A Fig in Sweden Portland

the non-mom way to being a better mom

It never fails. The moments when she makes me forget that I'm the mom — those are the moments that stick with me. And with her, I think.

Like on Thursday, when we woke up to an inch or two of snow on the ground. We took her Swedish pulka sled over to the park. She had a blast while I pulled her over mud and snow (mostly mud), and when we made "baby Frosties" on all the picnic benches. But the best part was when she started a snowball fight with me. It was 15 minutes of all-out fun. I could have stayed there, in that moment, for hours.

On the way home, I turned around to see her spontaneously making snow angels on the neighbors' yards. She must have learned that in Sweden. When she asked me to make one, the adult in me paused. Until the child in me happily obliged.

Sure, there are times when I need to be the mom. But it's the times when I'm not that make being a mom so dang awesome.

where the happy dogs and parents are

Someone at work told Lewis about a nearby trail area that had two very big things going for it: no leashes required for dogs (many Portland trails require leashes to protect forest ecosystems) and no elevation, which means Sophie could just run free without us worrying she would fall off a cliff (think Multnomah Falls).

So it probably shouldn't have been much of a surprise that we saw LOADS of dogs — and a few little people — at the Sandy River Delta trail area on Saturday. Sophie got a few unwanted smooches from some big pooches, so I think she was happy for the first-class ride back to the car.

I predict lots of playing and picnicking here this summer.

undocumented yet unmistakable

I hope someday it occurs to her why I am in so few photos. That it’s me behind the camera lens. In awe of her.

OCD moms and dads welcome!

If you cringe at the thought of crayon (or, eek, marker) scribbles on your child's bedroom wall — or have ever thought to yourself, "I'm not that OCD. We can totally do finger painting in our white-carpeted temporary apartment as long as I put down a big drop cloth," only to have your child start clapping with paint on her hands, sending security-deposit-eating red blobs of paint everywhere — then Portland is your place.

My friend Kate and her daughter Lucy invited us to tag along on Tuesday to an art factory for kids in the hippest part of town: CHAP, located in a warehouse-like space in the Pearl district. She told me about CHAP (Children's Healing Art Project) a couple of months ago, so I knew to show up in head-to-toe grubbies. At CHAP, you can paint anything in the building, including the building. Loads of local businesses donate stuff that the kids can paint, such as Nike sneaks. For five bucks an hour, you don't have to think about how the hell you're going to get that crap off the wall or out of the carpet. Just hose 'em down, change 'em and throw them in the car to go home.

making valentines

She made valentines for her friends at school. And I made them for my sweetie before he went to work.

Feeling the love. Hope you are, too. Happy Valentine's Day.

laurelhurst in 10

These pillars mark the boundaries of our neighborhood, one of the oldest communities in Portland.

You see swings hanging from curbside trees all over Portland, not just in our neighborhood.

Laurelhurst Park is mere steps from our home.

The dog is pretty psyched about that.

Sophie is becoming friends with the little girls (ages 3 & 6) who live 3 houses down. They invited her to a tea party on Sunday. I'm so psyched that she is going to have a neighborhood posse, just like I did growing up.

We live on a designated bike street, which Lewis pedals on to work every day.

Our neighbor has grown kids. They put this out for the little ones to play with.

Laurelhurst, we love you. Now hurry up, spring.

no belly shots, tack

When I became pregnant with Sophie in Sweden, I longed for the States. So I found it interesting that when I was staring at that positive pregnancy test this time around, all I could think of was that I wished I was back in Sweden.

That was in late November, and I'm now starting the second trimester. We had been trying to get pregnant with Sophie's brother or sister for a while, but amidst the move this totally took us by surprise!

So far I haven't noticed too many differences between my prenatal care in Sweden and here in the U.S. (except for the $100+ health care bill I already have to pay for uncovered charges.) In Sweden, my first visit to the midwife was week 11. Same here. In Sweden I had one ultrasound by this time. Here, I've had three. It will be interesting to see how things differ for the next six months. I love my midwife and feel great, and that's what matters most right now.

The biggest difference is in my attitude about pregnancy #2 versus the first one. I mean, there is no way anyone is getting near my bare belly with a camera this time around (what was I thinking last time???!!!). Last time I knew exactly what day I was on (13 weeks, 4 days or 15 weeks, 1 day...). This time, I can't even tell you what week I'm in off the top of my head. Last time, we had an in-utero name to call the baby before she was born. We've felt a lot of pressure to come up with one for this baby too. I mean, Sophie was Tito, and he or she will just be "baby?" It seems so lame. Will he or she feel cheated that they didn't have an in-utero name? Will they feel less loved?

I must admit there's a certain been-there-done-that attitude about it all. I guess that's normal.  I already know what 9 months of pregnancy feels like. I already know what 24 hours of labor feels like. And I know that the best part starts after that. And that's the part I'm looking forward to. At our last ultrasound all I could think of was how badly I wanted to meet him or her.

At our next ultrasound, we are going to find out if Sophie will have a little brother or sister. Because we didn't last time, and this baby is different. So, until then, meet "baby."