Wait, THIS Is Not a Toy?

29 06 2008

Hugo, apparently, did not get that memo.





The Fruit Thief

26 06 2008

We’ve been taking advantage of the stone fruit season by taking Hugo fruit picking. This is one of those things that Juan and I always imagined we’d do with Hugo, before he was born, before he was even Hugo in our minds.

Early in the season, we met up with Juan’s family in Brentwood for cherry and nectarine picking.  So much fun! But we were a little too soon for peaches and other fruits, so Hugo’s Aunt Sarah and I took a trip to Impossible Acres in Davis a few weeks later.  This place is much less crowded than Brentwood, and was about 20 degrees hotter the day we were there. Hugo was a little put out by the heat, but soon rebounded when he realized that his position on Sarah’s back meant that he could surreptitiously steal fruit from the trees without either of us noticing right away.

Hugo was half way through his first plum before we caught on.

Then came the apricots.

In the end we had to cut him off. When we wouldn’t get close enough to the trees for him to pick his own fruit, he tried sneaking a hand under Sarah’s arm in order to access the fruit she had in the box she was carrying.  Before we left Impossible Acres, Hugo had also sampled boysenberries and some heirloom cherries.

This summer had shown us how much Hugo loves fruit. This week he is obsessed with fresh blueberries, and I’m not using that word lightly.  He looks like Takeru Kobayashi while downing them. On Monday, he had a scary moment where he started gagging on one, before quickly coughing it out. Well, scary for us, but I guess not for him, since he had barely ejected the offending blueberry from his airway when he reached down and popped another one in, while Juan and I stared aghast, our hearts still racing.

What can I say, my kid loves fruit!

 





As In ‘To Swing’

2 06 2008

Yesterday Hugo and I spent the day together. In the absence of his mother’s car (at work) and the fact that society and John Q. Law says that Hugo is not yet allowed on the back of my Vespa (though if we lived in Vietnam things would be much different) our options for activities were a bit limited. We could always take Muni somewhere but Hugo has actually been warming to his stroller lately and I didn’t want to lug that thing on a crowded, sweaty bus, so walking it was. Last week, while exploring the city on my scooter (sans boy) I came across a playground above the clouds in a neighborhood called Diamond Heights. The playground, named for an extremely rich man, is beautiful, with new equipment and amazing views of the City, bay, and beyond. This place, I decided, was where I would bring my boy.

So, we packed our provisions, like a couple of sherpas. Zwieback crackers, water in a sippy cup, a diaper change, sensible shoes, and a couple of containers of Cheerios, and set off. I won’t lie to you, I’m not in terrific shape, and these streets are steep. Hugo’s also tipping the scales at about 20 pounds these days, so that stroller wasn’t without its weight. Up up up we climbed, stopping every block, and then every half block, papa panting, Hugo sympathetically gumming his crackers and tossing cheerios down the impossibly angled 29th street.
Steep

Finally, somehow, we made it to the top, and though I considered swiping some water from Hugo’s sippy cup, he kept his good mood.

This was his (but mostly my) reward:
Joy

Swings IV

Listening to his squeals makes the pain in my legs go away.