Birthday July 28 - August 5,2006 Lisa is one year old. Tom is not politically correct.

	Presents, cake, candles, toastee.

	So, my brother has blown it off.

We had power, we lived in our house, and all that separated us from a complete happiness was the health of our children. They, however, kept on pooping like in a competition. We had no other choice than to seek out experts. To be honest -- I would rather prefer less care. I am - I think - capable of figuring out whether my kids have fever or are in pain. Nevertheless we were bound to wait until such facts were confirmed through an exam by a doctor, and only then we were issued buckets for samples. A ride home followed, filling of the said buckets, and another trip to the lab. Naturally, by the moment we handed back our last sample and the health care machine heaved and began moving, the kids shut off faucets of their flow-through food heaters and became normal, merry youngsters. By Saturday Tom proudly announced "two pellets". I would not have believed how much joy can emanate from one little "real shit". Lisa followed her brother's example in her next performance -- establishing thus the most important condition for her birthday -- being healthy again.

For some time I harbored urges to organize a party for Lisa, to which I would invite all neighbors' babies, but eventually we have dropped such plans. For my mother-attached Lisa, a congregation of a greater number of people, would probably equal some refined torture, as opposed to a joyful event; we ended up with -- just like on Tom's first year -- in a family circle. We did not know until last moment anyway, how much would our children be up and ready for a greater happening.

	Thomas the Tank Engine. This one is mine.

	Gee, a book!

This was our third baby birthday; being thoroughly trained in the area of expecting unexpected developments, we had a smooth run through Lizzy's party. We would not hesitate when during a ceremonious purchase of a big party balloon, Lisa showed pronounced interest in the simplest free extra balloon that Tom got on a side. We counted on the cake and candles being much greater attraction for Tom than for Lisa. I was even ready to catch Lisa's hand when she'd grab the candle flame, and I knew Tom would not survive not receiving any present for himself. I wrapped a book about Thomas the Tank Engine from grandma of Brno. Only Lisa surprised me, for she passed over her own presents and most of the time spent browsing through this book about railway. Sometimes the Big Brother influence cannot be suppressed.

Not that Lisa would lack on girly attributes. She shows great interest in fashion and dressing. Booties and socks are firmly directed to her feet, she literally jumps on her hat and vehemently pushes it onto her little head. "Bohboh" (a hat) was also one of her first words -- right after mamma, tata (daddy), pápá (bye-bye) an ťap-ťap (step-by-step). I am indeed afraid that it shall be cheaper to feed her than to clothe her. Yet, who knows -- another frequent word is "aká" (apples) - her favorite dried apple cubes. After her birthday, Lisa added another word -- "bavó" (balloon). He strongest fascination remains with airplanes. She does not miss any, with ever fly-over she jumps and laughs, and she keeps on raiding Tom's fleet.

Her approach to house chores has also been interesting. Lisa enthusiastically helps me unload our dishwasher -- handing me plates and plastic bowls, and she's glad that it pleases me. In the cupboard drawer, which Tom used to always unload, Lisa re-arranges bowls and lids, sorts them into stacks and gets mostly upset if something interferes with the drawer being able to slide in nicely. She can play for a long time, threading rings, loves books and even tries to solve Tom's puzzles. Not that she'd be able to determine which piece fits another, but she puts every one seriously down onto a mat, and talks to them wisely. When I say that we're going somewhere, she begins to wave good-bye and rushes for the door. Granny is welcomed dramatically, just as daddy, every time they come back from outside. Lisa provokes others to play -- hide under the blanket, giving kisses, rhymes -- she loves all that. She cuddles her stuffed animals and dolls, hugs them and shows to everybody that they have noses, while poking in their eyes (dolls that blink are her favorites).

	On the bridge over Golden Gate.

	Towers were not hiding in fog this time

Lisa remains incredibly skinny -- actually, she lost more weight after the diarrhea. At her one year of age, she barely pulled over seventeen pounds, but stretched up to 30 inches. Meanwhile, it seems to me that she easily eats more than Tom can. Lately she learned to breakfast with Sid. Daddy had a few times conceded to letting her sit on his lap while having a morning meal. Ever since then Lizzy climbs up on daddy as soon as she sees him come down with a plate, and from this vantage position scrutinizes every bite, and intercepts the yummiest ones. If I feed her with a spoon, she yanks it out of my fingers and demands to operate independently. It does not help to bring two spoons -- she grasps each in every hand and refuses to surrender them. Besides her own portions, she often feasts on Tom's leftovers. Sometimes she manages to crawl up to Tom's table before I clean up, other times Tommy comes to apportion her some of his stuff. To keep a just account, I must mention that Tommy in turn often eats of Lisa's meals. Long ago, I gave up separating mugs -- at the nearest opportunity they are bound to swap them anyway, just to have a sip of the other's drink, not to miss anything "tastier".

A week after Lizzy's birthday, a distraction has arrived in the form of visitors. Sid in his own optimistic tone claimed that Mel with Dušan and Filip would never show up, because driving with a boy of Tom's age across the whole States was unfeasible. Fortunately, he was wrong. I could finally meet another virtual friend of mine, Tom received a friend RIGHT IN OUR HOME, and evening after evening we talked and drank a bit. I submit without torture that it was me who chickened out of all the social disciplines -- Lizzy's getting up at six tires me to the point that by ten p.m. I am completely stiff, and therefore I know that chatting continued into wee morning hours, but just because my Hippo woke me up by getting into our bed.

On the first day, we took our visitors to our obligatory Davenport Beach. The tide was high, which we did not consider optimal (our favorite spots for watching ocean critters were under water), but on the other hand, great surf was beating on the rocks and sands, which our Florida residents found quite unusual. An hour later, our family was ready for lunch, but visitors refused to terminate their sightseeing, and we gladly released them to enjoy natural beauty. One is always flattered if someone likes his/her favorite location. Our Floridians then drove north along highway 1 to San Francisco, returning late that night quite ecstatic about the fact that it was COLD in the City and they could put on jeans and sweatshirts. I understand their enthusiasm -- however I like Californian summers, our fall cooling off and beginning of the rainy season has always been a very pleasant change. When I imagine that Florida remains hot, it feels quite monotonous. Again, my theory gets confirmed that life in California is easier after all, and it's much easier to get used to it than to a complete climate change.

	Point Bonita Lighthouse - at the mouth of the Gate.

	Airport train shuttle was the best attraction of the day

Tom and Filip celebrated their reunion by running around the house. Lisa tried to participate a few times, but on all four she cannot be as fast as the bipeds. Nevertheless, her joy from having a greater number of older brothers was obvious. On the next day, we sent our visitors to Monterey, and spent the evening trying to talk them out of their plan to go to Joshua Tree (arguing it would be hot there), and directed them towards Lassen. My impression from their subsequent SMS's was that they actually encountered snow -- our plan was apparently successful.

Visitors gone, Joe showed up with our new windows. Four days followed, filled with demolition and changes, which in a wooden house is not a big deal. Even kids during reconstruction racket slept after lunch -- I could not believe my luck. Naturally, we tried to somehow stay outside of our home. We took, for example, granny to a children's museum. It was nice -- the two of us alternated in watching the children, and I took turns doing something interesting with each of my offspring, extending thus beyond my usual role of guardian and a herdswoman. Lisa surprised me at the museum. At home she's been pretending to be this small and helpless baby, who cannot under any circumstances keep balance in an upright position. In the baby section there, she stood up straight without any trouble for long minutes, feeding tiny balls to a maze. Her aversion to unattended walking has really been just an aversion.

	Of course we took our Florida visitors to our ocean, which is quite different from theirs (most of all, colder).

	Tom devotes himself to his favorite filling the ocean floor with rocks

But not to write only about Lisa -- Tommy has been more and more pig-headed and insisting in his opinions and ideas. Sometimes we wonder. The other day some suicidal maniac zigzagged around us on a freeway and I commented it, "what a moron". Tom digested it in his own way and VERY MUCH surprised his own father, who happened to take off at a green light with a slightly greater verve. It appears that Tom has begun to work on his policeman career -- he scrutinizes our performances behind the wheel very critically. Another faux pas happened at the climbing gym -- I urged him to stay away from the walls, for a lady was climbing up on it -- Tom glanced up with a trained eye and concluded "Lady has a big ass." (in Czech). We don't know where he could have heard it -- we don't elaborate on anybody's backside sizes at home (for neither of us has been in shape to afford criticizing anyone), furthermore, the said climber found herself closer to the anorectic end of the scale. Nevertheless, this particular observer's perspective distorts a lot, and since most of what you can see on a climbing person is the bottom, Tom might have found such view relatively impressive.

We also cannot figure where he picked up his considerably archaic concept of male and female roles. The other weekend in the morning he declared that daddy was to come along and play with him, while mommy was to cook. He gives us greatest ire regarding car driving, for "mom cannot drive, daddy will drive", and if we don't follow that, he does not hesitate to throw a tantrum. Yet, during the week he rides along with me, and we practice equal driving opportunities at home -- where he came to the opinion that a woman does not belong behind the wheel, I truly do not know.

Perhaps some world views come as birthrights to each gender. Since being a tiny baby, Tom has been technically oriented; Lisa is the social type. When Tom brings a ball, he wants to throw it. Lisa shows the same ball to all people present in the room, explaining that "itsa bawll". Shortly put, Tom is a man of action, while Lisa needs to talk things through. Tom explores what can be pushed on his toys, screwed off, or turned around; Lisa carries things back and forth, demanding to learn what their names are. Tom at Lizzy's age was long walking around; yet Lisa at one year of age talks better than Tom at age two. In one thing they powers equal -- they both masterfully throw tantrums and push their own agenda whenever the opportunity, so our home is always filled with sounds of some kind of upheaval (e.g. Tom screams that he wants Lisa's push-cart; as soon as I yank it off him and return to its proper user, she expertly drives it right into the street and screams when I prevent her from jumping under a passing car). Our doctor congratulated me during Lisa's one-year checkup that we have overcome the worst, and now we're going to live nice ten years in peace, before puberty attacks. I don't know -- if this is supposed to be the nice and easy ten years, I declare parenthood to be a form of masochism....

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