Aunty Caitlin

Today is Aunty Caitlin's birthday. She is 27 years old today, and is growing more and more beautiful. She came to see Tate last week, and what a nice visit we had. Her visit coincided with the end of my family leave, and so we got to spend a lot of time together--we haven't spent that much face time together since she and I moved to Cooper Landing, Alaska, together five years ago this summer. We see each other pretty regularly, but it's not often just time with my sister. I can hardly believe that five years have passed since we were first in Alaska together, either--it truly feels like yesterday, and here it is a half a decade ago. Happy Birthday, hermana. We love you.
Monica and Tate have gone to see some friends in California--her four closest college girlfriends are gathering from all corners of the country to see each other. Three of the four have had new babies in the last year, and two of those babies are the first ones in their respective families. So there are four girls--Monica, Kirsten, Sara, and Shauna--and as it turns out, three baby boys: Tate, Cash, and Henry. There's a fourth boy, too, Bracket, who is Kirsten's older boy--some of you might remember him as the little red-bow-tie-wearing infant from our wedding--but his dad is taking him to Legoland for the weekend. That these girls have maintained such a close tie to one another after ten years is really quite a nice thing to see. They left yesterday morning, and I had the house to myself last night, which was a very strange feeling, let me tell you. After two months of punctuated sleep, it was very strange to wake up in the morning wondering why I had not heard Tate's cries in the night. I'll miss them this weekend, but I'll be waving a stick at the waters of June Lake trying to catch a fish with my friends Josh and Shelly.

Morning Coffee and a Baby Boy

I'm sitting at the table sipping coffee as I write this morning, my son resting in a snugli I'm wearing around my shoulders and chest, and I'm humming to him the theme song from the '80s film Crossing Delancey. He's talking to me and bouncing up and down on his little feet, trying to learn that his feet are his feet, and that his hands are his hands. He frequently swings his arms around and hits himself in the face with his little fist, and then looks as if he's considering who just hit him, and whether or not he should cry. His eyes are growing heavy now, but he's fighting sleep at this moment...one of the ways I know he is my son. I remember very distinctly fighting sleep or Ginger, our childhood babysitter, who wished for Caitlin and I to take our naps. Tate and I have been hanging out together this morning watching the finals of the 2007 French Open, where Raphael Nadal has just defeated Roger Federer in four sets. We're trying to let Monica get a few more winks of sleep this morning.
Tate's also been studying the sculptures of Deborah Butterfield with me, as I prepare to go to work this week and next to be ready for the NMA exhibition of her work, which begins next weekend. It seems fitting that Rags to Riches, the first filly to win the Belmont Stakes in 102 years, secured her win yesterday as Tate and I sat together looking at pictures of sculptures with the names shared with such famous race horses as Rondo and Ferdinand. Seeing such beautiful movement in those wonderful horses changes the way you consider Butterfield's sculpture, I think.
On Monday this week, we had a do-over for Mother's Day--Monica's first Mother's Day had been in the hospital with the boy, so we planned our own. Tate and I celebrated with a fun present for mommy and a drive to Truckee to introduce Tate to our friend Meg, and to have dinner at Jake's on the Lake in Tahoe City. It was a beautiful evening, and we enjoyed stuffed rainbow trout together. We watched the light grow long across Lake Tahoe as it illuminated the sails of a dozen dinghies racing in a regatta in the last of the day's winds.
Tate is thriving, and I now believe that his head could no longer be birthed, it's grown so much. His hands and feet appear larger to me, and he seems longer still than he had been just a week ago. He's now asleep against my chest, breathing rhythmically. Here's a cute shot of Tate and his mommy...

After the Blue Moon

A picture of my boy and me....My dad took the photograph when he and my mom were in town last weekend for the holiday. You can read my dad's account of the visit's meaning at his blog, Blue Wheelbarrow.
A blue moon rose in the late hours of May 31 (on the west coast)--the first one in two-and-a-half years. It feels like a small but special event early in Tate's young life. He is six weeks old today, and all indications are that he's now thriving. I'll need to take him to have his blood tested for bilirubin and liver enzyme levels toward the end of this week, but, thankfully, we won't otherwise have to visit the doctor's office until his healthy baby checkup on June 26.
Many thanks again to everyone for their thoughts and prayers for our little one in recent weeks. Aside from sharing the peace at church, my favorite time in the liturgy is the prayers of the people. There really does seem to be a channeling of energy at the time that the prayers are read, and I find it to be a powerful expression of peoples' faith in action, and to know that so many were thinking of Tate in this time of need feels comforting.
He's learning to control his facial expressions ever-so-slightly now, and we can see what his smiles will look like from time to time now. He's a sweet boy.