almost too cute to ride:

Have you ever seen sweeter bike??? The details are just amazing...and I can't tell you how fun it is to ride. Is David not the best guy ever? I heart that guy.

Here are some photos of my silly girl, just because.

p ::

is for Portland, where we are off to early tomorrow morning. We'll spend time with David's mom (who's visiting Portland from Boston) and his brother and family. Two boys for Bug to play with! We'll also get to see my sister Lala for the first time since she relocated there, despite the fact that she compared me to a parrot on her own blog today.

is for Pumpkin, one of Anna's MANY nicknames. It's morphed into Punkin, Punkie, Punkie Pie and even, I'm afraid, Punkenheimer. Poor kid. Last night I said "I love you, Anna" and she said "My name's not Anna. It's Punkin."

is for Pizza, one of my favorite foods and also one of our favorite games, thanks to the wonderful book Pete's A Pizza. It's about a little boy named Pete who is bored because it's raining (which means he can't go outside to play) so his dad makes him into a pizza. This was one of Anna's favorite games when she was little and we lived in Oregon where, yes, it rainded sometimes. Here she is, when she was almost 3, as a banana/tomato pizza....mmmm...my favorite.

To whom it may concern:

Dear tired six year old: please do not scream like I’ve dipped you in red-hot lava when in fact, all I did was attempt help you get dressed so we could get. out. the. door. this morning.

Dear Overly Enthusiastic Checker at Albertsons: Please do not ask how my day is going, using that completely fake saccharine-sweet tone of voice you use on your elderly, demented (and apparently, DEAF) 104 year old grandmother. You can't possibly be that thrilled about your job.

Dear George W. Bush: You are the leader (shudder) of the most powerful nation in the world. Please, for the love of all things holy, stop speaking as if you are still on the ranch in Crawford. Or I know!! GO BACK TO CRAWFORD and stay there.

Dear co-worker to whom the sound of human laughter is so deeply offensive: Please, for the love of god, GO GET LAID. And/or admit that you are gay and be fine with it. Women are not evil.

To my boss: Please, stop sending me emails with cheesy water-color images of big-eyed kittens, red roses and American flags, thanking God for our freedom. Do you not see that Darwin sticker on my car?

To this same person: Please stop sending me emails thanking me for being your best friend which then say that I have 5 minutes to send this email back to you and also must forward it to 16 of my other best friends or I will die of some flesh-eating disease. I always delete them and I still have all my fingers and toes.

To our neighbor, Ted: Ted. Please. I know you haven’t left the house for 35 years but please, I beg you, stop wearing those five-sizes-too-small-polyester shorts to water your lawn with your hose. I will gladly come over and help you figure out how to shop online. We’ll buy you a sprinkler while we’re at it.

To my ex-husband’s new girl-friend: if you didn’t want a boyfriend with an ex-wife or a child, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with this particular man. Yes, he and I do need to speak occassionally regarding our child, but I have moved on, am happier than ever and am no threat to you. I will become less a part of his life as time goes on, but his daughter is here to stay. And also? If you’d make even the slightest fucking effort, you’d see what an amazing kid she really is.

Ok. I feel better. Your turn.

o ::

Oregon. Home for 10 years.

Soon after Eric and I met at college, we embarked on a 3 month road trip to nowhere. We spent most of that time in the beautiful desert SW and then, when I realized I was likely to kill someone (ie Eric) if I didn't soon get a real bed and a real shower and a place to call home, we meandered up through California and found ourselves in Oregon. We were young (ish), unencumbered and Oregon seemed like a good place for us: progressive, liberal, lush, green and lots of good pot (just kidding mom!) We settled in Eugene, hippie-ville USA, in a gorgeous second floor apartment with soaring ceilings, french doors, a fireplace and crackhead neighbors who came alive each day at 11pm, screaming and throwing large objects at each other's heads. But I digress. Oregon. We loved Eugene; it's impossible to be bored in Eugene. There was always something going on there: street festivals, farmers' markets, outdoor concerts, fabulous dinner parties with our neighbors. We had good jobs, met wonderful people who are life-long friends, and every single weekend we'd throw the camping gear in the car and head off to explore amazing OREGON: the Cascade Mountains, Waldo Lake, Bend, Crater Lake, the Metolius River, the coast. It was wonderful. Until it wasn't. Our relationship was struggling... so I know! Let's get married!!


We knew at some point we'd have to "grow up" and would most likely move back to Idaho, but before doing so we thought we should experience living at the coast for awhile. With friends from Eugene we'd often visited little town on the N. Coast where they had a cabin. Every time we'd gone there we'd had some sort of magical experience, including getting engaged there on top of Cape Kiwanda (after an ultimatum by me followed by a long, very quiet car-ride...ahem). I got a job at a brew-pub there and two months after getting married we moved to Pacific City, Oregon, population 548. The first winter we lived there it rained...and rained...and rained: 154 inches in one year. This was Tillamook county, land of dairy farms, and the flooding was so extreme that cows were literally washed out to sea. Our shoes molded in the closets and the couch had to be several inches from the wall. But it was breathtakingly beautiful, and we spent hours and hours walking deserted beaches, learning about sea life and birds and wild mushrooms. Friends came to visit and we had roaring bonfires, millions and millions of stars overhead, someone playing the guitar. We bought a house. We got a dog. We bought kayaks. We opened a bookstore, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We had a child. We were unbelievably lucky. We were miserable. We sold our house. We sold our bookstore. We moved to N. Idaho, once again hoping that a change of scenery would help our marriage. It didn't. But I learned who I am in Oregon and part of me is still there.

soon to be covered with strained carrots...

These little bibs are the perfect "immediate gratification" projects for a crafter with ADD like me. This one's for baby Cole, once he's done cookin'.... :)

And when I was in Sun Valley recently we went to the best toy store and I bought Bug her own little embroidery kit. So last night she and I sat on the front porch, doing needle-work together. Here's her own version a tree, blue-bird and all.

m ::

is for MOM. My mom is my inspiration. She has lived an amazing life. She married my dad six weeks after meeting him on a blind date and within a few months he left to fight in the Korean war. When he came home, they spent a rainy summer living in a tent with a baby (!) in a northern California state park while my dad worked as a ranger. They were so poor that they lived on berries they picked and salmon my dad caught. To this day, my mom won't eat salmon. Then, when dad got a job in Nevada, she lived in a shack with four kids in the desert outside Winnemuca where she would lay awake at night listening to the sound of the trains pass , fantasizing about getting on one and riding away...leaving it all behind. Yesterday she told me about the time, when we lived in the cabin in Garden Valley, that she had to evacuate us from a rapidly spreading forest fire, by herself. She had to decide what to save (photos, antique clocks, and her sewing machine), piled the dog and her four kids into the station-wagon and drove, literally, through a wall of fire because there was no other option. Then, she told me, she cried because she realized she had left her silverware, which was probably the only truly valuably thing she owned. She taught me to love to read and sing and she has always reminded me of cross between Doris Day and Carol Burnette (which is a very good thing.) Mom, I can't tell you how much you inspire me. I admire your amazing strength and the grace with which you've handled all the challenges in your life. I love you.

is for Motherhood. Being a mom has healed me and changed me in ways I never thought possible. It's been better than years of therapy and has empowered me and challenged me and satisfied me immeasurably. There is nothing I wouldn't do for my little bug.


is for Moby. He's our sweet boy. He smiles (seriously) when we come home, which makes him sneeze like crazy. He always lays with his front paws "criss-cross-apple-sauce" (as Anna says). If we sleep too long, he'll just sit next to the bed and stare at me. If I ignore him, he'll say, simply, "woof". One small, quiet "woof". He loves Anna the same way our childhood dog, Smokey, loved us: completely and unconditionally. Sometimes he'll go into her room and select one of her stuffed animals (usually a porcupine, ironically) and bring it out to her and set in on her lap, as if to say "Here. Thought you might want this." When I brought home an abandoned fawn, he was so incredibly gentle with her. When she lay down in the bushes, he lay next to her, alert and ready to protect her. He is such a love.
















M :: is for Monday. Which is really just a way to get to talk about the weekend: I had the most wonderful, relaxing weekend. No kid (she was busy riding on a combine at a friend's farm), no David. Just me and Moby. I spent literally all weekend sitting on the front porch, either reading or working on some baby gifts. And I rediscovered my love of embroidery...aaahhhh...

j ::

for my sweet niece who's just been ordered to bed-rest for the duration of her pregnancy. She's not due until November. If you're the praying type (I know: ironic coming from me...), she could use any and all good thoughts sent her way, for her and the health of the baby, Cole.