34

Late on Tuesday night my odometer finished its slow turn from 33 to 34. Another year older, another year [fill in the blank].

We celebrated simply and appropriately. I was greeted with "happy birthday daddy!", followed closely by "can I have cake?" Then a nice family dinner, of sorts--even when we intend to sit down and eat altogether, I feel like either Natalia or I is always feeding one of the kids, and we end up grabbing bites of food when we can--before doing the nighttime routine and putting Andres and Celia to bed.

[Aside: My sister--a frequent reader of this blog--called to wish me a happy birthday in the middle of Andres' bathtime. She asked what plans Natalia and I had to celebrate my birthday; I responded that a night on the couch just watching TV, answering old personal emails, and relaxing sounded perfect. She was surprised that we were not doing anything more exciting, like opening a bottle of wine...I just laughed, and tried to convince her, probably unsuccessfully, that with two kids, a night on the couch just watching TV, answering old personal emails, and relaxing was a pretty awesome thing indeed, wine or no wine.]

My Larry Bird year was a good one. Last September 7 Natalia was very pregnant, and we were chasing a two-year-old Andres all around the house. (He was a little smaller and slower then.) I broke my ankle two weeks later, which made chasing Andres very difficult for a few days--especially that one time he decided it would be funny to run down Turner St and hide in front of Cappy's while his dad crutched feverishly after him. (I think he got a little scared when he saw that I wasn't right behind him, and in the 2 minutes he spent in front of a vacant Cappy's at 8am, perhaps he regretted his decision a bit.) Then Celia was born...everyone rejoiced, and we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas with one more seat at the dinner table (figuratively, of course).

Natalia stayed home for the first few months and then, finally, it was my turn to play the role of primary caretaker in March. I had been looking forward to this period for a loooong time but I was still a bit nervous. Did I really know what I was getting into? Did I really know what to do?

I think I figured it out pretty quick. On days when Andres was at daycare I changed a lot of very small diapers, made early morning trips to Russo's, cooked, and enjoyed the beautiful weather of spring with my newborn daughter. I cleaned a bit. I even read. And I started blogging! (6 months and counting, thank you very much.) On days when Andres was not at daycare I tried to survive--and I eventually learned the beauty of getting in the car and going places, which had the twin benefits of (a) getting out of the house and (b) guaranteeing me some quiet time while my kids conked out in the car.

The 10 weeks went by slowly, in a good way. By the time I returned to work in May I felt like I had gained some distance from my computer--certainly my inbox, which I had not checked in 9 weeks--and it took me about a month to really get back in the swing of 9-5. I still marked time by Celia's schedule...an 11 o'clock meeting? That was right in the middle of her morning nap. 2 pm phone call? That was around prime stroller or playing time, just after she had eaten.

Soon it was summer and I was back at work full time. It was a glorious three months of weather, and we watched lots of Revolution matches, played a lot of ultimate, went to Wildwood, and caught up with friends and family most weekends. My ultimate team had our best-ever finish at the Summer Club Tourney (Div II runner up!). Celia started swimming lessons (and Andres continued them, moving into the "no parents in water" group). And now here we are, at the turning of the seasons, another school year beginning. Me a year older with one more child (a daughter! I'm so screwed in 12 years) to come home to every day. Aside from my broken ankle, it has been a wonderful and blessed year.

I begin my Paul Pierce year reducing my hours at work--I'm going down to 80% in order to stay home with the kids on Fridays. (Though I am looking forward to this immensely, truly immensely, the decision to do this is born more from necessity than desire--we only have daycare for 4 days a week!)

Today was my first solo weekday home with Andres and Celia since the middle of May. I forgot how much effort it takes to do anything with two kids...and I was also reminded that my kids are often waiting for me to get my own life together before we get to go do anything. We took it easy, heading to my parents house for lunch, before spending the late afternoon in the same way that we have spent so many afternoons this summer--playing outside with Jasmine. In coming weeks I hope to resume taking daytrips with Andres and Celia.

Compared to the amount of growth that occurs from years 0 to 1 or 2 to 3, moving from 33 to 34 hardly seems significant. Yet perhaps that is the significant piece; it makes me appreciate the rapid pace of growth of my kids, whose birthdays are rare and jubilant occasions, and which are such significant milestones. It's much more exciting to celebrate the birthday of a loved one than one's own, after all.