Home is where the Bean is

Shes' right here next to me, wearing the same onesie with the rocket ships and moons that she has been wearing for the past two days, under the hoodie I brought home for her from the University. She's sort of just doing her thing, swinging her legs and looking around, jamming to the music that's playing from the tinny-sounding speakers under the computer.

She slept in today. She woke up without tears and crawled out of bed all on her own. From the doorway she stared at us, wide-eyed and alert, her voice hoarsely asking: Da-da? Da-da?

I ran my hands through her hair, telling her that she should do something with such a beautiful head of hair but she only snatches her head back and frowns at me: "No." Shakes her head and furrows her brows: "No."

I'm leaving soon.

It's a difficult fact to come to erms with sometimes. Knowing that she'll be here and I'll be away and that's soet of the way things are. I will definitely look forward to the summer but who knows if Mariana and mama-bear might just come over for a visit. Who knows.

I just wonder which teeth sahe'll be working on or which words she'll have added to her growing voacbulary. I wonder if I'll have grown closer to being that adult I speak so little of and make vague promises about.

Cross yourself he's coming. Be humble, Henry.

She's on the tippiest of tippy toes exploring cabinets and drawers throughout the house. I need to go enjoy these final hours because they'll have to last me what seems like a lifetime before I can refresh them.

good mornings slow to wake

Sorry for the overexposure of pictorial detail, I'm learning how to add them in and find I can't resist sharing so much of you, in all your glory of twiddling through the mundane day you seem sparkle and shine and incite cooing on my part. I never knew it would happen so easily, the habits of mothering.

We wiggle our way through books. We change the dirty diapers and you learn new signs and words, your brain is curious and in a constant growth spurt or acquiring new knowledge and scratching at new ideas. Your hair always sticks up in the morning, you resemble a baby Einstein. You'll help brush the front but you'll scream as I comb through the back rat tails. We work through them and layer on clothes for a morning walk.

From morning walks

When you smile big for the camera we can peek in to see your four proud teeth. There's another one poking through on the top side, nothing but a slit in your gums, someday you'll have a brilliant smile that will explode spontaneously at the smallest of things. Such is the amazement of seeing things through a child's eyes.

We walk the few blocks to the coffee shop where they roast the beans and drop the four quarters to fill our mug. We pet the beautiful puppy dogs and you yelp at them in excitement, doing signs, saying words, making noise. The dogs circle and sniff at you, wag their tails in approval.

On your chariot of the day, a stroller, we pile feathers, leaves, flowers, fabric scraps, mirrors, and whistles... magic for you to play with from here to there. But you uncover magic in the colors and sounds and feelings all around you.

From morning walks

From morning walks

Once at home we decide to adopt the abandoned bicycle that's been sitting on the corner of the yard and fix it up. Where it once lacked a seat there's now a plush pillow. You mastered straddling it so quickly, the whole of your family is excited for the day you can come along on bike rides by the ambition of your own two pedaling feet, not cozied behind in your mama's trailer.

From videos

Than we move into the backyard where you help dig holes to plant the broccoli sproutlings. You love making a mess of it and waiting for the excitement of watering.

From videos

And now the mornings meditations of this and that and the beautiful slow process of waking up unwinds into a long list of things to be gotten done. The boring details on the side of taking care of you: rent, childcare applications, errand running, grocery shopping, food making, gift making, school projects, phone calling, worker hasseling things.

Mama's school is close to over for the semester and winter holidays are fast encroaching. Eight days your father will be home, maybe you'll learn to say "daddy," as you've taken to calling all your caretakers "mama," with the exception of your your Nona, you learned her name quickly as you always look forward to her visits.

And what do you think of all these fusses we make over you and all the speculations and enchantments? You could care less, its time for a snack.

From morning walks

Bird Beak

It's Thanksgiving soon Mammas!

Baw-KAwwwww!

Bean Sprouts

"Mariana was practicing walking with her nona she started taking four steps at a time all on her own, she amazed everyone we all applauded"

from Brooke 11:01pm via SMS

The sound of one more pair of hands clapping is not heard, but they definitely applauded for our little Mariana bean.

This phone of mines has a couple of stuck buttons and plenty of scratches on its exterior, so I wouldn't say I am quite attached to it. Still, I am somewhat protective of it, watching for it to make a noise, to tell me to check it because I have a message like this or a phone call.

My window into Mariana's life opens and closes. Welcome breezes drift in, and Mariana is refreshed in my imagination. Not every aspect of her growth and development can be included in such a small, pixelated video or dark picture, but the attempt is so valuable to me.

I forget that Mariana has only pictures of me and so I connected my webcam and opened the window for Mariana from my end.

Mostly I heard her say "Mama? .... Mama?"

Brooke said she would smile.

I could only hear her and see my own face, grey in a small box in the corner of my screen, imagining what she must be thinking. Though Brooke is holding her, neither of us can yet imagine what she thinks.

Though I'm told that Mariana is developing modes of communication, so perhaps soon her mother and I will hear what's on our bean's mind.

This is a show for her. I make faces and I hear her respond as I imagine her pointing to the screen.

I can only hear her. I cannot see her.

Bittersweet is the knowledge that she is growing without me around. I can settle for a myriad of truths about it: she is healthy and growing, she is brilliant and curious....

Perhaps among the most difficult truths is that she is able to grow without me.

Another, that I am far away and finishing school.

While Mariana points and asks "Mama?" there are still others in her life who question the path I have chosen, so far away from Mariana.

Admittedly, it doesn't make much sense to be far away from such a wonderful little girl, especially when she is so curious to know why her father is talking to her from the computer screen instead of playing with her everyday.

Time with Mariana is for me a luxury. Time for me at University slows and quickens without me noticing these changes. 'How do we make parenting work from so far away?' is a question Brooke and I have asked ourselves perhaps more than other, more discouraging inquirers would. Time, again becomes the answer to the very questions posed because of it.

Q: What do I make of the time I spend away from my daughter?

A: In time I will know. In time... in time....

While you ask, I am formulating my answer, one day at a time.

One tallied day at a time, I attempt to make the best of this distance.

07-portishead-deep_water.mp3

Studying for a quiz Today

I was kneading the dough for an apple pie crust. I had cored and peeled apples, and they were on the fire, swimming in a syrup tasting of cinnamon. This would be the second time I had baked something.

The first was Mariana's carrot cake.

The same carrot cake which I almost dropped onto the concrete outside the apartment, but miraculously landed frosting-side up. It lived to hold up Mariana's single birthday candle and receive compliments from her guests.

A little bit more water. This was going to be a dry crust.

I had taken over the pie without anybody telling me to. This was a recipe from the internet, but it was my project, buzzing from one end to the communal kitchen to the other, rinsing, mixing, kneading, etc.

It's hard not to talk about myself when all I have out here is pictures and memories of a beautiful daughter.

I was baking and eating, but all the same, I was looking over my shoulder and to the floor. This is where she would sit and play. This is when she would hang onto to my shins protesting the lack of full attention on her. This is when I would mush up a couple of apple slices and add cinnamon and place it in front of her to play with most of it and eat a little bit of it from time to time.

This is when I would show her what I was doing.

This is how I would explain to her why I was so far away.

She won't remember the taste of her birthday cake and as for the pie, I already remember what I want to do differently, how I want to make the pie better using the limited supplies I have available.

At 12:45p, I'll go and carry an old bicycle wheel to the campus coffee shop for an interview. I must convince the interviewers that I am capable of successfully showing them how to do something, which in this case will be removing the inner tube from this old bike wheel. I leave it at that because I am allotted 2-3 minutes and I do not want to go over the time limit.

My fingers are still black from practicing the demonstration and I don't feel as nervous. The interview has nothing to do with bicycles-- it has to do with teaching high school students about positive life decisions and the consequences of bad ones. If all goes well, I'll train to visit schools below the poverty line, giving demonstrations on one of several topics ranging from alcohol abuse to positive relationships.

Ironically, Mariana is very much a product of not following the advice of similar presentations (e.g. safe sex), but I am confident that I can effectively present a message.

There is a lot I do not know about parenting. I am still trying to figure out fatherhood from such a distance, but in the meantime, it shouldn't hurt to prepare myself with answers to those awkward and unasked questions Mariana might approach me with one day.

Or maybe it could do with pie or bicycles or even bugs.

Why bugs have aposomatic coloration, or that luciferine and luciferase combine with oxygen to produce a "cold" light.

Facts float around my head and I make an effort to arrange them and remember them somehow. Memories float around too, but I make little effort to arrange them and instead let them fly around, signalling to me that I will soon be with her again.

Far away. Far away. Soon. Soon.

Rooted

I forgot how far each house I've lived in is from every one. Small as Sacramento is, each house has felt as though there were nothing but road and the forgotten details of the background and a blur of routine.

I took Brooke and Mariana out to Mather where I used to walk around and enjoy the air, but other than that, I never really drove out to homes occupied by strangers now or schools attended by new generations of I've-once-been-there-ages. My foot only pressed to gas pedal down towards places we've been around and were going to.

Mariana leaves the only home she's known soon. She will be happier, and will soon learn to share her mother's excitement as she has plenty more room to nurture her budding senses. She began taking a few steps the other day. Thrilled as Br

ooke and I were, it was just another baby thing for Mariana. The rest of us sit and watch as she grows, making the present our collective past as we all press forward with our routines. These are her moments just as the past was filled with my very own moments.

25th street. Countryfield drive. 25th street. Haveshill Way. E. 60th street. Four different streets, four different worlds.

We're leaving the world in which I attribute specific memories from. Mariana crawls on, taking a shot at a step or two as we figure everything else out.

Goodbye to the past, we'll remember you as best we can.

One day Mariana, we'll go around and I'll show you where Daddy came from. Just like you, Daddy started with the same roots.

I kneaded you...

Sometimes we need things, but settle for kneading bread instead.

I feel the break Feel the break Feel the break and I got to live it up Oh yeah huh

Record: I'm speaking into a tape recorder, trying to fill it up. How much Daddy can I fill a tape with?

Playback: I listen to my music more often now that I'm free to pace around my room and figure my life out one assignment at a time. So many songs playing back, some of them making me pause, surprised that I had once said or thought the same lyric.

I can walk down the street thinking: I'm not the only one. I'm not the only one.

Archive: This really is history in the making, albeit a very, very small part of a much larger whole.

"bye bye baby bunting, daddy's gone a hunting...

to catch some education and stability to wrap baby bunting in."

I'm not really sure what the Politically Correct upgraded interpretation is of old lullabies my mama used to sing to me, or why they never acknowledged a mother's work and why I didn't ask more questions when I was younger.

In any regard, your father set out on his journey that he committed to before he and I ever met, or ever knew there would ever be a you. He enters his third year at the University of Chicago now more committed than ever to you and his pursuit of being the best provider he can be as a father. Your ambuela and ambuelo and I all said our goodbyes with proud smiles and quiet tears and many kisses on the forehead. At the airport we waited standing at the gates until the last recognizable sign of daddy had been lost in the crowds of busy people going busy places. We'll visit Chicago someday soon when he graduates.

We all spent a gluttonous summer of adoring you while adapting to learning how to not just support you but each other as well. This summer has been a painful lesson of evolving to the needs of life and neglecting the wants.

Dear Mariana, while I am often overwhelmed at your genius curiosity, your beautiful voice, your strong determination, your shining approval I am sometimes also overwhelmed at the many many responsibilities of parenting and schooling. I've never felt so terribly insecure and determined all at once. Everyday there is a long list of things to do that never quite resolves itself into a satisfied picture of success. But each day I am working to improve myself. I often remind myself to relax and spend time with you, tell you about the day and the struggles and the hopes; and like a muse you always leave me feeling relieved and inspired afterwards. One day at a time I build myself up to be someone you can be proud of, because one day you will be the cheerleader at my graduation.

When you were younger I signed for you more vigilently the basic needs and worries, I wanted us to understand eachother. Now in an ASL class I am sad that I let these better intentions fall to the wayside. Sometimes I sing to you in signs, it seems to relax your fussy pants moods. When I get better I'll try signing this one to you, daddy can sign along.

my heart is as big as a house

We've been living in small spaces with questionable neighbors and resident home-bums that reside in the parking lot of the complex... it might be too early to dream but perhaps we will live in a house soon with a backyard with a pumpkin patch already growing and a porch for us to sit n drinking lemonade and chit-chatting.

Your father will be leaving soon and maybe it is time we move out of this shell of a home.

...buy me some peanuts and crackerjack...

I recently saw the As lose to the Yankees in Oakland. I had wanted to see the As play the White Sox in Chicago, but because anything from school work to the weather kept me on campus, I was never able to take the trip down to see a game.

Andrew and I had planned to pack up the Toyota and drive out to Oakland and watch a game We had good seats, and I was feeling good: I was able to wear a sweater for the first time in months.

I wasn't paying attention to the game the way Andrew was, who was calling out the players by name, and leaning in to me to talk about the batters and pitchers as if I would have a valid response. This is when I remembered that the last time I had seen the As play was when my father took me, my sister, and two of her friends to most of a game. We had arrived late and left when the As lost to... I don't remember who.

That was kind of it though: what did I remember and had I forgotten about going out to the ball game?

I didn't remember wading through crowds or the exorbitant prices for a measly cup of fries.

I do remember sitting in the sunshine and looking around the field to figure out what was going on. I remember eating tostadas while my grandpa made jokes about catching the ball with a big foam Athletics #1 hand.

I remember sitting by my father and feeling really good about not being the only one who had no idea what was going on with the game.

"Any family that stays together goes to the baseball game!" shouts Andrew. "One day we'll take little girl to the game."

The most intimidating thing about going to games is coming to terms with the fact that I have no real idea what is going on. I've played these games before in the school yards and in the parks, but it took a lot of effort to learn the game and its rules. It was always difficult to want to learn with the prepubescent shouts of would-be athletes at recess.

I don't know what it is that attracts me to the games then. I normally don't like being within large crowds, but within the ball park, I don't mind nudging elbows, rubbing butts trying to squeeze through the aisles or peeing in the tub-like urinals.

There are smells in the air and there is excitement. Two opposing teams which consist of people who are hired to play the game compete. Not quite a clash of the titans, but for some, sure, the competition between two teams is just that.

When I sit with Mariana through a game, mostly I imagine I'd watch the crowd with her, pointing to people, things and whatever else exciting happens in the game. After all, I don't have to know how to play to know when to cheer, laugh, or yell with the rest of them.

One day I'll take her to a few games. Baseball, basketball, heck maybe I'll even take her to a regatta.

At least there is one sport I know the rules of and compete in!

long days

It's official eleven months of you growing, eleven months of me learning about the elusive struggles of parenting. First alone just between you and me, and then together between you, me, and papa makes three. It doesn't get easier either, just different. For every celebration of a new milestone and a new strength there comes with it a new challenge to confront that wasn't there before to consider and regard. And so we celebrate the beauty of your strengths and the collide of your budding independence and pride.

We're growing too, though you probably haven't noticed. Walking the fine line of who we used to be and who we want to be, working with what we've got towards who we ought to be and doing the best not to contradict our values or underestimate our goals. It's a long journey and I dearly hope you won't hold it forever against us that we weren't better prepared for task.

It takes a lot of work to get something for free. Long days, long lines, long winded bureaucratic reasons. A class, a lecture, a piece of paper, a number, a call that leads to a call that leads to a call that leads to a waiting list, and the question wondering why I didn't start sooner.

Today we thought we'd begin to realize that we'll have to send you to childcare. I wish we could wait, I've never had to be away from you for that long. I'd never choose it. What if we have to settle for what's available instead of what's quality, instead of what's right. While I've considered creating a co-operative there doesn't seen to be the interest/community/demand... but I'll start rallying the masses and see what the results are. I know there are others that struggle with the same institutions and there's no reason to feel victimized when it could be the opportunity to set out to create a collaborative that meets everyone's needs and helps alleviate the burdened hearts we bury in gratitude for having mediocre services available.

Eleven months and things are starting to feel more like they're falling into place where they belonged a long time ago, although no one had the courage to acknowledge it then.

I admit I'm still terrified of the many things I have yet to face in this journey. I grew up below the poverty line, didn't even have anything to compare it to until I was eighteen. I didn't mean for this to be your beginning, so sad, so shameful, so single. But we are fighting for a future set in stronger foundations. We are building ourselves up to be worthy of your pride. A few days ago your father made me a promise, (he usually forbids himself from giving into promising anything until he is more than certain he can deliver). He promised that you will not need these institutions in your life, that you won't grow up afraid and feeling guilty for your hunger. That he doesn't blame me for needing it now, but that you won't. Small tokens that mean the world on painful days. Long days.

Long days of wondering what love is afforded or deserved. But knowing that we love you with all our heart.

Happy eleven months of shining and guiding!!!

Restroom

Of the two stalls in the restroom outside my room in Dodd-Mead house, I always preferred to use the stall closest to the wall because it felt much more secluded than its neighbor.

I had just received my mother's phone in the mail. It was now mine. My Subscriber Identity Model (SIM) card made it mine. The phone slides up to reveal a full keyboard and a small camera.

Hunched over with my pants around my ankles, I would look over the 20+ pictures of Mariana over and over. These few images were about all I had from my daughter. I could only visit her vicariously through family and friends whose chance encounters with my daughter were brief.

Though I excreted, I remained emotionally constipated.

It was a huge change to have more than pictures, pixelated video, and sound bytes of Mariana. She's right there, in front of me.


I've tried keeping a blog updated before, and I've found it hard to do because there is often nothing interesting to share or if there is, I prefer to keep it private and unwritten.

With Mariana, it's hard to choose what to write about because a day spent as simply as sitting at the apartment most of the day affords so many views into Mariana's developing world.

Is this what being a parent is about? Any time I have something to talk about, it is a normal occurrence in people's lives, but it is my little Mariana whose poop the day before smelled like a full turkey dinner.

She was the one who became an expert roller-over.

Her laughs are what I love waking up to as my mind plays catch-up with the day's hour.

She just went camping, there is a wealth of material right there.

Goodness, goodness, goodness. What a change:

Small pictures in a small bathroom stall then, being peed on by a naked Mariana sitting atop a boulder overlooking the mountains and river streams now.

The Motorway

Flying into Sacramento, I knew that I would not be able to drive around without another licensed motorist, i.e. either of my parents. I had failed to pass the behind the wheel portion of the license exam twice, but on the third, I emerged barely victorious, having used up all fifteen of my allowed mistakes. The examiner tallied the penalties, told me to be more aware, and I headed inside to take my picture.

I am a new driver on the road and I am surprised how comfortable I've become driving around. I was always nervous about driving around our daughter since I could barely manage to drive myself around without breaking into a nervous sweat. Just yesterday, however, I drove. Grandparents, mama, and little Mariana packed into the truck (manual transmission) and we headed towards the bay area without my driving anyone off the road.

Mr. Cool Breeze: I felt so good driving I didn't even feel the need to keep both hands on the wheel. Nice and smooth, I was comfortable even through heavy traffic.

I felt bad for Mariana though, because this is the longest car ride I have ever been in with her and when she's grumpy, even the stretch of Highway 50 between New Dawn and V st is unbearable to her.

Brooke: "I mostly nursed her on the way there, that's probably why she was mostly quiet."

I had mostly become tense for the destination and not so much the drive there.

We were visiting my Abuelita's grave. It was the first time I had been ever been able to visit.

I had hoped that Mariana and Abuelita Norma would be able to meet, but cancer claimed her life on April 9, 2008. I was still in Chicago with a lot on my mind.

On July 17, 2009, Mariana and I sat in front of Abuelita Norma's grave and I couldn't say much more to Mariana other than "this is your Great-Grandma Mariana. You would have loved her too."

On the cemetery lawn, Mariana played with a clover she had picked, enjoying the open space, the nearby geese, and all the flowers adorning the heads of these plaques in the ground. It was strange seeing so many representatives of people that once were, and that a person I had been so close to was now laying among them. Seeing the plaque reading TELLEZ, our loss had become so sharp and so real. Mariana had to go play with Brooke for a while while I spent some time alone with my Abuelita.

I know that I too will one day go and rest among the eternally sleeping. I will one day have to leave my beautiful daughter and trust that her life will continue to be just as rich and fulfilling. I hope for so much in my finite time, I realize that there is much work to do.

I have chosen to return to Chicago to complete my remaining two years at the University of Chicago. It pains me that my departure, albeit temporary, is approaching. Conversely, I am filled with so much optimism for this decision and for the man I am becoming as the journey towards these remaining two years continues.

It was very difficult and awkward leaving my daughter the autumn she was born. Back then, there had been so many unspoken conversations and many more miscommunications. The road forward looked steep and unforgiving. 2008-2009 had left my shoulders two hunched rocks on either side of my neck: I had felt so much weight over my shoulders and a constant stream of uncertainties and consequent heartbreaks.

Though I've lost a wonderful Abuelita, I am much more whole. The clouds hurdling over the mountains opposite the cemetery blocked any view of the horizon. Strangely, through the clouds, the future had never seemed to clear to me.

I know the things I must do. I know it could mean more tension in my shoulders and deeper bags under my eyes, but there are sacrifices to be made.

The nonexistence of my Abuelita leaves us all wondering what it is she would have been happy to see and what would have made her proud. She loved all her family, but if her favor fell on any of us, we felt so honored because her opinion mattered so so much to us all. I don't know that the path I'm on is necessarily what any of my family would like for me.

I do know however, that my Abuelita was always interested to hear about what I was doing. I had flown the coup. I was among the first in the family to head off to school, and the first to have gone so far away from home to do so. I have two years of University under my belt and a 10 month old Mariana.

In her own, private sort of way, I think she would be proud.

You would have been able to see it in her eyes.

Ignition. Brake check. Mirrors and seat belts. Headlights. Let's go.

Day in the Life of Mariana: Breakfast

Teething

There is a little tooth punching its way out of Mariana's little gums.

Toothless wonder: she has no teeth, yet she has one of the brightest and most beautiful smiles.

Brooke has been anticipating this little bud since Mariana was three months old, while I was away contemplating not just about the one specific tooth, but the entire Mariana who had been such a mystery to me for so many months.

Watching her sleep, I find that I am grateful for the few minutes of leisure time while she lays with her eyes half-open and swaying like ice in a water glass. I am grateful for so much, especially for the short amount of time I have had with her (one-third of my allotted summer break), though I wish it was more.

Brooke wrote to me saying that "our histories are written into our bodies," which I had agreed to when I peered over my limbs: some scars here and there, and much more muscle than I had remembered ever having. Until September 12, 2008, our histories were exclusive to our own bodies when Mariana came into this world and showed us that our collected history could cry, pee, and poop.

Like Mariana's tooth, her beginnings do not start to show right here and now, but with time, her mother and I hope not to knife out Mariana's history in a gruesome sort of way, but let it bud out and grow naturally, without forcing anything we aren't ready to show or admit.

I have always told people that Mariana already has quite the story, and until she can tell it herself, here we are, Brooke and I, laying out what went down once upon a time and what is going down right here in the now.

As Mariana continues to sleep, I hope I do not do the same: I hope to become disciplined about updating from my end because I am a father; whether I am near or far, asleep or awake, there is a little girl who I have helped create and for whom I am going towards the Midwest to make something of myself. I am one more father who must go far away, and not another father who merely forgets about his spawn.

Twenty years old, full-time university student, varsity rower, young adult, and papa,

Signing off.