I have a pretty well-documented spirit for adventure.  I’ve climbed 14,000 foot mountains, negotiated Class V whitewater, swum with sharks, and eaten bacon-wrapped hot dogs outside of Mexican night clubs.  Every risk is calculated, but brings about a mild case of nerves.  Generally, it’s not more than a bit of butterflies in the tummy and a healthy respect for whatever I’m doing.  Perhaps fatherhood has made me a total pansy, but I was genuinely fearful of our first flight with Autumn.

A bit of background: I find commercial air travel to be one of the most un-dignified experiences to which we subject ourselves.  And to be clear, I separate air travel from the simple act of flying, which I love.  Without divulging any proprietary details, my billion-dollar idea looks something like [air travel] + [general anesthesia].  In my eyes, the average coach seat was designed for a smallish Pygmy with a penchant for self-abuse.  They simply do not design airplanes for someone who is 6′ 4″ and somewhere north of twenty stone.  I dream a little dream about the airlines someday offering a Husky Class seat.  Until then, I’ll just have to suck it up (literally).  Usually, I try to reach a quasi-meditative state where I transform the discomfort of my trappings into a soul-cleansing experience.

So it was with great enthusiasm that I approached our first flight with Autumn, a simple two-hopper to Montana for our friends’ wedding.  Our little girl has a lot of energy, not to mention a set of lungs that would make the Four Tenors blush.  Lately she’s taken to ear-piercing screams as a way of saying, “You’re boring me!”.   How was this possibly going to work?  Jody booked our flights using the GGMG-patented aisle-window technique, which bets the farm on an empty middle seat.  Worst case scenario: the seat gets booked, and as your cellmate approaches you pinch the kid’s leg, get a good holler going and scare the other passenger into taking the window.  It isn’t a tough sell, convincing someone to take a window seat when the alternative is having a crying baby passed back and forth across your lap like a bottle of Beam at a Skynyrd concert.

We three boarded our 7 a.m. flight from SFO with blankets, boppies and bottles in tow.  I had a pocketful of cash to buy our neighbors as many Bloody Marys as they could handle.  In the event that our row was fully booked, I had hopeful visions of a diminuitive Mexican grandma who wanted nothing more than to make googly eyes at Autumn throughout the flight.  No such luck was necessary, because Jody’s scam plan worked; an empty seat and sleepy baby.  Autumn was tired enough to sleep in Jody’s arms for the better part of both flights.  Despite a very tight connection in Denver, we arrived in Billings intact, if a bit tired from our 4 a.m. waking.

Our return five days later was a bit less pleasant.  We opted for an early afternoon departure to make our morning a bit less rushed.  Unfortunately, Autumn didn’t nap well that morning and was in a sour mood by the time we boarded our first flight.  The flight was fully booked so we squeezed three Pritchards into two seats, an ill-advised move at best.  Autumn suffered like a champ, thanks in no small part to an accomodating flight crew and Jody’s immutable spirit.

As a parent, I guess you find the right time to tell your kids about some of the inequities of life: goldfish die, friends move away, and pain—in all its forms—is an inescapable part of the human condition.  So at eight months we revealed to Autumn one universal truth: coach sucks.

Autumn is rarely at a loss for words. And by words, I mean incoherent babbling. Her musings encompass nearly every aspect of her daily routine. While I’m certain she’s saying something profound, we just can’t seem to make it out.

Being raised by a pair of nitwits must certainly be frustrating.  Which is why Autumn decided to shift media this weekend and bang away on the keyboard.  It’s hard for a geek dad to be more proud; my girl’s first text file.  But what is she trying to tell us?

• She leads with considerable white space.  Big ideas need room to breathe.
• The first recognizable characters: vybn I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down, girl.  Keep going.
• Ohhh…you mean vybnnmhjjknm.  Clearly a reference to the remote fishing village along the southeast coast of Iceland.  I think we have a world traveler on our hands.
• Next, a reference to pi.  My kid is damn genius.  Or if you read it phonetically, maybe she’s saying, “Mmm…pie.”  A gourmand perhaps?
• And finally, she ends with some Greek.   And not a random sigma or delta or gamma.  She threw down the omega; last letter in the Greek alphabet.  Classy way to sign off.

I’m not sure what it all means, Autumn.  But we’re encouraged by your determination and itty-bitty geek cred.  Much love, little one.

We knew there would be some compromises as we adjusted to our new roles as parents; occasions when our lifestyle would bend to meet the responsibilities of caring for a little girl.  We welcomed these changes, understanding that our adventures may slow down, but will be enriched with Autumn by our side.

Our time on the snow is sacred.  Jody and I have been season pass holders at Kirkwood for as long as we’ve been together: eight years this season.  We’ve had seasons with with 800 inches of snow and seasons where the daily special was hardpack in the morning and mashed potatoes by noon.  Such is life in the Sierra.  We’ve stayed at nearly every fleabag motel in South Lake Tahoe and we’ve spent cold, cold nights snow camping at Carson Pass.

Autumn’s baptism by powder has been preordained.  She’s at least two years away from her first day of skiing, but we thought it best to begin her immersion into the “lifestyle” sooner than later.  At four months, she’s already been to the Sierra three times.  If all goes according to plan, we’ll have two or three more trips before the season is over.

We spent a long MLK weekend near Homewood with an incredible group of friends.  Dubbed the “laziest weekend of the year,” we spent the better part of four days eating, drinking, napping, reading, playing games and taking casual strolls down to the Lake.  Effort levels were at record lows and only two people (Jody included) made it up the mountain for a bit of snowboarding.  Autumn was curious about the snow, but generally more interested in the tall trees that filled her view.

A few weekends later, we made our first trip of the season to Kirkwood.  We took a three-day weekend and made the best of it.  Each day we set up camp in the Red Cliffs day lodge, laying claim to one of the coveted sofas in the back corner.  We took turns watching Autumn while the other one got some time on the mountain.  Despite a dry season so far, the snow was surprisingly pleasant.  I can’t say that Autumn was terribly enthused to spend all day in the lodge.  She’s probably just anxious to get herself on the snow and show us how it’s done.   All in due time, little girl.

The index of my childhood memories contains countless references to the California Academy of Sciences.  With three kids to entertain all summer, my mom was always game for a trip across the Bridge and into the Park.  In addition, my grandmother was a member of the Academy, so babysitting with her usually took place in the company of curious penguins and herds of stuffed Ibex.

I remember being a bit bored by African Hall, with its dioramas of lions and antelope.  I wasn’t big on wildlife as a kid, although the two-headed snake was enough to pique my interest.  My favorite corridor was around the corner.  I have no idea what this area was actually named, but The Space Room was good enough at the time.  There was a vast model of the solar system on the ceiling (including Pluto, thank you), a scale that could calculate your weight on every planet, a real sample of lunar soil, and the pièce de résistance: Foucault’s Pendulum.  We were mezmerized by its rhythm, swinging from a long cable that seemed to disappear into the ceiling.  We waited for what seemed like an eternity to see it to knock down a peg.  In hindsight, the great peg toppling was something of a non-event.  But when you’re eight years old, waiting fifteen minutes for anything made it the most amazing thing you’d ever seen.

The Steinhart Aquarium was also popular with the Pritchard kids.  To this day, my parent’s still refer to the entire Academy as “The Steinhart.”  We were absolutely terrified of the giant alligator gars, and we ran circles through the dizzying round-about tank.  Stepping out of the dark aquarium and into the atrium was a shock to the senses: the air was damp, light poured in from the ceiling, and every sound echoed off the tile floor and high ceiling.  We would peer through the bronze seahorse railing at the alligators below, not totally convinced they were real.  Lindsay was fascinated by the penguins, racing back and forth along the length of their tank.

Scott and I took classes at the Academy’s learning annex in the summer.  I remember watching my first controlled explosion in that chemistry lab.  C₃H₅(OH)₃+ KMnO₄ = BOOM!  I spent a good portion of the next five years trying to aquire a jug of Potassium Permanganate.  It’s a good thing the internet didn’t exist yet.  Today’s adolescent pyromaniacs have it so easy!  In my cartography class, we made scale maps of the Park.  This ignited an interest in maps and navigation that persists to this day.  A geek was born inside those walls, and I can’t thank my parents enough for giving me those opportunities to learn.

So the tradition continues with this generation.  When the Academy shut its doors in 2003 for reconstruction, Jody and I laughed that “we might have kids” by the time it re-opens.  As it turns out, Autumn was born around the time the Academy re-opened in September.  We were so busy with our own little science experiment, that we had to put off our plans to visit for a few months.  Today we made good on those plans and visited the new Academy.  Autumn was awake through the African Hall (still pretty boring), but she nodded off soon after we saw the penguins.  We made our way around the ground floor and through the aquarium below.  We visited the Early Explorers Cove, where Autumn delighted us with her first genuine laughs.  We finished our first visit with trip to the rooftop garden.  We didn’t get a chance to see the Rainforest or the Planetarium, and I think we only saw about half of the labrynthine aquarium.  We chose to get a membership, so we’ll be returning soon (next week) to resume our explorations.  It’s never too early to inspire another generation.

 

Smile and be thankful. We wish you all a Merry Christmas.

Love,
Matt, Jody & Autumn

The whole tribe traveled north last weekend to celebrate Grant’s birthday.  We had a beautiful house in Bodega Bay with an unbeatable view.  The weekend away was a surprise for Dad, and he seemed happy to drink it all in; big family meals, ample sofa time, and grandkids all around.  Autumn got passed around like a spliff at a Humboldt house party, enjoying some time with her aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents.

Scott and I surprised the birthday boy with a special gift.  My dad’s lifelong interest in aviation and the space program rubbed off on his sons in no small way.  We’re all airshow junkies and NASA fanboys.  A chapter in the history of flight will be closing soon with the end of the Space Shuttle program.  The final launch will take place some time in 2010.  Scott and I are taking our dad to see one of the Space Shuttle’s final flights; a cross-country adventure for the Pritchard boys.  The time is nigh to watch the big bird fly.

There are more photos from the weekend here.

When a pitcher is seven innings into a no-hitter, you don’t talk about it.  Everyone knows what’s happening; his teammates, his coaches, and foremost: his catcher.  Suggesting he’s on the verge of something rare and great is enough to send the psychological construct of the whole thing tumbling down.  You leave well enough alone, keep your thoughts to yourself and give him the time and space he needs.

When Autumn is having an exceptionally well-tempered day, we don’t talk about it.  “Don’t tempt the beast,” is our mantra.  A two-month old girl, given the right conditions, can be a source of profound joy or intolerable cruelty.  We’ve experienced more of the former, thankfully, but memories of the latter keep us vigilant.  We sing and swaddle, bathe and bounce.  We surround her in every way with a world of joy and peace.  And when we’re on a roll, and smiles abound, and the ringing in our ears has faded, we drink it in and keep the beast at bay.