childhood

Walk the line

catherinemryan

The day before her birthday, Peeper turned a corner—literally. She went from stringing together a few steps to full-blown walking. 

Look! Evidence she’s a walker!

[vimeo 100441531 w=500 h=281]

Peeper walks the line from Catherine Ryan Gregory on Vimeo.

I’m still having a really hard time calling her a toddler, so for now I’m settling on one-year-old baby who walks. Really rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? 

Her newly honed skill delights everyone, most of all herself. Her hands are always full as she motors around the apartment, and I think she’s thrilled that she can carry mum mums or her hairbrush or the dog’s Kong ball or both the remote controls at all times. 

When Peeper was doing more stumbling and falling than actual walking, parents of older children would give me this knowing look like, Just you wait. And I’d say something along the lines of, “Yeah, I’m excited and scared at the same time!” 

But now that she’s a biped, I haven’t felt the panic that all these parents foretold. Maybe that comes later, like when she decides to sprint into traffic or play chase in the crowds of the Saturday Market, but for now, I’m just enjoying watching her explore on her own two feet. 

For now, those two feet carry her toward me more often than not. They run to me to show me the piece of popcorn she found on the floor. They toddle my way when she needs a snuggle. They leave her hands free to carry a book so we can get down to the serious business of reading I Love You Stinky Face for the eighteenth time.

There’s plenty of time for those little legs to carry her away. Today, though, her walking brings her closer to me.

Hurricane Peeper

catherinemryan

One morning this week I woke up as one half of my head imploded and was sucked into a black hole behind my right eye.

At least that’s what it felt like.

I haven’t had a migraine in years, but this one woke me around 3am. It kept me awake as I tried to alleviate the pain—massaging my scalp, plopping a bag of frozen vegetables over my face—between retching into the garbage can. Yeah, not pretty.

Peeper, luckily, slept in as late as she ever has, and the headache had mellowed quite a bit by that time. Even still, I was nowhere near the top of my game all day.

By the time Eric got home from class around 5pm, the house was a disaster. He laughed as he stepped over the shoes scattered across the hallway, the DVDs spread out over the living room and the cookbooks, bags and utensils in the kitchen.

The chaos made me realize how much I tidy up after Peeper throughout the day.

Imagine a wrecking ball dismantling a 10-story building. During a hurricane. In a town recently hit by an earthquake. Such is the destructive power of my daughter.

Ten Thousand Hour Mama
She loves to “help” with laundry.

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11 months

catherinemryan

“Peeper, can you say ‘dada’?” We were driving to Woods Memorial Park for a family walk recently, and I could hear our little one playing in the back seat.

“Dadadadadadada,” she replied, pulling off one sock.

“Good job! Peeper, can you say ‘mama’?”

She paused.

“DADADADADADA!”

Despite her continuing refusal to say mama, in the last month she has come so far in learning to express herself.

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Swimming in the kitchen

catherinemryan

The other day I came home to find a swimming pool inflated in my kitchen.

I had been writing at the library and my mom was watching Peeper. When I got back, my munchkin was splashing in a kiddie pool indoors. She was loving it, of course.

I would never have thought to blow up the pool inside and let Peeper go at it, but that’s just what Grandma did—and continues to do. She’s set up the pool a few other times and even bought one for her house for when Peeper visits the grandparents.

I want our home to be a place where spontaneity is the rule, where an unexpected adventure can crop up on the most mundane afternoon, where fun trumps conventionality. The environment can have unintended benefits too. My kitchen floor, for example, has never been cleaner.

Peeper the water weasel

catherinemryan

Yesterday Peeper graduated from her first swim class.

Ok, maybe “graduated” is too fancy a word. But her first swimming lessons ended, and she got a certificate, so that counts, right?

Peeper squeals and bucks her whole body in excitement when we put on her swim diaper and when we walk up to the local Y. She knows what’s going on.

Her joy overflows the minute she sticks her toes in the water. She must remember the version of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” that we sing in class—the part that says “If you’re happy and you know it splash your hands”—because she slaps water from the beginning of class to the end.

“She’s like one of those wind up toys,” her teacher told me the last day of class. “You know, the ones that you wind up, set in the water and watch as they swim away?”

Yep, that’s her.

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10 months

catherinemryan

As Peeper grinned at me from the top of the stairs, it hit me: I have a 10-month-old daredevil on my hands.

As she gets older, her personality shows itself more and more. That personality is turning out to be bold.

My fearless Peeper races to the top of a flight of stairs with no sign of caution or hesitation. In fact, she barely needed me as a spotter as she zipped up 15 stairs, even though she’d only tried it once before. And each time I brought her back to the ground level at my parents’ house, she’d turn around and crawl right back.

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Yes we can

catherinemryan

Clink, clink, clink. Beer bottle, Pepsi can, Budweiser. Men and women dropped them into the heavy duty garbage bag I held out in front of me. Clink, clink. To my young ears, the noise of aluminum and glass falling into the Hefty sack was the music of money.

Growing up, my dad and I collected cans and bottles then returned them for the 5-cent deposit. I stood outside the gates at University of Oregon Duck football games as fans filed in; I scoured bleachers for left behind “empties”; I hopped out of my dad’s Dodge Caravan at stop signs to snag “nickels” discarded by the side of the road.

Collecting bottles and cans was like a treasure hunt. I trained my elementary school-aged eyes to scan tall grass for the glint of aluminum as we drove along. We celebrated when we found a stash of malt liquor cans on a walk along the river. We never knew when opportunity would present itself, so we went about our errands together as if a cache of cans—just waiting to be transformed into cash—might be waiting for us anywhere if only we were ready.

It was a grand adventure.

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Get dirty and scuff your knees

catherinemryan

We’ve been getting phenomenal weather here in Portland this week. I’ve been heading outside as often as possible to take advantage of the sun and soak up some much-needed vitamin D.

Yesterday a friend and I had planned to meet at the Oregon Zoo—that is, until I arrived and witnessed the mayhem that $4 admission day involves. After hunting for a parking space for altogether too long, we scrapped our plans and met at the park instead.

Peeper was probably just as happy playing on the lawn than she would have been looking at the elephants and cheetahs (although she’s really into animal books lately, especially the wonderfully interactive Dog and My Giant Fold-out Book of Animals). She and her buddy zoomed around the small patch of grass we claimed.

IMG_3632_2IMG_3622Peeper picked up leaves and grabbed dandelion petals. She toppled downhill—she’s clearly not used to crawling down an incline—but just looked around, surprised, when she righted herself. She paid no heed to sticks and muddy patches as she crawled here and there.

By the time we left, her hands and bare feet were all dirty, and the knees of her leggings were smudged with grass stains.

During my baby shower, friends and family took turns saying things they wished for my soon-to-be-born child. My mother-in-law wished that Peeper would be unafraid of getting dirty and take time to get acquainted with bugs. I carried the idea behind that blessing with me since, partly because I, too, love the idea of raising a child who won’t let a little dirt get in the way of her curiosity.

Extra scrubbing at bath time and stain remover are a small price to pay for the freedom of exploration. Grassy pants and dirty hands are proof of a day well spent.