I am currently at Gatwick Airport Gate 1 reflecting, and thinking about you, technology and our role as primary caregivers in your introduction to it. According to this, “When the child is between 18 to about 24 months, they recommend that tech devices can be introduced to the child up to a limit of 30mins per day on the devices, TV screens, and others.”
Inevitably, you’ve seen phones, laptops and tablets but we’ve more or less stayed within these parameters, leaning more towards micro dosage. Our first stance is no phones, screens or tablets. However, as we know, Tiny Desk has a big influence on you sonically, and without being there in person, it can only be streamed. The magic is finding a middle ground between entertainment and overstimulation. That’s no easy thing (given we can’t measure either). In that sense, abstinence seems logical.
To put some makeup on this, you’ve been in Riga (with your mum and grandparents) coming up to a fortnight. You’ll turn two there hence my weekend trip. So far, technology has mediated our interactions via video calls and media-rich texts. Thus, it’s fair to say you’ve had some screen time. Not much but more than usual, necessitated and amplified by distance.
I’m also half thinking maybe cumulatively you’ve had even less time onscreen. Your mum isn’t one to stay put, and from the pictures, there hasn’t been room for Tiny Desk. So perhaps my reflections are more visceral than actual. Anyhow, I’m on the plane. Embrace soon.
It honestly feels like you were born yesterday. You just turned one the other day and now you’re two already. I don’t know how. Crazy!
The last time we spoke, I was at the airport on my way to you. It was a soft landing and Riga hasn’t changed much. (We go too often enough to notice anyway.) We spent your birthday at Neptuns where your mother and I have been frequenting for as long as we’ve been going to Latvia. She coordinated everything from guests to logistics, as she does. I just showed up. All praise to her.
We arrived for lunch and spent most of the day walking the beach with Dace, Kostia & Ginta, their respective kids, your grandma, and Ieva and her mum (besties with your grandma). Your grandpa was the only notable absentee. He was in the hospital recovering from viral meningitis. He’s been plagued with the virus his entire stay, nearly a fortnight now. There’s no cure for it either. But he’s well on the mend and as of the time of writing, seems to be a thing of the past.
Your speech has also massively improved, be it in Russian or English. I’m amazed at the ease with which you use them interchangeably, without much effort (it seems). I guess you know no different so it must come to you naturally. Sentences aren’t a long way away now. But it’s not just your ability to pull from memory that is impressive, it’s more so the ability to apply context when using words like ‘here, there, this or that’. For example, ‘that, over there’. I didn’t think you capable of such framing. But I guess we’re all surprising each other.
The remainder of the holiday was spent restfully, with nothing of note. From age two, the airline prescribes a seat (that isn’t one of our laps). So that’s how we flew back.
In other news, yesterday we visited a nursery a stone’s throw from the house which we think would be great for you. Marc & Jess swear by it. They (well Jess) pestered their way in, calling day in and day out asking for vacancies. They were just a nuisance (her words not mine).
We’ve been on the waiting list for a time and finally got the call of an opening. It’s nothing fancy but everything I think a child needs. It feels like a family raising 20 or so kids, across varying age groups. It’s unrecognizable as nothing more than a house. It’s the perfect setting. The nursery is called Child’s Play (and yes I also rolled my eyes at the originality). We’ll see how you feel about it all.
On Thursday, your mother took you to see Dr Sophie Flammarion, she’s a paediatrician you’ve seen before. I believe that was with your grandparents. They only had good things to report about the rendezvous. And so did Liza. I got a download of how thorough she was and how engaged she kept you throughout the checkup. “She had a toy equivalent of the equipment she used and he only cried once”. Your mother’s words.
This won’t shock you, but we went back for a steer on how best to proceed with your allergies. It continues to be a game of Russian roulette. The eczema on your wrist isn’t budging and is seemingly immune to the creams we’ve been applying so diligently. Smh.
Despite a strict and caged list of no-nos (post the tests in Riga), there is still an abundance of child-friendly palates whose dietary impact on you is largely unknown. (As you can imagine, we didn’t test every food under the sun). Imagine a nightmarish scenario where the world was pitch black and all you had was a candlelight to navigate it. Sure, you could see what was right ahead of you but no more. That’s what this is like. For instance, I fed you pork the other evening and you literally couldn’t sleep – crying and scratching your head, arms, and legs the entire night. No one told me shit about pork.
The doctor said it’s not so much pork but that they rear the pigs on very poor diets. What they eat, we eat. We do so indirectly but the impact’s the same nonetheless, especially in your case. Consequentially, we’re off pork as well now, sadly. You loved a pork belly salted and slow-cooked. “Grass-fed” is your only option as far as livestock. In brief, we reluctantly give you new foods. And when we do, we try to micro-dose.
Also – and this was a tough ask – your mother had to take you to Harley St. for a blood test. She rang me asking if I could make it but logistically I couldn’t join, not in any meaningful time. She recalls channelling her inner me to stay calm while the nurses fiddled and fucked about amateurishly with the needle while it was in your arm. They had more fright and panic in them than she did. I wouldn’t give them this much shit if they came without the “best of the best” repertoire. They need a trip to the Latvian hospital where we did this.
Anyhoot, the test is to check for general health, infections and the function of vital organs. Hopefully, that comes back clear as crystals. Needless to say, you were less than impressed. Liza Facetimed me afterwards to calm you down a bit. You seemed OK I must say.
Overall, the doctor is firm on seeing a dietician. Her red flag is that your very short list of eatables won’t give you all the nutrients you need to develop and wants it expanded. She also wasn’t impressed with your poop and took a sample for tests. Results pending. Insightfully, she advised daily Zyrtec dosage which we previously only administered reactively when we feared the worst. Her counsel is to observe a two-week run, minimum.
Liza left with a couple of prescriptions for a new cream and an antihistamine, all of which Grandma Julia bought yesterday. There’s a hysterical irony to this but the antihistamine prescribed had a ‘banana flavour’ to it. Admittedly, a flavour doesn’t necessarily mean the real thing but given you are severely allergic to it, the word ‘banana’ is taboo in this house. The meds also had a bunch of “E stuff” we don’t like so we’re going to find a way to import the Zyrtec we got from Latvia. Well, Liza is. I just co-signed.
Oh, uhm, did I mention we had to call an ambulance the other day? Someone decided to swallow a fish bone… I had my finger down your throat, my hand playing the tam-tam on your back, hoisting you head first over the sink… I did everything. The choking appeared a lot of fun, for you especially. I call on that memory for a peaceful night’s sleep. Liza probably does the same. By the time the ambulance got here (and they were quick), I somehow got you to swallow whatever was stuck there. I honestly don’t remember how. The large peach bites helped. They checked your throat for an all-clear and even put on a show of flashing lights for you. They have my respect.
In brighter news, the last Lovevery play kit packed a sink. That thing keeps you busy for quite a while. I think the puzzle is a little too complex for you. Either that or you’re just not that guy, the puzzle-solving type. As far as the dot catcher, I’ve asked myself whether you are colourblind. Conceptually, it’s just not registering with you. You get more joy out of watching them fall out after you randomly toss them in. But I guess that’s good enough. We’ll come back to colours later.
Less than a month ago, I caught you on tape giving me a Malcolm X-like speech – powerful, inspiring and every bit as eloquent. This was all before bedtime. I’ll just leave it here.
Yesterday, your mother took you to your first-ever tennis lesson. At this point, this is very much her dream than yours. I gather you didn’t want to leave though so I’m down for whatever makes you happy. I see there’s been an Amazon order for balls and a racket. See you next Friday.
Day 1 – Lian is doing really well and is happily playing alongside Riley in the garden.
That was the headline from the nursery where you’ve been throughout the month, three times a week. The name has grown on me. I squirmed initially but now I think it fits the tin rather perfectly.
The drop-offs have been dramatic – tears, screaming, and a general sense of abandonment (by both parties). Today, however, (Oct 11, 2024,) your mother said you were very mature about it all; “very serious”, she said. You ran through the alleyway, knocked on the door, went in and that was it. She waved and left.
I have to keep reminding myself why we’re doing this, why we’re sending you off to this place to spend an entire day with strangers. I am grappling with this concept from an emotional standpoint.
Logically, we’re doing it to give you more of everything, everything an active two-year-old needs. More engagement, more time outside, more toys to play with problems to solve in a fun way, more challenges to overcome, more people to meet and interact with, more ideas to ponder, and more life to live. With our current schedules, it’s impossible to check all these boxes, not between dinner preps and work commitments.
Your grandparents have done an exceptional job raising you so far but they also need a break. Your energy levels are travelling in opposite directions. Nursery means we can give you the best of ourselves when we have you, fatigue-free. The separation unites us in the evenings. The quality is better.
Nevertheless, the emotional turmoil of walking away while you weep is still something we (or at least I) haven’t normalized. That will take some time. That said, you love the place. You are the chef’s favourite because you eat all the food she makes and Katie your key person has nothing but good things to say about you from behaviour to etiquette. I do however take all of that with a smidgen of salt. What else are they supposed to say right? So I can’t lean into that too much. These comments aren’t all that surprising though. You are extremely well-behaved, especially in public. So in all, nursery is going well and it’s a good thing for you.
A few Saturdays ago, late last month, Liza and I took you to the barbers for your first trim outside both houses. (I’ve cut your hair before and your grandmother trims your sides all the time when you’re eating). Started with tears and ended with “Actually, this isn’t so bad. Anyway, are we done? Alright, let’s get the fuck outta here”.
I’m also teaching you basic sign language. We’re five gestures in. I am in awe of how well you retain and playback information. It’s frightening. It catches me off guard all the time. At the time of writing, you can say and recognise “yes”, “no”, “baby maybe”, “please”, “thank you”, and “are you OK?”. It only took about a day or so to incept and now I just repeat whenever the occasion to use arises. You’re ready for new words.
It’s the Easter holidays, and your mother got us a last-minute flight to Riga. So here we are. A good chunk of the day was spent at the seaside, where we walked the coast and had our customary burgers. Like every other visit.
It’s been months since the previous update, and there’s plenty to catch up on. So much from the settled life at the nursery, doing the ups and downs of Porto, shovelling snow, etc, etc. However, rather than three walls of text, I figure I’ll let pictures write the thousand words.
There is very little I can tell you about the story of our family, very little about our relatives, near and far. I am blank, especially on my father’s side. I barely know who we are, don’t know where we came from, who all my father’s siblings are, his father, what he did, etc, etc. As my chin greys, I realise how much I need the depths of my past to navigate the future. Alas, less than nothing is verbally passed down or documented.
From my parents going backwards, every person who ‘returns to dust’ leaves a hole in the tale no one can fill. The story might be the same, but the perspectives as seen by the eyes of the beholder will differ from lens to lens. These folks live in an environment that expedites the journey to the grave. And they are dropping like flies. My cousin died while I was in Cameroon a few months ago in a car accident after the brakes failed. (My mum, your grandmother, survived a similar ordeal with several scars to show for it.) I knew very little about this cousin, Evette, but the impact on the family was profound.
All of that I say to emphasise, it’s just a matter of time before we become a people with no history, except those of recent times. And recent times aren’t a broad enough base to anticipate (and prevent) accidents to come. We need more, a lot more data.
But you know me. I come with problems on the left and solutions on the right, right or wrong. The questions are plenty, and those left to answer them are few and far between. The task is Everest, and the only way to top it is a step at a time. There needs to be a (constant) transfer of knowledge. I’ve self-assigned myself the scribe of the family. I’m going to ask the questions and write down the answers, and hopefully, it will help you on your path forward when you look back.
While I was in Cameroon, I interviewed your grandfather and discovered a ton of stuff I never knew. I am still going through the footage. It’s taking me a while to complete because… life. But I’ll keep chipping at it. The series is called A thing of the pastFamily Ties, and below is the first part.
Speaking of a thing of the past, Liza recently rediscovered a childhood friend. He and his wife recently moved to the UK around our neck of the woods, coincidentally. This Russian couple also have a daughter months older than you, Maya. Yesterday was the third time you’ve hung out with her. This time at Wisely. Your mum says you play well together. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.
We were in Riga over the Easter holidays for a few days. The bed we’d bought you is still there. You’re in a possessive phase of your life and made it very clear to us that the bed was yours and no one was to sleep in it, especially me, because “it’s too big for you. You’re going to break it“. So for the duration, you slept in your bed.
The good news is you’re treating your bed here at home the same way. You’re very comfortable (at least with me) being left alone to sit, read, play and spend some time with yourself. To be. I’m doing my best to encourage that. You behave differently with your mum (and that’s OK).
You’re also very naughty now and testing the boundary limits – hitting, shouting and tantrums (over seemingly small things). The terrible twos. I embrace it all as part of your upbringing. We love you all the same, even when we have to correct you.
Oh, lastly, and it’s quite the milestone, you are potty trained. You know where to go when you have to go. And you go unaided. This is all your grandad’s doing. I can tell you and Valery are very good “pals”. Long may it continue, and I hope you grow to cherish it (as much as he does).
You’re now three years old; three and some change. Incredible. I don’t know how or when it happened. Everything is moving at light speed. The world is changing, taking new forms and faces. You see no difference. Clueless. Beautifully blissful. Yet curious. Like I said, incredible.
Today’s update is in video format. Vlog style. I’ve had the idea for a while (hence the radio silence since the last post) and just needed some time (alone) to run it. There’s a lot to catch up on. I figure it’d be easier as a video. So here we go.
Today was day one at the nursery. Back from Riga, back from needing to wear fifty layers before going out in the snow. Back from Christmas, presents, fireworks, and plenty of ice cream. Back from it all. All topics for another day. Another year has closed, and we’re on to a new one. Welcome to 2026.
“France” is this afternoon’s table topic. The TLDR is we’re thinking of moving. But there is a lot, and I mean A LOT to sort out. Not necessarily a long list of things to do (though it’s growing like a new born) but the complexity of the listed items. What do we do with the house, the car, my work, your school etc etc. Do we sell this? Keep that? Your grandparents – do they live with us or do they need their own space? Questions, questions… It’s tricky.
We’re chatting through it and you can bet a lung this is not the last you’ll hear of it.
Oh man, I’m really sorry this has taken this long. That’s how long I’ve been in my own head; spending more time worrying about what format works best for these updates than the updates themselves. Since the last post, I wanted to only do video. But that requires time away from everyone (since this is still a secret even you don’t know about). As a family bound at the hip, that sort of time is about as easy to come by as milk from a ferry’s tits – I was going to say “as gold dust” but where’s the imagination in that? And then there’s work, active on two fronts. All frivolities to you I’m sure. Today however, and in the days after it, I’ll simply write. Back to basics. When I can sit in front of a camera, I will.
I put this clip together last Christmas. “The Sledge” I called it. It’s release stalled until now because I wanted to edit in the fireworks that brightened the sky that night on New Year’s eve. I won’t bother with any of that now. We are where we are.
Liza took you out earlier to see Rozalia. You’ve since been back and currently sitting on the bean bag in my office watching Charlie and Lola. I’m just typing away.
Before we go any further, there is some sad news to share. Uncle Andrew – you called him Andriii – died a few weeks ago. It’s been coming. Centuries chain-smoking, failing health, met with a persistent (borderline stubborn) reluctance to seek medical attention…
He was a fine man, one of principle, the same ones that kept him alive and probably the same ones that killed him. I describe him as the one person who understood me fully without having to share a common language. I miss how vintage he was. His non-legally-married wife Sveta asked if I wanted to inherit his vinyls and record player, to which I wholeheartedly agreed. It’s going to travel from Riga to London at some point.
Your grandparents are dealing with his loss in their own way, distressingly of course. He’s been friends with your grandad since Valerie was about nine; your babushka has known him over four decades. Uncle Andrew taught Liza how to swim. We spend New Year’s eve together every year. And so on and so on… There’s a picture somewhere on here of you both on the beach. You’re cycling ahead and he’s just behind ya. R.I.P. Sir.
Last year, you were the rocket man. This year’s obsession started with dinosaurs and progressed to pirates. We’re now knee-deep pirating, so much so that Liza had one dress up to entertain at your birthday. Your cake was sea and battle ready. Great thing we were at the beach already.
Your birthday had the usual faces, except for one new addition, eight year old Nika. Pre-Summer, we took you to the playground in Dzintari Forest Park (Dzintari mežaparks). You were swinging away when this mix-raced girl came up to me and engaged in active conversation. Like most Latvians, her English was fluent, but very British. And moments later, I found out she lived in or around Croydon. (I don’t remember which precisely but Croydon was mentioned. I went to Croydon college.) Then we met her mother and grandmother who were close by on a bench. Liza got talking to Nika’s mother and the rest is history. Next thing you know, she’s on the trampoline at your birthday. I’m told her Russian is also near impeccable.
Julia and Valerie left Riga a week before us, not long after your fourth birthday. And we were three. In our last days, we drove out to Kuldīga, a small town two and a bit hours away. The drive was flat and the roads were smooth (for most of it). I especially enjoyed the emptiness. I’ve become accustomed to how clean the country is. We stayed at an old joint called Noliktava No 5. The room was to a taste I’ve acquired, aged and full of texture. The furniture was soviet and the colours were autumnal. The only June in there was the linen curtain tracing the angular walls into a window overlooking a shallow canal. The roof above it was lined with pigeons taking shade. Quite the picture.
Music is still very much a thing for you. So last Christmas we got you a Yoto player. (Your bestie at nursery, Kier, also has one apparently). Your first few interactions with it were hilarious. The break dancing alone was something to cherish.
Then we went to Amsterdam for your mother’s fortieth. What’s with all the bicycles cotdamnit!? They come from everywhere. Footing is very exhausting, not for distance covered, but for the attention required, especially with a young child. Walking has never been so tedious. I don’t think you enjoyed it either. But we appreciate the privilege of having the experience, especially if you’re staying at the Okura hotel. Half the sweets in their lobbies are missing thanks to you. Liza won’t forget the meal at Teppanyaki any time soon.
Once a year, for the last three or four years, your mother and I spend a few days at the Grand Park hotel in Rovinj, Croatia. (It’s possible I’m repeating myself here.) This year though, we took you with us, to the Amarin hotel. It was a working trip for me but you spent almost the entirety of it in the pool, with a life jacket giving you a false sense of confidence on how good a swimmer you are. You now believe yourself a fish and aren’t scarred of jumping into bodies of water. We need to give you swimming lessons as soon as possible.
The resort didn’t give us much reason to venture out, with everything neatly packaged in-house. We did however take you into town on what you called the “wobbly boat”, visited some of our favourite restaurants and got you to experience (with little enthusiasm) what your mother and I seek year in, year out.
France. Right. France. That couldn’t, didn’t happen. Instead, we bought a house down the road.
The house is everything we hoped for. It was a total nightmare trying to buy it. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. From trying to track down the lease to our apartment so we could sell it, to our lawyers going under in bankruptcy midway, trying to find another, babysitting the sellers who made their divorce our problem, the fucking endless amount of paperwork and checks that had to be done and completed… Christ, I’d love to do it all over again. With pleasure. It was that exhilarating.
The grand news is, we’re here now. Another phase. Currently, I am in what seems like a permanent state of unboxing and trying to rid of boxes. Dinner table chairs arrived yesterday. The oven died last week and a new one is on its way Thursday. But the end is near. Just a dresser left and we’re done, for now, forever, hopefully.
The house comes with a room to yourself where you are spending the least amount of time at the moment. Interestingly, when we moved in, you slept the entire night in the new bed we put in there. It must have been the novelty of it all. That happened then, and hasn’t since. There have been half nights but not another full one. In time my friend, in time. No pressure.
When we got the place, I had the entire garden cleared out, except for a Japanese maple tree and a flower your grandmother liked. It raised eyebrows but it was important to me that we start our own story. I wanted every planting to be intentional, not inherited. And that story has started. There’ll be something to tell many seasons from now, beginning with the cherry tree you and I put into the ground.
I’m not entirely surprised by your interest in gardening. I grew up with dirt between my fingers. The mango hasn’t fallen far from the tree trunk. You often ask if you can help when I’m out in the heat and I make sure to welcome you, knowing nothing fruitful will come from your participation, rathe opposite. You love a tool, and my box has plenty of them. I got you your own gloves and lately your own watering can. But it’s a chance for us to share time, and that’s most important.
So far you’ve eaten a raspberry and tomatoes from the garden. The future promises a variety of currants, strawberries, blueberries (hopefully), peaches, kiwis, plums, cherries, cranberries, figs, and plenty of herbs – parsley, chives, oregano, rosemary, and thyme. I want you to very quickly grasp that produce doesn’t come from supermarkets. They come from the ground and how you treat the ground is how you treat yourself. For the nth time, the nursery has given you a cough. Your immediate remedy is going to be a tea with lemongrass harvested from the back, some lemon juice and raw honey. That’s the case in point.
Sticking to health, those rings that make you look like a ninety year old surfaced again around your eyes. Even stronger this time. You’d pass for an old dwarf if you hunched over and slowly paced about with a cane. We did another investigative run at your allergies and confirmed dust mites and egg remain highly triggering and problematic.
I’m not entirely sure how we handle the former. There’s dust everywhere. We had to source special washable carpets for the house to control how much of it you’re exposed to, buy special bed covers, a dedicated hoover for sheets… It’s not a battle I think we win. As far as eggs, we’re back at square one slowly re-introducing it into your diet. Zyrtec is also back on the menu, along with Epaderm to push back the eczema. Not too long ago you also came down with what the doctor called viral tonsillitis. Fun, fun, fun.
In the behaviour department, there’s plenty of role play going on, wild imaginative scenes you create to play with your toys. Budget is no issue for the movies or figurines you’re currently directing. I’m just lucky to have front row seats.
We’ve also found ourselves striking deals with you. Today, it’s a handshake agreement to exchange Charlie & Lola episodes for a shower afterwards, tomorrow it’s negotiating finishing your meal to get ice cream. You’re coming up with contracts of your own now. “Papa, if I do (this thing I don’t actually want to do), can I get or do (this thing you don’t want me to have or do)?” And guess who sometimes – a lot of the time – doesn’t hold their end of the bargain… Yeah. Tears ensue, yelling, and your new thing, “STOP IT”. Liza doesn’t love that last bit. No idea where it comes from either.
I’m going to leave you with some more pictures and this which I heard from a Joe Rogan episode when interviewing Ethan Hawke on the subject of social media and external validation.
If you can make best friends with yourself, then your best friend is with you all the time.
