Down/Up

At Nana's house over Thanksgiving, Django decided to premiere -- not one, but two -- new tricks: 1) safely getting down from elevated places; and 2) leveraging up from the floor without help from people or things. I love these skills, I do, but pleeeeese someone tell me that leaping recklessly off playground equipment doesn't come next.

This Time Last Year

I've always had much for which to be thankful. Always been one of the proverbial lucky ones. And, if I don't blow it big somewhere along the way, I like to think that chances are good Django will be, too -- though I won't be taking that for granted.

With Django's 1st birthday just a few days away, I've found myself spending quite a bit of time thinking back to this time last year...Making the usual 3.5 hour drive down the coast to convene with family over a giant Thanksgiving meal didn't sound very appealing to my then-170lb self. First of all, it would've meant having to catch my 3 rabbits and get them into a rental car, too -- which is no easy feat, even without 30lbs of baby dangling out in front. Secondly, the only thing I felt there was room for in my stomach was bubbly water. And, finally, possibly going into labor on the 101 just wasn't part of the birth plan. I didn't want to risk it.

As it turned out, the usual hosts of the family Thanksgiving on the central coast -- the Kautz clan -- all came down with a stomach flu and had to cancel the event. I ended up spending my evening still in the Bay Area at the emergency vet hospital with Honeybun, the head of my rabbit household, who had mysteriously gone all wonky, unable to sit up straight or hop without toppling over and twitching violently. It would've been a lost & miserable holiday all around, if it wasn't for Tori bringing over cheery, little Zoe and a late-night plate of Thanksgiving leftovers from her house, and joining me for a much-needed glass of wine.

This year, by contrast, was absolutely everything Thanksgiving is cracked-up to be, and absolutely everything last Thanksgiving was not -- full of family, food, happiness and health for all creatures, great & small. But that's not exactly what I felt most grateful for at the end of the day. It was the sense that I'm living a life-in-motion now, in a way I never have before. (I don't mean toddler-chasing, either, though that's certainly a new sport for me.) In fact, I mean something I'm not actually sure I can describe, something like the difference between swimming and treading water. I'd say the feeling has something to do with moving 'forward' except that would imply I have a destination in mind. In reality, I don't think I know any more about where I'm 'going' with my life this year than I did last, possibly even less, but I do have the distinct impression I'm now really getting somewhere. And I know exactly who to thank.

Splishin' & Splashin'

Django got his third go-round of a stomach virus on the verge of this weekend I'd jam-packed with exciting plans. Boo-hoo. So we missed the Workers' Rights Clinic/Mike Gaitley Lovefest on Thursday, Alex Momtchiloff's 45th birthday/20th year in the Bay Area on Friday, a visit to the Little Farm in Tilden Park with Judy formerly-Rummelsburg & her family today, and possibly Elizabeth's Going-Away party and Monique's Dude-We (Obama)-Won party tonight. Did I say boo-hoo, already? Oh yeah, I did.

As retroactive consolation, on the Tuesday Veterans' Day Holiday earlier in the week we did make it to the Bay Area Discovery Museum in Sausalito with Jill, young Kate & baby Meghan, for a glorious -- if overcast and overcrowded -- day at, among other things, the Tot Spot play-stream. Those of you who have seen the video proof of Django's interest in the rabbits' water bowl (9/7/08,) won't be at all surprised by his interest here.* Luckily, I had what I call his Jersey track suit in my bag so he didn't have to spend the rest of this fun day dripping wet.

*P.S. I spared you the 2-minute long clip of Django doing much the same, only with the addition of a slightly older, splashy competitor, because a) it is too damned long for anyone but me to want to watch; and, b) Django didn't show his wet face as nicely.

Bellwether -- Part II

On a lighter note, the truth is whenever I think "bellwether" for some reason I think "frog." And, now, whenever I think frog I think "Django." I don't know how much longer he'll let me dress us in a team costume, but I had so much fun this year -- on his first Halloween -- that I'll definitely try it again.

Bellwether -- Part I

Last Tuesday, our nation elected its first African-American president. Django & I spent our election night banded together with a few other like-minded families. When eyes weren’t glued to toddlers they were glued to the television, watching nervously as the map of states got colored in, a red one here, two blue there. When the media finally called the race for Barack Obama, we all whooped and cheered. We clinked glasses of champagne and went home feeling hopeful. And, largely, I still do.

I’m incredibly lucky. I get to show Django these photos and tell him the story of how he was kissed by a man who went on to make history. Who knows, I may even be able to get my hands on some footage from our roundtable meeting back in January. With or without the extra visual aid, though, Django will know that his mama was there to speak for all low-income, single mamas. He will know I told President-Elect Obama that I honestly didn’t know how we would continue to make financial ends meet. And, largely, I still don’t. But that’s not why I sat in the dark of the parked car on election night, listening to Obama’s victory speech on the radio, crying quietly at the wheel while Django slept peacefully behind me.

I cried because Obama’s words were moving and because the moment was so momentous. But I also cried because I don’t know how to explain to Django why it took this long to put a person of color in the White House, or how much longer it might take before there will be a woman there, or a gay for heaven’s sake. I don’t know how to explain why so many voters in California want to keep his Uncle Jon from marrying the man he loves, or why so many also keep trying to take away the right of newly pregnant women – especially young ones – to decide when (or if) they are actually ready to take on the enormous responsibility of raising a child. In short, I don’t know how to teach Django to believe in American democracy, even – perhaps especially – when as far as it comes it still comes up short.