wild*life

We’ve been a family of loyal swim students for the past 15 weeks, and in that time, we’ve had our ups and downs… our victories and our infinitesimal, I mean incremental improvements.

I’m happy to report that last Saturday JJ graduated from an o-fish-al Seahorse to an o-fish-al Jellyfish.  Woot-woot.  I’m not exactly sure what the test entailed, but I know it involved an unassisted circle-swim in the deep end: a critical water safety/mommy-can-now-kind-of-sleep-at-night maneuver which involves jumping in and getting back to the side without sinking to your death.

The test may have also included sitting on the edge of the pool and splashing your neighbor by kicking your feet like a maniac, while Coach Justin tests the other potential baby boulders in your class.  I saw Jake and a new boy passing this skill with flying water, uh, colors.

Nathaniel continues to excel at climbing out of the pool and repelling Coach Ali.  I felt better a few weeks ago when a friend at work told me her son used to jolt when he touched the surface of the pool, like it was filled with lava.

Over the course of the last month or two, Nate’s achieved the following advancements:

• Beginning to assert “No agua.  No agua!” while getting into his swim trunks… at home.
• Only starting to yell “No agua.  No agua!” at an embarrassingly loud volume as we enter the swimming facility.
• Smiling and not crying except when Coach Ali gets near him.  Pointing at her and emphasizing via wild arm waves, “No dat.  No dat!”  (“Dat” being anything that involves allowing her to touch him.)
• Smiling and laughing in the water, except during the welcome song.  Screaming only when we sing “Nate is in the pool, Nate is in the pool, Heigh-ho a-derry-oh, Nate is in the pool.”  He does not want anyone to know that he is in the pool.
• Only yelling, “No unner, no unner!” periodically.  That means no under (the agua).
• Actually saying, “Yeah agua, yeah agua, fun!” last weekend.  And then waiting until he was in the pool to scream at the sound of his own name and insist “no dat” and “no unner.”

Natesy and I basically follow our own curriculum which bears very little resemblance to what Coach Ali and Coach Andrea are trying to teach us.  We don’t do the slide.  We don’t climb around on the floating platform.  We don’t monkey-walk.  We definitely don’t dive to the bottom to pick-up rings.  We do retrieve balls and throw bath toys.  Sometimes we’ll do some big arms and kickers.

Last weekend we did lots of back floating (“Foat, foating!”), and then I let his face go under multiple times when he flipped over, followed by a lot of positive reinforcement high-fives.  It’s my very, very slow patented water immunization process.  It’s even resulted in smiling while being tossed in the air and splashed in the face.  Plus, he’ll let water run all over his head and in his eyes in the sha-sha (shower).

I’m sure it’s totally not PC to force rank swimmers in the Barnacle class, but since this is my blog and we have no qualms about our placement, I’ll put it out there:

1. Shiaya & her dad (The super star, A student, teacher’s favorite who has no fear and is a water-loving dolphin girl that most certainly was born under water.  She doesn’t talk, and if she could keep her head above water in the shallow end, I’m sure they would’ve graduated her by now.)
2. Daniel & his dad (He might be the oldest in the class which is good.  We like having bigger kids in the class so as to divert attention from us.)
3. Ruthie & her mom (She gets better every week.  We always have to get out of her way as she is following the prescribed curriculum and we are blocking the activity sequence.)
4. Rafael & his mom (I still see him crying sometimes which makes us feel better.  You know what I mean.)
5. Charlotte & her dad (One of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen.  She should be a model.  She’s so little she can’t really follow directions or talk back, but she just bobs along and under and seems cool with it.  She’s only near the end of this list because she’s maybe a quarter of Nate’s age and the size of his left fist.)
6. Nate & Me (Honestly.  This is not an exaggeration.)

This past weekend Nathaniel had an insanely great time playing with Jake in the new blow-up swimming pool I bought at Target, which has the added bonus of functioning like a cushioned Slip’n Slide.

And in a week we switch to a new earlier swim class… I’m coaching Nate to seize this opportunity for us to completely reinvent ourselves.  Shed our past and embrace our inner water babies.  No one will even recognize us.

Maybe we’ll both get new bathing suits.

He waits nervously in the lobby as employees stream through the front door of the modern steel office building.  His new dress shoes feel stiff as he tries to fold his Wall Street Journal back into a neat square but only partially succeeds… iPads are so much better.

A young woman passes through the glass security turnstyle, introduces herself and leads him up 5 floors to her manager’s office.

He runs his finger inside the back of his collar, looks up from under his eyebrows and gives the hiring manager a winning smile and a firm handshake.

“Good morning, I’m Will.  It’s great to meet you.”

“Good morning, Will.  Margaret.  Please have a seat.  I’m in a bit of a rush today… I have 15 minutes when I thought I had 45, you know how it is.  So, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself.”

The sun streams in through her standard-issue mini-blinds.  He squints from the glare.

“Sure, sure.  Well, I’m very interested in the open role on your team.  As you may know, I’ve just finished grad school right across the bay.  My current role is in operations, but I’m looking to use my new industry knowledge and skills in more of a strategy capacity.”

“I see.  Terrific.  You’re familiar with behavioral based interviews?”

“I am.”

“Excellent, then let’s get to it.  Can you tell me about a time when you influenced a policy with which you did not agree?”

“Sure.  An example that comes to mind was in my previous job.  We had a policy that required customers to purchase a service agreement for each of their locations.  I successfully negotiated both internally and externally to adjust this policy, resulting in one consolidated agreement that saved both the company and the customer significant time and money.”

“I see.  Good example.  Just before you got here I was doing a bit of background Internet research on you and came across your mom’s blog… She calls it sKIDmarks?  Memorable title.  I thought perhaps you were going to tell me about rebelling against your preschools’ ‘no biting’ policy… Guess that turned out OK in the end, right?!”

“You found my mom’s blog, huh?”

“OK, Will.  Can you describe a time when you were faced with stresses that tested your coping skills?… and I’m not hinting for you to tell me what led up to that incident when you were two and defecated on your mom’s friends’ carpet— though I’m sure there’s a story behind that one, am I right?”

The room was beginning to get hot.  He shifted in his chair.

“Wow, you, uh, really read back a ways…  so, um, what was the question?  Oh, I remember, a stressful time that tested my coping skills…  not including this conversation, right? (nervous laughter)

Well, in grad school I worked in a group of four to complete our final project, a detailed strategic business plan analyzing the future of Pinterest.  One week before it was due, we found out that a key team member had a family emergency and hadn’t finished her piece.  I quickly convened the team, we evaluated the work done to date and agreed what was most critical.  I then led the team to divide the remaining section and complete the project on time.  The final result was an “A” and an invitation from our professor to present our findings at the next on campus student summit.”

“Good, good.  Just one more question Will and then I’ve got to scoot to my next meeting.  So, we all make mistakes.  Tell me about a time where you made a mistake and what you did to resolve the situation.  Of course, I’m thinking that incident at Starbuck’s when you were three and inappropriately rubbed your mother’s backside probably wouldn’t be the best example to share.” (inappropriate guffaw)

“What?  You read that on her blog?  I’ll tell you about a mistake.  My mother having access to a computer and the ability to chronicle my every childhood embarrassment.  Now that’s a mistake.  I’m sorry I have a phone call to make.  Thank you for your time.”

(laughing uncontrollably)  “Thanks for coming by… needless to say, I don’t think this went that well…  I’d shake your hand, but I read about that time you dropped your pacifier in the loo and then popped it straight back in your mouth…”

This past Sunday I was attempting to languish in an old and lavish pastime from my youth I like to call, “reading magazines.”

When I was younger, my mom and I would spend entire afternoons laying around the living room.  And my dad would always come in covered in dirt and debris and the smell that can only be described as “Chainsaw Dad” and say, “Are you two just reeeeeading maaaagazines?”  And of course we’d melodramatically mock his disdain for such frivolous leisure (pronounced lezjher) so as to drive him swiftly and permanently from the room.   We still savor any opportunity for nostalgic reenactments of our melodramatic magazine reading.  I especially relish my signature teenage eye roll…

So this weekend I curled up for about 3.5 seconds before You-Know-Who’s up in my grill, trying to get in on the latest J Crew catalog.  It just so happens that their most recent photo shoot was in Africa and so the wild animals had the unfortunate side effect of attracting unwelcome preschoolers.

“Oh, that’s the mommy elephant and that’s her baby.”

“Mmmmm.”  (The “mommy” is huge and looks like a daddy to me, but I’m not going to argue this point… I need a new pair of black flats.)

“Mom, is she a doctor?”

He’s referring to the beautiful Ethiopian model, Liya Kebede.

Picture credit: J Crew

First there was the bunk bed conversation several months back that if men work really, really hard, they too can be doctors.  And now this… clearly, we’re doing one thing right.

OK, OK… and perhaps Doc McStuffins deserves a smidge of credit (accompanied by a bit of melodramatic inaudible Queen Elizabeth clapping).

Nate can talk.

I know, I know.  I’m always proclaiming this.  But every time I do, it’s because it’s like he can actually talk now.  Each time he crosses some invisible developmental speech level, it’s just so… apparent.

There are very few times when I can’t tell what he’s saying anymore.  Although, just this Saturday morning Nathaniel was pulling his favorite blanket over my lap on the couch and he kept saying “Eagle.  Eagle.”

Me: “What?  Eagle?”

Nate: “No, Eaaa-gle.”

Jake: “He’s saying ‘Here you go.'”

Me: “He is?”

Jake: “Yeah.  I speak Nake.”  (Nodding knowingly, hands on his hips.)

Me: “Glad someone around here does.”

Despite this indecipherable example, Natesy is busting out significant vocab, real sentences, and dare I say it?  Near paragraphs.  Mostly he says things like:

No, I want it.  Yight saver.  (That’s the uh, light saber.  We have four.)

No, I do’ed it.  Squeegee.

No, I make it.  Agua.

No, I drive it.  Car.

No, I need it.  Sauce.

Mmmm, I yike it.  Yummy.

But then just last weekend he tells me as he’s feeding me a wooden ball in a small play mixing bowl, “Eat it, Mama.  Chockit chip cookie.  Eat it.  No chockit chip i’cream, I said.”  Everything is now followed with an emphatic, slightly perturbed, “I said.”

At school, Miss Ixchel told me how surprised she was when he said, “Roll-up my sleeves.”  And then, “Other one.”  Extending his arms toward her.

I told him he was Jacob’s little brother and he told me, “No beeg.  Beeg.”

But, tonight I heard a couple of old standbys that have been out of rotation for awhile.  “Mama, UpOrDown.”  He likes it when I put him on my lap and then flip him over upside down and backwards… thirty-seven times.

“Mo.  Mo!  Again.”

“Moe?  I thought you were Curly.”

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:55am, 5 minutes before I’d set my alarm to go off.  I stealthily got dressed, got an exemplary free parking spot near the train station… And then proceeded to board a slow train to nowhere.  Technically it was a slow train to the city… But at 5:55am, I think nowhere is more than generous.

I meant to get on the Baby Bullet, but the lady I asked, who looked in-the-know, was technically on her way to her third day on the job as an Assistant Something-er-Other at a Palo Alto Peet’s and was even more perturbed about our train mistake.

So I get on the train and I read an e-mail from my Dad about needing help to find and identify Happy Valleyans from my elementary school so he can invite them to the school’s sesquicentennial celebration.  I don’t know how long that is, but I’m sure Google does.

I’d already checked LinkedIn and found exactly .036% of my sixth grade class (is this telling me something?) and so I told him I thought the only way was via Facebook.

Mind you, I know nothing about Facebook.  Except something about Liking and Poking and it being a huge time suck.  Yet, in my stupor of finding 82 minutes to kill on a northbound train before a long weekend, I made a rash decision to sign-up for Facebook with the sole objective of poking around (seriously, no pun intended) so as to coach my dad on the wonders of social networking.  I saw that movie with JT so I can totally figure this out.

Plus, I’m on my way to see Sheryl Sandberg at the Professional Business Women of California’s conference.  She’s the author of a new book called Lean In and is also the headline act.  And given she’s the COO of this whole thing I’ve been avoiding for umpteen years, it seems fitting that I would sign-up that morning, right?

And then I went back to my e-mail and found no less than 8 e-mails from Facebook in the time it takes to go from Lawrence to Sunnyvale.

Update 1: I started this blog yesterday morning on the train and then took a break to listen to inspirational speakers and hopefully learn something.  Total count of Facebook e-mails I’d deleted by 4pm: 20.

I told one of the gals on my team and she was very proud of me for joining the 21st century.  James found out about my momentary lapse in judgement via some Facebook feature and sent me a text about how disappointed he was that I’d been a hold-out for so long and had finally caved.  Nice.  He says Facebook is over.  That’s exactly when I like to adopt new technology.

Update 2: I’ve been a member of The Facebook for just over 24 hours and my tally of deleted e-mails is up to 29.  I like to add the “The” like Larry King.  Bump it, Lare-dawg.  Looking forward to your 80th birthday this fall!

All this e-mail maintenance has me leaning out.  Way out.

The very next morning I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom and saw Nate run past the door and down the hall, clutching his baybit, “Liiilon Coming!”

I quick shut the door and hoped it was like me, preferring tapas over full-size entrees.