From Libby, Susan, Violeta and various other blogs…

1. Who was your first prom date? His name was George, and he was my friend’s boyfriend, but she didn’t want to go to what was called the Sixth Form Dance (private, anglophile school that it was) with a junior. So she went with a fellow senior, and I took George! And yes, it was every bit as awkward as it sounds.

2. Do you still talk to your first love? No; the last time we talked was when he called to say he and his wife were expecting their first child, and I told him I was getting married. I think he still lives nearby, though.

3. What was your first alcoholic drink? Probably something ghastly like rum and coke. I was in high school.

4. What was your first job? I started working as a mother’s helper for neighbors when I was twelve or so, and then in high school I worked as a cashier in a hardware store, and then several summers working in various offices of the hospital where my mom worked.

5. What was your first car? A 1990-something Nissan Sentra, bought used from Libby. It was a good little car, but it was totaled when somebody turned left into me on Fell Street here in San Francisco.

6. Who was the first person to text you today? Nobody. Tony occasionally texts me.

7. Who is the first person you thought of this morning? Eli.

8. Who was your first grade teacher? Miss Nesbit, I think? (Mom, do you remember?!) I can remember all my other elementary school teacher’s names but I am blanking on this one.

9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane? I think to the Philippines with my parents when I was a baby. The story goes that the immigration officials failed to stamp my passport on the way in, and so were disinclined to let my parents return to Japan with me. I guess they thought my parents were stealing me? Obviously it all worked out.

10. Who was your first best friend, and are you still friends with him/her? Anne, in elementary school, whose house I could get to by squeezing through the fence behind our house, sprinting down a mean old man’s driveway (because every childhood needs a mean old man in it somewhere), and crossing the street. We’ve lost touch.

11. What was your first sport played? Softball, in 5th grade. I was on a team called the Firecrackers and I played right field (read, wasn’t any good). We won one game and went out to Baskin Robbins for ice cream to celebrate.

12. Where was your first sleepover? At Anne’s house. We did a seance to try to hypnotize our friend Sarah, and I was so unsettled by the whole experience I pretended I was sleepy and curled up in the corner in my sleeping bag.

13. Who was the first person you talked to today? Eli. I said, “Good morning, sweetie!” with more enthusiasm than I felt.

14. Whose wedding were you in the first time? Libby‘s! I was in high school, working some boring summer job, when Libby flew home from LA to deal with the caterer and get a picture taken and make various other arrangements. She and my mom would go bridesmaid dress-scouting in the afternoons (I was the only one in the wedding party, so I got to wear whatever Libby and I agreed on), and they would pick me up after work and take me to various stores to try on the dresses they’d found. It remains one of the best shopping experiences of my life.

15. What was the first thing you did this morning? Cuddle up with Eli and Ben.

16. What was the first concert you ever went to? The Cure, Madison Square Garden, probably 1985. Jennifer and I took the train to the concert, and the other people — all pierced and gelled and dark eye shadowed — kind of scared us.

17. What was your first tattoo or piercing? Pierced ears, maybe 3rd grade? My godmother gave me gold studs for Christmas, and I got my ears pierced shortly after that.

18. What was the first foreign country you went to? The Philippines when I was a baby (see above), and then Russia when I was two. I moved to the United States when I was five.

19. What was your first run-in with the law? Fall 1990. I was involved in an anti-war demonstration in Union Square Park, and I stepped on to a pedestal to see better when one of New York’s finest told me to get down or he would shoot me in the knees. I understand that protesters and police are not generally on the best terms, but still, I never even spoke to the man. I got down right quick.

20. When was your first detention? I’ve never had detention.

21. What was the first state you lived in? Connecticut.

22. Who was the first person to break your heart? Oh, number 2, I guess. I’m over it.

23. Who was your first roommate? Aside from tent-mates in camp (whose names I forget), I had three, my first year in high school: Anna, Nina, and Shana. The older girls in the dorm would come to our room and sing “Three of these girls belong together, one of these girls just doesn’t belong!” Nice.

24. Where did you go on your first limo ride? I’ve never been in a limo.

Eli was scratching his head.

“Forehead…” he remarked thoughtfully as he rubbed; then, moving his hand onto the top of his head, he said, “One head.” He paused a beat, his hand still, thinking.

“Mama? Why two heads?!”

This year, Ben requested a chocolate cake with white chocolate frosting and raspberry frosting. I was a little dubious (not being a huge white chocolate fan) but I bought good white chocolate (which is flavorful, not just sweet) and the cake turned out great. The frosting was not as bright pink as in the drawing Ben made to guide our efforts, but he was well pleased with the result.

This is what we did…

The cake is the Rich Chocolate Cake from The Baker’s Dozen Cookbook. It’s a good, easy recipe– no separating eggs, no fussiness–and it tastes delicious.

3 oz unsweetened chocolate, chopped
2 1/4 c all purpose flour
1 1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
2 1/2 c brown sugar
8 T (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature)
1 c sour cream (I used plain yogurt), at room temperature
3 large eggs, lightly beaten, at room temperature
1 t vanilla extract
1 c water

Line the bottoms of two 9×2-inch round cake pans with parchment. Preheat the oven to 350.

Melt the chocolate and cool till tepid.

Combine the flour, baking soda and salt in a large bowl. Add the brown sugar and stir to combine. Add the butter and sour cream or yogurt and beat into a thick batter. Add the eggs, melted chocolate and vanilla and beat until well combined. Add the water slowly and mix just until blended. Spoon the batter into the prepared pans, spread evenly, and bake 30-35 minutes, until the tops spring back when pressed lightly in the centers and a tester comes out clean.

Cool for 10 minutes, then turn the cakes out onto the cooling racks. Peel off the parchment, put it back on the cakes, sticky side up, then invert the cakes again to get them right side up. Cool completely before filling and frosting.

To make the filling:

2 1/4 oz white chocolate, chopped
3/4 c confectioners’ sugar
1/8 c milk
1/4 t vanilla extract
3 T unsalted butter, softened
pinch of salt

Melt the chocolate and let cool. Sift the confectioners’ sugar into a medium bowl. Stir in the milk and vanilla. Add the butter and salt and beat until smooth. Stir in the melted chocolate.
Use to spread between the layers of the cooled cake.

To make the frosting:
(Vanilla buttercream is delicious but finicky, so I always make cream cheese frosting…)
8 oz cream cheese, softened
4 T unsalted butter, softened
2 T vanilla
1 c confectioners’ sugar
1/2 c raspberry jam (or more to taste), pressed through a sieve (optional, if you want to make raspberry frosting)

Beat together the cream cheese and butter until smooth. Add the vanilla and confectioners’ sugar and beat until creamy. Stir in the raspberry jam. Now frost the cake!

Six years ago today, I was sitting at my desk emailing with my writing students. It was Sunday night, around 11 pm, but they were all on line and a little freaked out that–despite plenty of warning (and the daily evidence of my growing belly)–I wasn’t going to finish out the quarter with them. The previous Friday, at my 38-week check-up, my ob had put an end to my two-hour daily commute. I went on maternity leave without ever returning to campus.

So there I was, typing away, when I realized my water had broken. I logged off with the students, emailed a quick note to my department chair, and called my ob’s answering service, where a weary nurse listened to my nervous answers to her questions about my symptoms (none, other than the water breaking), told me get some sleep and call back in the morning.

Tony emailed his new boss (he’s only been in the job about two weeks), and started packing a bag. He tossed in the Sunday paper and a crossword puzzle book — apparently we thought we’d run out of things to do in the hospital. We didn’t know anything yet about how all-consuming (and yet often quite boring) parenting can be. The cradle wasn’t set up, the car seat was in the car but we didn’t know how to use it. I went to sleep.

A couple hours later I woke up with a contraction, announced the news to Tony, and went back to sleep. A few hours after that I had a contraction that about kicked me out of bed. I spent the next hour or so moaning, counting down the time until we could reasonably go to the hospital. We were both so afraid of getting to the hospital too early; it had been drummed into us to wait until the contractions were a certain duration and coming at certain intervals. Mine were totally irregular and knocking me off my feet. I felt pathetic that I couldn’t handle them. Tony called the hospital and told them we were coming in.

We got to the hospital around 7:30 and the nurse who examined me said I was fully dilated. I could have kissed her. Suddenly full of energy, I managed to get through the admitting procedures and get into a room before pushing Ben out into the world just after 9.

Ben likes to hear the story of the day he was born when he is falling asleep or feeling sad, and this is the version I tell him:

“When you were in my belly I was a teacher. Every day I would drive to a school with long brick pathways and big green lawns. I carried a heavy backpack, bigger than yours, full of papers and books, from my office to my classroom. My students and I would talk about books together, and I would help them write essays about what they read.

“Until one day, my doctor said, ‘I think your baby’s going to be born soon. I think it’s time for you to stop working.’ So that day I went to the movies. And the next day, Daddy and I visited with a lot of our friends and told them how excited we were to meet you. That night, I felt you start to kick and wiggle in a new way, and I called my doctor, who told me to wait until morning to come to the hospital. So I went to sleep.

“But you kept kicking and wiggling until I couldn’t sleep anymore, so Daddy and I got up and he drove us to the hospital super fast. We parked the car and rode upstairs in the elevator, and when we got off the elevator, the nurse said, “You look great!” because nurses love to see a woman who’s about to have a baby.

“She took me to my hospital room, and helped me into my hospital nightgown, and I climbed into my hospital bed, and I pushed and I pushed and I pushed and out you came! And you had your arms spread wide, and I reached out to cuddle you up, and I said, “Benjamin! Benjamin is here! I am so happy that Benjamin is here.”

And I am still so happy that Benjamin is here.

Scene One: Various crowded (or not-so-crowded) restaurants in and around Yosemite, where the staff struggles to find room for our party of eight, so we sit at adjoining tables or booths: four grownups and a happy, growly baby at one, three “big kids” at another. The kids are delighted to be on their own. They color with intense concentration, push their pictures aside for a few moments to eat their dinners, and then color some more. The grownups relax and drink their wine. The baby says “rar-rar-rar” and chews her spoon.

Scene Two: Our dinner table at home, where we are just starting to dig into our pasta with roasted cauliflower.

The players (as usual): Tony, me, Ben and Eli

Eli, pausing before a bite, sitting up a bit straighter: “So Ben, how was your day?”

Ben (taken aback for a moment, then smiling): “Good. [pause] How was your day?”

Eli (delighted): “Good.”

They return to their meals. Tony and I smile and don’t say a word, enjoying the moment.

Scene Three: Our table at home, again; this time we’re eating pasta with chard.

Ben, stuffing a bite into his mouth: “Eli?”

Eli pauses, looks over at his brother and gazes at him blankly as Ben, his mouth full, makes an unintelligible remark.

Eli (paraphrasing a line he’s heard us use daily): “Ben? maybe you should swallow that bite and then talk; I didn’t understand your words.”

Of course, it’s not always so polite around here; just last night, with Tony out, I left the table –taking the boys’ half-full plates with me — when they wouldn’t stop their shrieking contest. But every day it gets to be a bit more like dining with people than with animals. At the very least, we have come a long way from the days of grabbed bites while walking a screaming, colicky baby in circles around the dinner table, and for that, I am truly grateful.

We don’t seem to track milestones in Ben’s development so much these days. Some time recently we noticed that he can read silently now (which means Eli doesn’t get so many bedtime stories read by his big brother any more), but the days of noting — and recording– the first step, the first jump. . . those days are long past. (He’s playing basketball now, but we’re not holding our breaths for the first slam dunk.)

But today we had a good one to note: he lost his first tooth! Exactly 5 years, 5 months, and 2 days (thank goodness for baby books) after we noticed his first baby tooth, it fell out of his mouth, the casualty of a big bite of dried mango. It’d been hanging on for a couple weeks now, the adult tooth coming up behind, rather than pushing up from below, so he doesn’t even have much of a gap. This strikes us as quite true to form: our Ben doesn’t do anything without being well and truly prepared.

Above: the first tooth, with a Joe’s O for scale

No, it’s not a meme, it’s how we got through 5 1/2 hours on the way to Yosemite. It’s more like 75 questions, but still, it amused me.

Is it alive? (yes)
Is it green? (no)
Is it a plant? (no)
Is it yellow? (no)
Is it an animal? (no)
Is it a person? (yes!)
Is it an insect? (no)

I had to stop writing this Q&A; down to deal with Eli and now I forget what the eventual answer was. But the pause gave us a chance to chat about general questions and specific questions, categories and the like, and then we tried again with a new answer.

Is it made of vinyl? (no)
Is it made of glass? (no)
Is it made of plastic? (no)
Is it made of metal? (no)
Is it made of elastic? (no)
Is it made of wood? (no)
Is it made of rubber? (no)

A pause here to suggest that Ben could ask a basic dead or alive question. He considers, then resumes:

Is it made of paper? (yes!)

And so having proven his method is effective, he moves on:

Is it an origami bird? (no)
Is it an origami frog? (no)
Is it an origami balloon? (no)
Is it an origami airplane? (no)
Is it a songbook? (we’re stunned by the rapid shift in questioning, and sadly answer no)
Does it have to do with music? (no)
Is it a book? (no)

I give him a clue: it has to do with a recent holiday. We review what he knows: it is made of paper. He continues:

Does it have to do with Chinese New Year? (no)
Does it have to do with President’s Day? (still in the future we remind him, and no)
Does it have to do with Valentine’s Day? (yes! we see the light at the end of the tunnel! and then…)
Is it a candy wrapper? (no; and when did Valentine’s Day start to rival Halloween in the kid candy haul department?)
Is it a Valentine?

Ding! ding! ding! hurray! and now a break while we bang our heads against the steering wheel, take a deep breath, and begin again.

Is it a … ?

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California is big.

Now I’ve always known this, even before I lived here and started driving around. I’ve driven from north to south and deep into the middle, too. And I’m not afraid of road trips; I’ve driven across country once (spending the better part of a day crossing Pennsylvania, before I knew people I would like to visit) and once, when a friend and I were 100 miles into a trip before realizing we’d forgotten something, we happily turned around to get it and set off again. Good company, good songs on the radio, some snacks along the way — what’s not to like about a road trip?

Road trips with the kids, of course, are another story. Our first big (over 2 hour) drive with Ben was when he was just a bit over two. We flew the red eye from San Francisco to Washington, DC (no sleep), drove from DC to Richmond, Virginia (no sleep) and then, after breakfast, drove from Richmond to the Outer Banks. For the last leg, I was in the back seat, crammed next to Ben, my sister driving and niece in the passenger seat. They might as well have been in another country, doing the snack-music-conversation thing happily while I read George and Martha Tons of Fun over and over again. Tons of fun it may be for George and Martha, but not for me, not for seven hours. (Thank goodness, it was a great vacation, and as I recall, Tony did Ben duty on the drive back).

A road trip doesn’t have to be long to be rough. When Eli was a little bit, we’d drive into the city most days from our temporary house in Marin, to take Ben to preschool and check the progress of our renovation. Often we’d have dinner with friends in the city before driving the twelve miles back to Marin, and I would spend the drive with my arm stretched back, straining out of its socket, trying to give squalling Eli a finger to suck, until I gave up, unbuckled my seat belt and climbed into the back to comfort him (or, more accurately, myself).

Luckily the kids are pretty good travelers these days — luckily because there’s a lot of California to see! Over the last weekend, we drove 9 1/2 hours to Yosemite and back, put about 500 miles on the car, ate one box of Trader Joe’s mini peanut butter crackers, half a dozen Z Bars, a bag of dried mango, a bag of roasted almonds, some carrot sticks and a lot of dry cereal. We listened to Dan Zanes, Chris Molla, The Beatles, Maroon 5, and Diablo’s Dust. We played 20 Questions (more on that later). Although we timed our drives to coincide with Eli’s naps, he napped a total of 2 out of the 9 1/2 hours. And yet, we did it all without any tears or many raised voices.

I think we’ll do this again.

At school the other morning, as Eli and I were saying good bye to Ben, already settled into a drawing project, a boy walked over and pushed Ben off his chair. Ben was too surprised to talk and even I needed a moment to gather myself before speaking gently to the child, who somehow, in the clueless, bulldozing way of some kindergartners, just hadn’t seen Ben. Ben and I talked about it later, cuddled cozily on the couch, with Eli dancing around us recalling the drama: “Dat boy pushed Benno,” he recounted wide-eyed, the surprise still fresh in his voice. “No push people. Push swings.”

It’s so simple right now, as perhaps a rule-bound two year-old can convey best; and when the rules of polite society are tested by its youngest members, it’s easy enough for a parent to intercede. This week, it was just a rambunctious boy who didn’t see my kid, but I worry about the day someone does see my kid and pushes him anyway. Oh, I know, the world generally treats blonde boys very well, thank you very much, so I teach my boys to wear their privilege respectfully. And yet, Ben’s a smart boy in a culture that doesn’t really pride itself on intelligence; a vegetarian in a meat-eating society; an awkward body in a world that expects boys to run gracefully and handle balls fluidly. He’s a quirky bird, and like any parent, I want to help my child learn to be himself regardless of how the world reacts to him.

My thoughts about Ben were cast into sharp perspective when I watched the beautiful and moving new Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi, 2007). Based on Satrapi’s graphic novel, Persepolis is a memoir of her childhood in Tehran during the Revolution, and her lonely adolescence, exiled without her family, in Vienna. The film is largely in black and white (and a thousand gorgeous shades of gray), animated simply, and in French (depending on where you live, your theater will play a subtitled version like I saw, or one with an English voice-over track), all of which, I know, screams “Art-y!” But instead of being distancing, those often off-putting elements combine to create a film that’s so funny and real, of such quiet beauty and emotional resonance, I didn’t want to move after it was over, lest I break its spell.

Read more of my latest column over at Literary Mama!

We’ve got one duffel bag packed with four pairs of (borrowed) snow pants, four sets of long johns, four pairs of boots, four warm hats, and four pairs of mittens. The suitcase is still yawning open, with pjs and underwear, pants and shirts spilling out, the book lights, my journal, and an optimistic pile of books stacked on and around it. My “don’t forget” list of things I’ll gather after we’ve finished with them this morning, is on the floor: the boys’ bed buddies, toothbrushes.

We are heading into the snow!

And although I will bring my laptop, I am kind of hoping that we don’t have internet access and I can get some writing done.

Have a good weekend, everyone!