The Number Field

I'm very happy to have Elena and Jenny back at home. Sometimes it seems that Elena is taller when I come home in the afternoon than when I put her to bed the previous night. After a ten day separation, she really has grown noticeably. Her appearance isn't the only thing that's changing; it's also as if her personality is opening like the springtime blossoms.

One indicator of the change is that Elena now has a favorite movie: Monsters, Inc. At first Jenny was worried that it was too scary, but after watching it together, she decided that Elena could handle it. When they were away, there were a couple of days when Elena was sick. Of course that's the perfect time to relax in front of a movie, and Monsters was the film of choice. There was another day when Elena asked very nicely, in the morning, if she could watch a movie. Jenny asked her to wait until the afternoon, thinking she might forget about it, but she immediately asked "I watch movie now?" when she woke up from her nap, so there was no breaking the promise.

We can tell it's Elena's favorite movie not only because she likes to watch it, but also because she now loves to "scare" us. For instance, when we go for a walk outside, she'll be walking ahead of me when all of a sudden she stops short, turns around with hands above her head, and roars at me. When I act scared or surprised, she thinks it's the funniest thing ever. Then she wants to take a turn walking behind, so I can scare her.

She likes to be a monster so much that she's dropped the pretense of trying to have the element of surprise, which is to say that she just gives us a hearty monster roar whenever she feels like it. She always wants us to be scared, but we don't always comply. I frequently start laughing before I can even act surprised, but she'll just keep on roaring.

On a different note, I made some changes at home to accommodate our growing girl. Most significantly, I turned her crib into a bed. She's been through two nights and two naps without falling out, which is a good start. It helps all of us, especially Jenny, because now Elena can climb in and out of bed on her own and Jenny doesn't have to lift her.

Elena enjoys the autonomy of being able to get into and out of her bed. I should mention that she also recently figured out how to open doors. Jenny tried to squeeze in a shower this morning in the minutes before she expected Elena to wake up. As she approached the end of the shower, she felt a breeze and looked over to see Elena, blanket and bear in hand, peering in to ask how things were going. Again this afternoon Jenny could tell Elena was awake, but had chosen to stay in her room and play quietly after her nap. It wasn't until I got home and went up to say hi that she came downstairs. And then she started monstering us.

There are times when Elena wakes up before she should, like in the middle of the night. When confined to the crib, she would often just stay in there until she fell back asleep. Now that she can get out, we're not sure what she'll do, and moreover we haven't agreed on a plan or policy. Please leave any suggestions or thoughts in the comments.

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April Fool's Day passed quietly for me, which was a disappointment. I wanted to do something in person, not like last year's blog switcheroo, but my only idea wasn't practical. The dearth of jokes wasn't because I was home alone--I don't prank Jenny, and I don't think Elena would have understood. That said, I think next year will be a good one to prank her for the first time, so I hope they don't make this trip an annual event.

When I was growing up, my mother pulled the same prank every year. She inherited the tradition from her mother, who first heard about it on a call-in radio show at least six decades ago. The trick is simple--the night before, pour warm milk into glasses, add Junket tablets , and refrigerate. The primary ingredient in the tablets is the coagulant rennet, which gives milk the texture of pudding and consistency of jello . At April Fool's breakfast, it still looks like milk but has to be eaten with a spoon. It works best with whole milk--this year's effort, using skim milk, only became moderately slushy.

I can't reach deep enough into my memory to pull out a time when I was fooled by the joke, but my mother assures me that it got me more than once, and likewise for all of my siblings. For her the most memorable instance was one time when Leisa couldn't figure out what was going on and insisted on trying to drink the milk. After enough tilting and shaking, it came loose and splattered all over her face. I think there's a good chance that John and I convinced her to keep trying to drink it, despite evidence that such a strategy was a bad one.

I did have one idea this year, for a joke on my parents, but I chose not to invest the resources to implement it. It references a unique family tradition. On minor holidays, like Valentine's or St. Patrick's day, one of my parents would usually disappear down into the basement. Not long after, there would be a knock on the front door that, when answered, revealed not a visitor but an assortment of small gifts. Usually this included candy or some other edible treat, but that wasn't all. There were also what appeared to be ordinary household items--rolls of masking tape, pencils, blank paper. My mother says that they gave us things like that because we were creative and figured out ways to use them. I remember that no matter how much I tried to protect my masking tape, it would eventually end up in the general supply, leading me to believe that my parents were trying to double dip by giving us presents and also replenishing stocks of simple household items. I'm not complaining--if that's what they were doing, it was actually quite clever.

In any case, my plan for this year would have been to drive up to their house with a similar collection of items, then execute a ring and run of my own. Unfortunately, the long drive didn't fit into my schedule, especially with my plans to drive up the following day.

A good prank is slow magic. It isn't about humiliating the subject, but instead about making something impossible for happen, even if just for a moment or on a miniature scale. It takes detailed planning and flawless execution to make even one small impossible thing happen, so I fear that my prime pranking years are now past. That's one small reason I'm glad to have Elena and Moonbeam--they'll be easy to fool, at least while they're young.

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Last autumn Jenny and Elena spent time away, providing an adult presence at Jenny's mother's house while Nancy and Kevin were on vacation. That trip was so successful that they scheduled another one to visit family on the west coast, again asking Jenny and Elena to come run the household. They have been there since last week, while I have only Jewel for company here. Jewel does her best to keep the volume up, but she just can't match Elena's energy.

The rhythm of life is abruptly different without them around. Jenny left a well-stocked fridge and freezer, which I'm working to empty. That gives me extra bonus time that I don't have to spend on dinner. In turn, I've had time to work on projects that otherwise would have continued to languish neglected. Time still passes so quickly, and my overall productivity hasn't matched my aspirations. I know that I'm expending some effort, because at night I've been falling asleep quickly and sleeping soundly; when I wake up, the covers on Jenny's side of the bed are hardly disturbed.

Although I miss Jenny and Elena terribly, I appreciate the technology that keeps us close. I hooked my old video camera to the computer so it could run FaceTime, allowing me to video chat with them. I've especially enjoyed reading bedtime stories to them. One night she asked for Goodnight Moon , which I read. The next night she asked for a repeat performance, but I wanted to give her other options and suggested Barnyard Dance and The Paper Bag Princess instead. She continued to insist on Goodnight Moon , but after that one, she wanted to read the other two also. I tried to play dumb and say I didn't have them, but she didn't buy it. Needless to say, I eventually gave in and read the other two books.

Last night we didn't get to see each other over the computer. I went into Baltimore--first I had for dinner with a good friend, with whom it was really nice to catch up. Afterwards I attended my father's symphonic band concert at the MENC Eastern Division Conference . It was a fantastic performance, with tremendous energy. We had a great view of the lone oboist, and could tell that she was giving everything she had to the music. A few of the pieces featured guest soloists, including one who, according to the program, is one of the most prolific and accomplished euphonium players in the world. He gave a virtuoso performance--I don't think I can imagine anyone playing the euphonium with more panache and skill.

I can't wait for Jenny and Elena to return next week. I wish they had been able to attend the concert. Elena would have been completely mesmerized. Luckily, there will be more concerts this spring which we can attend together.

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For a few days Elena was entranced by a newly-discovered tower toy. It's been on her bookshelf since she was born, but she recently noticed it and wanted to play with it. Over and over she would take all the pieces off the central spindle, then put them back on in a different order. It was as if she was trying to figure out the one right way to solve the puzzle. It was an impossible task--it looked almost right no matter how she put it all together, but not quite perfect. That may be why it captured her attention; unlike other puzzles, she's never done with it.

Her fascination with the tower did cause trouble one night: it was time for her to get into the bath, but we wouldn't let her take it in and she started to protest. Thinking quickly, I asked her to help me put all the ducks in a row on the edge of the tub. That broke the tower's spell just long enough--we got her into the bath--but I don't think that's the usual reason we need to "get our ducks in a row."

Elena's attempts to figure things out by putting them together in a different order extend beyond towers and ducks. Sometimes she interacts with toys the way we interact with her. For example, the baby doll often has to sit in the little high chair next to the table at meal time. She also has to have her arms folded for prayer and get at least a few bites of food on her tray.

Sometimes the stuffed animals, dolls, and other toys interact with us and the world around them. According to Jenny, Elena once held the phone up to her blanket as if it was going to talk to me. When Elena's in the car seat, her bear frequently waves at the other cars on the road from the window. Sometimes he even waves at me when I come around to unbuckle her. I don't know whether Elena thinks I can't see her hand moving his paw. One more example--at bedtime I now have to say individual "night-nights" to whatever animals are in the crib with her.

Like any toddler, Elena sometimes does things that get her in trouble and merit a reprimand. Sometimes it even involves raised voices. When this happens Elena sometimes appears puzzled, but not like she's trying to figure out what she did wrong; instead it's as if she's trying get inside our heads and figure out what we're thinking. She must be understanding something, because she's started to say sorry without prompting. She hasn't yet started to model this behavioral pattern with her toys, but I think it must be only a matter of time before we hear her yelling at them, trying to put the pieces together.

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Some time after Elena was born, but long before we were even thinking about Moonbeam, someone--no doubt a second child themselves--told us that no parents take as many pictures of the second child as they take of the first. I recalled this recently when thinking about the content here. Elena already provides more material than I can handle. As a second child myself, although I haven't checked childhood photo albums, I'm sensitive to birth-order inequities. So I looked back to the first posts on this blog and was comforted to find that I didn't start writing until approximately this part of the previous pregnancy.

To be honest, until now there hasn't been much to say about Moonbeam. The doctor visits have only been once a month, and are pretty routine. Aside from those, we had little proof that Moonbeam was even in there. I should say that Jenny has plenty of evidence, but not much of it was externally visible. That's all starting to change. For one thing, she's been feeling the kicks, and thinks that if I was patient enough I'd be able to feel them too.

We have even more news to report. Most of this week's doctor visit was spent with the sonographer. Even though Moonbeam was pretty active, she was able to see all the important angles and take lots of measurements. The baby is right on track, perfectly average in size, with no change in the due date. The sonogram machine was only three months old, and the technician kept pointing out how it had much better quality than her previous machine. Of course we wanted to know whether we were having a girl or a boy. The sonographer claimed never to have been wrong in the twenty years that she's been doing this. She was confident in her determination that Moonbeam is a boy!

During a different part of the session, she showcased the 3D imaging capabilities of her ultrasound machine. It was pretty cool to look at the pictures of his face, but Moonbeam still looks more like an alien than a human baby; she said that most babies don't look human until twenty-eight or thirty weeks.

Seeing the ultrasound pictures, I'm not too worried that I'll shortchange Moonbeam on the blog or in any other way. Every day is a new adventure. It is true we won't have to rehash all the first-time parenting questions--for instance, now we know where we stand on the diaper question. But, paraphrasing Mister Rogers, I'll always have things I want to talk about, and you will too.

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Our church ward has a fun annual tradition in which we participated on Saturday: a Pinewood Derby for grown-ups. Even though we haven't been here for long enough to have attended last year, I volunteered to help organize this year's event. It wasn't too hard--we asked everyone to bring a pot luck dish, and people with more experience than me did most of the setup and race operations. They did a great job, and some angelic mothers and wives cleaned up, mostly unnoticed by the men and children crowding around the track.

Jenny encouraged me to build a car, especially since I was helping to coordinate the event. I bought a basic wedge-shaped block for my base, and decided not to modify it very much. Using a utility knife, multipurpose rasp, and sandpaper I shaped it into an airfoil. I don't think the shape was a factor in the car's performance. Really, I went with the design as an homage to a solar car I remember being fascinated by at about the same age when I first competed in a pinewood derby.

Jenny and Elena came for dinner and to visit with friends, but as soon as Elena saw the racing she wanted to participate. According to the rules, the car owner is supposed to place the car on the track and recover it from the finish line after it races, placing it on the car table (no modifications are allowed once racing has started). After Elena saw me do that the first time, she insisted on helping for the remaining heats and runoffs. She even started calling it "my car." With so many entries, we had some long waits in between our races, and she kept saying "more race!" (She even emphasized her point by making the baby sign for more .)

I remember my favorite boyhood pinewood derby car. It had a cool, curved profile and a "window" hole drilled from one side to the other. I painted it white with a single black racing stripe. In order to get up to the maximum racing weight, all cars have to have weights added, but we did so by putting them in drilled hole and concealing it so they wouldn't show. Working on that car is one of my earliest and fondest memories of doing a project together with my father. We had good success with it--I think we placed second in our pack, and got to race in the regional competition.

Back to the story at hand: whenever our car was in the race, we got to watch from next to the finish line, inside the barrier tables. Elena always cheered when our car crossed the line. I'm not sure she understands the concept of winning, but I certainly noticed that we were first in three of our four heats and came in second in the other, which was good enough to get into the runoffs. She liked that because it meant that we got to do more races. We made it all the way to the finals, where we came in third behind two worthy competitors and just ahead of the fourth. It was a great showing; next year I might put more effort into it to see if we can improve our standing.

It's easy to figure out what let to my success, aside from Elena's magic touch. My design was nothing special, and my paint job was horribly botched--I left it until the day of the race, so I cut some corners in drying time and paid the price in smudges and smears. I was too cheap to buy weights, which is why I stapled all the washers to the body, and still didn't come close to the maximum permissible weight. Transferring my intuition from cycling, I focused on the most important factor--the wheels. Jenny bought me a tuning kit that I used to sand the axles and wheels until they were nice and smooth (but still within the official regulations). It also included graphite powder, the only permissible lubricant--I remember my dad using it to speed up my car when I was a Cub Scout. All in all, it made for a good performance, and a wonderful evening. Congratulations to all the participants!

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During Elena's bath, she put all the foam letters on the wall, and these three just happened to be placed together.

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Dear Jenny, It's been a wonderful first five years together. love , Mark

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We don't always ask Elena to clean up her toys before bedtime, but tonight we wanted her to pick up at least the alphabet magnets that she had removed from the refrigerator door. We didn't have to rush, so as she and I picked them up she worked on recognizing the letters (she does--especially B and Q) and placing them in neat rows. Jenny was also in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner and observed that the cleanup was taking longer than usual.

It seems to me that Elena has just started to appreciate games, and that's how I justified to myself the extra time of our cleaning up. We got the job done, worked on letters and pronunciation, and reinforced the positive association we'd like her to feel towards chores and similar obligations. In a similar vein, she eats a wider variety of food with fewer complaints when she helps to make it, including the omelets we had for dinner tonight.

Elena has other favorites in addition to Duck, Duck, Goose. It may not quite count as a game, but she frequently wants to sing Ring Around the Rosies . A few weeks ago I hid behind the her bedroom door and surprised her, and we played a few rounds of hide and seek afterwards. Since then she often wants to go a few rounds of hide and seek before bedtime, taking turns hiding and seeking. It's usually pretty easy to find her, because she usually starts laughing when I get close. The one notable exception was at grandma's house, when she and grandma hid together and suppressed their giggles until I found them.

Elena's not the only one who gets something out of games. Leisa and Sam visited us earlier this week and brought along a board game ; they explained the rules as we went along. At the end of the second game we weren't sure about who had won, and a lengthy discussion ensued about the outcome. Games are nice because they give us a sandbox in which all the rules are (or should be) clear, and there's never any ambiguity or permanence in the results, even though there are plenty of opportunities to make choices and take risks while playing. Does Elena also enjoy games because of the constraints, that is because they're simpler to understand and decipher than regular life?

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When Grandma Nancy came to take care of Elena, she brought up two books that Elena received as Christmas presents; they had inadvertently been left at her house. The books were left too close to the play table where we often leave crayons out, and Elena managed to color in them during a few spare minutes when nobody was watching. I don't think she understood that this was not good--in fact, it appeared that she was trying to color inside the lines, as if they were coloring books. After that, we've tried to explain to her that she shouldn't color in story books, but I think the real key has been not leaving books near her coloring area.

Last weekend Elena and I took stale hamburger buns to feed the ducks. The duck pond is close to the doctor's office that Jenny and Elena visited the previous day--Elena had wanted to look at the ducks afterwards, but Jenny knew it was time to get her home for lunch and nap, and had to overrule Elena. When I went with her, we took her bike to ride on the pond-circling trail, to make it extra fun. She only rode the bike for the first segment, after which she wanted to walk the rest of the way. It was interesting to watch the competition between geese, ducks, and seagulls for the bread; they each have different capabilities, hence different strategies.

By the time we had gone all the way around the pond at a leisurely pace with plenty of stops, it was time to go home for lunch. I told Elena that we should head back to the car, but she wanted to stay. Eventually I told her that I was going to the car, expecting her to want to follow me. She called my bluff, saying "Bye Dad!" in her most assertive voice and starting down the path again. Did she really think that she would be okay on her own?

I called Jenny for help and she reminded me that we had snacks in the car. When I passed that information along to Elena, the news enticed her to come with me so we could go home. The whole event was an interesting coda to a conversation we had the previous night, after Jenny came home from a Relief Society activity where the invited speaker was a school counselor who talked about communication. Inspired by the discussion there, Jenny and I talked about how we communicate with Elena, and in particular how important it is to be firm and definitive when she tests our limits through negotiation. She will build up a profile of what we are willing to give in to, and use that in the future.

We've reached a point in time where Elena's imagination sometimes exceeds her capabilities. We spent some time working on somersaults, with me showing her examples, then helping her to do them. After that, she tried one on her own: hands on the ground, head down, chin down; all she had to do was push, but she's not quite ready for that and boom, she was just rolling over sideways on the floor. Despite how it appeared to me, she was pleased with herself--in her mind, she did a real somersault.

On the other hand, sometimes she succeeds in some task that began as a flight of fancy. She can usually screw open and closed the lid of her toothpaste. One day when I took my shoes off after work and left them near the couch, she decided to put them on and walk around. In the past she hasn't been able to make something like that work, but this time Jenny called me in to take a look. Elena, shuffling around in my shoes, had a huge grin on her face. On a final, practical note, she quickly learned to climb into her car seat without assistance. This development is welcome for Jenny, as the pregnancy makes it hard for her to lift Elena. I hope that we continue to see examples where Elena's increasing capabilities make life easier for all of us.

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