The Fairy Postal GodMama

Well before Baby F. came into this world – tomorrow will be her 2nd birthday, Whoo-hoo! - Papa-in-Training and moi had the hard decision of whom to choose to be her Godparents.
We didn’t want to baptize her, which to this day bothers some of my side of the family, but we did want to follow the tradition of choosing two people whom we thought would be great role models for her and who were very important to both of us.

There was never any doubt though, about who would become Baby F.’s Godmother. It could only ever be S.J., who was instrumental in getting Mama and Papa-in-Training together to begin with. The story of which is probably worth a few pages…or a novel or two…

Anywho, when I told S.J. about wanting her to be the Godmother, or Godmama as we address her with Baby F., she was a little concerned about what it entailed. But I quickly explained our expectations which assuaged her worries. She wouldn't have to adopt Frida if the two of us should suddenly explode, she would just have to keep in regular touch with Baby F. :o)

Now this is a little hard as she travels often for her job, but we came up with a good solution which I thought all would enjoy. She could send postcards to Baby F. from wherever she was visiting for work (or for fun). This way Baby F. would know that her Godmama was thinking of her while at the same time learning about the big wide world and growing her own little collection of postcards…which we all love in this family.

Well, she’s come through like a champ and every month of her life, Baby F. has gotten a postcard in the mail - 24 and counting! Godmama S.J. writes of her travels and her news and we all love to look at the cards and find out what she is up to. We are so thankful to have her in our lives and particularly in Baby F.’s life. She’s the best Godmama we could ever hope for.

Here are all the postcards she’s sent so far, in no particular order…

Hallo! was the first one, to introduce herself to Baby F.

Ms. Beatrix Potter herself :o) (one of my personal faves)

Corsican Piggies!

Special connection as I spent quite a few years working there :o)

Squirrel! I heart Squirrels...and so does Baby F. :o)

There's a picture of moi and Papa-in-Training posing just like this at a twin copy of this sculpture in Joisey :o)

They're always interesting, they're always personalized and they're always fun! Thanks again S.J.!

The Bear

I’ve alluded in a previous post about certain events keeping me from actually doing any writing about Toddler F. 

This is meant to be a record of my everyday memories of F. so if something happens which doesn’t affect her, then there is no need for me to write about it here.

But a couple of things happened which did directly impact her. And I think I should write about them so that one day when she is older, she’s able to read this and know about someone who cared about her. 

Today I’d like to talk about S.

S. was my friend, a lovely young woman whom I’ve known since 2006 - about 7 years or so. We first met at a karaoke session arranged by our mutual friend A., where I came to meet quite a few other people who would all become very good friends of mine. 

After that session, I started to have semi-regular game nights at my apartment and S. was a constant presence in my place, always joining in in our silly games – Cranium was a favorite – and always bringing treats for all of us to share. When Papa-in-Training and I needed a letter from a good friend to prove that we were a couple – for immigration purposes – she was one of only three people we requisitioned. She was also the unofficial photographer at our City Hall wedding as well at many other of our group events and had a true eye for it.

We became closer friends through the years, particularly once we discovered our shared passion for all things cute :o) We’d go to shows - music and art - together and I thought the world of her.
 
Once Baby F. was born, she was one of the first persons to come and visit us. And she brought this little one along.

S. the Bear

It was the first teddy that F. received and was quickly named after Auntie S., forever being known as S. the bear (full name always).

Baby F. quickly took to Auntie S. and they became good friends.

Both Papa-in-Training and I have a fond memory of seeing S. and F. sitting and watching ‘Curious George’ on the telly, with Baby contentedly babbling her explanation of what was happening on the screen to S.
And S. kindly listening and responding to Baby F.’s quasi-questions.

Baby F. loved Auntie S. and so did we.

Unfortunately, S. was taken from us late last year and I’m afraid that Baby F. won’t remember her Auntie S. and how kind and thoughtful she was.

Baby F. often plays with S. the bear and we often repeat her name. We hope to keep her memory alive for our little girl, so someday when she’s older, she’ll remember she once had an Auntie S. who played with her, listened to her and loved her.

Funny Face

Baby F. is no longer a baby. People argue about exactly when a baby becomes a toddler. Most seem to think that it’s when babies start to walk, which given the artist formerly known as Baby F.’s lateness in ambulating, made it seem as if she might become a toddler right around the time she entered grammar school ;o)

Others think that it’s when they turn 18 months, or for lay-people, aka civilians without their own little rug rats, when they turn 1 year and a half. By both definitions, Baby F. is now Toddler F.
It took her a little while but she now walks *and* is almost 2 years old – whoo-hoo! – so yeah, she’s a toddler.  

Deities help us, everyone.

This also means, that in addition to being able to walk and run and stumble and chase cats, she’s also developed quite the personality.  She’s quite a jokester and has been so since at least August of last year, when I’d originally meant to write about this. But alas, many things have come along to interrupt my train of thought, some of which I’ll be writing about in the coming weeks. 

Back to my little comedian though…

Like most babies, er, I mean toddlers, F. is a keen imitator, a verifiable little monkey at aping whatever funny thing she sees moi or her Papa doing. So far this has been amusing as she hasn’t taken to imitating us when we are grumpy ;o)

I might have once upon a time, put a tea towel on my head and pretended I was a ghost for her amusement. Maybe.

Not a towel, but indicative of the various things she'll place on her head. Baskets, towels, books, cats...

Well, since then, she’s taken to occasionally placing a towel upon her own head and running around like a maniac with no set direction in mind. This has resulted in at least one minor crash. No one was hurt, neither F. nor the tea towel, nor well, the wall, but I think she then figured out maybe putting a towel on one’s head and running around aimlessly might not be the best idea ever. Still, for about a week last summer, this was very amusing.

Another just charming habit she picked up (ahem) is to make believe she’s picking her nose. She’ll place her finger just under one of her nostrils and wait for me to admonish her for it. At which point, she’ll giggle like mad and then switch to another finger and wait for me to once again ‘yell’ at her. Oh, the fun we had with this one. The disregard for authority was just oh so precious :p 

Therein lies the problem with some of these acts. I should admonish her for some of them, and I sometimes do, but then she does something hilarious and I’m left trying to stifle a laugh while trying to discipline her. And let me tell you, I’m generally a good multitasker, but suck at doing both of these at the same time ;o) 

Toddler F. also adores to ‘chase’ anyone she can through the apartment, particularly around our kitchen table. Her Unkie D. has been pressed into service to do this but she’ll do it with me and her Papa-in-Training as well. Nothing makes her cackle more uncontrollably than ‘chasing’ someone, which usually involves an adult circling the table with her in tow. 

She’s definitely a little person now, with her own personality and a myriad stock of funny faces that she employs at will to make us laugh. F.’s face seems to be made of rubber sometimes, and she’s definitely a contender for the title of Baby of a Thousand Faces…I mean Toddler of a Thousand Faces ;o)

You've Got Mail!

I've always loved getting mail. Personal mail, not junk mail, although at one point, before the advent of internets and all of its' online shopping glory, even junk mail in the form of catalogs etc was welcome in my house.

I remember writing letters to my Avó and erupting with glee whenever a postcard found its way to my home. I was fascinated by the little pieces of cardboard and all that they'd been through in order to reach me. When I started traveling myself, I always made sure to send cards to my friends and family from wherever I was traveling.

So when I first heard about Postcrossing, it seemed like an ideal fit. Postcrossing is a great site set up by a couple of fun Portuguese folks to facilitate the exchange of postcards amongst like minded peeps around the world. It's been a very rewarding experience and I've even become pen pals with a few of the dozens of people who've either sent me cards or whom I've sent cards to. If you like postcards/getting real mail in your postbox, I highly recommend it. Plus it's free! Well, you have to pay for the postage on the cards you send of course, and buy some cards to send out. But you could also use old cards you've picked up but never had the chance to mail :o)

But before Baby F. was born and definitely before I joined Postcrossing, I had thought that it would be great to get some postcards for her. I've mentioned it briefly before - I asked our friends and family to send her a card either from where they lived or of something they really enjoyed, as well as a short note to her on the back. She ended up receiving 20 or so cards which I then displayed in a photo holder in her room. I also went ahead and laminated all of them, so she could play with them *and* they'd survive her infancy.

Here are some highlights from her collection:

All the way from where else, the wondrous islands of the Azores, from our cousin A.

A vonK from New York State

Couldn't resist including this adorable drawing by our dear friend A vonK, on the back of the ESB card :o)

A building dear to my heart - i once worked there - from Baby F.'s godmama

K. and N.'s current city, Hoboken

Adorable doggie with I assume cute text in Japanese :o) from L.

Always a fave, Klimt from P.

Cutest bear in all of Madrid from C.

Loneliest pigeon in NYC from S.

Beautiful Van Gogh from A. in Portugal

Horseys! From Wyoming! From dear friends K. & J.

...is all you need :o) From S. in Queens

...Is it me you're looking for? Yes :o) From S. in NYC

I'm hoping that in a few years, when she's just a little older, we'll look at all of these and she'll realize how much she was loved even before she was born. I also hope they'll inspire her to dream of exploring far off places and to want to learn about all sorts of things.

Television…the drug of the (toddler) nation

Before Baby F. ever came along, I had certain ideas of what I'd do in regards to her television watching.

Outdoor Antenna of the kind we didn't have ;o)

We didn't want to be too severe - both Papa-in-Training and moi had been reared on telly and didn't feel it had ruined or stunted us. But then again, I'd grown up in Portugal up until I was 11 when there were only two channels to watch…and only one if you didn't have an outdoors antenna, i.e. you didn't want to pay the tv license by advertising to the authorities that you had a telly. Shh! Don't tell the tv license people, they might still want to collect after 30+ years ;o)

So we thought we'd let her watch some television when she was a little older - maybe 2 or
3 - but until then, we'd try to keep her away from the boob tube.


Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!

[let me regain my breath a bit]


Yeah, that completely went out the window soon after birth.
All the guidelines, all the best practices, are great for ideal situations, when baby is always entertaining herself or there's always someone else around to help take care of her.
But what if there isn't? What if your brain has turned to mush and you'd like to watch some tv yourself but the baby is still awake?
Well, then you watch anyway, 'cause they can barely see beyond their face at the beginning. So you and your partner get a chance to relax and spend some bonding time with the baby because really she's not even aware that there's some sort of magical object that emits pictures and sounds at this point.

But once she can see and hear better, then surely no tv?

Yeah, phtttfff!

We were really good at first. Maybe she'd watch a little Jeopardy with me in the evenings, maybe a little Big Bang Theory - Baby F. seemed to like Sheldon in particular - but that was about it.

But then we discovered PBS. Well, *we* didn't discover it. I mean, I've been a devoted fan for many years. I was watching Masterpiece on a weekly basis waaaay before Downton Abbey came along and made it all chichi for everyone in the nation to watch ;o)

More specifically, we discovered Curious George. And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end.
Well, that and a certain bunch of squirrels headed by Bana & Flapi…but more on that a bit later.

Back to the monkey…

We discovered George and soon we were watching him and his friends on and off PBS. We have Netflix and they have all the available episodes on demand! This is at once an amazing thing…and a dreadful thing.
Because Baby F. now knows we can bring up an episode whenever we'd like.

And so every morning,

Said pillow complete with built in cat hair for a more authentic touch.

after having her brekkie and while I'm usually still waking up (some days I'm still half asleep honestly), I will put on the next episode of Curious George and Baby F. will sit in front of me on the couch - in between my legs (it's a deep couch) - or next to me on my left, using her favorite couch pillow, and will suddenly erupt in pure glee at the playing of the first notes of the theme song. She will do a little dance of joy while sitting next to me and will follow along with all the crazy adventures our little monkey friend gets up to.

Sometimes we might watch an episode of Sesame Street afterwards, where no big surprise, she seems to like Elmo's World the best, but it doesn't quite have the hold that George has on her.

We've tried other shows - Bob, the Builder; Thomas, the Tank Engine; Babar; Pocoyo - and although she might like them a bit, they do not envoke the joy that the curious monkey gives her.

That is, other than Bana & Flapi.

What the heck is that, you may be asking?

Only the most amazing cartoon about squirrels ever devised :o)



I watched this sweet little show when I was a child and fell hook, line and acorn over its' protagonist and his forest adventures. There were no VCRs when I was little, so when a few years back they decide to release the series on DVD, I was utterly thrilled. Unfortunately I
was only able to pick up a couple of the volumes, leaving me with lotsmissing in between. This wasn't that much of a big deal…until we discovered that the DVDs are magic.

Once upon a time, we were having a hard time getting Baby F. to eat. And then one of us, I forget who, thought, 'Why don't we pop in a DVD and see if that will distract her enough to eat?' And so, with this thought we doomed ourselves to repeated viewings of the same episodes of the little squirrel.





And before you mamas and papas get up in arms, yes, yes, babies should be fed without distractions, yada yada yada. But you know what? These little squirrels got her to eat her nom noms almost every time. Because unlike with other programs that we might have on that she'll barely glance at whilst playing next to us, Bana & Flapi thrills her to no end. She actually pumped her fist in the air today as we told her it was time for lunch *and* for Bana & Flapi. She, of the as of yet, limited vocabulary, said 'Yay!' and pumped up her fist.

She also makes the kookiest facial expressions while watching particularly thrilling episodes - spoiler alert: there's a scary one involving a ferret.

Have I sometimes been singing a certain ditty in my head only to realize I'm singing the Curious George theme song?
Am I growing slightly annoyed at my childhood favorite's theme song playing everyday at meals?
Do I find the repetition of the handful of episodes we own being droned into my brain day after day unsettling?

Maybe a little.

But seeing the fun and happiness Baby F. has while watching Curious George and Bana & Flapi makes it all worthwhile.

No Barney though. That's where I draw the line.


P.S. I have recently found that seemingly all episodes of Bana & Flapi are available through YouTube. For some reason they've all been divided up into two parts each, but that's a small price to pay for my sanity and that of Papa-in-Training's :D

P.P.S. Sadly, I'm unaware of any English dubbing of Bana & Flapi. The original was in German and it also aired in Spain and Italy, I believe, but never in any English speaking country :o(

Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Part I

We started planning our spring vacation earlier this year. We were heading to Portugal to see my family for 15 days, sponsored by the US government (in the form of a healthy tax refund) and by my parents' generosity.

There was a lot to plan out since a trip to the homeland for me isn't as simple as picking a beach and there staying for the duration. I have relatives in various places and a visit to each must be made since we only see each other every couple of years. Plus this time little F. would be coming along to meet everyone for the first time.

Logistics had to be figured out so that no one felt left out and yet the three of us still managed to have a good holiday and not one of those 'if-its-Belgium-it-must-be-Tuesday' types.

I figured out that we could stay 5 days in each locale. Five days in Estarreja, the town with the nearest decent hotel to our relatives in Murtosa and Salreu; five days in São Gião, a small idyllic mountain village where my father hails from and where my Avó still lives;  and then five days in Tábua, a large town where my Tia lives with her family.

But of course in between these mini-stays, there would be travel from one place to another, as well as day-trips and the seeing of friends. Phew! Getting tired just remembering it.

All of this would be fatiguing enough if it was just moi and Papa-in-Training, but we also had Baby F. with us. We'd never traveled farther than a little north of NYC with her, so we were understandably apprehensive about how she'd do with both the long-distance train and car travel as well as the biggie: transatlantic flights.

Gah!

Maybe we should put it off for a couple more years. Then she'd be a bit older and better able to deal with plane travel. But the tickets were bought and paid for and my family was super excited to see us and meet the baby.

Both Papa-in-Training and moi are air travel veterans. During our courtship a few years back, we spent more than our share of time shuttling back and forth between Newark and Heathrow Airports. We'll be recycling and upcycling and wearing out our clothes to threads and not owning a car forever in order to make up for the damn gigantic carbon footprint we acquired during that period. This is all to say that we are well familiar with babies on board. I'd long ago learned to tune out their cries by well, using ear plugs or headphones and realizing that there was nothing to be done and you might as well make the best of it.

But we also remember how crazy other passengers could get when there is a crying baby on a flight. I myself witnessed the pure uncensored fury exhibited by one grand example of humanity who seemed to be advocating that we throw the child out of the plane, so that he could get his 6 hours of beauty sleep.

So to say that we were a bit worried about how F. would react is perhaps an understatement.

I'd spoken to her pediatrician who'd recommended that she always have something to suck on, either a pacifier or a bottle during take-off and landing. She also recommended we give her some Benadryl but we decided to ignore that advice as my own reaction to having taken it once wasn't good. I wasn't about to medicate my baby just so she wouldn't make noise - we weren't about to try and escape North Korea for fuck's sake, just get from one continental shelf to another.

Baby F.'s First Plane Ticket! (technically this is her return ticket, but i couldn't find the other one. oops.)

We dutifully made sure that F. always had something to gnaw on and, behold, for there was quiet joy!

She barely made a peep during the whole trip. She cried a couple of times out of tiredness, etc, but she only cried for about a minute or so each time, which if anyone had a problem with, well, they can just go take a hike.

Having myself experienced non-stop crying jags on planes, I could barely believe our luck! The flight attendants fawned over her, other passengers cooed to her, and the flight was a success.

…Well, I didn't get any sleep, but that's normal for me on planes ;o)

But then we arrived in Lisbon…and still had to travel up north…

(To be continued)

Frapunzel

If any one of you has met little F., you might recall that her hair is well, pretty non-existent.

She’s almost 18 months old - next Sunday, WHOO-HOO! - yet her cranium coverage is sparse at best.

Exhibit A - January 2012

At the back it shows some signs of life, but up on front by her forehead? Yeah, not happening.

We had expected this.

Her Mama, aka Moi, didn’t have any hair besides some fuzzy down on her head up until she was about 9 months old. Nothing, zip, nada, zilch. Which given how much and how thick my own parents’ hair was, was a little odd.

The pictures that exist of me as an infant - earliest one is of my baptism at age 7 months - show me as a little baldy with just a soupçon of dark down upon my crown.

But then the next photos of me are at 12 months old...by which time a mess of curls has sprouted from my head and have threatened to take over everything in the land, much like a human version of kudzu.

And I’ve even found a letter from my Mama to my Avó (her Mama) saying how I’ve just suddenly sprouted all this hair at once around the age of 9 months.

So the whole ‘the-parents-have-really-thick-hair-but-the-baby-at-first-has-none’ thing was not a surprise and was indeed expected. I thought that much like what had happened with me, little F. would suddenly sprout a little baby Portuguese Afro before her first birthday.

Except that hasn’t happened.

Exhibit B: July 2013

It’s grown more, yes. But it’s still very scant and scattered.
It does show signs of having some curl, but if it didn’t that wouldn’t be strange seeing as her Papa-in-Training has straight-as-a-rod follicles.

What i didn’t expect though is that others would think she has ‘good’ hair. 

I’ll explain.

We went to our local park this morning with her Vôvô. This is something I’ve been meaning to do for ages, but the horrible heatwave and just generally miserable summer weather has prevented me from doing. Plus honestly I’ve been really tired in the mornings. Like crazy tired. 

But when I checked the weather forecast earlier in the week and saw that today we were due to have some sunny (but not too hot) weather, I thought it’d be a perfect day to pop out for some swings action.

As little F. swung away in utter joy, I got to talking a bit with the mother next to us. Her daughter was about the same age as F. - give or take a few weeks - and she had the most adorable little blonde curls tied up in tiny, for lack of a better word, Afro puffs. We got to talking about hair and how F.’s seemed to be in a state of hibernation and the other mother surprised me by saying ‘Well, at least she’s going to have good hair, unlike mine.’

I immediately said ‘Oh no, she has some curls growing in the back, they’re just combed out right now.’ And then realized that I immediately knew what she meant by ‘good hair’. Good hair is straight, which obviously then implies that curly hair is not ‘good’. 

I told her her baby’s hair was beautiful - ‘cause it was - and was left a bit sad about the curly-bad connotation.

I’ve had curly hair all my life. Not tight curls, although I did wish for them many a time as a child - that to me was the ideal hair :) - but pretty curly. And wavy. 

I’ve never not wanted to have curly hair and can’t recognize myself on the few occasions that my hair has been straightened out at the salon. Other people always seem to like me with straightened hair, but when I look in the mirror all I see is a stranger, or at best me play-acting, so its back to the curls for me.

But I had read in the past about the concept of ‘good hair/bad hair’ which is apparently very prevalent in the African-American population. I had just never encountered it in person yet.

I’m still not sure exactly what kind of hair F. is going to have. It seems pretty dark at the moment (my hair was reddish brown as a child but then became darker as I aged and it’s been (artificially) red since I was about 19, while Papa-in-Training's was straight, thick, and blonde as a baby and is now light brown and straight) and mostly straight with some curls if it gets wet or it’s humid out.

I’d love it if she had dark curly or wavy hair like me, but i’d love it just as much if it turned out to be blondish and straight like her Papa-in-Training’s. Or any combination thereof.

But regardless of what it ends up being, it’ll all be ‘good’ hair, because there’s no such thing as bad hair.