Last year was Autumn’s first Christmas. But at three months, I think the sights, sounds and smells of the season come off more like a heavy acid trip than a time of joy and celebration. This year she was aware of the celebration, and it was so much fun to include her in the ritual of the season. Also, we simply know her much better than we did a year ago. We decided to try something different to record the celebration: a time-lapse video of Christmas morning and some preparations from the night before. It allowed us to enjoy each other without being stuck behind a camera. This might become a tradition.

May not be 100% appropriate for Santa’s faithful.

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Chapter One of our origin story centers around the Fiesta Bowl, an ill-advised lodging choice and ample sofa space at my friends Pete’s house in Tempe, AZ.  Over the past nine years, we’ve traveled to watch the Beavers play at Cal, Stanford, Fresno State, USC, UCLA, the Fiesta Bowl, the Emerald Bowl and a very memorable trip to Baton Rouge, LA.  Oddly, we’ve never watched an OSU game together in Corvallis, but we’re going to address that in 2010.  Autumn attended her first OSU game in utero and was born a few weeks later during halftime of a huge upset win over USC.  Our story is inextricably tied to Oregon State football.

To say we were excited about Autumn’s first live Oregon State football game is a huge understatement.  OSU and Cal are both great teams, with OSU exceeding expectations this year and Cal falling a bit short.  Memorial Stadium in Berkeley is a favorite venue and gracious friends (Cal alums) invite us to their tailgater every other year.  Our outlook was realistic.  Three-plus hours in the bleachers isn’t terribly stimulating for a one year old.  If Autumn managed two quarters of ball, we would give ourselves a W.

No offense to Jacquizz, but Autumn takes MVP for the day.  Geared up in orange and black, she managed two hours of tailgating and four quarters of football with minimal fuss and a passing interest in what was happening on the field.  And the Beavs kept their Memorial Stadium winning streak alive.  Final score: OSU 31, Cal 14.

Changing seasons and holidays come along whether we’re ready or not. It didn’t matter that I have a nasty cold, that traffic was sure to be brutal, or that Autumn isn’t even old enough to participate in the preparation of a Jack-o’-lantern. It was the last weekend before Halloween and Matt insisted we were going pumpkin patching at Half Moon Bay. I am so glad he did.

We pulled into Farmer John’s Pumpkin Patch, grabbed a wagon, and started hunting. For those we haven’t seen in awhile, Autumn has three words these days: Dada, Mama, and BALL! Where Matt and I saw pumpkins, Autumn saw bright orange balls everywhere for the taking. She trotted all over the place calling out “Ba-Boll, Ba-Boll”! And though I doubted it would work, she seemed to really enjoy being pulled around the patch in a wagon by her dad. It didn’t take long though until she decided sitting didn’t present enough of a challenge. When she tried to stand we pulled her out and she was ready to help Dad push our treasures to the car.

We came away with one gigantic pumpkin we plan to carve tomorrow morning and two pint sized “pumpkinitos” hand selected by our little girl. But the best part was a simple day together and seeing Dad and daughter having a blast. Here’s to new family traditions.

Happy Halloween!

See more photos from our day at the Pumpkin Patch

So much change lately.  It seems that every day brings something new.  Autumn decided she wasn’t going to let her first year pass without a few more notable milestones.

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Kids who grow up in San Francisco are bound to have a poorly calibrated seasonal clock. Summertime in this city brings blustery fare, marked by ominous fog banks that creep their way across the city every afternoon.  In July, the height of summer is usually greeted by grey skies and hordes of rosy-cheeked tourists wandering about in hastily purchased “Escape the Rock” sweatshirts.  It’s not until the late, lovely days of August  that we join the rest of our statesmen in a celebration of bluebird skies and clement days.

Crissy Field overflows with families and Golden Gate Park plays host to the weird and wonderful: Paddle Boats on Stow Lake, Roller Disco at Sixth Avenue and music at the Polo Fields.  We enjoyed this last weekend of August and the heatwave it brought.  Autumn has many more weeks to smile at the sun before her namesake arrives, and the temperature mellows.  Alas, she’s still a bit young to enjoy that San Francisco summertime rite: the It’s-It ice cream sandwich.  We have to save something for next year.

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.

It’s official, Autumn is a morning person. I just wanted to eat her she was so precious this morning.  I’m jealous that Joyce gets to hang out with her instead of us. Tomorrow Autumn. Tomorrow. Let’s go play.

Love,

Mom

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.