Wes Ai-Yu Narucki

As many of you know, we have been considering 3 names for the baby boy for a long time. Clyde, Wes or Ellis. We solicited opinions throughout the pregnancy and while there was no clear front runner, "Clyde" received the most intense negative reactions. Julia refused input on our three selections, except to say that Ellis was a girl's name (Alice and Ella). Her choices were Baby Jesus (a favorite of hers after learning the nativity story this year) and Picture Picture Mama Mama (I have no idea). We thought she'd forget about the name Baby Jesus by February, but she consistently kept it as a contender. In fact, when cousins Lorenzo and Joaquin came to visit and called the baby Mitchin (as they have for the past 6 months), Julia argued, "But his name is Baby Jesus."

As with the naming of Julia, we waited until the last possible minute to make a decision -when having to fill out the paperwork to leave the hospital. In our despair, we did consider "Jesus Mitchin Narucki." Julia finally decided to weigh in on the real choices and selected Wes. So there's the story. (We'll ignore the part where we made her indecisive (call him Clyde, we just want to hear you say Baby Clyde . . .) and she told us that the baby actually wanted to be named Ellis and then that she thought Clyde was a good name).

A New Addition - No, not the "Cool It Now" kind

After a 12-hour induction, most of which was spent watching March Madness and 2 movies, Carol triumphantly pushed out our newest addition at 11:01PM . Measuring in at 8lbs. 15oz. and 22 inches, it's no wonder he took so long to come out. Anyhow, here are some pics.

Paranoid Learning

(As I wait to hear from the hospital as to when I can go in to get labor induced, I figure I should try to write one last post completely centered around the little girl)

"Stop, Daddy. That's Dangerous."

In his attempts to get Julia to appreciate juvenille male humor, Wayne is jokingly putting fingers up his nose. Wayne laughs, and respectfully obliges Julia's instruction.

"Now go wash your hands daddy."

Julia has been preoccupied with germs and cleanliness for the past month. I think they did some lessons at school and we happened to find what we thought was a cute book from the library, "Germs," about a little germ named Pox, who doesn't like to infect kids like all the other bad germs. Pox helps a little girl's immune system thwart the evil intentions of other bad germs and becomes a celebrated hero. Julia is quite enamored of him. But she is currently very concerned about washing her hands (which is a great thing, I know!) so that she doesn't get a rash. She will ask you before and after you go to the bathroom whether you washed your hands.

In the procrastination period after bedtime stories, but before she falls asleep, Julia talks about sickness. How she doesn't want anyone to get sick. What happened to the Strep germ that infected her uncle? Her belief that Uncle Eddie got better after eating the Ginger Snap cookies that she made with her daddy. Her concern that her cough will never go away without medicine. Why won't we give her medicine? The latest escapades of her immune system (the Germs books cutely depicts your immune system as a miniature armored army of little yous).

We all helped create Julia's paranoia with our explanations of why we get sick, why we wash our hands, etc. I wonder if you can instruct without creating these obsessions. But I'm reminded of all that gets lost in translation when you communicate with a child. I remember forgoing cereals for probably 2 years after watching some health video in second grade. I don't know what that video was really about, but I remember it showing microscopic bugs that eat cereal. I was horrified at the thought of eating those bugs when eating cereal. I'm pretty sure I never explained this to my parents - I just told them I didn't want cereal.

I'm not too worried about raising an OCD kid - I've already seen her outgrow some obsessive behaviors, like needing every door to every room closed at all times. But I'm just reminded to try and be a little careful with how we explain things.

The Girl Spider Died And Isn't Here Anymore

In our home, we have photos of our grandparents who are no longer with us. On occasion, we have shown Julia these pictures so she understands that her nana, baba and gong gong also had moms and dads. We've tried to casually explain that they died and are not here with us anymore and she hasn't asked any further questions.

At school, with the kids who are already into superheroes, I think Julia has further picked up the words of kill and die and death. Not sure what she thinks it all means though.

When our fish died recently, I thought she might be ready to hear that it died. But when I told her, she asked me if it jumped out of its bowl and ran away. So I made the instant decision to back away from truth and replied yes, it went to visit its cousins.

During our recent vacation in Aruba, when Wayne or I would push the buttons on the safe and it would beep, she would yell at us, "If you push the buttons, you will die!"

A few days ago, Wayne and I looked at old photos with his parents while Julia was in the other room watching Little Einsteins. Occasionally we would show her a picture of Bertha's or Ed's parents and Bertha and Ed as children. We did not put it in any context of death or absence, but as we were getting ready to leave, she started singing a made up, repetitious song, "I don't know why you died, I don't know why you died."

Later that night, she drew a picture of a spider with 30-some legs and said, "This is a girl spider who died and isn't here anymore. Do you remember her? I miss her. . . . "

I responded, "But she had a happy life with friends and family. And they will always remember her." Some point later in the conversation, I mentioned that everyone dies.

Julia, with bright eyes and a wide smile, "But I'm not going to die."

Me: Oh really? (awkward parenting moment). Yes, you are going to live a very long happy life.

Julia: Baba's mom died and isn't here anymore.

Me: We're lucky she took care of Baba when he was a little boy. Baba is so happy his mommy loved him and Uncle Frankie and Aunt Rose.

* * *

Julia: Nana and Baba are not going to die. I need them to play with me.

Nana and Baba are active and healthy (thank goodness), but tears fill my eyes and I'm not sure if it's just me or pregnancy hormones. I can't say anything. I just smile and hug her.

I think I'll delay our plan to start celebrating the Chinese New Year tradition of paying homage to one's ancestors with a "mini-shrine" of pictures, food and incense. I'm not prepared for the sudden increase in the degree of difficulty of Julia's questions.

Snow Day

Snow is a lot of work . . . for Wayne. I don't do much shoveling, especially these days. But snow is a lot of fun too. Julia gets to enjoy snow angels, sledding/tubing, snowman building and snowflake eating - stuff I never got to do as a kid. In college, when passing playgrounds in the winter, I remember thinking that it is so much easier growing up in CA, never having to bundle up to go outside and play. That remains true, but there are perks to growing up in the northeast.

We went into a local knick knack store with Christmas Village houses, figurines, etc. There was one depicting the making of snow angels and Julia was intrigued. It's the first thing she wanted to do when it snowed.



We were unprepared when the snow fell - without a sled or waterproof mittens for Julia. We went to Sports Authority to get a sled, but they only had snow tubes. So Wayne went to Target in the same mall area and when he went back to Sports Authority because there were no sleds at Target either, he estimated that 10 or 15 tubes had been purchased in the 20 minutes he was gone. We weren't the only ones desperate to have fun with the snow.

Some kids had created a gigantic snow-leaf ball rolling it down a hill. Wayne and Julia put in a couple of pushes to contribute to the local snowball effot.

Reindeer Games

Different ways to play the game "Santa."

1. Carry around any type of bag with any type of object and distribute.
2. Order parents to sit on your lap and tell you what they want. Remind them that they can only ask for one present.
3. Instruct parents to fall asleep on couch. Place "present" before them or under the tree. Runaway giggling. When parents exclaim wonder about presents, come back and announce yourself. Ask them if they like their presents. Give them a hug and kiss and say that you must go.
4. Repeat #3, but this time, come back and correct their mistaken impression that Santa had come. It was Mrs. Claus and Mrs. Claus would not only like milk and cookies, but also hamburger. Cookies, milk and hamburger.
5. Instruct parent to behave badly. Scold them and tell them that they won't get a present. When they promise they will be good from now on, say that you might still give them a present, but they must be good.
6. No rules. Add your own variation of a Santa game.

Her Own Dentist

For a brief period of time (two months?), I could not get enough of "Jon & Kate +8," the reality show about a couple who had twins and septuplets. Wayne complained that every episode was the same, "It's always about how difficult it is to raise 8 kids." True, it was about how difficult it is to take 8 kids to (1) an amusement park, (2) a furniture store to buy bunk beds, (3) the dentist, etc . . .. Our friend, Ythan, joined in on the "Jon & Kate +8" bashing. "Why would I want to watch a show about taking kids to the dentist?" It's a logical question, but I enjoyed watching the episode anyway.
What is exciting as a parent is not anything objectively exciting. "First" anythings tend to bring about some kind of emotion in me. Julia's first trip to the dentist made me feel proud ("What a big girl" "She's handling it so well") and sentimental ("What a big girl, I remember when her first teeth were just coming in.") Julia has been to the dentist with both me and Wayne. She's sat on my lap while I got my teeth cleaned (left her home for the route canal). After coming back from our dentist, she'd mention that she wanted to go to her own "little dentist." She's pretty serious about the whole thing, like it's a privilege or rite of passage (not exactly sure what's going on in her head). Anyway, it was a good first trip to the dentist. No crying. Healthy teeth, but instruction from her dentist that fruit snacks are worse for kids' teeth than most candies. Oops, we have since listened to the dentist and cut back dramatically from her one to two pack a day habit.