And Then There Were Three

Teething math: One

Two

Four fingers.

New York really is the city that never sleeps. Since I've been here I've had not one. Not two. But THREE teeth.

Of course that has slightly disrupted my festivities here with a little bit of grief and moaning. But in the end I've been rewarded with wincing adults who are still finger feeding me food and chance upon my sharp kitten incisors.

But since the first miserable one came through, the others that followed were a lot easier to handle and haven't caused as much angst among family and friends, not to mention my own mandibles. As you will see in an upcoming post, these teeth have come in handy from pizza to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

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My Very First Hurricane

Me braving Hurricane Irene

Despite living in another country, many of my significant "firsts" have occurred during my short times in America. And many of those have involved natural disasters.

For instance, when I was in New York in December, I experienced my first blizzard. It seemed to be an ongoing snow storm that began the day after Christmas and dragged temperatures to a permanent below-freezing level with ice lining the streets the entire rest of our duration in the US.

Accordingly, we planned to return again in the summer, not in the winter, so we could actually visit people, shop and even leave the house every so often. So in August we sojourned to the Big Apple for our annual visit.

Then came Irene. The hurricane taught us an important lesson: There is no safe time to visit New York.

Not that we were in danger of anything but boredom. We were fine, except for losing electricity for 36 hours. And, just like the blizzard, I was sort of oblivious to the consequences of the storm. I was still fed and entertained as per usual. I didn't succumb to the same boredom as others, like my parents and Zia Em who rely on internet for their livelihood, since my toys are mostly battery operated. Not to mention, I slept through the heavy winds and rain which came inconspicuously overnight. For me, there wasn't anything of which to be afraid.

And after that night of rain, we all ventured outside to view the devastation that befell the neighborhood (again, minor except for a few unfortunate cars). It was my first time out in post-hurricane conditions and what a photo opportunity it was. Though this was a few weeks ago, the photos made it a noteworthy event to revisit.

Zia Em and I surveying the felled trees

Here we are on Mimi and GongGong's block

Another view of downed trees

The only remains of Hurricane Irene were
her footprints on my head

Abba traded in a shovel for a rake on his vacation

Picking up sticks is better than shoveling hundreds of feet of snow.
But it is not the preferred way to spend your "vacation."

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Partying in New York

It is hard to blog when you are on vacation. My days are consumed with kiss-starved family and friends who monopolize my cheeks rather than allow me to write, not to mention my requisite naps and enormous Italian meals which seem to stretch on ad infinitum. Nevertheless, I found a few moments to break free from all this and go back in time to post some photos.

Let me go back to our first weekend. On Saturday, GongGong and Mimi threw me my first New York party, a small backyard soiree involving many cousins from both sides of my Italian family. My birthday party, however, coincided with some mad teething days and I had moments of being in a bit of a mood that made me want to shy away from the crowds and moan in private. I felt safest on Nanni's lap with Nanni and Popi watching over me.

Then came the dreaded cake moment. Though it was a cute lion cupcake, I still didn't want to touch it. It has been a year and my parents still don't realize one thing about me: I do not like to eat with my hands.

They always trick me into touching food.

But in the end, they feed me properly - with their hands, not mine.

Even this gets a bit awkward.

They finally smarten up and do it the right
way - with a spoon. Simple manners.

End result: Mess. And...

... and sheer chocolate happiness.

The paparazzi couldn't get enough of me 

Cousin Jake had no problem grabbing the cupcake.

I had a chance to hold Cousin Leah's hand.

Then I deejayed at my own party!

But more importantly, I received a special gift:
An accordion from a famous accordionist.

Popi will be giving me lessons so I too can be famous.

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Battening Down the Hatches - Many Firsts in my First Week in NY

"Welcome Daniel and his Parents and Sherlock
(my little bro) too."

Unless you are privy to me living in the same house as you or are my great grandparents or close family, many of you may be wondering how I did on the plane and where I have been, what new and exciting firsts have occurred in my life in the last two weeks. Perhaps you are wondering if our plane accidentally crossed the Bermuda Triangle while sojourning to America or if I am still suffering from jet lag. Or maybe you are concerned that I have been swallowed up by the lips that have been kissing me in New York or that maybe some natural disaster has sent me scurrying to find shelter.

In fact, only some of the above contributed to the reasons for my lack of journaling in the last few days. And even better excuses on top of that. No instead, it was a series of firsts in my first week and a half here that thwarted my blogging, from natural disasters to natural occurrences. In fact, I have now experienced the Trifecta of natural disasters and all in NY: blizzards (in December and January while here), earthquakes and hurricanes! Wow - who could ask for a better vacation? Well, my parents could. I've heard them mumbling and whining about the weather conditions several times so far. Anyway, I digress. Allow me to go back to my excuses for not blogging.

First I was stymied by jet lag. That took a few days, but I overcame it with aplomb. That was, of course, immediately followed by tooth lag when, for two straight nights (or was it three?), I was up all night screaming in agony, not jet lag related. And since misery loves company I involved the entire household in my all nighters. Much less graceful than the jet lag, but, in my defense, I have five teeth jockeying to come through all at the same time. Only one made it though and I am proud to report that yes, I have a tooth. And it is on top no less. The adults, naturally, didn't know for sure it was a tooth and were plying me with all sorts of natural remedies to overcome whatever was ailing me. Also, my parents kept checking the bottom row only for signs of a tooth when finally Aunt Majda was the only one who thought to brave the upper row and was duly rewarded with a sharp jab to her finger. Bingo! It might have even been there for two days and no one would've known!

Excuse my parents. My doctor told them that those swollen gums on top were not going to materialize into teeth. Moral of the story - don't trust doctors. Oh and remember that dentist who insisted it was impossible to know whether teething hurt? Fire him.

My "nap times" on Mimi and GongGong's bed

We tracked the progress of Hurricane Irene
on that swirl on my head.

These two events were interspersed by a party - my second first birthday party but my first in New York! I had lots of family - fourth, fifth and maybe sixth cousins in attendance, including the tiniest of all, a 6-week-old little darling named Viola! My parents already can't remember me being that small!

Then after tooth lag came hurricane hype. For four days leading up to the actual arrival of Irene we were bombarded by crazy media reports and frantic NY City and New Jersey mayors, governors and spokesmen canceling mass transit well before the rain even started with my new favorite Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey sternly warning sunbathers: "Get the hell off the beach!" And the rain started Saturday making me a veritable prisoner in my own Mimi and GongGong's house. Apparently we joined the fray and lost power eventually, but my life remained unaffected since I drink room-temperature bottles and most of my toys are battery operated. Well, except for my blog. And we still have no power, which is why I am blogging from Panera, another first in my life. (Not Panera - I've already visited here several time, but blogging from here is a first.)

Of course, sprinkle in my first taste of ice cream, a cupcake, an entire plate of ravioli (spinach with vodka sauce), eggplant rollatini, pasticcio, a garlic knot, polenta, Greek lamb kufta and a myriad of other items I can't quite recall.

So, first tooth, first foods, first NY party, first meeting of relatives who were just born, first hurricane, possibly first earthquake but there was also one in Israel that I did not feel and now first blogging experience at Panera (along with all the other Long Islanders who don't have power at their homes). I have so much more upon which to expound that I might have to book myself a permanent table at Panera until we get power back.

Nanni and cousin Cristine

Me with Zia Em meeting Popi

Me with Mimi

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The Origins of GongGong

GongGong fed me my first ever ice cream.
That was his birthday present.

Seeing as today is GongGong's birthday, I thought it appropriate to discuss the origins of GongGong.

Do I mean to discuss his, John Schiavi's, origins? Or the origins of the Chinese word for grandfather? Neither actually - both are above my current pay grade. But I will explain, since many of you have been clamoring to know (and I don't blame you), how did mommy's daddy come to be known to me as GongGong?

It was just over a year ago when I made my lauded appearance in the world. Some, however, were still unprepared. While Grandma decided she would be known as "Grandma" from the day she knew of my existence, and Dede wouldn't have considered any other word but the Armenian one for grandfather, mommy's parents were at odds with their names. Nonni and Nonno were my great-great grandparents. Nanni and Popi are my great-grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa were my other great-grandparents who I didn't get to meet. Those names were off limits along with all of their derivatives including Nonna, Nanna, etc.

GongGong was considering the name Papa. But not only is that already taken by the Pope, it is also the word for father in several language. Mommy ruled it out thus sending GongGong back to the drawing board.

But it wasn't long before GongGong stepped into his own name. It happened on one of those days after I was born and we were still dwelling at the hospital. Mommy was on a Skype call with Mimi and GongGong. It was 1 a.m. Israeli time and she had just gone to her room after spending some time with my sleepy self. Mommy, unbeknownst to her, was in the throes of the post-birth hormonal rush when the happy endorphins that carried her for a few days after birth decided to flee all at once like the herd of pigs rushing over the cliff, as they apparently do to every woman post birth. Never mind the fact that I was under careful surveillance for health issues and a litany of bad tidings had overwhelmed my parents for a few days already. Mommy was in a state.

Since 1 a.m. in Israel is 6 p.m. that meant dinner time in New York. And GongGong was eating General Tsao's chicken, fried rice and spareribs while happily and obliviously chatting away. In either an effort to cheer her up, or simply because he thought it was funny, GongGong asked mommy if she wanted to hear some Chinese prophecies.

Mommy is well acquainted with her father's humor at this point in her life and she instantly did the math: Chinese prophecies = fortune cookies. Okay, this was where she drew the line. At 1 a.m., already sleep deprived and mopey, mommy had had enough and ended the conversation. Still incensed the following morning she told abba about the Chinese prophecies. Abba didn't quite share mommy's indignation. Instead, he decided to start googling and he stumbled across this gem: the word for maternal grandfather to a baby boy is GongGong. (Actually it could be WaiGong, but having zero Chinese roots in our genealogy we can be forgiven for this small mistake.)

And thus, the legend of GongGong was born.

Mimi and GongGong pose with their
new grandparent mugs.

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Revenge: My Parents Enact Some Sleep-Time Paybacks

All sorts of new sleeping positions have been discovered recently

Tonight my parents were just waiting for me to stir at midnight. It was like a trap and I fell right into it. Sure enough I began to stir. And the funny thing was, instead of them coaxing me back to sleep, this time they put me in a new diaper, fresh clothes and the lights remained on. Very odd.

Within 30 minutes, still awake, we were in the car. I did succumb to sleep then for a short while. But then I awoke to a din, crowds and more electronic boards with lights than I have ever seen in my short life. Questions ensued as security guards spoke to us. Lines of people. Luggage checks. More lines - long lines, waiting for tickets, waiting for hand luggage checks, waiting for passport stamping. Then sitting and waiting for a flight.

Why were we awake? I could see it was still dark outside. Everything, my entire order of the universe, was thrown into utter chaos! For once, in the wee hours, no one had a problem with my wakefulness. It was quite exhausting.

I see that I am victim to a conspiracy, but at the same time I realize that, according to the chatter, I may be well on my way to conquering jet lag. After all, it was still just 9 p.m. in New York after all security was said and done and I was sitting wide awake at 4 a.m. in the lounge in Tel Aviv waiting for my flight to board. Perhaps this is a good thing.

Well, buon viaggio to me as we travel through Italy on our way to New York. By the way, mommy wants GongGong to know, for the record, that by 4 a.m. she had already kissed my head 1,000 times. And we hadn't even boarded a plane yet.

This is what happens when you fight sleep

...And then just pass out in place, head crashing to the mattress.

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One.

I am 1! 

On this day, exactly one year ago, I performed my first act of mercy, probably the first of many for my life. It was over 100 degrees out and it had been reaching temperatures like that for weeks already. So I decided my early emergence into the world would be a great act of kindness to mommy who had been carrying me through the interminable summer. Three weeks before the predicted due date, a surprise to many, I made my appearance in the world at 8:47 p.m. on Aug. 15. As a bonus, we got to stay in the air-conditioned hospital for a week, riding out the worst heat wave yet of the summer.

Since then I have had some amazing experiences. I have eaten hundreds of items for the first time; passed through innumerable phases of napping and sleeping from my infamous war with sleep to my historic treaty with that axis of evil; I have progressed from a hate to a love relationship with toys; and have worked on all sorts of modeling shots for various brands including Polo (photo below) none of which were paid gigs, however.

Me at 6 weeks. Surely Ralph Lauren wants to hire me.

I achieved various milestones including recognizing the ring for a Skype call, sleeping sitting up in my crib, quietly pooing on my grandfather and receiving a diploma at the age of 10 months when I graduated from my program at Shalva. I have met many doctors, enjoyed open heart surgery and crossed the Atlantic on planes on two round trips.

And now, for what my parents say is the biggest birthday present any 1 year old can receive, I am about to embark upon the first Atlantic crossing of my second year (although it seems to me that this present is as much for my parents as it is for me). This time, I intend to experience many more firsts including eating New York pizza for the first time. And especially with Margaret when I get to meet her for the first time!

For my Erev Birthday (in Israel holidays begin the night before, but actually we had to leave the night of my actual birthday so the day before was a more convenient party day), we had a small celebration where I was supposed to practice eating my cake. It was an overwhelming experience for me.

Practice birthday cake(s) for me (to eat)
and mommy (to make)

They expect me to touch that?! Icky.

The expectations and attention were
a tad overwhelming for me

On the verge of a meltdown...

Rescued in time!

Then onto the gift phase of the soiree.

Onto presents... this one painted by artist Jireh
just for moi! Special commission, of course.

Elan helped open my presents while I played with my feet

When he wasn't helping me open presents, Elan helped me learn to read!

On my actual birthday, I had my last day of therapy with Michal, the occupational therapist. One day I may look back at being required to work on my birthday as sacrilegious, but mommy is banking on me not remembering details of this auspicious occasion as I am only one. But to make up for the work aspect, I got more kisses and hugs than actual therapy today as Michal was loathe to part with me. Not many can blame her, so I hear.

As the year progressed I developed into my own person. I am not the baby who likes to smash my birthday cake with my hands and get messy when I eat. But I do like bath time and could splash in a bath or pool for hours. I have started to give hugs and have become very cuddly. At the same time I have also become extremely wriggly (cause for concern on our upcoming flight). I speak a lot, but nobody else seems to understand me yet. Maybe someday they will learn my language, but it looks like I am going to be forced to learn theirs.

Oh, and then there is my hair swirl which has grown and developed along with me.

At 7 days old, you can see the makings of my magical hair swirl

Now I am moving onto year two and a bunch of "news" already await me including starting "school" in the fall and a baby brother for Christmas!

So I am just zooming forward in this world. Apparently, this year has flown by for some people, but, to be perfectly honest, this was already the longest year of my life!

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