Altadena Strong

It's been a month since the Eaton Fire.  For the first ten days, Zoe and I stayed in Irvine, cocooned by the clean air, grandparent attention, parks, and play dates.  It was our escape.  Then, the time came for us to go back and face reality.  Zoe had to get back into the school routine, for her own sense of normalcy.  As for me, not only did I have to get back into work mode, but also go out to our destroyed neighborhoods and take it in with my own eyes.  On the morning that evacuation orders were lifted for our area (January 21st), I dropped Zoe off at preschool for the first time and it was a heartbreaking separation, even though her favorite teachers were right there with her.  The teachers had to hold her away from me as I walked down the hall, waving to her and holding back my own tears while hearing her scream.  Fortunately, the teachers messaged me as I was still sitting in my car in the parking lot, saying that she had settled a few minutes later and was making me a heart out of markers and paper.  My next task was to drive into Altadena for the first time.

As I exited Lincoln, my heart was pounding, anticipating when I would see the first burned home. There was debris on the road from the winds, but I drove past the coffeeshop not far from home and saw people lining up, buying coffee—business as usual.  I saw that the supermarket was still standing, the yoga studio, the gym.  Then, the first burned house came into view, with twisted metal, blackened trees, and cars reduced to misshapen metal.  Then, there were a few homes after that, totally intact.  The big white farmhouse survived.  The one with the Japanese-style bricks was gone.  Maybe some people did what Wes did and saved their houses.. or maybe the fire worked in a weird pattern.  I couldn’t understand how some were unaffected and some were leveled, right next door to each other.  I also wasn’t expecting Lincoln to be fully open, after hearing stories from Wes about the barricades, the National Guard, downed trees and power lines… it was surprisingly easy to pull up to our house.  I felt a mixture of emotions when I saw our house, sitting pretty as it always has, on its trapezoidal lawn, framed by the eucalyptus tree and the Chinese elm, front fence intact.  It truly looked like a slice of heaven, a surreal sight in a landscape of utter devastation.

Feelings of relief, guilt, fear, dejection, and incredulity washed over me.  Unlike what I'd been seeing in the news and hearing from almost all of my neighbors, our house in Altadena looked… untouched, peaceful.  I backed into the driveway, for the first time in what felt like a year, and stepped out.  The sun was warm against my shoulder, the birds were chirping, the grass was actually green. Wes had cleaned and swept every leaf, when he was eliminating the property of more tinder between wind storms.  It was eerie, like it didn't quite belong... didn't fit the narrative of widespread destruction.  It was a page out of an old book edition that was mistakenly reprinted.  I wondered if seeing it made people angry.

The Story of How Our House Survived the Eaton Fire

It has been about two weeks since the Eaton Fire destroyed our town, Altadena.  On the night of January 7th, we were having dinner under a string of solar powered camping lights, which Wes had hung across our dining room in our dark home.  The wind was beating relentlessly against the windowpanes of our old house, little rocks and branches pelted against the glass and the loud sound of every gust sent shivers down my spine.  I tried to play it cool for Zoe.  I showed her how we could shine a flashlight over Magnatile towers to cast colored shadows on the floor, we played hide and seek in the dark, we ate Chinese take-out and cracked opened fortune cookies.  I suggested that we play some board games after dinner, but Wes was on edge, distant, pensive, absorbed in his mental calculations of the immediate future.  This is not new for him--in fact, it's something that often bothers me: his lack of presence in the moment and his constant preoccupation with planning the next steps.  Sensing the all too familiar, yet ominous tension, I snapped at him.  We were approaching the situation from opposite angles, and that made an already uncomfortable situation even more unsettling.  We bickered for a little bit, but then agreed that I should just focus on entertaining Zoe so that he could think, as he was in no position to sit down for a game of Bingo at that moment.  It was clear that we were both worried about the way things were going.  Just as I was deciding to pack an overnight bag to take Zoe to my parents' house so that we could at least get some decent sleep, we found out about the wildfire that broke out in Eaton Canyon, only five miles away.  Wes said that he didn't think that it would blow in our direction.  Then, he took a cursory glance out the back door window and saw the mountains to the East, etched in a bright orange glow.  "Shit," he said. 

Here We Are, Christmas 2024

Another year, another Christmas.  I realized that I hadn't blogged anything since last Christmas, it is crazy how quickly time flies by.  It's been another full year, with days packed to the brim with fun and learning, I've had no energy or time to sit down and record it in writing.  It's also been tough from time to time, but overall, it feels easier.  Maybe it's the fact that Zoe sleeps through the night again and is basically independent with bedtime... you'd think that I would have written more stuff down with that burden lifted from the nightly duties, but I've basically been blissfully unoccupied, just zoning out at the end of each day because being useless and unproductive feels so damn wonderful.  But anyway, here we are again, approaching Christmas Day.

COVIDmas with our Toddler

It's our third Christmas together with Zoe, and it just gets better.  We spent many December evenings seeing lights, hearing live music, baking cookies, and dancing to Christmas music.  Zoe even learned how to sing some of All I Want for Christmas Is You, and Santa Baby-- just by listening to these songs on repeat! She also put forth a superstar performance in the holiday show at her school, I will never forget the joy on her face as she danced and jumped like nobody was watching onstage with a big paper snowflake around her neck.  Also, I lingered as long as I could in the quiet, magical moments: when she tasted the icing stuck to the mixer whisk for the first time, her fascination while watching the twinkling lights on a ballerina's tutu, the familiar weight of her tiny (but, not so tiny) presence in my lap while I read her favorite Christmas books first thing in the morning and last thing before bed.  She fully participated in everything this year, hanging up ornaments, cutting out cookie shapes, making crafts, and anticipating the unwrapping of gifts.  She wanted to do everything, and she surprised us with her attention span, memory, and abilities.  

Back at Yosemite with Zoe

2021

2022

Last year at around this time, we took Zoe to Yosemite for the first time.  She was only 11 months old, just a compact, wide-eyed bundle that we could carry around everywhere.  We took her to the edge of Mirror Lake, up to Badger Pass, and down to the Yosemite Valley.  We even had her lie in the snow to make a snow angel.  She was not exactly predictable at the time, but she wasn't hard to handle either.  Nine times out of ten, any fussing was resolved by unzipping my jacket and unhooking my nursing bra.  Other times, Wes would snuggle her while continuing to hike, or she might cry angrily for a few minutes and then knock out in the carrier on his back for a nap.  None of that was exactly easy, but it was more straightforward than it was this year.

Zoe is now just a few weeks shy of turning two years old, and with that maturity comes with preferences, more complicated needs, desires, and dislikes.  Let's put it this way, we had to pack 7 stuffed animals on this trip (fox, monkey, brown dog, acorn, deer, otter, hamster) and about 8 types of snacks.  Options are her best friend.  Unfortunately though, sometimes she just doesn't have a choice, and those times required a lot of patience and flexibility on our parts.  Refusing to wear the mittens in 30-degree weather required us to reason with her as best as we could, and in the end, she had to learn it the hard way by letting her hands get cold before crying, "Mittens!"  We also had to relax our expectations a lot, because one minute she'd be happily sitting in the sled or walking in the snow and then out of nowhere, she'd be anxiously asking to be picked up and refusing to be put back down.  We had imagined that she'd enjoy the fluffy and pretty snow, but she turned out to have somewhat of a love-hate relationship with the stuff.  Throughout the trip, she surprised us over and over with both what she was willing to do and what she was unwilling to do.  We have learned that there is always a way around her finickiness as long as we approach her at her level and get creative with negotiations, and that it's necessary to temporarily let go of our own hopes for an experience and find ways to enjoy things the way they are.  Honestly, as long as she's happy and comfortable, we are.  And it continues to be so cool to see how her world opens up at her will, in her time, on her own accord.  Our job is just to expose her, and then it's her choice how far she wants to take it.

Grateful for this Time

As I am sitting in front of the computer right now, Zoe has her back turned to me, standing at the water table and pouring water from a scoop held in one hand into a funnel at the top of a tower.  We used to do water table play almost every day over the summer, but she never was able to reach the top of that tower.  Some of the water spills and splashes down from around the top of the funnel and some of it flows out of the funnel tube in a stream and activates a small wheel, which quickly turns, carrying the water down to a tipping scale, which flips the water onto another spinning wheel.  Zoe watches this happen again, and again, and again.  She sometimes turns to look at me over her shoulder, saying her signature, "Wooww!" or "Uh-oh!", and something random, like, "Wash your hands!" and "That slide!"  She is fully in the moment, immersing herself visually, auditorily, tactually, proprioceptively, and emotionally in the repetitive, yet ever-changing task of scooping and pouring water from one container into another.  The tower tips and she asks for help, but then lifts it back into place by herself before I get there.  "You did it!" I say.  Leaves drift down from the trees as a light breeze blows through our back yard.  Zoe has not noticed this, or has she?  It's so fascinating to me, how much she picks up on, without our realization.  She whirls around and says, "Maaamaaa! Zoe!"  while looking at me, with a big smile on her face.  She must have thought of us while experimenting with the water.  She bursts into song, "Baby Shark, doo-doo-doo-doo!" without turning around, enjoying the bouncy melody playing inside of her head.  These moments are so simple, yet so intricate when I sit down and truly observe and notice all of the moving pieces.  Like water flowing through the parts of the tower, there is cause and a rippling effect to everything.  Everything that has been intentionally and unintentionally poured into Zoe, spins and mixes and comes out in ways that are totally unexpected and wondrous.  I am so grateful to be able to witness it, as her mother.

Zoe's First Camping Trip

"Tet, tet!" said Zoe, as we watched Daddy pitch the tent. "Mooooon!" she sang over and over, after we pointed out the moon in the early morning sky.  She'd seen the moon in books, but never in real life.  "Cowd!" she exclaimed unprompted, as fluffy white clouds far bigger than the ones we see at home rolled over our heads.  "Ma-ma!" she announced, when we lifted her to see the mountains.  "Tic! Tic!" she chirped, as she squatted to pick up the sticks all over the ground.  "Ba-ba!" was her declaration, when she found a particularly smooth, thick stick that looked exactly like a banana in her eyes.  "Cone-cone," she echoed me as I pointed out the pinecones.  "Cone-cone! Cone-cone!" she squealed, as she pointed out more and more.  Then, she toddled away, tripping here and there before squatting down to inspect something new.