A Walk in the Woods (by me, not Bill Bryson)

Ever since my kids started school at the end of August, I have been making a concerted effort to go for an hour-long walk every weekday. I am fortunate that, from my house, there are a number of different options of where to walk. I can walk down the street, up the street, through various meandering back roads, or through the woods. Only a few blocks away, there is a large expanse of forest which is criss-crossed with paths that veer off and return periodically to the main road. This results in dozens of choices for walking options, with various levels of evenness and hills, smooth or rocky paths, and sun and shade.

Since I freely admit to having zero sense of direction, I was at first hesitant to take any of the paths through the woods for fear I'd end up walking in circles for hours. However, my husband (the Human GPS) took me walking in the woods several times, and pointed out certain trails which lead to familiar outlets, and I've begun to have the confidence to literally wander off the beaten path now and then as I walk through the woods.

The main point of my walks is exercise. I'd love to shave a few pounds off the number on the scale and a few points off the number on the blood pressure monitor. But when I walk through the woods, it's sometimes difficult to keep marching along at an exercising pace. Because the truth is, I want to stop and admire those wildflowers peeking through the underbrush. I want to stand still long enough for the birds to start singing again. I want to find out what kind of creature just skittered away through the dry leaves. I love the exercise, but I love the surroundings more.

After all, how can one pass by such loveliness as this without stopping to admire it?

Plus, these particular woods have interesting traces of humanity that pique my curiosity. Being New England, of course there are many random stone walls scattered here and there. This one looks like it's become a home for some kind of creature, perhaps a family of chipmunks or a snake or two. 

And then there is this stone wall, which clearly delineates a small grassy area. Upon closer inspection, you can see that there are a number of small square stones lined up in neat rows next to the long stone steps.

A sign at the center of the front wall offers an explanation: The nearby Fernald Center and Metropolitan State Hospital, both of which were historically homes for mentally ill and developmentally delayed patients, used this space as a cemetery from the mid 1940s until the late 1970s. The gravestones bear no names, simply numbers and the letters "C" (Catholic) or "P" (Protestant). A small shrine visible to the right of the photo indicates the Catholic section of the cemetery.

It makes me sad that the cemetery is tucked away in the woods, perhaps forgotten by the families of those buried here, but at the same time, it is a peaceful, serene place. I try to bring that serenity with me as I follow the sun-dappled path away from the cemetery. 

Today's weather feels like summer still, but deep in the woods I still spy signs of autumn's arrival: many fallen orange and gold leaves, and the occasional bright scarlet of a sumac plant. 

The wildlife sounds have a more autumnal feel to them, as well. The hum of insects in the trees feels more sluggish, and the occasional buzz of a cicada has a tired, lazy sound. Although it's hard to see in this photo, a pair of hawks was circling and calling under a bright half-moon in the clear blue sky.

Even as I reached the roadway and came back to civilization, peeking through the tall branches at the woods and marsh beyond, I felt like I brought the peace of the woods home with me.

Exercise is important, but I think the stillness of the woods lowers my blood pressure as much as the walking does. So I'll still do my heavy-duty exercise marching most days, but every now and then, I'll still just go for a walk in the woods.

Walk This Way

It’s official: Ryan can walk. Life as I know it is now over. He’s been on the verge for several weeks now, lurching from object to object, taking a step or two unaided before unceremoniously plopping down on the floor, careening wildly between pieces of furniture. But we managed to capture a solid 6 or 7 steps on video the other day.

My favorite part of the video is watching the expression on his face transform from a victorious grin into a round-mouthed “uh-oh” face as he starts to list to his left. He’s been determinedly and deliberately working on his walking skill, and he is truly proud of his accomplishment (and not just because Mummy & Daddy cheer like a couple of whackaloons every time he takes a few steps). He grins and chortles and hoots with excitement every time he gets from one place to the other on his own two feet. After all, self-propulsion is a pretty big deal!

Being able to walk represents a huge leap in terms of his independence and freedom. If he doesn’t have to hang onto my hands as he explores, he gets to decide where to go instead of allowing himself to be steered away from all kinds of interesting places. He doesn’t have to wait for me to have my hands free to trot across the room. He might even get to spend less time strapped into a stroller once he gets a bit steadier on his feet. He has his hands free to feel and pat and grab and explore the world around him.

And as exciting as that is for both of us, I can’t help but feel a tiny pang that he doesn’t need me quite as much any more. Learning to walk on his own is just the first of many little steps towards independence for him. Today, it’s walking on his own, but soon it will be getting on the school bus by himself, driving a car on his own, getting an apartment away from home. But then, that’s the whole point of being a mom: teaching him how to not need me. So as bittersweet as these moments of independence are, they’re also signs that I’m doing my job right. And I know that if I continue doing my job right, he won’t always need to have me around – but he’ll always want to have me around.

All Around the Mulberry Bush

When I was little, I thought my cousins had the coolest house in the world because the first floor had a central staircase and you could walk all the way around it. Start in the kitchen, go down the hall into the living room, circle around past the coat closet into the dining room and then back into the kitchen again. Our house had a wall so although you could start at the front door, go into the living room then through the kitchen and down the hallway into my parents’ bedroom, then there was a wall that stopped you from making a complete circuit. I remember loving the circular floor plan, but I didn’t really remember why. Until Ryan discovered that our basement has the same floor plan.

Just this morning I was lamenting to my husband that we don’t have a good, big area where Ryan can just crawl to his heart’s content without running into an obstacle (like a wall). But when I brought him downstairs and let him crawl, he started making circles around the staircase. He’d start at the base of the stairs and crawl toward the laundry room (stopping along the way to hoist himself up on the Coleman cooler, which he then licked repeatedly), then finding the laundry room door closed he’d head down the hall towards the study, stopping to check out the dead computer case and the magnets on the soda fridge before rounding the corner (peeking in the bathroom on the way by), banging on the big radio as he headed for the den and pulling himself up again to creep between the sofa and the playpen, then carefully working his way across the sofa before plopping down at the base of the stairs and starting his rounds all over again. It’s great, because he never has to stop unless he wants to. He doesn’t come to any frustrating obstacles that force him to turn around and explore where he’s already been. And by the time he gets back to his starting place, it becomes new and interesting again! So he can explore for hours without getting bored.

I guess it’s one step up from a hamster wheel – the hamster keeps running and running and never has to stop, and is dumb enough to either not notice or not care that the scenery never changes. Ryan can make a full circuit of the floor before coming back to something he’s already seen, and that’s just long enough for him to either not notice or not care that he’s been there before.

So I’m glad that Ryan is smarter than a hamster. But I’m even gladder that in some ways, he’s not a LOT smarter than a hamster. He’s a lot cuter than a hamster, though – and hamsters are awfully cute.

One Small Step for Baby, One Giant Leap for Babyproofing

I never realized until I had a baby of my own what exactly is entailed in babyproofing. There are actually two components to it. The first, and the one that most people think of when they hear the expression, is all those gadgets: outlet protectors, cabinet locks, baby gates, childproof doorknobs, etc. It’s all the physical stuff you have to install to keep the baby from getting into dangerous places. But the second, and the aspect that changes most over time, is behavioral changes. Not the baby’s behavior; the parents’.

When Ryan was a small infant and hadn’t even learned to roll over yet, I could safely put him down on the floor of the nursery to go answer the phone, or get a fresh pack of diapers, or get an outfit from the dresser, with no doubt that he would be exactly where I left him when I got back. The only danger there was the possibility of him being attacked by a dust rhino. Once he learned to roll over, I could still leave him for a moment to get the phone, I just needed to throw a blanket over the lamp cord and put my coffee cup on the side table instead of the floor before I left. He might try to eat a dust rhino, but that was the only worry. When he learned to crawl, I had to block the front of the crib so he couldn’t crawl underneath it (in pursuit of a dust rhino, of course) and get stuck, throw a blanket over the glider ottoman so he couldn’t get his fingers stuck in the mechanism, and unplug and move the hairdryer out of his reach. And now that he’s pulling himself up on things, if the phone rings, I have no choice but to grab him and bring him with me to get it, because by the time I got back he’d have pulled over the lamp, knocked the radio off the side table, and gotten his fingers stuck in the spring of the crib.

So even though our level of physical babyproofing hasn’t changed, my behavior certainly has. Gone are the days when I could sit on the couch with a cup of coffee and a sewing project, flipping through the TV channels. Back when Ryan was only crawling, I could leave a drink in the cupholder of the easy chair, I could toss the remote on the couch, and I could leave a pair of scissors on a side table without any fear of Ryan getting at them. But his perspective and therefore his level of interest changed from three inches off the ground to three FEET off the ground when he learned to pull himself up and stand up. So anything on the couch is fair game.

It adds a certain level of complication to anything I do with him in the room. This morning he was happily playing with a toy on the floor, so I decided to sit on the couch where I could keep an eye on him and stick labels onto some CDs I’d burned. Well, no sooner had I settled in with my pile of labels, my pile of CDs, my pile of envelopes, and my “CD Stomper”, but Mr. Curious had to come over and see what I was doing. And naturally, all my “toys” were much more interesting than his toys. I managed to maneuver myself so my legs were against the side of his playpen, blocking his access to the side of the couch with all my stuff on it, but he was determined and practically clawed his way up into my lap in order to get at it. I finally had to give up, put my things away, and wait until his naptime to finish my project.

So the term “babyproofing” is much more of an ongoing process than the one-time event I had imagined it to be. I’m also wondering if anyone has invented a cupholder that you can stick to a wall about 5 feet up off the floor. Yeah, five feet ought to buy me another couple of months…

My Son, Tarzan

I knew it would happen eventually. A couple of days ago, when I caught him pulling himself up on a chair, I knew it would happen soon. But I didn’t expect it would happen today. We had just gone grocery shopping and Ryan seemed to be running out of steam a bit, so as soon as we got home I popped him in his crib with the fan on him in the hope that he’d take a nap before our company arrived this afternoon. I unloaded the groceries from the car then headed upstairs to the nursery to see how he was doing. As I walked in the door, I saw him kneeling against the side of the crib, and as I watched, he pulled himself up to his full height (head and shoulders over the side rail, even with the mattress in its lowest position) and let out a long, loud, Tarzan-worthy yell. And then gave me the biggest, proudest grin I’d ever seen.

It’s true: my son has turned into Tarzan. Only a few days ago he was safely earthbound, and now he’s climbing up everything that’s not nailed down. He’ll pull himself up on the side of the playpen, the side of the crib, the edge of our bed, the couch, the ottoman, a kitchen chair, a deck chair, the leg of any unsuspecting bysitter. If he can grab onto it, he’s hauling himself up on it. And of course, the triumphant yell merely completes the Tarzan image.

I’m not sure if Edgar Rice Burroughs described Tarzan’s yell in particular detail in his books, but whether or not he did, I have to think that Ron Ely (or whoever may have played an earlier version of Lord Greystoke) based the famous sound of his movie yell on the proud yodel of a baby who had just mastered standing on his own. It’s a sound that is proud and triumphant, a call for attention – and also a call for help. Ryan’s yell is certainly a call for anyone in listening range to come and admire and praise his accomplishment – but with an undertone of calling for help. Getting up is still easier than getting down, and although he generally thuds down onto his well-padded backside without too much anxiety or pain, he seems to prefer some assistance in cushioning his fall.

I have no doubt, however, that the need for assistance will disappear as quickly as the ability to pull himself up appeared. In just a few days I will probably be wishing that he’d yell when he stands up, or even that he’d fall back on his backside – because in a few days, he’ll probably have also figured out how to get himself up and over all those fences and rails and pieces of furniture that he’s currently scaling.

Anyone have a few dozen extra sofa cushions I could borrow for a couple of months??

The Paradox of the Mobile Baby

As Ryan is getting the hang of crawling and as he learns to pull himself up on things and stand up on his own, I am looking forward with both delight and trepidation to his “mobile months”.

I am delighted that with his mobility comes a much greater ability to amuse himself. Now that he can get to toys that he wants and doesn’t get himself stuck sitting on his own feet, he can happily entertain himself for hours without needing me hovering over him to get him playthings or rescue him from himself. He’ll sit in front of his ball tower and contentedly roll ball after ball down the ramp, or sit in front of the TV cabinet tugging determinedly at the knobs (which Daddy has tied together so the doors won’t open) trying to get inside, or fwap at his big inflatable ball and giggle at the vibrations. He’ll spin the wheels of his truck for a while, then crawl over to his beads and chew on them for a bit, then scoot over to one of his beloved spitrags and lie on the floor chewing on that and kicking his feet up in the air. Or he’ll kneel in front of the playpen wall and laboriously pull himself up with both hands, then let go with one hand and swing back and forth like a gate until he falls on his backside – then he’ll start the process all over again.

But the trepidation part comes when I realize that despite the fact that he no longer needs me to keep him entertained all the time, he does need me to protect him from himself now! When he’s in the Pack & Play or the playpen, the worst he can do to himself is pinch his finger with a toy or fall over and kosh his noggin. But in the living room, or the nursery, or the yard, I can’t take my eyes off him for a second or he’ll be unplugging a lamp, strangling himself with an extension cord, knocking over a chair, or a hundred other unimaginable accidents. Even with the best babyproofing in the world, a big, strong, curious baby like Ryan will find trouble to get into anywhere. We can put outlet protectors on every socket and wind power cords onto little plastic reels, but Ryan is strong enough to knock over nearly any piece of furniture in the house and take those power cords with it. He’s fascinated by anything electronic with lights and buttons so the computer CPUs, the air conditioners, an unattended digital camera or phone or remote control, all such toys are subject to search and seizure by the little man. And any door or cabinet or secret cupboard must and WILL be opened and explored.

And such curiosity is to be encouraged – as long as it can be done safely. Which is why I will have to keep careful watch on him every waking moment. He may not need me as a playmate right now, but he certainly needs me as a security guard!

Aaaaand We're Walking...We're Walking....

For the past three days, New England has burst from a long spell of rain and wind and cold into some of the most glorious spring weather you could imagine. The birds have broken into their spring love calls, the crocuses are bursting into bloom, the trees have tiny green buds peeking out from their branches, the snow is a distant memory, and the air has that wonderful smell that only comes with the new spring season. And the best part of all is: it's walking season!

Last month there were a few days with walk-worthy weather, but there was still snow on the ground, which made sidewalks impassable and walking on the shoulder dangerous. So the best we could do was walk around the yard or hang out on the porch. But for the past three days, Ryan and I have been able to take wonderful, safe, sweet-smelling walks every single day!

He's big enough now to sit up in the stroller without the car seat, so he gets to face front and look at everything going by. Which also means he tends to get the sun in his face for nearly half our walk. Luckily, I found him a cute pair of sunglasses. The only problem is that since he has such a big pumpkin head, I had to get a bigger kids' size, and his little button nose hasn't quite grown into them, so they tend to slide down and give him a sunglasses mustache when we go over bumps. The bows are also a little long, so when he leans back against the stroller back, the glasses push forward so that when he turns his head the glasses stay facing forward. I have to admit, I find both of those issues terribly amusing, although Ryan doesn't seem to share my hilarity. But eventually I get him settled and comfortable and off we go!

I find myself narrating everything as we pass, just like my mom tells me she did when I was a baby. I tell him the names of the birds that we hear singing (by the time he can talk he'll know a chickadee from a robin from a mourning dove), I bark at the neighborhood dogs and meow at the cats, I tell him the color of each passing car. We occasionally bump into a neighbor or a passing jogger or the mailman and we stop for a chat. (His sunglasses have been an excellent conversation starter.) I want him to enjoy seeing and hearing and smelling everything! I want him to be able to take it all in, to enjoy the fresh air, to love being in the outdoors.

And I can't wait until this summer when we take him on a real hike. We already have plans to go camping in the mountains - we have a new tent that's big enough for him and all his accoutrements, and a big framepack so Daddy can tote him up the mountain. (The teddy bear pocket is a very important feature.)

Which seems only fair, considering that Mommy toted him last summer!

But in the meantime, we'd better keep practicing so we're all in shape by the time summer rolls around. And so we're walking...we're walking...