A: He's got my number.

After the spring showers resided and the sun soaked up the excess water that flooded most of the surrounding areas, I bribed Caleb into his carseat (yeah, you’ve never done that before, right?) and went to visit the cemetery. I’ve learned through previous travelogue commentary that when I announce to Caleb “We are going to go see Emma” I need to omit the Emma and substitute your sister. Because if I don’t, Caleb will resound with a stream of Emmy’s (Em-me! Em-me! Em-me! Em-me! Em-me! Em-me!... and so on) until the next distraction comes along. (Emmy is a friend, she is about a month and half older than Caleb. Simply, she is Vada to his Thomas J.)
Since Emma’s defect was discovered early on that gave us time to prepare. I’ve mentioned before how family history comforted us during that experience, but I never mentioned how it equipped us to make the arrangements for the foreseeable burial of our infant daughter. I’ve been in my fair-share of cemeteries to document grave markers and record their inscriptions as well as for my plain leisure.
Let it be known that Mike and I want to be buried in Saint George. That’s the plan. Burying our infant there however would prove to be costly and, frankly, a hassle. Heaven forbid, if it was Caleb it would be a different story, but hey, that was not the case.
After a spiritual prompting we researched some neglected branches of Michael’s family tree. His roots run deep in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Among his ancestors are forefathers and founders of various New England towns including Northampton, Sandwich, Ellisville, and Providence, Rhode Island. A Mayflower passenger and a cast of family members that once resided and served as selectmen in Sharon, Mendon and around-and-about Norfolk county round out his pedigree.
It brought peace to a, what others may contrive as shallow, detail. Our second child wouldn’t be buried in a random place. It was the land of their ancestors. The land harrowed by family. Now, just to find a cemetery.
That’s where my many hours logged among graves came in handy.
Some of the prospective cemeteries I visited were poorly laid out. Some were cluttered. I couldn’t even locate the infant section in one. Many lacked organization. Others had narrow roads, were difficult access or were next to a highway.
If I hadn’t spent so much time extracting information from tombstones, I wouldn’t have noticed these features.
Remember when I blogged about our town’s cemetery? After an exhausted search I recalled my immediate impressions of our local burial ground. It would be perfect.

Leaping forward to last week as we made a stopover to Emma’s site, my visit had a purpose. Around December, at the onset of our mild winter, the dust began to settle. Literally. The soil that shrouded Emma’s grave sank. This is pretty typical, just so you know.
Because the infant section is situated bytheway, I don’t have to make a formal visit. I can do drive-by glances. Other times this is convenient because I can just leave Caleb in the 4Runner while I pay a visit which is good because Caleb likes to tinker with the toy tributes that neighbor Emma’s marker.
I was planning on a quick drive-by glance to see if her plot had been filled in with additional dirt and grass seed yet.

As it so happened it had been. And also

the bush adjoining her grave had bloomed. I paused the vehicle and sat idle. Caleb stared too.
I had never seen the shrub come into flower before, Emma’s funeral was on the Eve of Halloween. It had been what-seemed-like a long winter. I guess I prematurely assumed the bush’s barrenness was enduring, not seasonal. Hmph. Perspective.
The blossoming was a token, a reminder of the Abrahamic covenant for me. Not the Abrahamic convenient, as I hope for at times, but a two-way promise with a god who has numbered His posterity, no matter how numerous.

Tomorrow will be brought to you by the Letter B.

C: doppelgänger

A few months ago you might have read or taken part in the Facebook *doppelgänger fad, when people changed their profile image to that of a celebrity look-a-like.
I was trying on celebs like shoes and none of them seemed to fit. Three months later I resubmit my second-self: Tina Majorino. Big forehead. Nose matches. Good enough. Not a true double but if the script of my life ever pans out she’s got job security.

In reality, however, social network fads aside, my true doppelgänger is a blue koala. Back in 2000, the summer Olympics were held in Australia and Texaco offered Inside-Outback plush toys. My parents purchased all of them and eight years later gave them to Caleb.
After a good washing, a hideous blue koala/soccer ball, predating Disney’s Stitch, quickly became newborn Caleb’s favorite. Why? We have a theory. The premise of which is largely based on the facial features of the koala. Unlike other toys it has a flat face that includes two eyes, a nose and mouth similar to the facial features of a human. Basically, Caleb thinks his plush friend is human and since he has associated with the toy since an early age, I’d venture to say Caleb regards it as a family member. In fact, it is one of his “babies”.

If asked what Caleb’s first words were I’d respond: quack, Dada and Ah-yah-yah. That’s right, Ah-yah-yah trumped Mama by at least four months, but that is mine own fault. I would puppet the koala to say, “Hi, Caleb, I’m a koala and I’m from Australia,” and Caleb, a recluse child, would smile and giggle. If you have ever been a new mom you’ll understand this: newborn smiles are like crack. They keep you going. Towers of dishes erect, laundry become plentiful heaps, sleep dwindles, but your child’s smile is a triumph of world-peace proportions.

So after reciting Australia day in and out (babies are the only ones who think broken-records are entertaining) Caleb started jabbering Ah-yah-yah. Nowadays though, he makes a weird tongue-waggling sound in regards to Ah-yah-yah that I cannot imitate or give phonetic-justice. For the sake of onomatopoeia, I apologize for this!

Recently Caleb, when asked, “What are you doing?” will respond with “badaduh TOWER”, “COLORS”, “HELPing”, “WOLKing”, “THROW” or “KICK” as he commences his toddler-business of stacking blocks, coloring, picking up and relocating toys, adventuring outside and playing with a ball. He enjoys playing ring-around-the-roses and duck-duck-goose with Ah-yah-yah and Ducky. He puts them in time-out for bad behavior especially after he has warned “STA-OP!”

Lately, as I buzz about with my household chores, putting dishes away, fixing the couch cover for the umph-teenth time, dusting, sweeping and whathaveyou, in my peripheral vision I’ll spot Ah-yah-yah, deserted and often face-down on the floor. It has been happening more frequently. Caleb has found other activities to occupy his time. No need to tote around Ah-yah-yah anymore unless he needs a third for duck-duck-goose.
This is a glimpse of myself. My role as mother is shifting from a security blanket to a wet one. Most days I enjoy his independence. These are my face-up days. I’m smiling and relaxing, and the house is in order because I have the means of free time. Then there are those face-down moments when I have a pang of baby hunger. It usually subsides after fruitfully reading a line of a book without needed repetition, completing a project, going for a walk outside, saying a lengthy prayer in reverence, realizing I’ve had at least eight hours of sleep each night for over a year now or using the restroom uninterrupted. You know, the benefits.


I’m glad I have what little intimate time I do with Caleb now. I think he needs it as much as I do.
Part of me misses the possibilities that having a healthy second pregnancy could have produced. I see how Caleb interacts with his peers. He is considerate and meek. I think back to when he was blessed and given his name that he was commissioned to be a good brother and to help his parents raise his siblings, to be an example. His middle name is a constant reminder that he was meant to be a forerunner of other children. There are no doubts that he would be a wonderful big brother, but now is not his dispensation. Until further notice it is a time of acquisition rather than mentoring for Caleb, for whatever reason.

And as for Ah-yah-yah and me, well, we have each other to keep company. I think we’ll join a spin class, recite poetry, volunteer for habitat for humanity, take up underwater basket weaving or just

something.

As for the picture?
Besides the occasional ring-around-the-rosie, Ah-yah-yah has been known to dabble in hide-and-seek. Caleb and I take turns hiding and finding the koala.

Ah-yah-yah Blog Cameos:
Birthday No. 2
All You Need is
1953: A Very Good Year
Memorial Day Parade
Caleb Aerobics


*Argh, don’t even get me started on the accurate meaning of doppelgänger and how a literary term has now been reduced to a mean a person is a mere twin. Curse you, Facebook, on behalf of Mary Shelley and literary-enthusiasts everywhere!

Caleb saying "Ah-yah-yah"

Come back tomorrow for: A

Readers' Choice

Hardy-har-har. I’m back. For now.
With everything that I could possibly post about today, I couldn’t decide what to write about.
So, here’s snap-shots of three promising posts. Trust me when I say: they are not what they seem. Each will be lengthy.
Comment below and let me know which snap-shot you are interested in reading about.
Polls close Friday. Post will be published on Monday.
Ain’t got nothin’ but love, babe,

eight days a week.