Merry Chrismas, Tout Le Monde!

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Five Happiness

Bradley, Felicity, and Tallulah (now one year old.)

Old Friends, New Friends

Five Happiness calls North Carolina home now, going on seven months. In that time we've reunited with familiar faces, some out of the blue not seen for twenty-plus years, others like the crunch of an apple: delicious and known. We have met new people in our search for our own kind, in looking for some hybrid of creativity and fearlessness matched by exuberance and emotional intelligence. They are rare, and do not breed in captivity. Our hunt is in the wild, so to speak.

In the old faces become new there is a joy to see what life has brought in the seemingly brief, yet vast intermission since we saw them last. Many have children, or grandchildren, even. They have "become" new to me, though familiar to themselves and true to all. It is so comforting and generous to be allowed to reenter a childhood friend's life as an adult, with all the challenges requisite: To allow them to be who they are, unclouded by the person you thought you knew. But knowing that you both share a deep and complex rooted past that chiseled you both into the shapes you now hold. We can credit each other for some small bit of that molding.

We take our time moving through days. We recently visited some Seattle friends traveling through. (see photos) Wes and Laura were in Virginia for a wedding and were tempted by the quaint burgh of Asheville, NC. We intercepted them and our mutual friend Trip for a lovely weekend full of children and easy days.

Wes and Quentin enjoy Tallulah and Bradley's Company

A Reflection of Parenting

Laura, Wes, Trip, Bradley, and Felicity Sip Sweet Tea

Upon our return we began in earnest to find people that could possibly fill the vacancies left by our dear group of Seattle friends. For those readers in the aforementioned population, don't worry. To plagiarize Sinead O'Connor, "Nothing compares to ewe." We feel sheepish to even mutton the phrase. Shear lunacy. [editor's note: There will be floggings as a result of this rash punography.] But that's not to say we aren't trying. Durham is a growing artist's haven. A downtown in the midst of revival, with lots of large studios is a scenario Seattlites will recognize, if their histories dip back into the Eighties. We have much to do, with work, our little rascal [status update: Tallulah is 20 lbs. and almost walking,] and the mix of socializing, working out, and play we place at the top of our agendas. We have time for all our family: you included. We want to hear from you. What you want to know, how you are, who you are...let us know you're out there. We'll write more.

When Tallulah reached six months of age, Felicity and I revisited the topic of having more children. She has always wanted Lu to have a sibling, and I, an only child, did not have strong feelings one way or the other. I think our friend Richie put it succinctly when he admitted he didn't know if he enjoyed being a parent or just enjoyed being his child's parent. We don't know if we like being parent or we like being Tallulah's parents.

There is a huge difference. We don't know what a second child would do to the family, what their dynamic would bring, or who they would be. Lu has been a graceful, quiet, easy baby. It seems almost inevitable a second would be more difficult. Are we strong enough to withstand more sleepless nights in service to another mouth's demands? Do we have the patience to be kind to each other through the difficulties of raising two children? What are the rewards of having more than one kid if you're not living on a farm and you need free labor? Rhetorical question.

There is the financial burden to consider. I am applying for graduate school, a three year commitment, one that will add another dimension of stress to our lives, not to mention my availability to our household. But we have already proven we can withstand anything. We are nothing if not creative survivors. And parents of a child who's looks would make the Gerber baby appear ghastly by comparison.

We shall see. I think we can do whatever we want. I adopt that posture in an attitude of defiant optimism, which has, at times landed me in trouble. But never bad trouble. Always a lovely pickle, which I devoured with relish.

The First Father's Day

A seasoned father must be accustomed to spending time away from his family. I guess the accumulated time gathered in daily life deposits a positive sum of memories and garners a confidence borne of full days and successes. I wonder too, how many fathers have had to sacrifice time with their loved ones to attend to business, emergencies needing attention, or duties in their family's stead. This, my first Father's Day, I spend alone.

I left my family at the beach house early Saturday afternoon upon hearing our young dog sitter wasn't willing to complete her task. As I turned on the car's stereo, my dad's CD player, containing string arrangements of Beatles' tunes began to play a mournful rendition of Eleanor Rigby, quite possibly the saddest pop song ever crafted. As I waved to my wife, willfully leaving one of my favorite places, and the opportunity to introduce my daughter to the Atlantic for her first time, I was proud to know I behaved responsibly. Sacrifice is a large part of parenting. I have stumbled upon a feeling I have feared for years, and largely avoided for most of my life: Adulthood.

Surprise to discover I fit this new coat well. It is sturdy, heavy cloth. New, but not starched or store bought. It feels hand made and custom tailored. It seems to change colors in different lights, sometimes somber, then festive, then a comforting hue. It is my favorite garment. I used to find it old fashioned and tiresome. Now I think it becomes me.

I look so forward to seeing my daughter each day. Her face is always full of smiles. That she knows me, and says so when she sees me, is my proudest moment. Any day with these gifts is better than any without. Travel seems hollow if I am not by my daughter and wife's side. That will pass into that confident security allowed veteran fathers, I'm sure. But that brass pang that sticks in my heart when I am alone and thinking of my girls stays with me. I hope.

The Puddle Maker

My Daughter: Tallulah Cadence McDevitt, AKA: The Puddler.
Whomsoever falls beneath her gaze instantly becomes transmogrified into a puddle.

I have been puddled several times already today. While working, Felicity emailed me the Puddler's face via my phone. Several of my co-workers were also puddled. My mom is puddled. As is dad, cousins, aunts, grandmothers...all shall fall.

I am sure there will be moments when the puddling will cease, perhaps temporarily. Maybe there will be a gawky, glasses and braces phase, or a ranting imperious teen reign. I believe, in spite of the potential neutralization of these powers, this girl will know full well her abilities and may, in fact, use them for good. May, being the key word. Much of those potentials lie with our parenting and adequate bribery.

Tallulah has sounded her first two words. The first was "Na-na" for "I'd like mother to get in here and soothe me with some milk." The second, "Dadadadadada" was a surrealist interpretation of a Duchamp/Arp performance from Zurich, circa 1916, entitled "That tall funny looking clown guy who Mommy hangs with." Though the added spit up landing upon the audience was all original material.

She repeats these savory words, with Cummings-like poetry sounds, onomatopoetic pops and gurgles added like red spices in a green soup. It is delicious. I am never full, always satisfied, and ready for another bowl.

Lula eats rice cereal, and now a lovely sweet potato goulash Felicity creates with mother's milk and only the choicest Garnet yams. I returned from work and fed little Lula. As we sign the ASL for "eat" and "more" she mostly watches the spoon. She guides my hand with hers towards her little baby bird mouth as if to say, "this is how you do it, dadadadadadada..." I savor each mouthful of surreal.