. We've had a hard time getting a picture of it, because it goes away so quickly. I think you just want us to acknowledge that something bad happened and to acknowledge you for being brave about it before you're ready to move on. Sorry we can't stop ourselves from laughing.
The baby is starting to drift away as the toddler begins to take shape. You're understanding more and expressing yourself more clearly every day. You're frighteningly mobile. I love who you're becoming, but I'm already starting to miss who you've been. When I meet someone cool these days, my first impulse is to say, "You've got to meet my kid. He's just the greatest little guy." And you are. But I don't say that--at least not most of the time--because who wants to listen to somebody talk about their kid?
Friday, October 19, 2007
The Big City V. Barnaby
Posted
4:05 PM
by sean
We met his mom who took lil' Barno to her office, where he charmed the pants off people that Jordana sorta loathes, and then I met up with them and brought him home.
Let me tell you, I've done stupid things in my life, but I don't think jaywalking across 42nd street to avoid the rain was one of them.
Anyway, we got to Queensboro Plaza and the N/W was super slow because of signal problems. That's okay, I thought, I know it's raining a little bit, but there's a bus on 21st street that I've taken a couple of times and it let's us off at Ditmars. See?
View Larger Map
So we negotiated the streets down and turned the corner.
Nobody who reads this is familiar with the intersection except for maybe Jordana, but suffice it to say, 21st street has a bunch of large puddles lining the sides of the road. As we rounded 21st and started walking toward the bus stop, a driver who was trying to beat the other traffic flew through the empty parking spots and completely drenched both me and Barnaby.
I mean my *HAT* was soaking wet. It was like a cliche. The water hit me and took my breath away, and then, I couldn't inhale when the second wave hit and went over my head.
Barnaby was drenched from head to toe, his entire stroller had been hit with a wall of water. He had been asleep, and I pulled up to the bus stop and turned him around.
He was just staring up at me, blinking. He wasn't happy, certainly, but he wasn't particularly miserable. He was just totally and completely wet. I expected him to be screaming, but he didn't know down from up, he was just stunned.
Now, it might be that he had loved the subway, which he was crazy about, or that he had gotten to spend a couple of hours with his mom in her big city law firm. Or maybe he had just needed the eleven minute nap, but he was pretty much cool with the whole thing. He looked shocked and confused, but not really pissed off.
And I wasn't either. Whoever did this was an asshole, but he was just doing his little bit to try to get ahead, and I'm sure he will feel terrible about it later. Plus, I'm sure I've inadvertently caused some problems for people in the past with my driving. I know I've been in the car with my mom and my father in law when lives were narrowly saved by smart drivers in other cars. But Barnaby was okay with it, and if a ten month old can put up with the wet and cold, then I sure as hell am not gonna bitch.
When the bus stopped, the driver didn't seem pleased to let on a couple soaked to the bone, and he told me I had to fold up the stroller. Here's the thing, I never got a chance to. The entire bus saw a wet baby and his stupid wet dad, and they all became doctors and nurses. They made room, they switched seats, they took the baby and the stroller and talked to him and cooed... it's crazy.
New York is like this, that's what outsiders don't know. It's what even some New Yorkers will never know. On the buses and in the subways, on the streets, everyone is grumbling and shoving and trying to win these little battles, but as soon as something IMPORTANT happens, even if it's only marginally important, everyone is on board. If you take a cab from your penthouse to your job, you don't know what New York is. If you're a car service from your job in midtown back to Park Slope or New Jersey, you've probably missed the real New York.
People shove and push on the stairs, but if an old woman loses her balance there are usually five guys trying to catch her. Everyone wants to cut to the front of the line at the deli, but if you've got a crying baby, they always let you go first. People set their shoulders when they walk on the sidewalk, but if someone faints, there are ten cellphones calling 911 before he or she hits the ground.
And Barnaby was in heaven. We got a seat by the back door and he sat on my soaking lap and smacked his flat hand on the window while everyone talked to him. He watched people get off and spun his head around to catch them once they were on the street. And the woman who helped us the most got off right before our stop, he held his raised fist to her as she left in the only greeting he's learned, the black power salute. She laughed hard, either at the kid or my red face.
He was born in the shadow of Lincoln Center, and he's played every day under the Triboro Bridge. There's a part of me that's almost jealous that he gets to call this place home, this place that's adopted me. I'm a New Yorker by choice, but he gets to be one by birth. I feel like it is one of the most important gifts we've given him.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Ten Months
Posted
12:10 PM
by sean
How much better is everything? It's indescribable. I feel like I should have some capacity for describing the joy in having a ten month old, I certainly went out of my way to lavishly paint the nightmare of an 8-9 month old, but in the fashion of my family, I'm only really good at describing the horrible things. I don't know what kind of damage we sustained as infants, it had to be at the knee of my overly dramatic mother, but misery and pain seem to be the things I have the most words for.
Let me try. I really should try, because my days right now feel like a real gift and if I don't find a way to make that clear, it's unfair to anyone reading this who's thinking about kids, and it's unfair to Barnaby if these words somehow still exist in 25 years when he might be thinking about it himself.
The first big step that meant so much was when we were able to set Barnaby down and he could sit without falling over and hurting himself. People talk about the milestones, the crawling and eating solids and smiling and all of that, and yeah - all of that is cool. But setting the baby down and not having a hand on him and knowing he's safe for more than six seconds, that feels miraculous.
The next big step is like the first. It's the independence he's found in his daily rituals. He's crawling now and damn near walking and babbling and eating like a champ and all of that, and we're so happy for all of the developmental stuff he's doing that's on time, and excited about the stuff that's a little advanced.
But now, he has a small number of toys that he's become really attached to, and he will play with them for a short time without wondering or worrying about who else is there. He has taken to crawling away from a group of people and sitting with his back to them and chewing on a toy or playing with something while looking away entirely.
The liberation is astonishing. I can run into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee, or I can go to the bathroom for three minutes, and he doesn't really care that I'm not there. He know I'm gonna come back.
This isn't as joyful as it is refreshing. The joy comes from how completely he interacts with us when he choses to. In the middle of playing, he'll crawl over to me and climb up on my lap and run his fingers through my beard. Then, he'll climb down and go back to what he was doing. To say he's attached to us isn't exactly right... I know the word doesn't imply any kind of physical leeching, but there is a sort of sense of that. It's more like he adores us, simply and completely.
And we adore him so totally. He's had a tough week this week, really, which means simply that he's spent more time being a little distant and he's had a harder time staying down for naps. But considering he's got a cold, he's got a tooth or teeth coming in, and his naps have been totally screwed, it's incredible that he hasn't been losing his temper at all.
He's one of those kids that makes everyone smile. I've become so accustomed to people lighting up when I walk by with him in his stroller that I get confused when someone doesn't. I do live in New York, the city where nothing exists unless it has been thoroughly commented upon, so it shouldn't seem strange that I get told ten times a day that he's beautiful. Of course, they don't seem him at his best.
He is a light in our lives right now. Not just because of who he is, that is a revelation and a joy, but because of what he shows us about ourselves and each other. He makes us love each other more, because we know where he gets it from, so to speak. When he falls and bashes his head and sorta shakes it off without crying, we know he gets that from me. (Despite my constant kvetching on this blog, I have a really high tolerance for pain, I just have no stomach for illness or emotional upheaval...) When he comes to one of us and crawls into my lap and pats me on the back, it makes me love Jordana even more. Because that's her inside him.
He's ten months old today and if I can paraphrase Dean Smith, the best thing about babies under ten months is that they become babies over ten months. He won't ever be the baby he was, and if he's any inkling now of the kind of boy and man he's gonna become, we're incredibly, incredibly lucky.