Papi and the Kids

Like father like son?

Belle Nora

Seasons

Nehemiah suited up for a stroll to the pond

On the couch at home

At the pond

First time in the pack and play together

Our very own prehistoric creature

Our arachnoid with her Amish pal, Abby

Group photo at the library

Trick or treating at Canterbury's Town Hall

Nora entertaining her little brother

Nora has a book entitled Seasons by Anne Crausaz which beautifully illustrates the four seasons. The Northeast usually has well-marked seasons, but this year seems different. Before Halloween, Canterbury has already experienced its first snowstorm. We had a glimmer of fall and have been suddenly catapulted into winter, temperatures averaging in the high 40's/low 50's during the day and in the 30's at night. Like Hurricane Irene, our first snowstorm of the year knocked down a tree in our backyard. Some folks have even lost power.

Recently we started hosting Crossroads, a young adults group. This group averages about 10-15 people, some in college, others working, singles and married. We meet Friday nights to fellowship and study Ephesians. So far, Nathan and I (and the kiddos) are enjoying getting to know this group with much laughter.

The kids (unbelievable that I now say "the kids") and I have been attending Music and Movement at the library. I've connected with a couple of the moms in this class and have even had play dates outside of class. Both of these moms also speak to the their children in Spanish. One is a native speaker and the other, a non-native speaker, used to be a high school Spanish teacher.

Nora loves going to the library, taking walks and shopping with mami. Last Saturday, she suggested, "Vamos Aldi (Let's go [to] Aldi)!" Sometimes when Nathan tries to change her diaper, she requests that mami execute the job, but Nathan tells her that mami can't do it at that moment. And Nora responds, "Mami busy." Nathan echoes, "Yes, mami's busy." Nora continues, "Puppy dog busy. Baby busy. Labon busy." Sometimes everybody but papi is busy. When Nehemiah cries, she runs for one of his toys and brings it to him, leaning into his face to offer palliative words such as "No llores, Me-mi-a (Don't cry, Nehemiah)!" On a day when she's eaten chicken, she typically requests "Hilo dental (dental floss)" before bedtime. She derives much pleasure from having mami remove a small piece of chicken from between her two front teeth and then observing it with mild disgust.

Nehemiah is a dream. He has begun eating food. So far, avocado, butternut and acorn squash, and rice cereal. He sleeps well during naps and at night. We marvel at his falling asleep on his own in his crib. He soothes himself by sucking his thumb or making sweet noises. Sometimes in the middle of the night he starts talking to himself and when I check on him, I find that he has rolled onto his back from his tummy. So, I roll him back onto his tummy, his preferred sleeping position, and he resumes sleeping.

Happy Halloween!

Family Vacation

Nora in rock heaven

Walking on the Marginal Way

Low tide

Often Nehemiah preferred to be strapped on to his momma

The threesome with Nehemiah sleeping beside us

Nora chasing sea gulls at low tide

Family Portrait (with Nehemiah sleeping in his stroller)

Nora in her glory, swinging by the ocean

This past week we traveled to Ogunquit, Maine where we stayed in a small cottage just minutes from the ocean. Everyday we walked the beach town's Marginal Way, a narrow path along the coast leading to Ogunquit Beach. Most days we stopped at the beach during low tide and Nora chased sea gulls and splashed around. On our last day in Ogunquit, we caught the high tide before beginning our drive back to Canterbury, CT. Nora cried as we strapped her into her car seat. This morning upon waking up, she said to me, "Vamos Maine?" Are we going to Maine? It was heartbreaking to tell her no. Nehemiah battled a cold the whole time we were there and was most content in our hotel suite. All in all, the change of scene was refreshing to all.

My 9/11 Memoir

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I caught the #6 train at my home station, St. Lawrence Street in the Bronx. It was sometime between 8:30 and 8:45. I was beginning another day in my humdrum life as a paralegal. More mindless copy checking, endless proofreading and document production, and volumes and volumes of filing.

At 125^th Street I shuffled across the platform to catch the downtown express, a #4 or 5 train, to the last stop in Manhattan, Bowling Green. At 14^th Street Union Square, there was a massive influx of people, not unusual for morning rush hour. Ding dong. The next stop is… The doors slid shut. The train rolled forward. Amongst the incoming passengers was a man, with wide eyes and hurried speech, recounting to another passenger, “A jet crashed into one of the towers. They’re telling people to stay out of the West side. There are body parts on the highway.” His words pierced my ears. From my seat I glanced at him, then at the people around me. Some stared at this man, but most remained absorbed in their morning reverie. The train was supposed to make a couple more stops before reaching my stop, but it bypassed both with no mention of why. The stations that we bypassed, both local and express transfer stations, were desolate. No one leaning against a subway column on the platform; no one manning the ticket booth; no one swinging through the turn style. Normally, these stations were bustling with mission-driven New Yorkers. But on this morning, through the train window, I saw no one.

Upon reaching Bowling Green sometime between 9:45 and 10:00 AM, the conductor announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, last stop. Last stop! All trains to Brooklyn discontinued.” I stepped onto the platform, looked in both directions and saw my co-worker, John, who was in the same car as I. Hurrying to one another, we exchanged furrowed brows, locked arms and gently pushed our way through towards the nearest exit. As we climbed the stairs, the noise grew louder until we found ourselves in the midst of pandemonium. Immense gray clouds engulfed countless downtown skyscrapers. Horns and sirens blared in dissonance. Office papers soared. Small shards of steel rained on us, pelting our faces. The gritty air, with its stench of burning rubber, choked us. People scrambled like loose chickens. We ran towards 125 Broad Street (our workplace), and when we arrived at our building’s entrance, we were given bottled water and face masks by office personnel. Other co-workers decided to seek refuge inside the building.

John, Jae (another co-worker), and I decided to walk home along the east side of the city. Periodically we stopped to look back and could only see the enormous, thick gray cloud that hid a once sprawling southern skyline. Jae had seen one of the crashes and cried as we traversed the city blocks, swarmed by thousands of others also desperate to reach home. I had no cell phone at the time and tried several public pay phones to no avail. We hopped on a city bus running in the 20s but only covered 3 city blocks in one hour, so instead we resumed our foot travel. On the bus I observed a man in a business suit caked in powder. He stared ahead, motionless, silent, his brief case leaning against his leg. Many people throughout the city had white in their hair. John, who lived in midtown, reached home first and had a friend of his call our families to let them know that we were okay. Jae reached her upper East side apartment next, at which point, coincidentally, I bumped into a girl with whom I attended junior high school and whom I hadn’t seen in over 5 years. We walked together all the way to the 125^th Street station, where we parted ways and where train service into the Bronx was available.

I rode the train up to the Bronx in relative quietude. It was close to 5:00 PM when I made it home where I was met with warm and tight embraces. I sat down to watch the news and for the first time realized what had actually happened. As I watched recordings of the planes crashing, the fire burning, the smoke billowing, people leaping to their deaths, and those awesome towers crumbling, I wept.

MTA map: http://www.mta.info/nyct/maps/submap.htm

Farewell, Summer!

Roger Williams Park Zoo inRI

Piggies at the Brooklyn, CT fair

Nora's fascination with the pigs, the subject of many of her paintings/drawings

The artist and her work

The aftermath of Hurricane Irene right in our backyard

Sibling love

The artist at work

Nehemiah massaging his buddy's head

Nehemiah holding a book

Nora the Explorer

At Ocean Beach in New London, CT with Andy and Naty

Nehemiah chillin'

Dancing at the beach

Nora about to blow out her candle

Eating her birthday cupcake

Experimenting with her new swing/slide set

Opening gifts

Yesterday our sweet Nora turned 2 years old. We celebrated by taking her to the beach last night and by throwing a big fiesta today with a Dora the Explorer theme. Nora had her first cupcake, licking off all the frosting first. Nehemiah slept through all the festivities, lulled by the sharp sounds of popping balloons and the children's stomping and screaming. Nora had a blast even though she was bewildered by all the birthday wishes, singing and lit #2 candle.

Just Pics

A Tale Not So Ordinary

Warning: If you often find yourself thinking “Too much information!” when listening to others, I recommend that you skip this post’s text and glance only at the pictures.

This is the tale of a little boy with a big name, a little boy who took a nose-dive onto the front passenger seat of our Toyota Corolla and greeted the world for the first time. Nehemiah plunged onto my lap on May 24, 6 weeks ago exactly, on Interstate Highway 395 in Connecticut on our way to the hospital.

This is a tale not so ordinary. I arose that morning at 6:30, went downstairs to eat my usual bowl of Uncle Sam’s before hopping on the treadmill. Moments after preparing my bowl, loss of appetite gave way to mild nausea. No Uncle Sam’s meant no treadmill, so I considered preparing Nora’s bowl of oatmeal but suddenly felt physically unable to carry out this task. Three restroom breaks later (to put it politely), backache and contractions began. The time was now 7:00. By 7:15 contractions were in full swing, arresting and consuming me. I labored through a very short, hot shower and continued laboring by kneeling down on the bathroom floor, resting my head against the toilet seat. Our friend, Maria, arrived around 7:45 to take care of Nora. By around 8:10 Nathan had finished gathering our stuff to head to the hospital. I pleaded with him, “Call 911. Call an ambulance.” Involuntarily, my body had already begun pushing. With calm optimism and determination, Nathan responded, “No. We’re going to make it the hospital. You can do this.” He scooped me up and led me out to the car. I proceeded laboring in the car, gripping the small storage compartment against the front passenger side door. My seat remained upright, my feet on the ground. I inhaled. I exhaled. I grunted. Nathan made three phone calls to my OB’s office. The first call, from home, announced that I had gone into labor. On road 69 after feeling a pop and a warm gush, I screamed, “Something broke, Nathan.” Now the second call announced that we would be heading to labor and delivery instead of the OB office as advised by the nurse over the phone. Nathan made his third call right after the contraction that caused me to push the baby’s head out as I hoisted myself up against the back of my seat in fear of squishing the little human. At that point, I yelled, “I can feel it. I can feel it,” as Nathan sped down the highway at 70 miles per hour. Nathan felt our baby’s head, pulled my yoga maternity pants down to my knees and dialed a third time. “Hi. We’re actually going to the emergency room. I can feel the baby’s head.” Ignoring my pleas to stop the car, our fearless (and wise) driver, pressed his foot more firmly against the gas pedal, assuring me that we were just two exits away. Just before we made a right turn for our exit came another violent contraction, a ring of fire and…the inevitable…a full-bodied, warm baby attached to me by umbilical cord. The baby managed to slide through my underwear leg hole and landed on my left thigh. No crying, just a mild wriggle. Approximately 2 to 4 minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital’s emergency room. Nathan bolted from the car, running around the front to my side. He looked at the baby and announced, “It’s a boy, Zuly!” Still rattled, I asked, “It’s a boy? It’s a boy?” He lifted the baby onto my tummy, and I held our little Nehemiah for the first time. Then arrived many doctors and nurses. My OB had Nathan cut the umbilical cord. Someone cut my pants and underwear off with scissors, lifted me unto a stretcher, placed Nehemiah on my tummy, covered us with blankets and wheeled us up to labor and delivery where Nehemiah and I were cleaned up, my placenta was delivered and my third degree laceration was sewn. We were done by 10:30. We believe Nehemiah was born at approximately 8:41 that morning. My labor was precipitous, the kind of labor described by the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book as only happening in movies.

Our most harrowing car ride yet brought us a second bundle of joy. We give thanks to God for protecting all of us, especially Nehemiah.

Tick, tock...tick, tock

Nora with her new doll, a big sister gift from her friend, Megumi

Nora showing excitement over her new toddler bed

Nora and her maternal great grandmother, Abuelita Dorila, enjoying lo mein together

Zuly at 34 and a half weeks!!!

Nora's favorite song is titled "Las Horas" (the hours) by Jose Luis Orozco. She requests it by shouting, "Tic, tac!" At one o'clock Jose Luis eats tuna, at two o'clock he eats arroz (rice), at three o'clock everything is backwards...and so forth. Jose Luis's clock is not the only ticking these days. We have about 5 weeks left before the newest addition to our family arrives, and we have TONS of getting ready to do.

On Monday, the Bronx native in our household got bitten by a tick for the first time. This experience has demystified the tick for Zuly. The only insect bites she has ever endured have been mosquito and "chigger" (as Texans say) bites. At least for this Bronx native, tick bites have traditionally conjured up grave thoughts...Lyme disease, infection, the unknown...thanks to the very influential media coverage on ticks from the late 1980s and early 90s. Unlike the South Bronx, however, Northeastern CT is no stranger to ticks, all varieties. But, fear not! Zuly is doing well. No infection appears to have set in, and we are monitoring the situation closely.

Happy Easter to all!

In the apostle Paul's words, "Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures...He was buried, and...He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures..." (NASB).