Christmas Gift from Delhi

Surjeet Auntie made a fabulous set of matching ghagras for Vivian and Simran and sent them over from Delhi for Christmas. This afternoon, they put on their new clothes and vogued for the cameras. Click on this link to see the slideshow.

The girls agreed to step out in style together again soon. They look so happy together - I couldn't help but smile for the rest of the day. Arjun - I know so are you...:-)

A Warm Christmas Morning

It's been a warm winter in Austin so far. But at about 930am on this fine Christmas morning, things get decidedly warmer for Vivian. We've been cooking for Christmas and our usually clean (read unused) kitchen is a mess (here is where I am setting up the excuse for what follows). Vivian is crawling around the living room and kitchen when she decides to eat about half of a bright red chile piquin - about the size of a mini M&M.

Much screaming, washing, feeding yogurt, sucking on ice, and applying olive oil. A call to the on-call nurse at the pediatrician. After about 10 minutes, she's back to normal. After another hour, Jo and I are still a bit shaky.

I eat the remaining four peppers for breakfast. I need a glass of water after that. The peppers grow on a small bush in our front yard. As peppers go, these midgets are hot - about 100,000 on the Scoville scale. Compare that with 8,000 for jalapenos, and 200,000 for the really hot habaneros. Turns out that the hottest pepper out there is the Naga Jalokia from India at about 1,000,000 Scovilles.

One day when you are older, we'll give the naga a shot, girl. Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas.

Photo shoot at Opal's

It's Christmas Eve eve. Jo is still buying shit just because it's a habit by now. But she doesn't want me go to Lowe's to get that extra massive firewood log splitting maul I need. So we are more than ready for 3pm when it's time to meet Amanda's parents. We get to Opal's. Amanda and Gordon, Tim and Katie, and her parents who are visiting from down under are already seated outside. We sit down and order our drinks.

Gordon almost immediately gets to work with his camera. We like his stuff and have two of his photos from Death Valley hanging on our walls.

The light isn't the best - the afternoon sun is low in the sky, and half of us are squinting at the other half who are silhouettes. But the beer and fries are good, and we spend a very enjoyable couple of hours chatting away. During the whole time, Gordon occasionally walks around and
points his camera this way and that. Mostly quite unobtrusively.

It's time to leave. I ask him how many pictures he's taken in the last two hours. He consults his camera and replies "one hundred and seventeen". Click here to see nine of them that he liked. I think they are some of the best pictures of Vivian.

Occam's Pillow

It is fun to hear parents interpret the sounds made by their non-verbal children. Around Halloween, our lovely neighbor looks at our pumpkins and announces "bah". Fair enough - as pumpkins go, they aren't anything to write home about. Her mother however translates "pumpkins are bumpy". Hmm.

The other day, Vivian sternly repeats "ala ... da".
Translation: "Allah is great. If you name my teddy bear Mohamed, I will stone you to death".

Yes - it is a product of our times. I hope this will not offend any other than those who said the same. If you didn't but are upset, I apologize - no offense meant.

Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity --William of Ockham (c. 1285–1349)

The Christmas Letter

Jo wants me to write something to insert in her Christmas cards. I am not sure what to do. So I start blogging furiously. And Vivian gives me the best smile ever. And again. She is almost 10 months old. That's not very many months - but I only have a very vague memory of life before her.

2007 started slowly for Jo and me. By the time January rolled in, Jo was ready to put pregnancy behind her. And I was a bit restless - we hadn't traveled anywhere in over a month. We were both looking forward to this easier phase called parenthood. At about 03:00 on Feb 16, Jo informed me that the baby was on the move. At 19:58 that evening, she held Vivian Bina in her arms for the very first time. Six pounds and 10 ounces, and nineteen and three quarters inches of life.

The first two weeks were a blur. And breastfeeding is rocket science. At the end of week 2, Vivian had her first bath and loved it. It was the start of our almost daily ritual since. The blue bath tub in the kitchen with the toys and ducks and baby soap and baby lotion. At about 830pm, that's where you'll find us.

Vivian started sleeping in her own room a few days after she turned two months. From 9pm to 7am, some sort of normalcy returned to the house. Jo and I sat on the couch and shared common thoughts for few seconds at a time. The cats wandered back in. For Jo's birthday, Carol babysat and we went to Musashino for dinner. It was the first time Jo and Vivian weren't in the same body or same house in almost a year. Everybody survived.

For her third month birthday, in May, Vivian laughed. She was in her bathtub and looked up at us and let out a full-throated laugh and then repeated it. I am grossly understating it when I say that the parents were mesmerized. A couple of days after that, three generations of Chatterjees congregated in Michigan to chat about cricket and the traffic in Hyderabad. Dadu (Grandpa) was in Ann Arbor at Uncle Alu and Aunt Michelle's for the start of his summer trip. The plane ride there was OK, but on the way back, Jo looked like a PTSD kid.

June rolled around and we took a road trip to Florida for Uncle Aaron's fini flight. Vivian was suitably awed as Major Clark's F-15 thundered up into the clouds followed by the roar of the glowing afterburners. In July, we headed off to Nebraska for the Burns family reunion. Jo and 55 of her closest relatives (the number as well as the sentiment includes various pets) met in Falls City. Nicolle, Michelle, Grandma, Vivian's five cousins, Dadu, Mom, Dad, Vivian and Ellie and Kirby (the dogs) camped out in two RVs in Lake Stanton Park. Now there's an experience.

Back at the ranch, the new pool was finally ready. Vivian quickly discovered that her favorite pastime was to float around in Katurah's red inflatable crab. In August, the ladies (Grandma, Nicolle, Katurah, Jo, and Vivian) went to see Uncle Erick and Aunt Jean in North Carolina. I used that time to wear out the soles of my hiking boots in the Canadian Rockies. I saw some of the best scenery on the continent for a week and missed my little girl acutely. August saw another major milestone - Vivian turned six months and started on solid food. This bundle of life had so far subsisted completely on the secretions of a couple of glands on her mother's body. Mind boggling stuff. In August, we also observed Arjun's first death anniversary - it was easier with Vivian laughing in my arms.

In early September, Uncle Tom and Aunt Anna and Brian and Kim visited from Nebraska. One day, everyone else went to Sea World while Vivian and I hung out at Grandma's. We painted and lounged and swam and chilled. Vivian could crawl but hated to. After one step she always splatted herself on the floor and then rolled on to her back. But she mastered another trick - she could pull herself up. She practiced on everything - coffee tables, entertainment consoles, cats, cousin Katurah.

At the end of September, we went to Houston to visit Cara and Eric and little Holden who was three months old. We also checked out the Lucy exhibit. Vivian met her oldest known hominid ancestor from 3.18 million years back. Vivian will soon be a walking testament to Lucy's bipedalism.

October was marked by three things: eating out, another trip, and Halloween. After months of self-imposed (well - almost "self") exile, we returned to the world of restaurants - Vivo's, El Chile, Musashino, EZ's, the Hula Hut and Satay. A small step for a little girl, a giant step for the sanity of her parents. Jo and Vivian went to Baltimore to visit Vicky and Brett and little Lilly who was four months old. And then we spent a few days in Rhode Island at Alu and Michelle's new home, and enjoyed the riotous fall colors and the lovely coast at Narragansett and Newport and Mystic, and returned home in time for Halloween. Vivian chose the costumes - by virtue of her natural Mohawk we were a family of punks. She dressed in black with a spiked Mohawk and black boots and a "My Dad Rocks" shirt.

In the course of one weekend in early November, Vivian mastered the art of crawling, clapping, blowing raspberries, and walking with a walker. She realized the potential of mobility and got into everything. Furniture and nicknacks were hidden or moved. Electrical outlets were plugged up. Cats slept with one eye open. As if in celebration of all this, an already happy child became even more cheerful. Going out became a bit of chore for her socially challenged parents - Vivian made all kinds of new friends at every restaurant or store.

In a few days, Vivian will be ten months old. And in a few more, 2007 will be history. I remember walking down to Central Market with Jo just the other day. It had snowed, the sidewalks were icy, and the grass in Ramsey Park was crunchy. We drank hot chocolate and discussed names. Luke or Eva? Since then, another year has almost come and gone. And these are some of the things I remember of it. And that the universe has changed for ever.

Back to Blogging

November's come and gone, and you wouldn't know it from reading my blogs. I don't have any new entries - I got busy rewriting some code. I don't have any pictures - Jo hid the camera in her car with the intent of taking pictures of Flat Jerad (like Flat Stanley) as she drove past the Capitol or the Alamo for her second cousin, Jerad. And Vivian grew up. Really.

But it's December and the code is done. So please come back soon and I'll have updates on Vivian and the busy Christmas season.

As Much Time In as Out

The other day Vivian reached a major milestone - she's now spent about as much time outside as inside. She turned 9 months and is ready for The world is her oyster, and she's

Boo

The next year, Vivian will be a princess for Halloween. And for the next decade or two. We get to pick this once - so she's a punk rocker. And then we accessorize with her. A family of punks. Vivian is Goth, Jo goes with purple highlights and pigtails - new rock punk I suppose, and I am old school.

Vivian loves her costume. She's a natural - black boots, black tights, a black tee ("My Dad Rocks"), and a Mohawk with a tinge of purple on the very tips of the fin. One thing she won't be mistaken for is a "Kansas City ....." by Erik.

Her cousins are a Motocross racer, a mermaid, a pirate, and a couple of princesses. Brandon is Tigger. Elanor is a bee. Simran is a blond glamorous actress with a pink boa. Essy is a ballet dancer in a tutu. Ana Maria is something bloody. Paul is a Jedi. Izzy and Sophie are princesses. Ben is in a black skeleton suit. Lennie scares the boogers out of the kids and most of the moms by standing around quietly in a scary mask and a St. Francis outfit. Nobody including myself have the slightest who he is till he pulls of his mask.

We slip in a Rocky Horror Show DVD for the kids. The adults stand around and chat. It's obvious that this year it's different. There are more than a dozen children running around, and one of Marta's Unbreakable Pinatas hangs in the backyard. The guests leave an hour after midnight. We don't have a single sleep-over. The hot tub remains idle. And Gunner doesn't do what he normally does on Halloween (hmmm - scratch that one - he wasn't here, so I don't know for sure).

Next year, if Grandma isn't working, maybe she'll be nice enough to chill with Vivian and we'll sneak in one last party like the old times before it's princesses for us. See our Halloween pics (and some others) in a slideshow.

The Providence Plantations

Yes - Rhode Island is not an island. The full name is "The State of Rhode Island and the Providence Plantations". The island part refers to the Aquidneck Islands, and the Providence Plantations part to the rest. Jo and Wikipedia informs us of all that and more when we visit Alu and Michelle at their new beautiful digs in the Ocean State.

Turns out the the good people of Rhode Island are Vivian's peeps. She can run for governor tomorrow and win. They love her. One morning, over a breakfast of pumpkin pancakes at The Nook, half the residents of the state stop by and chat with her. And she smiles and grins at the other half. After about an hour of this, Jo and I can't take it any more. We quietly skip out of the state with Vivian and head to Connecticut to check out USS Nautilus - the first nuke sub ever.

Vivian has her Uncle Alu wrapped around her little finger. Mission accomplished (no, really). We took some pictures in Alu's front yard - among the fall colors and leaves. See Vivian's new pictures in her flickr album.

Mother's Memory

Sandy K wrote a thoughtful reply to my post about Mother's Memory.

Mother's Memory

Sandy K wrote a thoughtful reply to my post about mother's memory (Jo's Theory of Mother's Memory) . Here it is in it's entirety:

I hated almost every day of being pregnant. No medical complications
at all (although the massively swollen, itchy legs, ankles and feet
were fairly awful), even wore my already snug wedding rings right to the
end, but I hated being gigantic and unwieldy (after a lifetime of effortless
thinness), detested not being able to breathe and eat without discomfort,
disliked all the attention from everyone from slight acquaintances to
complete strangers (being pregnant is like having a spotlight on you
everywhere you go - no anonymity possible), and constantly told everyone I
could not imagine why anyone would ever have more than one child. Then 7
days after Lily was born, I'm sitting there telling Ken that we will be
doing this again!

So why? The one thing I think I remember accurately and really miss is the
feeling of the baby moving, once she was far enough along to make herself
known. Lily was a swimmer, and I would lie here at night feeling her slither
and thump around, watching my belly ripple, and that was just the most
amazing experience. So that's the only rational thing. The rest of it comes
from the whole "wow, this is the most meaningful, scary and exciting thing I
have ever done in my life and I just can't really believe how wildly
absorbing every little thing this tiny scrap does is". As Lily grows and I
watch her just soak up everything around her, that feeling of surprise and
amazement doesn't abate, and it makes me want to do it all over again.
Finally, there's the pragmatic bit: At each stage with Lily, we have had no
idea what we were doing, no-one really to advise us (very few of our close
friends in Austin have children, and those who do have kids in college!) and
have had to learn on the fly. But once we master something, she's already
left us in the dust. So I just don't want all these barely used skills to go
to waste!

Eating Out

So we are happily eating out again. Vivian eats well at restaurants and finds something to eat anywhere. At Vivo's she loves the rice and beans. At EZ's, where the girl who took our money gave as a discount for a cute baby (serious), its squished steamed vegies. At Ruby's, where even the black beans are spicy, there's yummy whole wheat bread. She loves the rice at Hula Hut. And I can't remember where, but Mommy once made her an avocado sandwich.

We have learned that the instant our food arrives, there had better be something for Vivian to eat. We are at Satay for dinner with the Shahs. Our appetizers arrive - coated with peanut sauce - which we aren't feeding Vivian as yet. Jo fishes out a lemon wedge from her glass and tosses it at Vivian. She's done in five seconds flat and spits out the remains. Then she starts beating on the table with both hands.

The people at the table next to us had commented on how cute Vivian was a few minutes ago when they had walked past. Now they turn to see Khrushchev banging on the table. Luckily, our Tom Kha soup arrives in a firepot. Jo pulls out pieces of broccoli from the soup and squishes them for Vivian as fast as she can. All is good for a few minutes. But then we are out of broccoli and Khrushchev threatens to return. Manju saves the day - she spies her husband trying to eat a piece of broccoli at the far end of the table. A moment later, its been confiscated and fed to Vivian. The waiter arrives with dinner. The evening passes peacefully.

The Other Family Reunion

Lucy is in Houston. She's not as young as she once was, and doesn't get out much (a lot of people are upset that she is visiting Houston). So we decide to nip down for a weekend and show her to Vivian.

Saturday morning arrives in Houston - warm and muggy with the mingled aromas of bayous and exhaust. We stop by Central Market, grab some breakfast, pick up Cara and Holden from down the street (after all, they are family too) and head on to Herman Park where Lucy is staying. I wonder what Lucy thinks about how her family has turned out. During her day, she scratched out a living and tried hard to not become some one's dinner. Now her peeps are the dominant species on the planet and well on their way to screwing it up (Dubya and Crichton not withstanding).

It's about 1030 in the morning. By the time we get there, 20-30 of our relatives are already there. We wander around and look at this and that. Then I tell Jo that I want to take Vivian over to Lucy before the crowd gets here. We step into an anteroom with a slide show. Everything looks somber enough - except that "Lucy in the sky with diamonds" is playing endlessly in a cheesy loop. I have Vivian riding on my shoulders. We enter the circular darkened room with with a single spot under which Lucy lays. Jo is beside us pushing Vivian's empty stroller. There are a lot of people in the room - but it's quiet. Then another woman with a stroller asks Jo what kind of stroller she has, and they fall into a consumer-report type conversation. I hold Vivian over Lucy. She stares. I wonder what she sees.

Nine Hour Day

Saturday was a big day. We drop Mom off at Nicolle's in the morning and aren't going to see her till evening. Mom and Grandma and Nicolle's family and Uncle Tom and Aunt Annna and Kim and Brian have a date with Shamu the orca at Sea World, and we are free as a GPL license. Vivian and I have survived without Mom for two or three hours before. But this is new.

We head back to Lariat Ridge and hang out on the deck while Pete cleans the pool. Then we climb up the step ladder to plan out the next phase of exterior painting. Vivian isn't scared of heights, but Dad worries that Mom won't let us do this again if Vivian rolls off the roof, so we climb back down. Soon it's time for Vivian's quick morning nap. I don't get any painting done because I go back and forth between the roof and the crib every fifteen minutes. And then she's awake. When I get her from her crib, as I sometimes do, she expectantly looks around for Mom to feed her - as Mom always does. Vivian is worried now - looking around corners and under furniture. "Where's Mom?". But she keeps it together and we chow on apple juice from a sippy cup and rice cereal and green pea mush. She eats her green pea mush like it's the best thing since breast milk. Coincidentally, this is her very first meal that doesn't involve any.

We sit around and play with the only toy we can find - a little pink piglet holding a corn cob that spins (who thinks up these toys and what are they on). And we read Harry Potter (I am re-reading #6). And in a couple of hours Vivian is ready for her afternoon nap. She naps for almost 3 hours and I nap for a while too. Then it's time to heat up some milk that Mom left us, and yum - we are so happy. If she is worried about the fact that Dad's the only person she's seen in a long time, she is hiding it well.

We have a blast in the pool. She swims around like a frog with her legs sticking out from under a red inflatable crab that belongs to Katura. Then I propel her around the pool without the crab and she lunges for my shades. And finally, she has me hold her while she hoists the crab over her head and slams it down on the water like a pro-wrestler. Good girl - break the crab's neck.

It's 7pm, she's worried. Did Mom go to Mexico? I call, and Mom says she will be home soon. Vivian hears her voice on the phone and cheers up. I hoist Vivian on my shoulders - she grabs my hair with both hands, and we walk up the driveway with the setting sun shinning on our eyes. We sip a little apple juice. At 730pm, Mom comes through the front door - and Vivian is waiting - with a huge smile on her face.

For a moment, when Jo suggests that she can now go get a job, I worry about it. Then I think "Nah - who'd go work when you can do this instead."

Vivian and I had a pretty easy day. I didn't get anything else done all day - just "sitting on my ass" with Vivian - but it sure was relaxing. I look after my daughter for one day and feel like a home-town hero. Jo does this every day. Could I?

More Pictures

I am upload-challenged. Finally some fresh pictures. Here's a link to a slide show of pictures from early summer to now, including Vivian's first trip to the pool, Dadu's visit, the Burns family reunion and more. Over time, the link stays the same but the new pictures folder may contain newer photos, so you can always look at Vivian's album on flickr.

Vivian's First Stand

Today Vivian shows me on cue how she can stand up - holding Mom's finger for balance. She is sitting cross-legged on her quilt in her hand-me-down lovely blue and gold dress from Katura. And as she slowly and very carefully stands up, the dress makes her look like she is floating upwards.

No signs or even any desire to crawl. But she is sitting like a champ and now has the assisted standing under her belt. As with soccer, so with all else - you don't need a lot of moves. Just a couple that you do well.

Solid Fuel

The Bangla word for the ceremonial feeding of rice to Vivian at six months is annaprashan. Dadu's annaprashan card arrives the day Vivian turns half a year old. It's really Erik's job, as the mother's youngest brother. I still have a picture in an album somewhere - wearing a funny balsa wood cone-head hat, sitting on my uncle's lap while he feeds me rice and slips gold ornaments on to my wrists.

The highchair from Stoke has arrived and been assembled by Jo. We grab a box of rice cereal from Central Market. I roll the video camera and Jo feeds Vivian the rice and breast milk slurry. It goes amazingly well. Vivian is taken up by this new form of feeding and doesn't notice the taste till the next time we try. And then she clams up. I try some - I would too. Next we try some mixed grain cereal and Vivian likes it. We slowly add other food groups like a lemon from Mom's margarita and a handful of Dad's nachos at Dog and Duck when Dad isn't paying attention.

Now Vivian is into broccoli and peas. We boil some and them mash it into pulp using a hand grinder gizmo. Even without any seasoning or even salt, this stuff is good. Feeding Vivian requires hand-eye coordination and speed. She wants to feed herself. You have to keep her hands occupied so she doesn't grab the spoon laden with food. Then you have to bring the spoon close enough to her mouth to attract her attention. Once she sees the spoon, the speed and coordination parts come in - you have to move the spoon quickly and still get her mouth though she's moving her whole body and her head and her mouth towards the spoon in a random but aggressive snapping motion. Having never done it, it's hard to be sure - but I suspect it would be like feeding a baby raptor or phirana.

Country Club

Vivian - with the benefit of hindsight, your generation will pass judgment on the events of the last few years involving the US and Iraq. But it ain't that hard from where one person stands today. I'd like to pass on this pearl to you.

Jo and my friend is doing his second tour of duty in Iraq. He posted the following on his myspace page under the "Who I'd Like To Meet" section. Vivian plays with his 9 month old son - who's briefly met his dad once.

Who I'd Like To Meet:
Anyone who truly thinks that Invading Iraq was a good idea and maybe get them to trade places with me for a day...wouldn't want them to miss a function at the Country Club..assholes.

News from Lake Ohara

Here's a story unrelated to Vivian in any way, except that it happened to her father - when Gunaraja and I were at Lake Ohara in Yoho National Park, Canada.

Background: Lake Ohara sits in a sensitive area of Yoho. You can only travel there by foot or take a park bus. There is a small campsite at the lake. Because it is bear country, the campsites are off to one side and there's a communal cooking and eating area. There are bear-safe lockers near the cooking area for all your food.

When we get there, one of the campsites that is available is number 31. An oldish Canadian couple grabs it. We get campsite 30. We cook. We eat. We get ready to put our food in our alloted bear locker. Gunaraja notices that our locker is full of someone else's stuff: three bright yellow bags of groceries, a very old and dirty canvas backpack with a Canadian flag on it, and a nasty looking Coleman stove. I think that the people who just vacated Number. 30 have forgotten their shit. I rush off towards the bus stop. Alas the last bus of the day has already departed.


We know that the locker 6 must be empty because there is no tent on that site. After thinking about our options, we schlep all the crap that someone else had left in our locker to locker 6. Then we neatly put our belongings in our locker and go off to set up our tents.

After a bit, the old Canadian guy stops by politely and asks if we have, by any chance, put our stuff in locker 31. A light bulb immediately (and admittedly long after it should have) clicks on in both Gunaraja and my heads at the same time. All this time, we have been screwing around with their locker - thinking it was ours.

It turns out that they put their food away, and then went off to set up their tents and drink a bit of wine. After a couple of glasses, they come back down to cook. And whoa - their stuff is gone, and someone else's crap is there instead. After much hand-wringing and worrying about their sobriety and convincing themselves that they had in fact not imagined putting their stuff in their locker, they peek in all the lockers and find their stuff in locker 6. More searching - and they the find locker 30 empty. So they rightly guess that the idiots in campsite 30 have put their shit in locker 31 after moving the original contents of locker 31 to locker 6 for some unknown and inexplicable reason. They come looking for said idiots and there we are.

They are Canadian. So they are extremely polite about the whole thing. We can't find any reason to dislike our victims to mitigate our feeling like idiots. The lady asks me if I am Canadian too. I say that I am from Texas. She says "Hmm - I saw you carrying a backpack with a Canadian flag on it just a little while ago". She had seen me moving her stuff from her locker and hadn't recognized her pack. Must be some good wine.

We apologize frequently and profusely. They try to make us feel better: "Any one could have made that mistake". Really?

It's 8pm. To hide our embarrassed asses, we decide to quietly leave the campsite and go for a short hike. We run into our Canadian friends several times. Three days and many miles later, Gunajara runs into them at the Lake Louise campsite.

I blame Gunaraja and the altitude and acid rain and several other things.

Siyagruva

Yesterday I sailed Siyagruva on Lake Travis with Grant. She's a Beneteau 373 and is Nautic7's flagship. It's time to say goodbye to Morpheus - the trusty Hunter 320 I have spent many an enjoyable afternoon with.

We have a tiny lifevest for Vivian, and she'll start sailing soon. But for now, she hangs with Mom while I go sail. Which is a part of the problem. The other part is that I am late coming back home. I tell Jo I'll be back by 630-7p, but it's already past 9p when I leave the dock. Time just runs away from us. We raise the spinnaker on Siyagruva, and Grant and I are grinning from ear to ear. We are cruising at 4.5 knots in a 9 knots wind! When it's time to drop the spinnaker, we fell like we are in the American's Cup - standing there on the bow and pulling in huge handfuls of flimsy sail.

So I decide to burn another 10 minutes and stop and buy Jo some flowers on the way back. I think it will make my apology smell nicer (after a hot afternoon on the lake, I don't).

I get back home and Vivian is already asleep. I give Jo the flowers and mumble. She says "Don't bother". Ouch.

Jo - I am sorry I was late. I love you and I enjoy sailing. I will be a very happy man if I can do both ;-) Will you go sailing with me the next time?

This morning I am on my best behavior. When Jo hands me Vivian, I take her for a walk. Then we think we'll make mom love us by picking up a pack of diapers. It's so freakin' early on a Sunday morning that Vivian is the second customer to walk in to the Target store. We miss being numero uno by less than 30 seconds. Damn.

I have learned my lesson - the next time I go sailing, I will get to Target early so Vivian can be the first customer to roll in through the door!

ps. the flowers that I got Jo look great and last forever. Jo calls them the "asshole flowers". "Hey - look how nice the asshole flowers look", and "Can you water the asshole flowers", and even "Vivian - what do you think of the asshole flowers".

Paradise Valley

I just got back from Paradise. Yoho and Banff National Parks in the Canadian Rockies. We hiked the high trail through Wiwaxy Gap around Lake O'Hara, Paradise Valley to Giant Steps, up and down Fairview Mountain above Lake Louise, Takakkaw Falls to Laughing Falls along the Yoho River, and Sunshine to Egypt Lake via Healy Pass. It is some of the most beautiful hiking I have done. There is spot in the an alpine meadows around Healy Pass where I can easily spend the rest of my life.

She is too small to have backpacked this time, but luckily for Vivian, REI carries some tiny sizes of hiking stuff - boots and jackets and that sort of a thing. Once you are off the boob, girl.

My American NPS has been spoiling me. Parks Canada has a very loose notion of trails. If a mountain goat can scramble up, so could you. The nice warden with great legs who hiked Paradise Valley with us tried to explain to me the difference between trail and route, but I'm not buying it.

One more thing - for what the Canadians charge you, I expect fresh sheets of high thread count in my sleeping bag every night. But they do have a good thing going for them. When a girl from Parks Canada cornered Gunaraja at the trailhead to answer a survey, and she asked him what Parks Canada was doing well, I had to tell her that they made good scenery.

This is my first time away from Vivian. By the last day I am thumbing through her flickr photos on my phone. My flight into Austin gets in after 1am, but I quietly steal into her room and stare at my little girl for a long time. Paradise is where the heart is.

Taslima

Rajesh started this by sending the following email to the HPS81 group. I had to reply. Vivian - if you plan to turn into a religious freak, here's why you shouldn't. If you are willing to suspend reason for superstition, you are well on your way down the slippery slope. It is only a matter of degrees from there on.

9TH AUGUST will be marked as Black Thursday for the freedom of expression in India as on that day noted Bangladeshi novelist Taslima Nasreen was roughed up by a bunch of activists led by MLAs of Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen (MIM) party in the Press Club of Hyderabad. Nasreen, born in Bangladesh and a popular human rights supporter, was here on a visit to release the Telugu translation of her latest novel ‘Shodh’. As the function was about to conclude, gundas of MIM suddenly barged into the hall and attacked the novelist and all other present with chairs, flower bouquets, chappals etc. among front-runners were MIM MLAs Afsar Khan, Ahmed Pasha and Moazam Khan. They damaged the furniture and glass panes and some of them even reached the dais and roughed up the novelist. Though she escaped unhurt, the others including Narisetti Innaiah, Chairman of the Center for Inquiry who came to her rescue sustained injuries. The so-called member of Legislative assembly attacked Nasreen because her banned novel ‘Lajja’ raised the hackles of Muslim organisations. Lajja was about how Hindu minorities were mistreated in Bangladesh. Police were standing there as mute spectators and it was a state of total law and order failure. The government should take strict action against the culprits and dismiss the Police Commissioner for this shameful incident. We Indians are proud of our democratic culture and hospitality to our guest but this incident has damaged our image at a global level. In the country, which now boasts of a Woman President and Women Chief of Congress Party, it is a matter of worry if this is the way we treat a woman guest. This incident could definitely be described as black Thursday for freedom of expression in India.

As a beginning, let us see what all of us feel on the subject. I hope you do feel something about it. My questions are two:

1. If we let our right to freedom of expression get assaulted without voicing protest, are we dooming our country?
2. What can be the justification the MLA's have for the assault? They must have some justification, right?

Rajesh

My reply:

Siasat reports from a few minutes ago that Hyd Police have registered a case against *her*. My answers:

1. Yes
2. Why guess:

"We are not bothered about our MLA status. We are Muslims first. And its our responsibility to test those who have said anything against Islam in which ever way possible," said Akbaruddin Owaisi, MIM MLA.

My 2 cents: The freedom of press is a nice thing to defend. But you are defending it against those doing God's work.

You, Rajesh, are more logical than most. Do you examine your religious beliefs, however benign, with the same level of reason you use elsewhere?

I'm an atheist. It was harder to say I'm not Hindu. Should I expect others to not try to protect their religious beliefs - strange and militant and undemocratic as they may seem to me - without dumping their religion?

3 - Peat

It's tour season. I still remember how excited we were back when Lance won his 3rd tour. Today - in fact this morning, Vivian got her three-peat on Daddy.

It started with an innocent diaper change. Jo hands her to me. She's so smelly I run to the changing table. I take her diaper off and call for backup - poop has leaked up the back of the diaper into Vivian's clothes and from there to the changing table and to me. I decide to give her a bath. We splash around and start getting cleaned up.

Then comes the second p. Vivian gurgles happily and pukes up in the bath water. Ugh. I rinse her off with fresh water and do the bath thing again. I dry her off and put some lotion on her. That's when she smiles and hits me with the final p. Pee on everything. Impeccably timed - as I reach for the diaper.

Henry Doorly

It's time to break out of the family reunion for a bit. Michelle and I take Quinn, Devyn and Kai, and my dad to Omaha for a day trip to the zoo. I want to see it because I love the name - Henry Doorly.

The zoo was recently in the news because of the confirmed virgin birth of a bonnethead shark at the zoo's aquarium. It is now believed that female sharks may reproduce in this way when they have difficulty finding a mate. It's a ray of hope to women everywhere. Also, it makes me pause and think about other well-known virgin births.

The zoo is great. There's the Desert Dome and the Kingdom of the Night. And Bear Valley and the Aquarium of the Virgin Birth. And the orangutans and gorillas.

The kids have a great time. We drive back to Falls City in time for Kai's fifth birthday party.

I missed my little girl.

The Burns Family Reunion

It's Saturday. We are at Lake Stanton Park, Falls City, Nebraska for the Burns Family Reunion. The family starts arriving soon after breakfast (we get Anna's homemade donuts for breakfast - yumm!).

Tom takes my dad, Walter, and me for a tour of the farms. We stop at the grain elevators, a feedlot, and a field freshly planted with soy beans. Then we check out the tractors (the oldest was a 1951 Fordson Dexta), and sample some sweet corn straight off the stalk. We see the house where Carol was born. We drive past a field where they are burning winter wheat stubble, and lots of CRP fields (Conservation Reserve Program - you are paid to not farm). My dad has lots of questions. Tom has all the answers.

We get back in time for lunch. I try to remember how everyone is related. Here's the Burns family reunion by numbers: [yes - it's all from memory]

• 7 of 11 Burns siblings were present (4 brothers - Roland, Ralph, Roy, Tom, 3 sisters - Dorothy, Francis, Carol)
• 4 sibling's spouses (Wilma, Delma, Roxanna, Anna)
  
• 13 of their children (Cindy, Britina, Clay, Sandy, Kim, Tracy, Brian, Amy, Marcia, Walter, Nicolle, JoEllen, Neil)
  
• 4 spouses of the children (Hatch, Chrissy, Michelle, me)
  
• 11 grandchildren (Mindy, Matthew, Mavrick, Jerad, Rhiannon, Shayla, Quinn, Devyn, Kai, Grace, Vivian)
• 1 grandchild's spouse (Mindy's husband)
  
• 4 great grandchildren (Dylan, Missy, Carly, their brother)
• plus Katura (still in foster care) and my dad
• and 10 dogs - honest!
  

That's 56 souls, of whom 21 have travelled at least 500 miles to be there. A good turnout.

Later in the evening we play volleyball. I can see that lots of Advil is going to be consumed tomorrow. Hatch and Kim "Brown Pants" provide the entertainment.

I am glad Vivian could be a part of it.

Getting There

Jo's peeps are congregating in Falls City, Nebraska for a family reunion. We load up and head out. It's a 14 hour drive (with a 2-hour detour to grab an RV in Lawrence, Kansas). On the first day, we drive to Wichita, Kansas. Vivian travels well.

After we check into the hotel, it starts raining hard but I desperately need to find a Barnes and Nobles - and this town is my last hope. I find the store using Google maps on my phone. Alas, the patriots are shut for the Fourth of July.

I decide to make do with the super-duper Walmart across the street. Big mistake. There are two aisles of books. The first is all Bible related. I should buy one and pray for a better bookstore. The second aisle is even more specific. It contains romance and soft-porn novels with pictures of scantily-clad African American women on the covers. Weird. I rescue the only three books in the store that don't fall into either category - "Son of a Witch" by Gregory Maguire, "Night" by Elie Wiesel, and "1776" by David McCullough.

Jo meanwhile uses her time much more wisely and goes down to the hotel pool with Vivian.

The next morning, we pick Karen up from Topeka, Kansas. Levi asked her to marry him the previous evening - and she said yes. Congratulations, Levi and Karen. By the way, Karen caught the bouquet at our wedding - and what a catch that was!

We then go to Lawrence and get our RV. From Lawrence, Karen, Jo and Vivian take the car, and my dad and I ride in the RV the rest of the way.

We drive through Hiawatha (pop. 3237), Kansas - where Jo and Karen went to high school. A random fact - it's the home of the "Oldest Halloween Parade in the Nation". Yep.

We reach Falls City (pop. 4186). A sign proudly announces "Falls City - New and Progressive". Another tells us that we are at the "Childhood Home of Artist John Falter". We park our rental RV at Stanton Lake Park - in front of a nice sized pond. Vivian breaks out in a heat rash. Can we go somewhere cooler, Daddy - like Texas? It is hot - 95 in the shade. My main activity for the next few days is to move my camping chair to follow the shade of the tree by the lake. Sure it sounds easy, but try that with a beer in one hand, a hot dog in the other, and Vivian on your lap.

Roll Over

Vivian can roll over. In either direction. She's a bloody genius. Or, she's on par with a slightly trained dog. But here's what Vivian would say if she could type:

I am four and half months old.

By this time, my parents should be able to walk from one side of me to another without breaking eye contact. I have to roll over from stomach on to my back and keep looking at them. And when they are done, I should smile encouragingly and they will high-five each other and call me baby Einstein.

I will love them even if they are slow, and yes - all parents are different. But, it is nice when they hit their development goals on time. Today my dad and mom both did it. Awesome. It's normal for me to worry a bit. Especially about mom.

Veronica Gilmore

I watch TV by proxy through Jo. She watches shows about strong girls with single parents. Hmm...

Lorelai and Rory seem to have a nice mother-daughter relationship. I asked Jo if she and Vivian would like to be like that. A few days later, she was watching Veronica Mars. Veronica seems to get along well with her dad. Jo asked me the same question.

We agreed that both are good. Not Buffy though. I don't want Vivian to have to lie to her mom about vampires. I can sense that life is going to get a lot more complicated.

Pediatricians

In places where people have access to this sort of a thing, pediatricians are an intrinsic part of the parenting experience. Luckily for us so far, Vivian has kept that to the minimum. But still.

Vivian's first pediatricians were the ones we saw at Brack. Unless it's an emergency, run and don't look back. Which we did.

Our second one is Dr. H. We visited him when Vivian was a couple of days old. The doctor is in such a hurry his red tie looks blue. When I pay for services and get a list of things the doctor had done during that visit, it took me longer to read the list than the doctor spent with Vivian. And I read fast.

When you call for an appointment, it goes something like this: "Would you like the 8:16, 8:19, or 8:22 slot". OK - not that bad, but still disturbing.

There was one good thing about their love for speed. The nurse who had to poke Vivian 4 times for her 2-month shots is so quick that she's gone before Vivian even realizes that she had been poked (see this post for that story).

We think we should come out on our next visit with a high speed camera so we can film the action. And then watch it in slo-mo to catch the parts we missed. Like the Planet Earth show where they film a great white lunging out of the sea to snag a seal - 2 seconds of real time slowed to 46 seconds for us couch explorers.

Instead, we ask around for Pediatrician Number 3. Larry recommends a Dr. G. Today we go to see him. He is nice. He takes his time and hangs out with Vivian. He is a card-carrying Christian (from his website - no he didn't try to save me during the visit). I won't hold that against him. His staff is very nice. Maybe number 3 is a charm.

Watching Gorillas Fly

Aaron and company (a.k.a "The Clark Family") are soon going to be off to Norway to drink akavitt for the Air Force. So we decide to go down to Florida to see his fini flight on the F-15. Vivian has seen the inside of a commercial aircraft before - a Bombardier CRJ to and from Detroit. She obviously needs some exposure to fighter jets.

It's a hot day - but there's a good breeze and the clouds start rolling in. There's a delay - a glitch with Aaron's jet - so we watch a couple of dozen other take-offs which keep us entertained. Here's a picture of Vivian wearing her French Foreign Legion's kepi blanc inspired hat to keep the sun off her face and neck.

Aaron's jet screams into the air with afterburners blazing - and Vivian and the rest of us cheer him on as he does some cool patterns. Here's Aaron taxing by us after landing. We drive over to the flight line and leave Vivian (and her hearing) in Dadu's care in the car. Here is Aaron and most of the fam hanging out under the F-15. Carol's holding on to the Champagne. We get back to the car and find Dadu and a hungry Vivian who isn't holding back. Should have left Dadu some ear protection. Eh, what? Too late for that...

The Dark Side

Jo is often angry. I used to be too clueless to even know that she was angry (ahh - I miss those days). But I am still not clued-in enough to know why. In any case, I try to I warn her using Yoda's prophetic words linking fear and anger and the dark side. But life is good. It's hurtling by at every increasing speeds and I hate to blink in case I miss something in the ride of my life.

When I put Vivian to sleep at night (which happens infrequently - Jo usually does that), there is a moment when her tiny body collapses. All the rigidness goes out in one breath and she sinks onto my shoulder and neck. It's a special feeling. Should make me think of youth and innocence and no worries and infinite opportunities and all that. But it doesn't. I don't remember feeling innocent. Sure - I wasn't patently dishonest as a young child (that happened a few months later) - but my childhood had enough instances of guile and deceit and envy and other thoughts and emotions that don't rhyme with "innocent". And nor were there no worries. How big is the monster under my bed? Are my parents going to die in a horrible car crash and leave me orphaned? I think I have fewer worries now as an adult than as a child. Moving on to infinite opportunities - yes - they did seem endless. As a child, I never thought much of greatness in others. Alexander the Great conquered half the known world by the age of 30 - big deal - I always thought I could do at least as well by the time I got to that age - which, at 5 or 8 or even 12 leaves you with a good cushion. And as the grains of sand fall through the hourglass of life, they take away forever what could have been possible up to then. Once gone, there are no possible bifurcations. The past is linear. OK - I buy all that. But the flip side is this - would you trade where you are today to start all over again? Honestly - do you think you would? I doubt if I would. Not so much because I want to hoard all the lucky things that have lead to success and happiness so far. But mostly because of the fear of things having so easily gone horribly wrong - of knowing how close even a normal childhood is to disaster. On the other hand, since Arjun died last year, I can see the other perspective. Who wouldn't give up everything to see your daughter grow up?

It isn't just the Yoda allusion to the dark side. I am feeling a bit blue. Better document it.

Catching Up

Dear Blog - it's been ages - probably the longest time between posts. The last post was soon after Vivian turned 3 months old. That was almost 3 weeks ago. Here's what's been happening.

Tomorrow we go on our first road trip. Before our first plane trip, the Big Question was - will Vivian like flying - or will she cry all the way. It turns out that she is a good flier (even if Jo showed some symptoms of PTSD for a coupe of days after the trip). The Big Question now is whether Vivian will like being strapped to a car seat for 12-14 hours tomorrow. Common sense overwhelms my normally optimistic outlook. But road trips are a part of life - so onward we go. Tomorrow, Vivian, Dadu, Grandma, Jo, and me will pile into an Avis minivan and drive off into the sunrise (actually - we'll start at 330am - long before the sun rises - but the direction is about right). By tomorrow evening, we hope to be in the bustling metropolis of Crestview, Florida.

But - that's in the future. Here's what has happened. In the last three weeks, Vivian is all grown up. I can prop her hands on an arm of the couch, and for a fleeting few seconds, she stands there and supports herself. She blows raspberries all the time. She still sleeps a solid 8-10 hours each night. She chugs 8 ounces of milk from her bottle in less then 10 minutes. She splashes like a blue whale while I try to give her a bath. She screams like a banshee when she is hungry or tired - and god help us and those around when she is both. She has been to the pool twice and loves it. She has (and so have we) survived a plane trip to Michigan and back. She laughed once (the day she turned three months old), but has only giggled since (must have a more selective sense of humor then her Dad). She blew out of her diaper once and leaked out few times (as a result of which, she has graduated to size 3 - which come up to her chest and have to be neatly tucked under her armpits - but has so far proven to be as tight as a dry suit). Her Grandma and Dadu (Grandpa Chatterjee) fight over who gets to hold her. She spent a day at Killeen with Brandon and his Mom. She hung out on the carpet next to Katurah - and they seemed to like each other. She went to Mona and David's party and hung out with everyone there. She's getting a personality - though it looks like it's still split between Bad Baby and Good Baby. She has the most radiant smile when she wakes up in the morning. And she has the foulest howl when she naps and wakes up before her time. She is very alert and constantly looks around. And she tries to verbalize all the time. She is beginning to grab her toys - especially her Ganesh that Jagruti and Morris gave her. And she stares at and sometimes talks to the toucan perched amongst the rotating menagerie above her tropical forest swing. Her head is usually hot (literally) - to which my Dad lays genetic claim - the Chatterjee's have a tendency of "matha garom" - or hot-headedness - a trait I don't think I got.

Three Months Old

Vivian turned three months old on May 16th (or 12 months old from conception - that's a very long time..:-).

It's time for a plane trip - a nice short three-hour flight to Detroit to meet her Dadu (grandpa), and to see Uncle Alu and Aunt Michelle before they sell their lovely house in Ann Arbor.

Jo bought this polka dotted apron like thing that allows her to feed Vivian in public without showing skin. Laura had told us that the secret to flying a baby well is to feed her during take-off. Feeding apparently helps equalize pressure, and equalized pressure means the baby's ears won't hurt. Or, if you don't believe that, doing anything with a boob in your mouth makes it better.

It works like a charm. Vivian feeds and sleeps inside her new polka dotted tent. And then she wakes up and charms everyone around. And then falls asleep for the landing. Jo and I think this is a piece of cake. I conjure up images of flying to Tokyo and Auckland with Vivian just for the hell of it.

Ann Arbor is great (here's a picture of three generation of Chatterjees ). Vivian loves bathing in Alu and Michelle's very newly remodeled kitchen sink. And she takes over their bedroom and sleeps through the night. But on the last day, she skips her naps. We worry because we know that without her beauty sleep, she gets cranky.

Jo's timing is impeccable. We board the plane and they close the doors. At about five minutes to take-off, out comes the polka dotted tent. Vivian starts feeding. But wait - the ground maintenance needs to be called because an overhead bin won't close. It takes the guy 30 seconds to apply duct tape (rated for 300 mph) on the offending bin, and about 10 minutes to do the paperwork. Vivian is still feeding. Phew. But hang on - the tug that is attached to our plane to roll us out from our gate breaks. We wait for the aircraft at the next gate to leave and then borrow their tug. After a very long taxi, we finally take off.

But by now, Vivian has been feeding for ages and is full as a tick. About 5 seconds after take-off, she's done. She's so full, she refuses to suck on Jo's pinkie. We try everything. She clamps her lips shut - "thanks, but I am full".

About a minute later, my ears pop and I swallow to equalize. And Vivian starts screaming.

She gives it all that she's got. That's a lot of decibels for a tiny Bombardier CRJ tin can. Fellow passengers start plugging their ears - presumably to stop the bleeding.

We try everything - I even try to get Vivian to lick on a piece of ice - and that makes her madder. Finally, Jo calms her down - but it's an uneasy calm. We invoke Newton's First Law and don't change anything. Jo enters the Guinness Book of World Records for sitting in the most uncomfortable position for two hours without moving. I keep reading my book.

Vivian sleeps through the landing. Even though we are in Row 4, we minutely examine the carpet while our fellow passengers exit the aircraft and the leave the airport. We'd rather not make eye contact with anyone who was on the plane with us.

We get home and tumble into bed. Next morning, I take the early morning feeding for a change so Jo can get some sleep. Vivian and I are horsing around at 730am when Jo walks into the bedroom. Without looking up, I say - "Hey - that wasn't too bad". She barely whispers something incoherent. That's when I realize that she looks like a poster child for PTSD.

Today we have been on our best behavior. I tell Vivian - "Shabdhan, baba - Ma abar Mexico er dik'e takache" (Easy kid - Mom's looking towards Mexico again).

Happy three month birthday, Vivian.

Sleeper

I didn't want to do this with insufficient data, as ephemeral as this may be. She's done this for a week now.

Vivian sleeps through the night. She's carried to her crib after she falls sleep at about 930-1030ish at night. And she wakes up between 6 and 730 in the morning. With no squawking or crying or even jabbering in between.

And she still takes her signature long nap (3 to 4 hours) during the day. She must need all this sleep because she's taken to jabbering and moving her arms and legs every waking moment.

What does she say? Mostly a wide variety of mangled sounds. Like star constellations or intelligence data on Iraqi WMDs, I am only too eager to connect the dots and make up shit to suit myself.

The other day, she looks me straight in the eye and says "Help me".

That's pretty weired for 11 week old, I think - a bit ET-like, or perhaps a previous-life experience. But I stay calm and counter "Who are you?".

She says again, more softly but clearly "Help me".

Yesterday - I see her in the morning and say "Hello Vivian".

She cheerfully replies back "Hola".

"How are you", I continue (deciding against "que pasa" mostly because that is the extent of my Spanish, and I don't know how good Vivian's is).

"How are..." she replies, before getting distracted by her left hand.

Bbhibbhian

I was on the phone with Sharath in Hyderabad the other day. "Shoroth" (as we say in Bangla) lived in Kolkata for several years and he mentioned that Vivian's name might be a bit of a challenge for some people.

What would a Bong say at the Wendy's drive-thru: "Dada - one Bbhendi's bbharghar and one co-ka-co-la. The night is bhat yong."

All the bbh's are breathy and chesty, and yes - we are a poetic people.

In Bangla, we write but don't say "a". Instead, it's an "o". My name in Bong is "O.roon".

And we don't say "v" or "w". To start with, most of us Desis including myself are somewhat sketchy about our v's and w's - we usually mumble something in between. "The wine comes from vines" is pretty hard for me. And Jo smirks when I say "vowels". It's anti-German. They "v" everything - "vat are you doing". We Desis on the other hand, take our "witamins".

Bongs add another twist - "w" or "v" become "bbh". If you are a native Angrezi speaker, put your lips together like you are going to say "b" as in "buddy", but save some breath in your lungs and exhale a bit explosively when you open your lips. But don't over do it.

So, to my peeps from the far corners of India, my daughter's first name is Wiwian. And to my Bong peeps, it's Bbhibbhian. Her first trip to Kolkata should be bbheri pphanny.

Vivian likes Bharatnatyam

Yesterday we took Vivian to see Simran's dance recital. Jeanne had saved us second-row seats. Vivian was enthralled. She clambered up on Jo's lap and danced away. She approved by burping loudly.

Chase and Priya were in the audience. Chase took some great pictures of Simran. The girls were dressed in beautiful bright costumes with ghunghroos (bells) on their feet. Bharatnatyam is the classical dance of South India dating back 2000 years.

All that dancing did Vivian in. Last night, she slept for nine hours straight.

After the show, Jo asked Anu how soon Vivian could start taking classes. We are thinking next week.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Jo - happy birthday, dearest.

Where were you the last time the earth and sun were in this configuration? Returning from camping at South Llano. And going to Japan on a whim. And then a quick trip to Kansas City. Followed by Seattle and Alaska. Yes - that was May 2006.

Something happened after Japan, though we didn't know till after Alaska. This morning, I told her it was your birthday today. She smiled.

love
-me

Happy Tenth

On Fri, the girl turned 10 (weeks). We had achieved double digits in a somewhat ad hoc but widely used numbering scheme. Time to loosen up.

For Saturday, we decide on a double header: dinner on the patio at Whole Foods, followed by a jaunt through Jagruti's birthday party. Yes - it's ambitious. But the evening goes well. Vivian holds up under a complicated system of frequent hand-offs between several women.

On Sunday, Dadu (Grandpa) makes it from Hyderabad to Ann Arbor with only the loss of toothpaste at the Frankfurt airport security check. And we take Vivian to Opal's. We sit out on the deck. A band is playing downstairs. A kids' party is in full swing upstairs. All in all, enough distractions keep Vivian busy for a quick beer and about half of a Divine brownie.

On Monday, Vivian decides that napping is for the birds. By the time I get home from squash, Mom is a bit ragged. Vivian and I step out for a quick stroller ride. The rains have come and gone, and the air is nice and cool. Quick, my ass. Forty five minutes later, I stumble back home, ready for bed. Vivian is, on the other hand, very alert and happy. No sign of sleep.

She finally passes out, we all sleep. Tuesday morning is slow (except for a call from Dadu at 730am). We finally crawl out of bed at 1030am and drive down to Juan's for breakfast. Vivian charms the Don and generally has a good old time. We get back home and Vivian embarks on a marathon five hour nap. I go off to see if I can hurl a slightly digested taco on the soccer pitch.

It's Tuesday evening. The clouds roll in. The meteorologist warns of rotating thundershowers (a new term for me) and tornadoes. We plonk the little girl in her stroller and take off to Jorge's for a quick margarita. We sit out in the covered patio. The storm comes. Vivian loves the terrific racket of huge raindrops on the tin roof. But then the rains stops and it get all muggy and nasty and Vivian's had enough. "Two Mexican restaurants in one day?", she conveys. So I down my fresh drink and the remnants of Jo's unfinished first, and we hit the road.

But the rain isn't done. We pull up the cover on the stroller and walk back in the rain. Vivian thinks it is hilarious. I can sense the disapproving gazes of good (and dry) Rosedalians as we walk past their homes. We get home and dry off.

We spare the kid a third trip to a restaurant, and instead, Mom makes a quick run to Amy's for a shake.

But it could happen. Girl - this is what Mom and Dad did before you - we ate out - a lot. Happy 10th.

Pool

Summer's here. Time to get Vivian in the pool. But the pool's gone. Here's a picture of the pool in the sky. And here are four shots of the pool area taken from about the same angle: in Feb 2006, as it gets lifted out, a bobcat where the pool used to be, and lots of mud.

Stay tuned. This project ain't like the nursery room doors. It's moving fast.

All Grown Up

Three days ago, I finally run out of excuses. Vivian's nursery has been ready since Sunday, and the immunization shots that she got on Monday are not causing her any discomfort. So, when it comes time to lay her down for the night, Jo puts Vivian in her own crib for the very first time.

Dad is up from 2am, waiting for her to wake up. Mom pops her head into the nursery at 5am for a quick breathing check. Dear Vivian sleeps straight through till 730am. It's not that I enjoy being up at 4am. Or that I can't sleep soundly without a baby noisily snorting and squealing in her sleep next to my bed. It's just that Vivian has me trained to a 3 hour sleep cycle.

Vivian's probably saying - jeez - I can finally get some sleep on a regular mattress instead of being stuck in a fucking pack-n-play.

Interested in a lightly used baby monitor? We obviously didn't need it when Vivian slept an arm's length away. It turns out that her lungs are good enough when she's in the next room.

Dads in the know tell me that they grow up so quickly. I am steeling myself for the next big milestone - college.

It's Always Dad's Fault

Today (well - it's 5am - so make that yesterday), Vivian turned 2 months old. Bloody amazing. To celebrate, we got her immunizations. Five of them - one oral and four requiring shots.

She woke up in the best mood. Sunny and smiling. Didn't grumble when she was strapped into the child seat. At this point, Jo looks at her and says: "Honey - I love you. What happens next is Dad's fault".

We get to the vet's (it's what we call our pediatrician's office). Vivian is beaming at everyone. Even the doctor (who talks fast and little to minimize office time) has to comment on what a nice disposition she's got. We dread the needles that are silently waiting around the corner (literally).

The nurse walks in. We've had her before. She calls Vivian "Mama". She looks at Vivian seconds before plunging in the needles and says: "Fat Mama - Daddy is making me do this". I am pretty sure she hasn't had time to discuss this with Jo. Me - I am thinking Conspiracy and Scientology (unrelated).

By the way - this nurse is the fastest needle plunger I have seen. She stuck four needles and emptied the contents of the syringes in less than 2 seconds flat. She was practically out the door before Vivian started screaming. If this lady kicks pediatric nursing, she can have the fastest drive-through meth place in town.

We get home. Vivian is doing remarkably well. Jo calls her Mom and tells her what the nurse said. Carol replies: "It is always Dad's fault".

I decide not to fight the upside-down world and read from Dr. Seuss and the Mahabharata to Vivian for her afternoon nap.

The Doors

The doors are done. Amazing. Vivian's nursery is finally ready. Yesterday, the final touches were put in place, and it's time to declare the doors done. If you are lost, look at my Mar 03, 2007 posting (Cats in the Cradle) for more context. Here are two pictures, one from the back living room and the other from inside Vivian's nursery. The doors came out very nicely. Mom will appreciate the fact that good things take time...:-)

To celebrate, Jo gave Crazy a bath. She smells nice but doesn't have her own room anymore.

I still find it amazing that the doors are done. Only slightly less amazing is that Vivian will be two months old tomorrow. Mom has gone grocery shopping (another thing only slightly less amazing!). She put Vivian down for her nap before she left. But now, five minutes later, Vivian and I are chilling out in the back living room. I took another few dozen pictures of her. Life is good.

New pictures

Some new pictures of Peanut in a slide show. A couple with her cousins from Nebraska. One of her in her bath (she loves baths). A few mug shots. And a link to all of Vivian's pictures as usual.

I took 48 pictures to get these 5 mug shots. Most of them were fuzzy or grainy. And she sneezed in one. Jo tells me that if I keep doing this, Vivian will think that her Dad's a camera.

GW

What makes a baby cry? One easy way to gather a lot of data quickly is to walk around with a screaming baby. You don't have to solicit input - it is thrust upon you.

I used to think Vivian has it easy. When she cried, I naively attributed it to one of Three Problems: I am hungry, change my diaper, or burp me - all firmly anchored deep in her GI tract.

It was little Grace who first drew my attention to the fact that the answer lay elsewhere. One day, Jo was walking around, trying to soothe a less-than-happy Vivian. Grace was following her, and spouting off suggestions. I thought she'd stop after she ran through the usual suspects. But she kept going: "Aunt Jo - you need to clip Divian's nails".

What if Divian (in Grace-ese, Vivian Bina translates approximately to Divian Peanut) has other worries besides passing gas (don't we all - even if you are a self-absorbed farter). Maybe she is upset about her finger nails. May be her left knee itches. May be it's Global Warming. There's enough reason to cry for a long time.

Vivian's cousins, Kim, Tracy, and Amy, are visiting from Nebraska (thanks for the Nebraska onesies and bibs, Aunt Anna - after the obligatory photo op, they are quietly going to Goodwill). We are enjoying breakfast at the Upper Crust. Vivian's happy. Then her face gets cloudy. She clears her throat - signs of impending trouble. Referring to global warming in adult-code, Kim warns "Don't anyone say anything about GW". Amy says "Sure - speaking of George W would upset anyone".

Vivian agrees. She likes her Nebraska cousins.

New Pictures

Jo tells me "They want to see Vivian - not hear you jabber". So I uploaded new pictures of Vivian with Sharon, Essy, Alu, Michelle, Manju Ben, Brandon, Laura, Mom's pinky, and Dad. Here's a link to the new slideshow. And here's her album with old and new pictures.

Extreme Babysitting

Jo's Theory of Mothers' Memory

Nicolle got Katurah when she was 3 weeks old. For the first month, the kid cried every night till 5am. Now - a scant month or two later, when Nicolle talks about it, she mentions how easy Katurah was. I believe that she would get another 3 week old in a heartbeat.

Jo hated the first few months of pregnancy. It was a pain in the butt (or, near enough, literally). She missed drinking her occasional Woodchuck. Then she found out she had gestational diabetes, and had to really watch what she ate. And there was the finger-pricks several times a day. The first few months of pregnancy were starting to look good. Then came labor and delivery - each stage of which made the previous one feel like a cake-walk. And finally, parenting. A few weeks of that, and Jo had positively glowing reviews about her pregnancy and delivery. That's when she came up with her theory of memory.

Why would anyone get pregnant or raise a second child ever?

Because your brain (I believe in a effort to further the species) fucks with you. It makes each stage biologically and psychologically more difficult so that you review the recent past in much better light - and that's how it sticks in your memory.

I apologize if I sound negative. It's not as bad as it sounds. Last week was rough, but we've really enjoyed the weeks before that.

Newton's First Law

Old Sir Issac was the first to say that an object at rest tends to stay at rest and that an object in uniform motion tends to stay in uniform motion unless acted upon by a net external force. What has that to do with Vivian? Stay with me.

Sometimes, Vivian gets into a crying fit. She starts sniffing, then crying, and finally, screaming. Nothing helps. Her face turns beetroot red and her hair gets matted with sweat. And then, after completey destroying our sanity, she suddenly stops.

When it starts, I first try to console her on my lap with my pinkie in her mouth. Next, comes the shoulder patting. Quickly followed by shoulder patting while walking and then dancing and humming, if possible outdoors. Then, a diaper change and a feeding. By this point, if she is still at it, I am at my wit's end. One night, remembering what Jo had said earlier, I tried doing the aeroplane with her, and she stopped. Another time, it was during the third verse of humming Scarborough Fair. Last night, I read aloud most of the twelfth chapter of Herman Hesse's Magister Ludi (it's taken me three attempts in 9 years to get this far - she may as well get started early).

That's where Newton comes in. Once Vivian stops crying, there's a very strong belief that whatever I just did was responsible for the calm, and a fervent hope that if I keep doing it, she will remain calm. Keep that net external force at bay and the baby will tend to stay in it's current state of blissfulness. Change anything and - pow - it's up shit creek all over again. Just keep at it - even if it's humming the third verse of Scarborough Fair till dawn.

When I was little, I had a hard time believing in the First Law. A cricket ball just didn't continue rolling forever. Duh. I have even less empirical reason for trusting in my application of the first law to infant psychology. But who needs evidence when hope goes such a long way. At this rate, I may even understand religion one day.

Nipple Confusion

Alu thinks it's what happens at the Yellow Rose. But it's something we new parents are terrified of. Turns out that sucking on a nipple isn't as simple as it seems.

Each type of nipple comes with its own characteristic size, shape, texture, and stiffness. Each one requires a different type of mouth, tongue, and lip action on junior's part to extract milk. Throw a couple of breasts, nipple shields, a pacifier, and one or two breast-feeding-friendly bottles out there, suddenly, wham-mo - there's nipple confusion. I am proud to say that Vivian has shown no signs of any such confusion. She drinks like a champ from anything that's got milk in it, and tries just as hard even if it doesn't.

It's probably not a skill that easily translates to a tangible competitive benefit later in life. And, it may be premature to make declarations of similarities to Einstein. All I'm saying is that my baby girl's good with nipples, and we'll leave it at that.

Ungle Alu

Michelle and Alu came down from Ann Arbor for spring break. They missed their early morning flight because they didn't hear the alarm. So they came in by a late flight and made it to Austin after midnight. I shot a few seconds of video the next morning when Vivian met her Ungle Alu for the first time. Both of them have their morning faces on. Still - they found each other quite hilarious.

I had to do some work with the audio to keep Alu's comments indecipherable. Here's the video.

Hello Brandon

The other day, Vivian met Brandon. Brandon was born on Dec 13 at the Army base at Fort Hood. Vivian was happy to see that there are other small people in this world. Hey - got milk?

Patrick - hope you get a chance to see the video in Iraq.

Mexican Holiday

We are tyring out this new schedule - I wake up to Vivian's hungry smackings somewhere between 4 and 5am and feed her from a bottle in the fridge.

The first night, I have about 2 oz in the bottle and she sucks it down like a nice cold one on a hot day. The second night, we up it to 3 oz. Same result. The next night, Jo leaves about 6 oz in two bottles. Vivian gulps it all down like Jabba the Hutt.

Next morning, Vivian and I get a talking-to. Jo isn't happy. Perhaps makes her realize that she's become an attachment at the end of a milking machine. Vivian and I are worried. When we wake up and find Jo's flip-flops in an unexpected place, we hurry and search for Mom. She's under a pile of pillows in the guest room. I try to make a joke and tell her that I have been disconnecting the battery in her car every night so she doesn't run off to Mexico. She replies "I'll walk". Vivian and I don't think it's funny.

When I feed Vivian at night, I talk to her in Bengali. Sometimes Jo asks me what I said.

Last night I said "Baba - chup chaap kore khey now. Beshi khayo na. Nahale Mamma palie jabe". Or - "Girl, eat quietly. Don't eat too much. Or Mom is going to run away."

Four Weeks Since My World Changed

It is 2am. Four weeks ago, about at this time, Jo started getting contractions. Before that, we went to Musashino and had a nice dinner. Back then we used to lounge in the bath. Or sleep late. Or sit at the dinning table and eat. We slept in the same bed (mostly). Boy - things have changed.

Happy 4 week birthday, Vivian. On the bright side, the cats and us and Vivian have all made it so far. Wow...

Simran Didi

Simran came over to celebrate Vivian's first Holi.

For non-Desi's, Holi is the festival of color. It's celebrated in India on the first full moon in spring and signifies the victory of good over evil (I don't know that, but it's a safe assumption). We burn effigies, throw color at each other, OD on sweets, and drink a spot of bhang.

Simran brought beautiful marigolds instead of toxic colored powders. I didn't remember to offer sweets. And, as for bhang - heck - I think eggnog is bad for you.

The two girls saw each other for the first time. But their molecules - the ones that were once a part of their fathers - have known each other for many years.

I shot a bit of video and set it to music by Rabbi. Click here to see it on google.

Boob and Hairy

Vivian's led a pretty sheltered life so far. She has met less that a hundred people so far. Most of you were one shots so far - a quick peek while napping or fussing. She's seen Grandma, Nicolle, the Shahs and a few others maybe twice. If Vivian's temporal lobe were to give off light every time she see's a face she has seen before, chances are that these faces give off gentle twinkles of faint stars.

Then there are Boob and Hairy. She probably recognized Boob right away, having been inside her since the beninning of life. She just needed to figure out what Boob looked like from the outside. That first deep penetrating gaze between mother and child in the first few monents after birth took care of that. Between mouthfuls, she still gazes at Boob's face and especially her eyes to make sure it really is Boob. But mostly, Boob is just that - her source of nourishment.

Boob and Hairy

Vivian has met less that a hundred people, most of them only once. She's seen Grandma, Nicolle, the Shahs, and a few others maybe twice. If space in Vivian's temporal lobe is given out in proportion to how often she's seen a face, most people get spots the size of Lichtenstein. Then, I'd like to think, there are Alaska and Texas-sized areas for Boob and Hairy.

She sees them a lot. Boob feeds and comforts her. Hairy changes diapers. She recognized Boob right away, having spent considerably longer inside her than outside. There was that deep penetrating gaze and high-bandwidth exchange between them when she got out.

She's not that sure about Hairy. He seems to hang around Boob. He isn't exactly comfortable. And he certainly ain't edible. She mostly meets him at the changing table. She's beginning to see a pattern - Hairy has something to do with her pooping. Therein lies the fundamental basis for an endearing relationship.

Vivian got the hiccups. That happens a lot. She heard Hairy suggest a system that involved two straws, and a half filled breast. Luckily, Boob patted her and she was fine.

The other day Vivian had a nightmare. What if there was only one - a Hairy Boob?

Some new pictures

It's pretty hard to take pictures of a newborn.

Sometimes, it's the camera - it clicks a second or two after the moment has passed. Sometimes it's the subject - she doesn't cooperate. And mostly it's just me - I'd rather look at her without the viewfinder in between...

I have uploaded some new pictures. This one is my favorite. I reorganized the pictures so that Vivian's full album is always here - the new pictures are at the beginning.

This is a picture of Simran and Vivian meeting for the very first time. It was Holi and Simran got some marigolds to color Vivian with.

Cats in the Cradle

Jo had about 40 weeks to start from a couple of cells and end up with a multicellular eukaryote. I had my own cell division to do - to split the back living area into a living room and nursery room.

First, I did nothing for 7 months. Then, Michelle - the pragmatist, suggested drywall and a door. Makes sense. But Michelle can put up drywall. This made me suspicious of a when-you-are-a-hammer everything-looks-like-a-nail conspiracy. Like Dubya's troop surge, I swung to the other extreme. I decided on a three-panel sliding door structure that hangs from rails in the ceiling.

My old room mate and friend who did my remodel was brought back in. Plans were drawn up, fine lumber yards were visited, and advance payments were made. By the end of December, it looked like installation would be completed by Jan 16. Vivian wasn't due till Feb 13. I figured that if my friend's estimate was a 100% off and Vivian was 2 weeks early, the doors and Vivian would run into each other on their way into the house. The first was probable, the second was possible.

Vivian was 3 days late. The doors are more.

Meanwhile, Crazy (our sane cat) has taken up residence in the nursery. She seriously thinks it's her room. She loves to sleep in the lovely maple Oeuf crib - in the part that is covered by the matching changing table. She stretches out on the recliner. The rug is perfect for kneading and as an occasional scratching-post.

Vivian's pack-and-play shares our bedroom with us.

Someday, the doors may be here (by the way, that statement is attributable to my POV framework for dealing with the world. "Probably Optimistically Vague", and is modeled after PAC from Machine Learning - "Probably Approximately Correct", which is my framework to answer questions) .

If Vivian outgrows her crib before the doors get here, we'll never tell Crazy that the crib wasn't hers.