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.

Spooning

Much as I love this baby -- and man, oh man, do I love this baby -- I must admit I've been dreading the learning-to-feed-yourself-with-utensils phase. It's not that I keep such an incredibly tidy house/toddler at mealtime as is, keeping the spoon in my own hand. It's more that (both of us) spending at least a few hours in something without food on it is my stronghold on the day. Like making the bed and vacuuming the rug, it seems to ward off depression and other demons. So, much as Django's been clamoring to give the spoon a try, I couldn't quite hand it over -- till I found the perfect food for practice: fluffy vanilla yogurt from Trader Joe's. I can wipe fluffy vanilla yogurt off anything, including my sometimes troubled mind. And he can't get enough of the stuff. I think we're both well on our way to the next milestone. (BTW, this video is from last night, the night of his first attempts.)

Ode to Charly

My friend Charly is a lovely guy with a family of his own

Yet for the sake of me & mine he worked his fingers to the bone

He came; he saw; he measured (twice) and reassured me it’d be ok

He chose the wood, cut it well, beveled and sanded all day

He brought it back, drilled and pounded, and even though it made him late

He stayed the extra hours it took to figure out how to install the gate

Bubba Mike helped with extra hands, priming and painting, too

Without them I don’t know what I’d do.

‘Cuz only now can toddlers safely play above here and below

But perilously up and down the stairs they cannot blithely go!

New Low

Last week saw us take one giant nosedive from the great height of Django's first toddling to the cavernous low of double stomach flu. The fall was dizzying. And even though I'm all about truth in chronicling, I figured nobody -- least of all me -- would want to see the picture of me in the middle of the night, shirtless and retching into a tupperware container at the foot of the bed, while Django wailed at me from the head of the bed because his nursing session was interrupted, and because he was suffering his own gastro-intestinal discomfort.

In fact, poor little Django is still at battle with the germs. He finally stopped throwing up, though his other end remains explosive. But I've learned that I can be at peace with diarrhea. It's upsetting and messy, to be sure, but it just doesn't terrify me the way vomiting does. Seeing what you just put into your little one's mouth come forcefully cascading out is about a zillion times worse than having the experience yourself. It's like a glimpse of what the world would look like if we focused on how we die every day, rather than how we live. Only, in this case, the 'glimpse' seems to last forever. Believe me, 5 days of it intermittently is an eternity. People often compare normal-people-time in reference to dog-years, but I can assure you that baby-barf-years are way longer.

So, instead of a photo of what we really looked like last week, here are a few photos from the fun we had with Bubba Mike at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park a couple weeks ago. We're looking forward to more carefree days like this coming soon.

Toddlin'

I am a terrible videographer, I admit, but this was a beautiful moment I captured just the same.

First Steps

Today at playgroup Django took his first independent steps. 3 of them. Right in a row. Toward me. I was flabbergasted. He went from standing there, to bouncy dancing there, and then – bloop – just like that, he toddled! I wasn’t lucky enough to catch it on film. But it made me think I better post these clips of him pushing things around, before that phase seems like ancient history.