A Fig in Sweden Portland

the vacation of s

Sophie. South Carolina. Sunshine. Sunscreen. Sand. Salsa. Sunshine. Starbucks runs. Smiles. Screams. Sunshine. Swimming in the ocean. Sand castles. Seafood. Singing frogs. Sundresses. Shaking hands with the easter bunny. Sipping non-alcoholic beer. Sunshine. Sandy feet. Sister time. Searching for toads. Stars. Sans daddy.

So fun and, yet, so good to be back home.

la niña, you stinka

Stay-at-home mom-dom + rainy spring days = a grouchy me and Sophie.

So far, spring is living up to the La Niña predictions: colder and wetter than normal. Here's how I've been trying to shake my meteorological funk and sheer cabin-fever craziness recently...

- A trip to the zoo on a marginally decent day

- Shopping at Target and Naartjie

- Buying strawberry plants at the garden store

Plus ...

Making peanut butter cookies with a 3-year-old in full princess garb.

A backyard picnic when it wasn't sunny but also wasn't rainy.

And then I hopped on my orange cruiser and biked into downtown to meet my husband for lunch on the first warm sunny day in a week.

Friday felt like a mini-vacation as I put my 5-month-pregnant butt on a bike seat for the first time since September. The 3-mile ride took me 15 to 20 minutes, and I think I had permagrin the whole way. Lewis and I grabbed Pad See Ew noodles with tofu from a food cart, and then we ate on the steps of Pioneer Square. Neither of us wanted his lunch hour to end.

It occurred to me that these little adventures are numbered for me. At least for a while. With Sophie in school three days a week, I can get the me-time I need and have a date with my husband when freelance work is slow. Come August, I can't exactly strap the infant car seat onto my bike.

On Friday I decided I am going to take full advantage of any and all nice sunny days between now and August 8. I sure hope there are a lot of them.

 

confessions of a curmudgeon

I came home from a downtown bike ride yesterday to find the neighborhood 5-year-old twin girls steamrolling down our front lawn. I was a little surprised, but not really irked. I mean, our front lawn is PERFECT body roll territory. I'm sure the urge is irresistible to all children under 12 who walk by.

On other occasions, I've found some of the other 6- and 7-year-olds playing some kind of spy game in our front yard. Again, not really a big deal.

But yesterday Lewis saw the crazy twins out our bedroom window running up the side of our yard. Fortunately, he had already finished changing out of his work clothes.We then see the whole neighborhood gang run across our front yard and up the driveway. And then they disappeared.

And that's when my inner curmudgeon came out. Our backyard is gated off for the dog. Our dog is sweet but also skiddish around screaming children she doesn't know. She leaves piles of dog poo back there that I try to clean up promptly, but I would say 99% of the time there are landmines. Aside from these valid reasons for not wanting neighborhood kids playing in our backyard, is there something wrong with me for just generally not wanting kids TRAIPSING ALL OVER our backyard? (Unless they are playing with Sophie.)

Growing up, I had a neighborhood posse of friends. Lance on my left, Abby across the street, Josh next to her, and then Margaret next to Lance. We played for hours every day. But we never, for example, ran into Margaret's backyard to play if we weren't already playing with Margaret. I never claimed a neighbor's property as my personal playground if I hadn't been invited to do so. Why do American kids today feel like they can?

I just couldn't keep my mouth shut as I swung open the back door and watched 5 kids scatter like roaches. I told them not to play in our backyard. And then I walked around the side of the yard and shut the gate they left open so our dog would not run away.

When we ran into the oldest ones a few minutes later while out for a neighborhood stroll, I said it again. With a "please." I'm a polite curmudgeon.