Notes from The Zone, 04/22/06: Clouds May Be Lingering, But There Are Silver Linings

In an effort to provide more frequent (and digestible) posts pertaining to what most of you really want to read about anyway—The Z Kids—I'm adding a sorta-weekly "notes" format focusing on what's going on around our home and in our lives.

While I'll still post formal blog entries when inspired to do so—which I fully admit are essentially for me, though shared with you—the notes will keep the blog alive during periods between them, while offering updates about the kids and our interactions with them.

Incidentally, I've only heard from a few of you regarding the blog, so please, if you have feedback, comments, suggestions, (constructive) criticism, lay it on me! That goes for the photos and anything else you’d like to see, too.

As always, thanks for reading!

—Scott

I'm a WHAT? — As anyone who's spent much time around Zoë knows, the girl LOVES to sing. She also loves making up her own songs, typically ballad-y and epic-like, with lyrics that are cryptic in a four-year-old kind of way. So, while I usually listen to the melodies and ignore the words, I was unable to do the latter when sometime last week, she took on a more poppy style and began singing loudly and clearly (in the “Since You Been Gone” style of her current favorite, American Idol Season One winner Kelly Clarkson), “I'm a hottie. Ooh-ooh, I'm a hottie.” The accompanying booty-shaking dance and her delivery were rather cute, but this is NOT, if given a choice, what a father wants to hear his preschool-aged daughter singing. Good thing Zoë still does the classics, too, like her current favorite, “This Old Man,” or I'd be worried. And anyway, a Clarksonesque “I’m a Hottie” is undoubtedly more wholesome than whatever Brittany “Oops, I Did it Again" (and again and again and again) Spears would have had her imitating a few years ago.

We'll still be having a “Zane” — Yes, it's true . . . except this Zane will have a cold nose, a floppy tongue, droopy ears, and the need to be housebroken. In other words, Zach's been promised a dog once we're settled into the house. It didn't take much to talk Kelly and me into the idea, given that we'd long ago promised the kids a canine companion as incentive to help us reign in our budget. (“But if we go out to dinner, we won't be able to get a house, so we won’t be able to get a dog. You do want a dog, right?”) But given how depressed Zach remained days after learning he'd not be getting a little brother, we reintroduced the idea in an effort to divert his attention and lift his spirits. It appears to have worked—so well, in fact, that he now has a picture taped to the foot of his bed of the breed he wants (a Golden Retriever, even if Kelly and I aren’t so sure about all that hair). He’s gone so far as to deem that the dog will be "his" (fine by me if it means he'll clean up the poop!), and he’s asking—no, begging—for a male so can name it "Zane." Suddenly, he's almost forgotten that he even wanted a brother. Time will tell if it’ll stick. But as annoyed as he’s been getting lately with Zoë pillaging through his stuff at every opportunity and otherwise annoying him, I think it might.

A silver lining, and then some — Crushed as I was upon learning we’d not be having another boy, at this point it’s almost become a non-issue for me. It’s helped that since the news broke, Zoë and I have enjoyed some major quality time and bonding experiences, including shopping together for clothes and other essentials for the baby. I’ve also been talking with her a lot about assuming the role of “big kid” and being a good role model and helper with her sister. Whether as a response or otherwise, she’s been a real sweetheart lately and is suddenly behaving much more maturely. She’s showered me with frequent hugs and “tick-tock kisses” (something she came up with—think Eskimo kisses with a back-and-forth twist), which has suited me just fine. As if all this hadn’t convinced me that another round of daughter daddying was OK, then a recent realization certainly has: We could have had twins! As in “two for the price of one.” As in “two kids simultaenously (crying, needing diaper changes, running a fever, etc.).” As in, "Um, honey? We bargained for three and got four." Man, I’d never really given that possibility much thought before, and it obviously could have happened to us, especially since twins are quite prevalent on Kelly's side of the family. Much as I was enthusiastic about adding a third kiddo to the brood, adore my adorable twin nephews, Aidan and Cole, and respect my brother Steve and sister-in-law Mary for their ability to do it...to add two at the same time, especially when it would have brought our Z tally to four? Fuggetaboutit! Just one more reason that another girl will be just fine, thank you. (Phew!)

Memories—and visions—of home — Since moving to Redding, Kelly and I have been pleasantly surprised not only by how quickly and effortlessly we’ve adapted to our new hometown, but how we’ve come to embrace it. Granted, we have yet to survive a summer of 100-degree temperatures, but we’re confident that the benefits we enjoy by living here will make even that bearable. Still, even though we’ve left the traffic and other craziness of the Bay Area behind, it was with much excitement last week that we welcomed for a visit our friends and former Foster City neighbors, the Mahs—Kevin, Christina, Jarod and Lauren. If you were fortunate enough to meet them at Kelly’s 40th birthday party last June, then you know what friendly, easy-going people they are. We’d known for weeks they were coming, and of course our kids were ecstatic about seeing theirs for the first time since January. But once they’d arrived, with Kelly playing hooky, a blessing of perfect weather, and nothing to do but enjoy their company, it made for a perfect afternoon. While the Mahs could only stay for a few hours as they traveled home from a 10-day vacation to Seattle, it was a side trip we very much appreciated. And on one hand, their visit made me a tad homesick, as our interactions with the Mahs before moving were too often rushed and purposeful (“Are you picking up the boys from school, or am I? OK, gotta run.”). But on the other, seeing them left me full of anticipation about building such relationships with the neighbors we’ll soon have in our new home—yet glad that existing friends can always stop by.

Did somebody say “weather”? — With nearly 45 inches of rain to date and precipitation on more than three quarters of the days between February and mid-April, weather has been on everyone’s mind up here, as it has been throughout the state. It’s forced the cancellation of sporting events (including Zach’s Little League games), slowed down construction (Grrr!), and of course, kept everyone cooped up inside for days on end. For transplants like us, dealing with the endlessly gloomy skies has sparked a bit of cabin fever, sapping our energy and leaving us with a decent case of the doldrums. Zoë’s gone so far as to alter the lyrics to a popular children’s song to “Rain, rain, go away. Don’t come back another day.” It’s hard to blame her. So, you can imagine how we relished the sudden and dramatic change this week, as brilliant sunshine and eighty-degree temperatures brought everyone, including us, darting out of their houses. Flowers and trees had long been in bloom after early-season teases of mildness, and shorts and sandals followed their lead. Thus, the stage was set, and in a few short days, we went from hiding under blankets to drown out the interminable racket of rainfall to feeling the effects of full-blown Spring Fever. It even affected the kids, as Zoë dragged a chair, some music, and a cold drink onto the front lawn and proceeded to kick back under a tree, as if by instinct, with a look of complete satisfaction on her face. Wet stuff and clouds may be back in the forecast today—and maybe even some thunderstorms—but we’ve tasted spring, and we’re not looking back.

Making way—and room—for baby — With weeks leading up to the arrival of Z Kid Three (still unnamed) flying by, and with our short-term move just two weeks off, we’ve seized the opportunity to sort the numerous boxes of papoose paraphernalia we’ve accumulated over the past 10 years. One advantage to knowing the bambino’s gender is that it allows us to discard a veritable mountain of hand-me-down clothing. So, unless they hold special meaning (such as the outfit from his first Christmas), Zach’s old duds are history. Same goes for a bunch of towels, burp rags, and other fabric items that have over time developed that magical “Where’d that nasty stain come from?” effect. For Kelly and me, the activity has been one of purging and organization. But for Zoë, who’s enthusiastically offered to help, it’s been akin to an archaeological dig. What are throwaways to us are undiscovered treasures to her, since she has no recollection of most of them. If her “help” has slowed my work considerably—and it most certainly has—it’s also been frequently amusing. If I had a dollar for each time I’ve heard “Oh, how cuuuuute!” in the past week, I’d probably have enough cash to pay outright for the new house. And while she’s been quick to grab things from the “toss” pile—presumably “for the baby” (or so she says)—she’s just as frequently snuck off to (re)claim them for her own, as you can see from the picture. Firebrand though she may be at times, when all’s said and done, she’s still our little baby, and we’re glad—but don’t tell her we said so.