Your mom is a better athlete...

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Yesterday, your mom and I complete the 3rd Annual Staten Island Triathlon. Your mom, by the way, is a better athlete than the average person, including me. There, I said it.

We once competed in a duathlon (run-bike-run) two years ago where she beat me by a couple of minutes. That same Fall I beat her in another duathlon (run-bike-run) by a couple of minutes. This triathlon (1/3 mile swim - 12 mile bike - 4 mile run) was our third head-to-head competition. And she crushed me.

we ate a healthy plate of rice, beans, and veggies for dinner the night before our race

We woke up really early to drive down to Staten Island with your Abuela Betty helping us with our equipment and keeping you entertained. Although I was nervous, there was very little time to be nervous now that we've got you. A lot of our focus is on your well-being and comfort so it's a good distraction from race-day nerves.

It feels like we barely got set up when they called us to head down to the beach. Now, the swim is my weakest sport. I learned to swim at the age of 25. Your mom was on the High School swim team. She was also a lifeguard. So, heading into the swim, I took it easy.

I was surprised by how great it felt to swim in the choppy ocean water. I was slow, with people passing me left and right, but I was swimming without having to stop; that's a victory for me. I came out of the water a full three minutes behind your mom.

Heading to the bike I pedaled as hard as I could. We biked a 4-mile loop three times, so I could see you mom ahead of me, but I could never catch up. I managed to make up some time on the bike but not nearly enough for what was about to happen.

I consider myself a runner so I was confident that I could make up some time on the 4-mile run. However, after swimming and biking for over and hour, your legs feel like tree trunks. And mine did. For about four miles. Your mom, on the other hand, said she felt great. She sped through the run leaving me gasping for air behind her.

Your mom finished in 1hr48min26sec and I finished in 1hr54min45sec, a full 6+ minutes behind her.

you joined us to celebrate the finish

So, your mom has beaten me in two of our three athletic competitions. Of course, this doesn't end here. While discussing our triathlon over dinner your mom said, confidently, that she could beat me in a road race - my sport!

So, on September 17th, we'll be facing off in a 4-mile race.

If you're smart, you'll put your money on your mom crossing the finish line before me. If you're lucky, you'll get her athletic genes.


Still running,

Tu papa

You are YouTube famous!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You mom bought me a ukulele for my birthday a year ago since I had dropped lots of hints that I wanted to try and learn to play it.  Unfortunately, I have no musical talent and your mom had no training in string instruments so it just lay under our bed for over a year. 

A few months ago she discovered a ukulele class for parents and babies.  For four weeks she took you and the uke to Brooklyn, learned some chords, and even wrote a song for you called "Santiago's song."

You became instantly intrigued by the ukulele and always wanted to play with it.  The problem was, your mom was always practicing and you were messing up the tuning of the ukulele.  So, we ordered you your very own uke.  What happened next was beyond our expectations.

We figured it would act as a decoy for when your mom was practicing.  It turned out to be your favorite toy and a source of hours of entertainment for our family.  Between you, your mom, and I (I've finally learned some chords through your mom), we traded the two ukes endlessly, each having a go at a song or two.  In fact, one day we clocked almost four hours of ukulele playing time. 

We filmed one of your performances and put it up on YouTube to share with friends and family - an instant hit!



Our level of excitement for the ukulele hasn't diminished.  On some mornings you will crawl out of your bed and head straight for the ukulele to play for almost an hour.  And, because two ukes for three people doesn't entirely add up, we went ahead and got another one.  Now each of us has a uke. 

If some day you become a famous musician or even just pretty good at playing an instrument, you really need to thank your mom for taking those ukulele classes.  It really sparked an interest in all of us that we didn't know existed.  And, it's created the musical little monster we love to hear play and sing.


Enjoy,

tu papa

How to fuel a plant-based triathlete

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I shared the following with some friends who were asking how it was possible that your mom and I could train for a triathlon eating a plant-based diet.  There's a common misconception that plant-based diets lack protein.  But the reality is plants have lots of protein with the added benefit of lacking cholesterol.

Here's what I wrote:

I was sent a message last night asking how I could possibly do what I was doing on a plant-based diet, specifically how do I get enough protein.  My answer is pretty simple: eat lots and make most of what you eat whole grains, veggies, and fruit.  You will get more than enough of what you need if you eat a variety of plant foods.
Of course, I'm lucky, I have a wife who agrees with me nutritionally and together we make some incredible healthy dishes so there's never the temptation of watching her eat fried chicken with a side of fries.

Today in Week 2 of Triathlon training I woke up to swim for 30 minutes, after lunch I did five sets of pushups totaling 68, and tonight I ran for 40 minutes.  Plus somewhere in between all that I did some work, read the newspaper, took Santiago (that's you Nugget) on an hour and a half walk, and went to the dentist. Granted this is during my summer vacation, but during the school year I would pretty much be doing the same thing, minus the swimming.

So, pretty busy day, how to fuel it was the question:

Breakfast:
1 slice Whole Wheat Organic Bread with crunchy almond butter and a drizzle of honey
2 glasses of water

Went swimming (30 minutes)
Walked with Santiago in the stroller for an hour and a half

Breakfast 2:
Brooklyn Bagel Plain with a schmear of soy cream cheese
3 glasses of water

Work, Read the Paper

Lunch:
Big Bowl of Latin Corn Soup (sweet potato, tomatoes, corn, hominy, red pepper, chili pepper, onion, garlic)
Handful of Organic Corn tortillas
1 glass of water

Work, Pushups (68)

Snack:
1 glass of iskiate (water, lime juice, agave nectar, chia seeds)

Dentist

Dinner:
Cous Cous with Lentil Salad (lentils, onions, pepper)
Bibb lettuce, tomato, cucumber salad
1 glass of water

Santi's bath, bedtime books
40 min Run

Snack:
1 cup of Millet with Raisins
1 Banana
Handful of Walnuts
2 glasses of water

Total calories: about 2600
Total protein: about 75g of protein
Total cholesterol: 0
Plenty of fiber

Is my diet perfect?  No.  But, it's plant-based deliciousness, fuels my triathlon training, I'm never hungry, it keeps me healthy, and helps me lower my cholesterol.


I wanted to share this with you Nugget because you're the primary reason we're eating this way.  My body makes too much cholesterol and my family has a history of heart-disease, diabetes, and cancer.  I refuse to be a statistic.

I am plant-strong so that I can stay healthy enough to watch you grow up, God willing.


Loving you with a healthy heart,

Tu papa

Today you cried for Papi

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you went to the doctor and got another shot.  Apparently you toughed it out and didn't cry.  Either you're a tough little boy or you can't feel the pinch thanks to those chunky thighs of yours.  At almost seven months, you now weigh 17 lbs 14 oz and are 26 inches long.

When I got home this afternoon, your mom was holding you in her arms.  You smiled and bounced with excitement when I said hello.  I ran to the kitchen to get some boxes for a friend who was waiting in her car downstairs.  You cried as I left your sight.  When I came back to the living room with the boxes, you smiled again. 

But, again, when I left your sight and ran down the stairs to deliver the boxes, you let out a wail.  After delivering the boxes, I ran up the stairs and you stopped crying.  As I headed straight to the bathroom to wash my hands so I could hold you, you cried again.

It seems you really wanted to hang out with me and were upset whenever I left the room.  That made me feel special.  I grabbed you as fast as I could from your mom, you did your excited bounce (flapping of the arms included), and lay your head on my shoulder. 

It's great to be your dad.


Te quiero,

Tu papa

Snow Day!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

It worked.  All of it!

12.6" of snow fell in Queens overnight

Snow day!

we had a great time in the snow

you hung out in the snow for a bit

and we rushed back inside to get warm

Best day of the year.  If you ever wonder why daddy keeps flushing frozen peas down the toilet, today is the reason why.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Murophobia

Dear Chicken Nugget,

For the last five days your mom and I have been terrorized by a mouse in the house.  I first caught a quick glimpse of him running from the couch to the space between the desk and cabinet near where I was sitting.  This, of course, led me to hop on the couch and squeal like a little girl.  Your dad, Nugget, suffers from murophobia - the fear of mice and rats.

I sprung into action and ran across the street to buy half a dozen sticky glue traps.  I laid them out wherever I thought Mr. Mouse might travel.  When we went to bed that night, I spent a good amount of time lying awake and listening to every little sound in the apartment.  I can't stand rodents.

As you get older I have no doubt that any of my former roommates will share with you a gazillion stories about me and mice.  New Yorkers have the unfortunate experience of having to often live with rodent pests.  My roommates have gotten a number of good laughs from my reactions to these disease-infested creatures.

After a few nights of terror and buying fancier traps, we finally caught the little guy last night.  We had seen him scurry under the desk and your mom suggested we lay a glue trap down there.  I put the trap down, walked to the kitchen to put another one down, and by the time I got back, the trap had moved.  As I got closer to inspect it, the mouse squeaked and tried to escape from its gluey trap.  I froze.

Your mom was already in bed with you and called out, "Did we catch him?"

"Yep," I replied from atop the couch.

"Bag him and take him out to the trash," she said.

"I can't.  He's fighting back," I said, voice shaky.

"That's what you're supposed to do when you're fighting for your life."

Thanks.

"Take a another sticky trap, throw it on top, and place the whole thing in a plastic bag," she suggested.

I did just that but the little guy turned his head and tried to gnaw through the trap.  Freaked.  Me.  Out.  A tiny part of me felt bad.  His little beady black eyes asked for forgiveness.  A bigger part of me was scared and disgusted.  Still, with his front paws pulling on a printer cable, holding on for dear life, I didn't have it in me to struggle with the mouse.

Your mom got out of bed, grabbed a broom (to stun him, she declared), and managed to bag the little mouse in less than five seconds.  She's my hero, your mom.  While she was double bagging the mouse, making it safe for me to carry out to the trash, you began to cry.  I picked you up and stood with you on top of the couch while your mom saved us from sure pestilence. 

Then, the saint that she is, she took a picture.

Papi saving Nugget from the bubonic plague

I managed to build up enough courage to take the mouse out to the trash.  And, despite my complete fear and revulsion, I said a little prayer for it.

You and your mom went back to bed and I stayed up at the desk doing work, happy to have finally rid ourselves of the mouse.

About an hour later, I saw something moving from the corner of my eye.  Yes, another mouse.  Letting out a ridiculous bellow, I tip-toe hopped to our bed where I told your mom what I had just seen and lay awake for half the night listening for Mr. Mouse's vengeful family.

I hate mice.  I hope we catch all of them so that you can live in a safe, healthy apartment free of plague.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

boys club

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As you grow you slowly become a little more independent. Just slightly.  You still need us for a lot, like getting around, diaper changes, and food.  Your mom does a great job of taking care of you for most of the day and night and you show her the love she deserves.

Sometimes when you catch a glimpse of your mom it's like you suddenly saw your favorite celebrity.  Your smile gets wider than your face and your arms wave electrically towards her in the hopes she'll just shake your hand or look your way.  Luckily, she does more than that and blows you kisses or nuzzles up to your cheek.

You love it.  You love her.

So, occasionally, on the days you'll allow it, I steal you away for what I call "boys club."

In "boys club" we stare into each others eyes, make faces at each other, or you play with your toys while I cuddle up next to you.  I love "boys club" because it allows us to have exclusive father-son bonding time.

Your mom isn't thrilled about being left out but she gets so much time during the day with you, that I think it's fair.  Still, you and I had a meeting the other day on your playmat and decided that your mom can be an honorary member of "boys club."

For now.

I love her and you love her but we need our "boys club" time to do boy things - like blowing bubbles and spitting and laughing when you fart.  I'm sure your mom doesn't mind too much.



Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when the wind tells you to stop...

Dear Chicken Nugget,

A couple of months ago I wrote about how I changed my diet for you.  And, for the most part, it's true.

Unfortunately the holidays came.  It's hard to eat a low fat plant-based diet when there's a beautiful, juicy turkey inviting you to enjoy it.  Combine holiday eating with a lack of exercise and it turns out my cholesterol is high again.

Having a family history of heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes, a high cholesterol worries me.  Since finding out a couple of days ago, I've recommitted to a low fat plant-based diet.

And, just as importantly, I've created a set of fitness goals to accompany the diet.  I've signed up for three small races for early 2011 to help get me back on track.

So, today I went out for a run.  Man, was it hard!

A couple of months ago I started coaching a Young Runners Club at my school.  I'm leading fifteen students in kindergarten through second grade through stretches, relay racing games, and some slow and steady running that amounts to no more than a mile a day.  I'm running about a mile a day! Just one!

This, from a guy who has run two marathons (26.2 miles)!

I decided that today was going to be the day that I ran two miles.  In the morning there was a strong hard rain that immediately made my decision easy.  Can't run.  But then, as if daring me to go out, the rain stopped mid-afternoon.  I looked out the window and not a drop was falling.  I looked for signs of wind, perhaps looking for another excuse, and there were none.

So, I told your mom that I was going for a run.  She, always super supportive of my health, told me to go ahead.  Then, it took me thirty minutes to get out of the house.  Not that there was anything pressing keeping me, I just kept finding something else to do.

When I finally stepped outside, I felt great.  My legs were moving, my breathing was good, and the weather seemed to cooperate.

As I ran towards Astoria Park I thought about how easy it felt.  Then I came upon a downed tree.  It looked like it had been chopped down and there were massive pieces of trunk laying on the side walk.  I slowed to a walk trying to figure out a way around it.  Not a hard obstacle to overcome but it was the beginning of the doubts.

After walking around the tree and starting back up I started feeling the wind kick up again.  Not only was the wind picking up, it was blowing right at me.  I wanted to stop.  The wind was strong.  Just then an older gentleman, probably in his 60s, ran by me. I kept running.

As I approached the one mile mark I thought about walking back home.  But, no.  Couldn't.  That wouldn't be enough.  So, I turned back at the one mile point, still running.

Making my way back home it suddenly started raining again.  There was the doubt again.  Maybe I should hop on a bus.  Then a strong gust of wind blew in my direction.  I swear the wind was telling me to stop.  For a second, I did.  I stopped.

I was about half a mile away from home and I thought, well, a mile and a half is still more than you've done in a while.  I looked at the time and realized that we had guests coming over in about thirty minutes.  I had to run home if I stood any chance at showering before the guests arrived.

I started running again.  The rain gave up but the wind didn't.  The wind was adamant about me stopping.  I almost listened to it.  But, I didn't.  I kept thinking about you, your mom, and my health, and I kept running.  By the time I rounded the corner to our block I was running pretty fast.  And I was tired.  It's hard to run against the wind.  The run was hard.

As if mocking me one last time, a breeze blew the outside door into my ankles as I stepped into the house.  &*^%!!  The wind is now my nemesis.  I'm sure it'll try to get to me again.  And, maybe it'll bring its friends freezing rain and blizzard along.  I've met those two before and I've still run through them. I can do it.

I ran two miles today, Nugget.  Two.  That's all.  I had every excuse in my head to stop.  But, that's all it was: in my head.  There are always days that are going to be too cold, too hot, too windy, too busy, and too tired.  All these excuses are going to be whispering in my ear to not go out for a run or just to stop.

But for every excuse, there's good reason to keep going: my health.

On the last line of my RoadID it says, "I run to add another day."  Really, I run to run to add another day to my life AND to add life to my days. 


Step one: Run!

Step two: Ignore the &*^%!! wind.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

happy three months!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You are three months old today!

We are so blessed to have you with us and are amazed on a daily basis that we were chosen to be your parents.

You are now making pretty big leaps developmentally:
- you are actively reaching out and grabbing at toys
- you are constantly playing with your hands and beginning to suck your thumb
- you are wanting to be held in a standing position more each day (strong core and head control)
-you are playing for longer periods of time
-you are "talking," making bubbles, and spitting.  Yes, spitting.  It's kind of funny.
- you are starting to roll over and startling yourself in the process
- and you are holding your head pretty darn high during belly time

 We actually think you're pretty brilliant.  And handsome.  I think you're starting to look like your mom more each day.  You're a lucky kid.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

the sins of your parents

Dear Chicken Nugget,

It's been 12 days since my last letter and you've grown so much.  You've been laughing and playing and trying to grab hanging toys.  You've discovered your hands and are constantly playing with them.

I haven't been able to sit down and write much because of work-related activities.  I love what I do but sometimes it takes up a lot of mental energy; not the kids, the adults - more on that another day.

But, today I want to apologize in advance for the fashion sins of your parents.  Your mom and I are pretty laid back people and our philosophy on dressing you as been just as relaxed.  The way we figure it, babies don't care what they look like.  Right?

Well, in case you do some day and it seems you just can't get it right, it's probably our fault.

This is what happens when papi dresses you...

your mom would like to point out the overall shorts & yellow socks

This is what happens when mommy tries to fix it...

I'm just going to point out that you've got polka dots on your white pants

It's obvious that your mom and I differ in opinion on what you should wear.  I don't think either of us are too far off the mark but I also don't think we're cultivating any form of good fashion sense. 

Luckily, I do think you're too young to care at this point.  Someday you'll care.  Until then, God help you.


Eternally yours,

Tu papi

the sleep routine

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you are two months old!  It's been incredible having you in our lives and we look forward to so much more time with you.

You're growing physically and are becoming more aware by the hour.  You love hearing the vowels in Spanish and laugh when I howl like a wolf.

loving listening to the vowels in Spanish

And, you love it when your dad puts you to sleep.  You've been a really good sleeper, by the way.  When you're tired you'll fall asleep in a baby carrier, in the swing, on the changing table, and while feeding.  You've actually been sleeping through most of the night - waking up to eat once or twice but falling immediately back to sleep when done.

But late evening when you hit that over-tired point your mom and I go into the sleep routine.  While she goes off to get ready for bed, I get you ready for bed.  What started as an hour long routine is now usually done in 15-20 minutes.   It involves some walking, some white noise provided by the kitchen fan, and even some singing.

Now, while I won't promote my singing in any way, it seems that it helps you go to sleep.  I have two theories for this: my droning monotone has a hypnotic effect or you essentially give up because sleep is the fastest way to get out of hearing me sing.

So far I've used a number of songs to help lull you to sleep (in no particular order):

How's It Going To Be by Third Eye Blind
Lean On Me by Bill Withers
Stand By Me by Ben E. King
The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra
Motorcycle Drive By by Third Eye Blind
Amazing Grace by John Newton
Hound Dog by Elvis Presley
That's Life by Frank Sinatra
Donna by Ritchie Valens

Tonight, the song that made you pass out was Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra.

Somehow these songs work.  Then again, considering my monotone voice, they might all just sound the same and I'm simply boring you to sleep.  In any case, it works.

When it comes time for you to learn to sing I'm definitely handing the reigns over to your mom.  She comes from a clan of musicians and singers.

In the meantime, I'll continue to help you fall asleep for the night.  It's my pleasure to sing my baby boy to sleep.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

a song for you

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I found myself singing a song to you yesterday as I carried you around the apartment and realized that it's something that's been stuck in my head for a few days.

The song has no title, though it's yours.  Your mom started singing it to you when you were in the belly.  She made up the lyrics and melody herself.

The chorus says something like:

Oh you're my baby boo,
And I love you.
I'm gonna love you forever,
Oh you're my baby boo,
And I love you.
I'm gonna love you forever.

At some point I'd like to record her singing it to you. 

It reminds me of a song I love by a band that no longer exists.  Shea was recorded, written, and performed by a band called Cecilia.  They were a family band made up of a mom, dad, son, two daughters and a bass player.  I met them for the first time in Washington Square Park while on a lunch break in college.  Their sound was refreshing and their lyrics were inspiring.

Cecilia the band

When I became a teacher, I would go to their gigs every Friday night, wherever they were playing.  It was my way of de-stressing after a long week.  At one of their gigs, your Uncle Bob and I ended up befriending the fiancee of the lead guitarist/son in the family.  It turns out her daughter, Shea, was the little girl they were singing about in the song.  She was a beautiful little four year old at the time and I kept thinking, how cool to have a song written about you?  It immortalizes you.



Well, when the bassist left, who, by the way, is currently engaged to my friend Cora, the band became The Veltz Family.  They played on and wrote more beautiful music but eventually went their separate ways to work on individual projects.

Your mom, our friend Javiera, and I went to see one of the daughters of the family, Allison, play in Manhattan when your mom was eight months pregnant with you.  The voice and style are still there.  The music lives on.  And, for one night, I was transported back in time.

Allison Veltz

It's been years now.  The beautiful little blond girl from the song Shea is now 12 and going to school dances and I am now a parent singing to my very own child. 

Perhaps one day, when we're feeling creative, we'll work on expanding the lyrics to your song, working on the melody, and actually turning it into a full-length song.  It probably won't even come close to what Cecilia was able to put together back in the day, but at least you'll be able to say, like Shea, that you have your own song.

Eternally yours,


Tu papa

you have me wordless you chubness monster!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I have to admit that I've gotten very little work done at home since you joined us almost seven weeks ago.

I'll start things - like lesson planning, writing letters, reading articles - and not finish them until 12 hours later.  Something that could take me 30 minutes will take a total of 12 hours from start to finish.

For one thing, you're requiring a lot of attention.  A lot.  I am more than happy to pay close attention to you.  I would much rather stare at you than have to figure out how make the texture of a rock exciting to a second grader.

Most of the attention you require is based around food.  You've continued to eat like a champ and put on weight like a sumo wrestler.  At 6 1/2 weeks we weighted you at 12lbs.  That's double your birth weight in less than seven weeks!  Luckily your mom is the provider of the food but that doesn't mean I'm jobless.  While momma takes care of you, I have to take care of the momma.

Even when you're not demanding attention I find myself struggling to find the words I need to complete my work.  Instead, I end up in wordless awe of the miracle that is you.  No words.  Just thoughts of you.

Speaking of which, I'm going to go stare at you while you sleep.

Te quiero siempre,

Tu papa

5 weeks old!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you turned five weeks old!

We took you to the pediatrician for your "one-month" visit.  We found out you now weigh 9lbs 13oz, up from 5lbs 15oz at birth.  Looks like all that eating is paying off.

The nurse had to do the measurements two to three times because she thought she was measuring wrong, but it turns out you are growing that fast.

It's great news because it means that all the work you and your mom are doing is paying off.  And you're chubby and cute...

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

badass grizzly warriors of Astoria

Dear Chicken Nugget,

This afternoon when I came home from work I found your mom on the couch, holding you, and looking more tired than I've ever seen her.  She communicated in a series of twitches and grunts that she was tired, hadn't napped at all today, and needed sleep now.

I've been to Yellowstone National Park a couple of times and have read the manuals on what to do when you encounter a grizzly bear.  Basically, you assess the situation and your surroundings, you calmly and slowly back away, and you keep your pepper spray ready to shoot.

That's how I treated this encounter.  I swooped you up, placed you in the Ergo carrier, and slowly backed out of the room.  I took you for a nice long walk so that the momma bear could get her nap.

As we walked down the streets of Astoria, you sleeping soundly at my chest, I noticed another gentleman carrying his baby in a carrier.  As he walked by he smiled and nodded.  I nodded back.  Then, a couple of blocks later, another guy with an Ergo walked by, baby at his chest, and dry cleaning folded over one arm.  In the hour and forty minutes that you and I spent zig-zagging our way through the neighborhood I counted five guys carrying their babies.

But, here's the interesting part: they were carrying their babies alone.  Somehow, between 5:25pm and 7:05pm six guys from the same neighborhood found themselves carrying their babies in some sort of baby carrier with no partner in sight.

It made me wonder if they too had encountered a sleep-deprived momma bear back in the home cave.  This is going to sound corny, but every time I passed one of those guys there was a nod or wave exchanged.  It's like we belonged to a club that the rest of the neighborhood wasn't cool enough to know about.

Early on in my running career when I was stupidly starting to train for my first marathon, I experienced something similar.  When running in New York City you often end up running by another runner.  This is no big deal.  It happens many times during a run.  Sometimes you make eye contact and acknowledge one another and sometimes they run by as if you barely exist.  It's New York, that's just how it is.

But, on one cold, rainy Fall day I had to go out for a long run and the weather wasn't supposed to get any better; I either did my long run in the rain or I waited a day and ran my long run in the rain.  So, I suited up and got myself going.  As I ran that day something special started to happen.  Fools Folks running by, and there were few that day, actually waved and called out a "hey!" or "hello."  It's as if we belonged to some ridiculous cold rain running club.  It made me feel a little badass.

Of course, this...

...doesn't look badass, Nugget.  But it is.

What looks like just a regular guy carrying his baby around the neighborhood is actually a warrior who probably managed to narrowly escape the charge of a momma grizzly.

At least, that's how I felt.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa



[PS - Readers of Dear Chicken Nugget may have noticed an ad for BabyEtte on the side bar.  We love their products!  Although I mentioned carrying Nugget in the Ergo today, we also have a wrap and a sling from BabyEtte and we love wearing our little Nugget around the house and 'hood.  They're a small family-owned business and we highly recommend them for your baby-wearing needs.]

Happy One Month!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you turn one month old in the outside world.  Happy Month Day!

You are growing so fast!  It's incredible to think that just one month ago we were meeting you for the first time. You were such a skinny, sleepy little Nugget then and now you're this chubby, grunting little wide-awake guy.  Except for in this picture:

Some of our family showed up to celebrate your month among us.  You slept through the entire event.  Your cousin Luanha, who is ten months old, came by to meet you for the first time.  She was one of your mom's first doula babies.  It was fun seeing you together for the first time and wondering what the future holds for you both.

We've had a wonderful first month with you, Nugget.  And, God willing, we look forward to another fifteen hundred months with you.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

our feet

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I have the terrible burden of telling you about our feet.  I say our feet because, even though it's a little early, it looks like you inherited my feet.  Your feet look like miniature versions of mine.  Sorry about that.

My feet are a size 10.5, sometimes even an 11.  They are ridiculously flat and carry long skinny toes.  Actually my second toes are as long as the pinkies on my hands.  My littlest toe (the pinky toe) has a perpetual hangnail.  And, due to the last six years of running, I also bear some rough spots, callouses, and other marks of a runner's foot.

Despite all this, I think I have some pretty good looking feet.  Your mom disagrees.  She seems to think my feet look like built-in flippers. 

Mom can get away with it, but don't let anyone else tell you that your feet are ugly, abnormal, or inhuman.  Sure, they're not biomechanically efficient and may prevent you from becoming an Olympian but I think you have mighty fine looking feet.

Plus, your arches may still form in a year or two.  So, unlike your dad, you still have a chance.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

stupid mountain climbing

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Just one week ago we had dinner with you, your grandparents Sue and Dale, and your Great Uncle Steve and Aunt Angelique at our favorite restaurant, Vesta.  At just two weeks old you slept through 2 1/2 hours of dinner, crowded restaurant noise, and loud background music.  You did great!

At some point in the conversation, Uncle Steve reminded your mom and I of the time we went to visit him in Albuquerque, New Mexico and went on a hike in the Sandia Mountains.  It reminded me of the poor choices your mom and I may have made in our "youth."  Climbing the mountains that day may have been one of the stupidest things we've done...

It started on a cool spring day in April when we decided to head to the mountains for a hike.  The Sandia Mountains seem to just be out of arm's reach when viewed from most of Albuquerque and as soon as we arrived there I wanted to climb them.

Uncle Steve, your Grandma Sue's older brother, is an avid hiker and skier.  He gave us a good route to climb, let us borrow two cars to park at the start and end of our planned hike, and let us borrow his hiking poles.  We were all set.

Until we arrived at the base of the mountains.  There was only one other car parked in the lot when we arrived but we decided that this was probably due to it being a weekday.  We saw the lady from the other car take off ahead of us and figured we'd have company on the trail. We never encountered her again.

As we hiked up the slow grade of the base we came upon snow on the ground.  Just some light patches of melting snow.  For a brief moment we thought about what that meant for the rest of the trail but decided that the snow might disappear later in the trail.  (Note to the future hiker in you: If there's snow at the base, there's definitely snow in the middle and snow at the top).  We simply followed the footprints left before us, thinking that someone had already climbed there, so we would be able to as well.

As we climbed on the snow got deeper.  First just a few inches, then later covering our boots.  We had not planned for large amounts of snow so we were wearing just regular hiking boots and jeans.  Nothing waterproof.  Uncle Steve had told us that a brisk pace he could do the trail in about two hours or so.  Two hours into it we were definitely not at the top and, from our viewpoint, could not see the top. 

There were parts where the trail narrowed and just off the edge you could see evergreen tree tops.  If we slipped and fell, it would be a long way down and there would be no one around to help us.  It started hitting me then that if something happened to either of us, it would be at least two hours before we got back to the parking lot to get help.  Plus, our cell phones had no signal on the side of the mountain.

Our legs started sinking into two feet of snow.  The footprints that we had been following disappeared and were replaced by snowshoe prints.  We were moving at a snail's pace.  But we kept on.  Three hours into the hike we decided that since we had gone this far, we were going to keep pushing to the top.  There were several areas where your mom and I had to lift one another out of the snow just to be able to place our next step.  We were wet, we were cold and sweating, and we had no idea what we were doing.  Not smart.

When we finally reached the crest, about four hours later, the snowshoe prints we had been following disappeared.  There was no longer a clear path to follow.  And here is where we made the first smart decision of the day: instead of making our way across the crest, with no path or discernible prints to follow, we decided to turn back.  We briefly ate lunch at the top; where a cold wind and great view accompanied us.  Then, we made our way back down the mountain.

We followed our own steps and reenacted, against our will, a few of our favorite sinking-into-the-snow scenes.  It took us about three and a half hours to get down.  What should have taken us no more than four hours round-trip, took us seven and a half hours.  We survived but it was dumb.

There's something noble about pushing on to reach your goal, about moving forward against the odds, but there's also nothing noble in climbing a snowy mountain when you're thoroughly unprepared.

Over dinner that night, Uncle Steve told us about how they sometimes have to airlift climbers off the Sandia Mountains.  We were lucky that didn't happen to us.  And yes, it was luck, there's no skill involved in stupidity.

Glad to be alive and eternally yours,

Tu papa

the artwork in your room

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you are 19 days old and you're getting bigger and changing every day.  Using a home scale and a very unscientific method we recently weighed you in at a little over 7lbs.  Your hair is still there (woohoo!) and you're having more awake time each day.

You are making more eye contact though it's hard to tell what you can or cannot see with your infant eyes.  And so, that's why I'm writing this letter, to tell you about the artwork in your room:

This is called "Orange."  We bought it on East 8th Street in Manhattan at 2am one day this summer.  The elderly gentleman manning the table told us about how he has robots at home that make these prints for him.  All he does is put ideas into the machine and the robots spit these pieces of art out.  We bought it and walked away quickly.

Your mom made this painting using pastels.  She calls it "Curious Giraffe."  She used a painting she found on the internet and made it her own.  Your mom is artistically talented.  Unlike your dad...

 

This is one I made for you called "Orejon," inspired by the movie Dumbo.  As you can see, it is less skilled than your mother's painting, a little more cartoony, but made with equal amounts of love.

Your Aunt Sara made this.  She gave it to your mom a while back but we love the message and like to think that God planted you here.

And finally, one of my favorites that we bought at a store that for political reasons we're no longer aiming to shop at...

... you happened.

I hope that someday you'll enjoy these pieces on your own.  But if for some reason, like a move across the country, these pieces of artwork are lost, I want you to know that you enjoyed them in the early chapters of your life.  At least we did.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Work stinks

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Work stinks!  It's not the actual work, I love teaching, and I love teaching science.  It's the idea of "work" in general.

I went back to work full-time on Monday, September 20th, just 14 days after you were born.  It was rough.  It's still rough three days later.

I had to leave you and your mom at home.  I had to leave; that's where it gets tough.  I love spending time with you and your mom.  Even when you sleep, I enjoy just watching you.  So when I have to leave it breaks my heart.  I would much rather watch you sleep than go to work.

Luckily, your mom's parents, Grandma Sue and Grandpa Dale are here visiting for the week.  They've spent a good amount of time with you, playing with you, taking pictures of you, and watching you while your mom naps.  They've allowed your mom to rest during the day, they've made her lunch, and made sure that we have a good dinner.  We couldn't ask for more. 

It makes me a feel better knowing that there's loving people looking after you and your mom when I'm away during the day.  Still, you occupy my thoughts throughout the day.  During class, in between class, during lunch, after school, all my thoughts are with you and your mom.

When the day ends, I've been cramming in as much work as I can so that I don't have to take it home with me.  When I get home, I just want to spend time with my family.

It will continue to be hard, going to work, but I have to.  There's lots of diapers and baby wipes and doctor's visits that need to get paid for.  I don't mind working to help pay for those things since they're for you.  I just don't like that I have to leave you to do it.

Maybe I can become a virtual teacher some day...

Until then, I miss you tremendously.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa