Sanatorium April 17 - 30, 2006 Tom talks and Lisa seconds him; how one can hear zucchini wheel; trip to a historic lighthouse

	Justice must be upheld -- it's not fair to snuggle just one child.

	Lizzy scurrying full steam ahead onto a slide.

So this is the fourth week of our running a sanatorium -- at least two family members are permanently snotty and cranky. Apparently we have been chosen as a location of a world-wide congress of viruses, we keep passing around various mutations and shorten our while wondering whether this very cough got Tom from Lisa, or Lisa from Sid. Our social and road-tripping life has been reduced to shambles. Not that rainy weather would invite anyone out anyway, but staying at home with sick children makes one noticeably claustrophobic -- and there's nothing to write about in the journal. Although it's true that granny who left for five days to Monterey, has shown surprise after getting back, how much progress our kids have made meanwhile -- thus at least our offspring did not idle in their house-locked regime.

Tommy has -- like already several times before -- upset me so much that I denied him his diapers. And just as before, after two days I humbly returned to diapers, for I have found that the only person who minds wet sweat pants, is yours truly. Especially if these wet pants sit, undisturbed, on our sofa, among toy blocks, or serve Lisa for her study of physical properties of liquids. This time, however, it seems that Tom has understood how much better he can be -- dry, and suddenly he manages. Sometimes he's got an accident, but those lay in the range between a drop in his underpants, and hurrying to the bathroom -- not in peeing all over everything in sight.

	Lisa on her knees! At least!

	I cannot do anything only with Tom -- Lisa must be there and get involved.

I have a theory that potty success is much related to speech development. Tommy's mouth does not stop anymore, he just keeps on talking. He talks to his toys, to Lisa, to granny. He also commands himself -- and comments his own actions, forbids himself what he's not supposed to do, and scolds himself without anybody's help -- he's simply a "self-disciplining" child. It's amazing that while with us, he directs himself in Czech ("NE NE NE... Lízinka malá"= "NO NO NO... Lizzy small" - when he detaches her hands from furniture's edges, probably to watch how the little rug rat is going to crash to the floor); if he's with an English-speaking person, he argues with himself in English ("Tommy, no! Stop!"). Apparently he has noticed that there are two languages, and he subconsciously tells by that person's expressions. He repeats everything he hears -- including things we would rather not have him repeat. We shall REALLY begin to be careful what we say now. And the wisdom he's spouting! We live relatively close to an airport, and often aircraft can be heard, but not seen. Tom comments this "can 'ear 'lane, not see, maybe in clouds". But, the other day during dinner he noticed that under a small heap of rice, some zucchini wheels were hiding. And thus he spoke, "can not see wheel" Then he thought it over and added, "can hear". Well, some kids have imaginary friends, our Tom communicates with zucchini...

Lizzy finally after three months abandoned her propulsion style of a paraplegic fallen out of her chair, and began to use her knees. Some can be attributed to the terrain -- we began to release her into playgrounds (on dryer days). Concrete, wood or bark are not as slippery as carpet-free floors in our house. Besides, Lisa simply must do everything the way her brother does -- for example scramble up a gym slide -- and that is really not possible to do on her smooth belly. Lizzy generally leaves many older rascals in the gym behind. She can climb up the steps, then she takes a beeline to the slide, lurching herself down, head first -- while cackling madly. Amazingly, she's not too rash -- she checks everything out with her little hands and if she can't reach to the bottom, she would turn around and scurry elsewhere. There are spots on those jungle gyms with chance to fall -- like around ladders and such -- and Lisa's diligence is justified. Of course we watch her, but it's nice of her to be this careful.

	Golden Gate Bridge was in fog... and perhaps that was the reason we became this great attraction.

	Reserved parking for bikes of Golden Gate Bridge employees

In many cases, one can see the influence of the older sibling. Lisa mimics everything, she keeps Tom under constant watch, and follows him around. Sometimes it's cute -- if I clean her nose, she tries to blow -- of course not through her nose, only making the noises with her mouth. At other times it becomes outright impractical. Whenever Tom goes to the bathroom, Lisa would sooner or later catch up with him and demands to inspect the toilet bowl and generally participate in the happening. I absolutely cannot feed the kids serially. Once I put something on the table in front of Tom, Lisa is as fast as lightning. She can drink with a straw and directly out of a glass (since she is unable to stand up straight yet, and must hold onto something with one hand, it's quite a feat) -- usually the price being paid in losses on materials. Actually, no one is safe from Lisa when eating -- when she sees a plate, she tries to snatch the contents, and makes smacking sounds. Thus we organize our meals together -- with Lisa strapped down in her chair and placed at least a yard away from the table, so that she's prevented from freeloading from others. Not that we would want to deny her our portions, but at nine months of age she does not have to devour everything. Tom copies Lisa and steals from her. This does not bother me for his own sake, but then I lose control of what Lisa ate and what she did not.

Tom's aping Lisa gets sometimes to my nerves. If they organize crawling races in the hall, I don't mind, but when Tommy repeats after his little sister unarticulated, nevertheless seriously amplified screams (after all his lung capacity is much larger), I'm getting close to a stroke. Also, we can't comment on anything Lisa does -- lest Tom begins to do it, too. If we say to Lisa, "now come on, you slobberchops" when she drools on her bib, it causes Tom to start drooling right away -- and what can be considered somewhat cute on a nine-month-old toddler, turns out rather horrid on a two-and-half-year old boy. It's hard to maintain the rule of equal treatment -- Lisa often slips out of pure clumsiness or ignorance, but Tommy must repeat it, of course. And what to do with him? You can't punish him (now that Lisa got a pass), and it's silly to keep repeating ad absurdum that HE is not supposed to do it. So we swim in it as we can and hope that our kids shall survive it in good health. Tommy has been keeping an eye on overall fairness -- and it must be said, often to Lisa's benefit -- at a playground, both kids must use neighboring (identical) swings; he often helps her with food, sometimes brings her some toy she likes. Very frequently, one of us finds self with both children on one's lap -- whether Lisa started it or it was Tom, the second sibling forces in right after the first. I had experienced a tight moment when I put a hair clip on Lisa. In the end I persuaded Tom to carry it on his T-shirt (his military cut would not provide enough hold). I'm not sure if Tommy quite follows my explaining about boys and girls -- it does not seem that he would find anything "different" on Lisa.

	To reach Point Bonita Lighthouse, one goes through a tunnel...

	... and then over a rickety bridge (note the huge ship on the horizon)

In between two colds, I participated with Lisa in another baby meet. I had already been to one without my baby (having left my snotty Lisa with her granny), and it was great to take my daughter among her peers again. Lisa would be the perkiest one among girls (she's the second oldest), but also the most mother-attached one. Other kids played in the middle of the room, and we mothers were seated on the perimeter; Lisa spent ninety percent of the time hanging on her parent. Not that she would not have fun, but she either held me with her little hand, or at least sat on my feet. At one moment I stood up and walked around the room to the other side, to get a better angle for taking a picture. Lisa stayed quiet for a while, but then she discovered that she did not know where I was, and reacted with a desperate MAMAMAMA! Given the fact that she used this war cry several times before in a state of need (e.g. when Tom pushed her away from the sofa and she was afraid to fall), I reckon I shall ceremonially pronounce this to be Lizzy's first word.

In the last few April days, our weather got better -- alas, in a style that from wooly hats and fleeces we change right into swimsuits. I have to say it's almost unpleasant. First we could not take the kids out because it was always raining, and then again, because it's too hot. At least we got out on a small trip. Our original plan counted on a lighthouse at Point Reyes, but already in San Francisco, kids got restless, so we took a left turn towards a less ambitious Point Bonita. It is located right after Golden Gate -- and besides that, the whole coast was beset with classical ugly fog; it made little sense to keep on driving two more hours just to stumble through a summer inversion. So it came to pass that Lisa experienced her first visit to the Golden Gate Bridge, and Sid and I became the attraction number one. Same backpacks, I was carrying Lisa, Sid carried Tom -- and Japanese cameras went click-click. Lisa hummed appreciatively, Tommy -- just in case -- held very tight on to Sid's jacket -- his eyes were popping -- a great bridge, the ocean deep under us, an island (Alcatraz) with a flashing lighthouse in the distance, ships, cars, wind... Then we returned to our wagon, crossed the bridge and continued to the promised lighthouse. Tommy knows lighthouses theoretically from books, and so we could actually discuss the topic with him. It's so great to organize trips for somebody who appreciates things and who responds to offered attractions (although storm drains and curbs would, of course, remain the evergreens of any trip).

	A big ship has passed by the lighthouse and heads under the Bridge.

	Kids got hungry on the trip, so they picnic sheltered in our wagon.

Point Bonita guards the entrance to the Golden Gate strait. A lighthouse was built here in the year of 1855 on a high cliff, but by 1877 it was moved to a lower elevation to get its light under the level of the lingering coastal fogs. Since 1855, a fog cannon was employed, and retired army sergeant Edward Maloney had the task to shoot it every thirty minutes. Alas, San Francisco is famous for its fogs, and so it happened that Edward was on duty for several days without rest. In 1856 they installed a bell in place of the cannon, and in the seventies (of the 19th century) then steam sirens. Today, an automatic fog horn alerts the sailors. Fresnel lenses for the lighthouse were made in France and arrived on a ship the long way, around Cape Horn. Although the original oil lamp was replaced by electric light, the original lenses remain in their place -- for over 150 years. All lighthouses must follow designated flashing frequency -- Point Bonita shines for three seconds, with one second pause.

A trail to the lighthouse leads through a tunnel in rock and a rickety bridge rated 500 lbs. Ushers guard at the bridge to stop more than two persons to walk over the bridge at the same time. They let the four of us go together, but I'm not sure if we did not exceed the limit. Well, the bridge is still there and we did not end on the cliffs below, so it all ended well. Despite an ugly inversion, our children enjoyed the trip (they should, for we packed THEIR improvised lunch in our car), and we shook off some of the homestaying claustrophobia -- and finally in last few days, it looks like spring may be finally here. Perhaps sunshine is going to dry out our endless sniffles and we all get better again.

Copyright © 2006 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.