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easy to grasp and so rewardingly pivoted on the bar that the slightest
knock produces a gratifying jiggle or spin. One can almost see the
reinforcement learning at work. Indeed, it's quite amazing how dramatically
his behavior has grown in just two days. He now hits with much higher
reliability (both hands) and frequently contects solidly enough to spin the
toys for a loop. I think controlled grasping may be but a week away. How
satisfying it will be for them to be able to put things in their mouth
<i>whenever they want</i>. In the meantime, they are dedicated students:
the combination of complete concentration with helplessly incompetent
movements is incredibly endearing.


<p> <hr>
No matter how many times it happens, I can't seem to get used to the sudden
surprise when one of the boys has an oral eruption. The ensuing river of
fresh spitup soaks my shorts and races down my leg with shocking warmth. It
feels strangely as if I was peeing in my pants. No, I don't <i>like</i> it,
but it is somehow akin to a forbidden act, an illicit pleasure. Once past
the shock, I yield to the experience and smile.

<p> <hr> 
<p> <img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/adam-sleeping-hawaii.jpeg" ALIGN=left>
(2/20/96) Our week in Hawaii with David, Felecia and their baby
Nathan was wonderful, but the trip has lead to a new avoidance behavior for
Margaret now that we are back home in Seattle. Last night, when she woke in
the wee hours to the sound of small, hungry wimpers, she simply nestled
deep in the covers ignoring the cries. After all, she told herself, it's
just Nathan crying, not one of <i> my </i> boys.

<p> <hr> (2/24/96) In a surprising landmark, Adam exhibited purposeful
grasping this morning. His look of intense concentration would have
inspired the ape-suited actors from the beginning of <i>2001 A Space
Odyssey</i> in their discovery of fire. Indeed, we could almost hear the
ghostly sound of Strauss' <i>Also Sprach Zarathustra</i> playing in the
background. Meanwhile, Galen remains stuck in the excited batting
stage. When I managed to trick him into holding the Squish, he then flailed
his arm in such a way as to knock himself in the head. 

<p> <hr> (2/26/96) At the routine checkup today, Margaret asked our
Pediatrician why babies drool; apparently Science has yet to solve this
mystery, but the doctor did explain that the more talkative ones drool most
copiously. Indeed, it is the squawking Adam who soaks his clothes and
drenches ours with the precious substance. 

<p> Inspired by this soggy state, Margaret is considering applying her
epidemiological skills to a prospective study correlating drooling in
infancy with verbal performance during higher education.  Perhaps this will
lead to the ultimate early predictor of college admissions: the Salivatory
Aptitude Test.

<br clear=all>


<p> <hr> (3/2/96) Chip's birthday coming just a week after our boy's four
month birthday emphasizes so many things. The Yin and Yang of life and
death. The transitory nature of so many of life's joys. The danger of
taking people and pleasures for granted. I just can't imagine how the
death of Adam or Galen would hit me. How terrifying. 

<p> <hr> 

(3/16/96) We just returned from a week in Utah, camping in the
desert canyon country with the boys. By day, we scrambled across slickrock,
pushed between sandstone needles, and explored dark joint caves --- babies
tucked securedly in snugglies. By night, Adam and Galen slept quietly in
their own sleeping bags on either side of us. Sometimes when I woke, I
forgot that I was a father - the owl's call across the quiet night, the
bright stars, the smell of wilderness - it seemed natural, like so many of
my camping experiences in the past. Then I'd hear a slight stirring to my
side and I'd realize my sons were here too! Incredible.

<p> <img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/cousins.jpeg" ALIGN=right>

<p> Utah was the first chance for Nathaniel and William, ages 9 and 6, to
meet their cousins. I was touched by their obvious love for the babies and
their excited interest in playing with and singing to them. I also noted
the sibling rivalry that Nathaniel and William displayed as we hiked during
the day. The age difference affects the relationship so strongly ---
William copying and competing his role model, Nathaniel needing occasional
time away from the cloying dependence. With no age difference, Adam and
Galen will have a very different relationship. The opportunity for
companionship is great, but the danger of competition is commensurate. I
wonder how it will develop?


<p> After camping in Canyonlands, we faced the tortuous 7:30 drive back to
the Salt Lake City airport. No way could the boys go that long between
feeds, but we didn't feel comfortable driving with them out of their
carseats. And if we stopped for nursing, that might make the trip 25%
longer. Finally, my limber wife arrived at a solution.  Climbing into the
back seat of our Pathfinder, she arched her back, leaned over Galen, and
managed to initiate breast feeding while he was safely in the car seat. The
rear mirror view was quite hilarious. 

<br clear=all>



<p> <hr>
(3/25/96) My secret confession: last night I was the last to bed; as I
entered the dark and silent bedroom, I bent down by the bassinets and
sniffed my boys. The moon had set and I couldn't see their faces in the
shadow, but I felt soft breathing on my cheek. Slowly I sampled the air and
savored the smell of my sons. I do this every night.  

<p> <hr>
<p> <img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/galen-tub-sunglasses.jpeg" ALIGN=left>


(3/31/96) At today's shower for Oren and Ruth, the soon-to-be parents asked
for  advice from all in attendance. One woman observed that <i>
everyone </i> would be imposing suggestions, and noted that they should
feel free to adapt (or ignore) anything that didn't seem right. This set me
thinking about all the half-right advice I'd been given over the ages. For
example, Douglas Adams in his famous book <i> The Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy</i> observes that the most important object is the common beach
towel which should be carried everywhere. I'd adapt this one to refer to
a spare diaper. 

<p> And the NRA warns agains walking around with a loaded gun not set to
safety - it could be lethal. My interpretation: after feeding, always thump
the baby's back until you hear the positive sound of the burb engaging
safety - it's just as irresponsible to walk around with a loaded and cocked
baby (even if the potential danger is a tad less terminal). 

<p>
<hr>
(4/9/96) During our weekly lunch, David shared his pride that Nathan has
started crawling. Then, that evening, David calls chagrined. Someone
has punctured his pride by explaining that <i>true</i> crawling requires the
belly to be elevated from the floor; apparently, Nathan has only been
<i>scooting</i>. The fine points of the distinction are lost on me (my boys
can barely lift their heads off the floor when trapped on their
bellies), but I'm touched by the degree to which David's honesty is
tempering his bragging. "I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea
about his accomplishments," David concluded the call. 

<p>
Whether one calls it crawling or scooting, the drawbacks of the
approaching milestones begin to sink in. Recently David and Felicia
awoke at midnight to the sound of crying. Apparently, Nathan had
rolled over in his sleep, scooted several feet to the side of his
crib, risen high on hands and knees, and woke himself by bashing his
head against the crib bars. 

<p> And clearly it's a hard lesson for Nathan to learn the
ramifications of his new found power. Yesterday when we played
together on the floor, Nathan was interested solely in scooting. But
he didn't quite understand what he was doing.  With each deliberate
movement, Nathan backed farther and farther away from the rest of the
group. As the distance separating him from David grew, Nathan grew
ever more frantic. His face screwed up into an increasingy worried
frown, but he couldn't grasp that <i>his</i> actions were responsible
for the parting.

<p>
<hr>
(4/14/96) Ruth delivered her baby boy last night. Watching anxious
Oren these last few weeks brought back memories from the end of
Margaret's pregnancy. How could I have forgotten the tense expectancy of
the slowly approaching event?  Like Oren, I remembered being worried about
whether I would be ready, physically, to support my wife during labor if it
dragged on for 36 hours or more. (Somehow, I never doubted that <i> she</i>
could handle her part!). 

<p>
And although Oren never mentioned it, I could see that he was scared that
he might not love his baby. It comes back to me now, although it seems hard
to believe --- I had that fear too. But how could I <i>not</i> love them?
How fast time passes and how quickly I forget. 

<p>
(4/22/96) Today is Adam and Galen's six month birthday!  They seem so small
to me, but they are <i>so</i> different from Oren and Ruth's son, Eli. It
seems impossible that our boys were ever so inert, so compliant, so
delicate as newborn Eli. Although my rational mind recollects that Adam and
Galen <i>together</i> weighed less than Eli does now, it seems impossible. 

<p> <hr>

<p> <img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/goose.jpeg" ALIGN=right>


(4/24/96) Springtime is magnificent in Seattle, signaled by an exuberant
procession of daffodils, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dogwoods. But even
more than the flowers, springtime for me is symbolized by the nesting
shorebirds with their promise of fuzzy, yellow chicks.  A month ago I
spotted a well-concealed nest tended by two Canada geese --- built mostly
of reeds and grass, the nest is perched on a tiny island in the middle of a
stream entering Lake Washington. Since my bicycle commute takes me along
the stream, I've been able to watch the nest carefully each morning and
afternoon. For over a month, I've empathized with the parents' dedication
to egg warming --- I would pedal towards the nest with anticipation and
feel comforted to see the nest always well tended.

<p>
Unfortunately, yesterday brought torrential rains. Garbed in Goretex, I
hunkered down for the ride to work, but when I reached the stream I
everything looked different. The nest's island was swallowed by a flood
and there was no sign of either bird. The scene struck me at a profoundly
emotional level and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. Although the
rain had subsided by 6pm, the stream was still choked with muddy water and
I could discern nothing from the bank. I felt suprisingly depressed,
despite spotting the first chicks of the season not far from the
stream. The gander hissed at me as I approached his gangly offspring, and I
kept my distance not daring to hope that this was the family I had been
watching so long. 

<p> This morning the waters receded. I left my bike and pushed through wet
brush to find a fallen log which crossed the brook. Balancing carefully
above the swampy flow, I approached the ruined nest. Four large grey eggs
lay half-submerged in the chill water to one side of a soggy pile of
straw. Abandoned.  I couldn't quite believe that the depressing sight was
real, and all I could do was think back to the many times when we thought
(and desperately hoped) that Margaret was pregnant, only to be confronted
by depressing truth. The years of trying and, later, months of bedrest were
difficult, but how lucky our final result! Regaining my bike, I wondered
what the geese were thinking, how much they understood. Did they morn? I
wished the birds well.


<p> <hr>
<p> 
<img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/snugglies.jpeg" ALIGN=left>

(5/27/95) Stuffed in a 757 and heading towards Scotland, I fear my
impending nine-day separation from the boys. Even more than their own
growth, the inexorable passage of the past week (with my commensurate
and growing dread) came to symbolize time's momentum. I hate being
deprived from a week of their lives. I wonder how they'll change while
I'm gone and whether they'll remember me when I return. 

<p>
Since I've last writen in this journal, Adam and Galen have changed
enormously. A month ago, when we placed them on their bellies to
strengthen their necks, they hated it so much that we referred to the
exercise as "Tummy Torture."  But now, they like it! Although neither
one is yet crawling, Galen wriggles all around and frequently rolls
from back to tummy in seach of toy-induced, oral gratification. I
wonder if he could begin scooting or crawling  while I'm in Scotland?


With the arrival of summer weather, our neighborhood has come
alive.  While it was the incredible abundance of children (thirteen of
the fourteen families have two or more kids) which attracted us to the
deadend block in the first place, only this year are we really
integrating into the community.  Afternoons and weekends see dozens of
kids playing in the streets with parents trading off informal
chaparone duty. Whenever anyone spots an appoaching auto, the warning
"Car!" is raised and repeated by all the kids - it reminds me of the
way tail-slapping resonates across a beaver pond at the first hint of
danger.

<p> <hr>

<p> <img src="http://www.cs.washington.edu/homes/weld/photos/boys/heather.jpeg" ALIGN=right>

The sense of community rains from the rhythms of the children -
kids stream out of one house and flow into the next in an
interconnected swirl of different games.  With the addition of Adam
and Galen, the flow extends to our house as well. A rainy afternoon
will usually bring a knock, and Julia or Jessica or Kate will ask
"Excuse me, but are the boys available for holding?"  It's an
extraordinary convenience having the extra helping hands, but more
importantly, it's a great way to get to know new people. Until
recently, most of my friends were exactly my age (with the exception
of a few older couples), but now I'm getting to know some teenagers.
I'm sad my parents live so far away, but our block is the next best
thing to an extended family. 

<p> Indeed, the interactions between the neighborhood kids tell us much
about ourselves... The other night as we relaxed in the Grant's yard across
the street, the eldest daughter, Laura, left for a sleepover. ``I love you
Mom!'' she called out in farewell ``I love you Dad!'' Then as an
afterthought she turned to her younger sister and said ``Bye Julia, you're
ok.'' While the incident was amusing at the time, it has come to symbolize
a challenge to my marriage. Recently, as Margaret left for work in the