waffles and welders

We had such a nice very-long-weekend style visit with Sam and Austin last week!

Sam's trip peaked near the outset: they arrived on Wednesday afternoon, and at a Wednesday evening concert he ran into Fred Armisen, who said hi. Now he can tell his friends that he came to Portland and was basically in a Portlandia skit. There was even an element of fundamental absurdity in the form of oddly spastic, related but unmatching dancers right in front of them at the concert. Way to exceed expectations, Portland.

We made sure they ate well, given our constraints of a preschooler and a baby: pizza at Apizza Scholls, fish sauce wings from Pok Pok, and near-daily trips to the Waffle Window where they tasted Oregon's own marionberry for the first time. Apparently Sam loves waffles. And Lucy loves waffles and bacon, and I love walking down the street for breakfast.

We went to the coast where Sam and Lucy buried each other and Austin and Shaggy found Aerobie nirvana, and we went to Hood River and had sand blown in our face.

There was also homemade beer and a lot of ice cream.

We missed Wendell and Jordan, but hopefully made a convincing case that there has to be a next time.

now and then

I keep taking pictures of Oscar that I then I immediately recognize as similar to a picture I remember taking of Lucy three years before, sometimes similar enough to look as though I intentionally staged a a replica.

Like this one, which is, remarkably, neither the same baby nor the same giraffe nor the same rug.

Oscar, three and a half months (July 2012)

Lucy, three months (October 2009)

thirty-six months

Dear Lucy,

Three years! Your body is long and stretched now, your belly shrinking and your limbs taking on the proportions of a little girl. You run faster and faster, you don't fall down as much.

Some days you want to be little, some days you want to be big. When our neighbor asked you how old you were going to be on your birthday, you first refused to answer, then you said "Zero!" She asked you what happens when you turn zero, and you said, "I disappear!" I felt proud of your grasp of foundational math.

You told your uncle Austin that little brother was still a baby, but that soon you will be a grown-up. He told you there was no hurry. Later, I ask you what you will do when you are a grown-up, and you list three things:

I will be able to put things in the oven.
I will saw wood.
I will drink coffee.

This is what grown-ups do.

We have started to put your hair in braids so that it doesn't tangle. Your curly ringlets were becoming a casualty to nighttime tossing and turning, but Aunt Sarah showed you braids and we haven't looked back. I like it when we end them about half way down and your curls still peek out at the ends.

You love to go with me on errands now, and I like it too. You help me find groceries and you stay right next to the cart, and when we go down the Mexican food aisle you stumble upon the round crackers that are your favorite and you say, "Here is what we were looking for!" even though we weren't looking for them at all.

But I buy them, because I love the way your face lights up in recognition when the world gives you tiny nice things, and it's just what you expected would happen.

You still call me mama and mommy, but you also call me mom (in a funny voice, as though you know it sounds ridiculous) and mother and mama bear. Sometimes you call me your little daughter. When I hurt myself you run to kiss it, and when we imagine something scary you tell me that we will keep each other safe.

Grow, grow, grow, little baby bear! But not too fast.

Love,

Your Mama

friday cute shot

there will be mustaches

Saturday was the friend party, and on Sunday, Lucy's actual birthday, we repeated last year's adventure in fishing. We caught far fewer fish and it was too cold to swim, but we had a good time and we managed enough fish for a birthday-girl fish fry appetizer (the rest of us pretty much had to keep our hands off).

Back at the house Lucy wore her birthday crown and opened a pile of presents, among which there was a piggy bank with stickers for decorating it, silk flower clips for her hair that used to be my grandma's, legos, a Spanish dancer dress-up outfit and strings of beads to match, clothes, lots of art supplies, and, the hit of the afternoon, a package of stick on mustaches.

For dessert we skipped the cake and went straight to the ice cream, Lucy's favorite. My mom had a soft serve ice cream maker she'd picked up at a yard sale and Uncle Lance offered a banquet of flavors and a pile of mix-ins to choose from: chocolate syrup, caramel syrup, oreos, mint chips, strawberries, butterscotch. Lucy requested vanilla.

It was a happy birthday.