Who Are You Again?

Hi!  Welcome back!  To me, mostly.  I've been deep in the throes of starting my new career over these past two months, to the point where I actually took about a month off from the 365 project just to stay functional.  But today is the day I get back to it, and to celebrate that, I wanted to share what I did from 04/22/18-05/19/18 (which is when I accepted things would need to be put on hiatus).  I took pictures of pages rather than individual pieces, in an attempt to actually get this whole thing done today, so commentary will be shorter than usual (although, obviously, the entirety of the post will be somewhat longer).

Greenbreathing.

I spent several days trying to capture the way that being in the woods brings me peace.  There's a poem in the left image, and here's how it goes:

Steps slow and burdened/Searching for the way I’ve lost/I pace the leaf floor

Following the path/Dark and light and dark again/Deep into the wild

The weight of sorrow/Pressing on my lungs: exhaled/Gathered up by Them

The Ancient Ones, still/Breathing with me in silence/Lifting my burden

From poison to life/In the space between heartbeats/They transmute my pain

Out and in and out/The one becomes the other/The other the one

My balance restored/Light and dark and light again/I find my way home

Sweet Things

I'm super into The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl.  You should be, too.  And then I found a pretty pittie who had wandered away from her home, and she was so sweet I called her Dulcinea.  Happy ending: she was reunited with her family after I took her to the Humane Society.  Also Happy Ending: I painted her without drawing first.  Progress!

Unfinished Business

I love what I've got going here, with my maenad and her satyrs, but I spent several days on it and it refused to progress.  I'll probably come back to it, someday.

Blue

I finished the first sketchbook on the last day of April.  I'd been reading a book that dealt with whales (Deep Wizardry) and it inspired my doodling that day (and I quoted it up there in the upper right corner).  (The lyrics in the lower left corner are from a song by Young Summer called "Waves That Rolled You Under", and I highly recommend you go listen to it right now.)

X Factor

Just a little green study of Madame X, because I was still working on painting without drawing first.

Jackalope Got Me Down will be the name of my first album.

More paintings without drawing, with limited success.  The Jackalope thing is because for some reason TLG took it into his head that anytime he fell down it was appropriate to say, "Jackalope got me down!" We have no idea where he picked that up from, but obviously we find the idea of blaming things on random jackalope attacks hilarious.

Damn good appetizer

Not much to say about these, except that I put a million layers into that cherry tomato and I think it looks awesome.  Also, the quote "He's my Wade and I'm keeping him!" is from the last time I played DnD (waaaay too long ago, now), and my character Severan sort of accidentally picked up an NPC squire and basically he's the Podrick to her Brienne now.  I'll hear no arguments.

Rainspheres (as opposed to bows) over the Grand Canyon, and also some Geese.

Red lips and purple ties.

Feet silhouetted in the pool at night, Super Professional Face.

These are all from my trip to Tempe at the beginning of May, where I had maybe five minutes each night to sketch something out before I dropped into bed, exhausted.

Love Undying

This last one, you'll notice, has a whole lot of dates next to it, and no color whatsoever.  That's because after nearly a week of making incremental progress, and feeling super stressed out about it, I realized that I needed to give myself a break.  So I did.  Which brings us to today, and this blog entry.  And once I finish this blog entry,  I'll start laying in some colors.  So stay tuned, Gentle Readers, and thanks for sticking with me for this long.

Nothing Tastes As Good As...

Once upon a time a supermodel was asked if she had a motto, and she replied, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."

For me, personally, that is utter garbage, because in my experience "skinny" feels pretty bad- weak and unhealthy type bad.  And I assure you, almost anything tastes better than not being able to lift half a couch feels.  But like most garbage, some good can be reclaimed from it- in my case by replacing the penultimate word:

"Nothing tastes as good as not-pain feels."

That, my friends, is a very true statement, and one I've been saying to myself recently, specifically in the wake of some particularly bad (sugar-induced) inflammation.  My joints have been shrieking with knife-sharp-agony (especially my left knee), so I just try to remember that feeling whenever I am tempted by tasty sugar-shelled chocolate eggs (just for random example...).  Sure, they're delicious, and I enjoy eating them, but not as much as I enjoy not being in agony.  Remember that, brain.

The phrase got morphed again today, as I tackled the physically hardest climbs I've done since returning to the gym: a 5.10- overhang, followed by a 5.10 overhang (I managed the first, but fell off the second multiple times until my grip was utterly shot and I had to be lowered).  I could feel my poor nutritional choices of the past week coming back to haunt me as I wrestled with those routes (joint pain, general tiredness), and I thought grimly to myself,

"Nothing tastes as good as climbing well feels."

My belay partner and I discussed how as we age, our bodies are less forgiving of inferior fuel, and that's something I need to keep in mind the next time I'm tempted to help myself to the chips Nathan is snacking on.  Especially if I'm serious about getting back into fighting trim, which I absolutely am.

All that aside, I left the gym feeling really good about my progress*, and really re-committed to climbing on a regular basis.  I want to up it to at least six times a month (and preferably twice a week), so that I can justify going back to a membership instead of a punch card.  That will be such a major victory for me, you guys, a huge step towards being the healthy Me I want to be.




*(finishing anything on overhang always makes me feel like a beast, and also a climber I really respect complimented me on my good technique, which was deeply appreciated)**

**(also my calluses are finally coming back!  Woo hoo!)

Unboxing Cheer

It's 0930, and Nathan has abandoned us to "go Christmas Shopping" or some such malarkey.  It's snowing out.  There's ice on the roads but more dangerously there are other drivers who don't know what the hell they're doing on the roads.  And most aggravating of all, my son's heavy winter mittens and regular fuzzy mittens have both been left at daycare, so we can't play outside longer than the ten minutes it took for his hands to go cherry red.

We're currently considering our options, which right now looks a whole lot like me reading Bunnies!!! over and over again.  (Which, don't get me wrong- I do love that book, but I made the mistake of giving the monster a Very Specific Voice, and it does wear on my throat.)

Suddenly, Isis's head comes up- and then there's a knock at the door, the sort of knock that means Something Interesting on the front porch.  Perhaps the book I ordered for my mom over a week ago?  Isis lets loose her snarling "big girl voice" and charges for the window, following it up with agitated whining, just in case we missed the frantic-scrambling-sounds of the mailman diving for safety.

I grab her collar, open the door (yell, "Thank you!" to the poor man) and look down to discover that it's not for my mom- it's from her!  Hooray!  Mom has rescued us from our burgeoning boredom by delivering up the unadulterated joy of diving into a large package full of gifts and goodies!

Okay let's do this!

The first level: full of tissue-wrapped, "It's okay to tear into them RIGHT NOW" parcels.

Level two: now we come to the Real Deal.  These are Presents for Under the Tree, people.

(and edible goodies, both home-baked and bought-from-the-German-deli)

Neeps, of course, is THRILLED that Oma sent him a package of tissue paper to destroy.

And a box to sit in.

No, Neeps!  I won't ship you back to Oma!

A Matter of Taste

One of the fun side effects of my little food-allergy-adventure is that I don't have much in the way of a sense of taste anymore.  I can still smell, and I can sort of taste things as I swallow, sort of, but anything that involves the tip or top or sides of my tongue?  Nothing.  Which has led to a sort of interesting exercise in "What's worth eating when you can't taste it?"

As you might imagine, most of it comes down to texture and temperature.  Warmth is still very nice (especially as I have a raspy throat at the moment) so I'm drinking a lot of aromatic tisanes (if you can't taste 'em you may as well smell 'em).  But spicy sort of sucks, because there's none of the flavor, just a very unpleasant burning sensation.  Apples are no good, and much to my chagrin I discovered that my beloved Mighty Bowl is pretty non-appetizing without flavor (apparently I really don't like the texture of rice).  Yogurt is unpleasant, cheese is neutral, scrambled eggs are tolerable, saurkraut is actually pretty good because I can get more of a sense of the taste.  But winter squash is fantastic, because even if I can't fully appreciate the taste, I can fully appreciate the silky, mouth-filling texture.  Crushing things like fresh herbs between my teeth (cilantro and fennel, to name the two I've noticed) seems to work moderately well- I think because a lot of that comes down to scent.

I do hope my sense of taste comes back soon.  I feel like it will be difficult to eat a well-balanced diet without it, because I take four bites of whatever and am done- just enough to shut my stomach up.  I could probably just switch over to nutrient-drinks and call it good, if this keeps up.  Which really sounds like a terribly unpleasant way to live, given how much of our culture, socializing, and bonding is tied up in food and its preparation (especially amongst my nearest and dearest).  Still, I can't wholly regret this episode (going on for about a week now) as it's given me some insight into a different way of life, and that's all any writer could hope for (because when you're a writer, literally anything and everything can count as research).

Maybe It's Bromelain!

Spent this morning at the doctor's office, getting a referral to an allergist, to figure out what I've eaten twice within the past week to cause my tongue, mouth (and, more frighteningly, my throat) to swell up.  The kicker is that the most recent occurrence (at last night's party) was, well, at a freaking party, where I'd eaten small amounts of approximately twenty different things, in addition drinking at least three different beverages.  This did not make narrowing things down any easier, especially since some of those things I ate were things-made-of-many-things.

That being said, I told the doctor that I figured it was either something in a ground sausage type thing, or tree nuts.  Or, I added as an afterthought, pineapple, which had been present in the ground sausage type things.

"Ah," his face relaxed.  "I'm still sending you to a specialist, but I'd lay my money, as it were, on the pineapple."*

And then he prescribed me some steroids.  Woo!

The allergist's office won't call until the actual business week, obviously, but in the meantime I've busied myself like the good little 21st century patient I am by reading allllll about pineapple allergies.

Which led me to discover that pineapples (which I love, by the way) essentially are doing their best to digest you while you're eating them.  Say what?  It's true.  They have a little enzyme called bromelain that breaks down proteins.  You know, like the muscle that is your tongue.  It's used commercially as a meat tenderizer, if that tells you anything.  So lots of people tend to feel a bit of a tingling when they eat pineapple (I have myself, in the past) but I guess the bodies of some lucky so-and-so's get all suuuuuper sensitive about it.  Like giant jerks.

It was actually kind of a relief to find out about that, because one of the things bothering me about my "allergic reaction" was that I wasn't just swelling: I felt like I'd burned everything- tongue, mouth, tonsils, throat.  Burned to the point where I currently have no sense of taste, even.  It got me wondering if I'd somehow chemically burned myself on some spices in the sausage, but the whole pineapple-attempting-to-digest-me thing makes a lot more sense.

Of course, we'll wait and see what the specialist says, but in the meantime I'll be over here, not eating pineapples.




*all hail a doctor who actually listened to me, by the way.

Being Merry

It was a day of tastiness.

Just how I like it.

bok choy, chanterelles, and scallions for our chicken soup

Mountian Rose

Nathan and I went together to pick Neeps up from daycare today (yeah there might be some lingering guilt, so sue me), and afterwards we all went to the grocery store, where there were lots and lots of lovely apples on display!  We got to sample a few, including the one I've always thought of as the, "The Starburst Apple" (it's actually called Mountain Rose)  We bought a few of those to bring home, and Neeps was as delighted by the taste as I was.  (Nathan finds them too tart)

A blushing exterior hides a scarlet secret...

Oh Mai!

Sweet and tart and oh-so-lovely.  No wonder I'm a fan.

Old Friends and New Traditions

Sometimes you love someone so much that time and space don't matter.  Sometimes you love someone so much that it transcends "types" of love, and all you want is for them to find their Happily Ever After, and you'd give just about anything to somehow wave a wand and make it happen.  And sometimes the Universe grants your wish in a thoroughly unexpected, but nonetheless delightful way.

(Well, the Universe and the Internet.)

All that to say, I got to see a very old, very dear friend today, whom I had not seen in over a decade.  And I saw him in the company of another, newer (but also quite dear) friend, because I am the Kevin Bacon to the movies of their lives, and sometimes life is a fairy tale, and I'm delighted to be the unwitting fairy godmother.

Fittingly, we took our reunion to a Pumpkin Patch, because where else do you kick it when you have a surplus of magic?

Some people want more legroom in their carriages, I guess.

Nathan and I had actually gone last year with Kayla, when my belly made it hard to actually see (let alone pick up) gourds.  So now we've done it two years in a row, and I'm calling it Officially Tradition now.

Speaking of tradition, I also indulged in my Annual Caramel Apple, painful joint consequences be damned.

Future Jenny O is going to HAAATE ME.

My feet gained like two pounds each, trudging through the patch.

And SOMEONE managed to lose a sock...

...AND THEN he muddied his remaining sock.  I have no idea how he managed it: he was on my back the whole time.

Fox magic, probably.

Sharing is Caring

 Reasons My 10-Month-Old Offers Me His Food:

1.  He is a sweet and loving child who wants to make sure I eat something, too.
2.  He thinks something tastes good and feels I should try it.
3.  He finds it hilarious to offer me food and then withdraw it, giggling, when I go to take a bite.
4.  He sees what I have to eat, thinks it looks better than what he has, and is hoping I'll trade.
5.  He is done eating but doesn't want to be cleaned up yet.
6.  He thinks something tastes terrible and figures that's the best way to get rid of it.

Clever Creature

Sweet Stench of Victory

I open the door of the Forester to start loading up for our mini-road-trip, and the stench hits me like brick to the nose.

"Oh my god," I gag, almost dropping the diaper bag.  "Why does our car smell so awful?"  I snort to clear my nasal passages.  "Nathan!" I yell.  "What did you do to our car?"

"What?" he wanders down off the porch, arms laden with camera-gear.  "What are you talking about?"

"It smells like... like..." I gesture impotently, and he opens another door.

"Melon," he says, confused.

"Huh, yeah,"  (I should note here that while I do enjoy eating melons, I do not generally care for their scent, and it was at this point that I realized I may have been over-estimating how disgusting the smell was to the average person.)  I glare at him anyway.  "Why does our car smell like melon?"

"I don't know," he seems genuinely puzzled.  "Maybe Neeps dropped a piece?"

"We've never given him melon in the car," I am now opening the remaining doors and scowling at floorboards, looking for the nasty little culprit.  Nathan opens the hatch in the back, dutifully checking around the cargo area.  "Did you buy a melon while you were grocery-shopping yesterday?" I ask.

"Well yeah," he says, "But it's not in the car!"

"Well it's not inside," I say.  "Because I unloaded those groceries, and there was no melon."

"Babe I don't' know what to tell you.  There is no melon in this car."

"I would bet you money there is a melon in this car!" I yell as I run into the house to prove that there's no melon in there, either.  (Me being willing to bet money is a sign of just how certain I am, because generally speaking, I don't endanger the money.)

I am correct.  There is no melon in the house.  But even as I've been going over counters and into fridges, Nathan has been diligently re-checking the car, because he knows my nose doesn't lie.  And yet still- no melon.  We stand there, staring at one another, at a complete loss.

Until.

"Oh crap! I know where it is!"  Nathan scrambles back around to the cargo area and pulls out our stroller.  My stomach sinks as I realize what must have happened, and sure enough, there is a Suspicious Bulge in the middle of the folded-up contraption.

"Oh man," I whine, envisioning crushed, sticky, disgusting-smelling melon all over our lovely stroller, and the cold, cold hosing-down that is sure to follow.  But when Nathan unfolds it we discovered we have been Spared: the melon is merely bruised, not broken.

"Well," I say, satisfied to have been Proven Right and perhaps wishing I'd actually gotten my husband to wager a few bucks, "I guess we'll be bringing this with us to the party."

Aloha

"I think this Sunday would be a good day for your quarterly appearance."

That's what Nathan said to me earlier this week.  He backed it up by saying there would only be one service, and it was to be followed by a luau, and since I am a sucker for delicious food and honestly it has been a while since I showed my son off at church, I went ahead and accompanied my mate.

Neeps probably spent more time being passed around than being held by us, but he did get a chance to eat some pulled pork in our company.  And he must have liked it, because he definitely wore some of it like a hat:

Like any good parent, I didn't bother to point it out.  Just took a photo.  To his credit, Nathan did notice EVENTUALLY,

Urgent Care Again

Whelp, we ended up missing the wedding we flew cross-country to attend.  So.  There's that.

::sigh::

The doc saw a "shadow" on my X-ray, so she's not really sure if my ankle's fractured or not, but until we hear back from the specialist they sent it on to, I'm to treat it like a fracture.  Which means a boot and crutches and no weight-bearing which is fine because I can't put any weight on it anyway!  Woo!

WAY TO BOOKEND A VACATION!

The drive home from Urgent Care was painful enough to make us realize that it simply wasn't a good idea for us to go to the wedding, since the site was almost two hours from where we're staying, and we have an infant to care for.  It sucked, but sometimes you just have to make hard decisions.

Instead we've spent the day with my ankle iced and elevated, watching the Olympics.  Plus Nathan brought me some Vietnamese food from one of our Old Haunts to comfort me.  And also some cupcakes because I am really sad about missing wedding cake.

Old Friends: New Babies

I got together with an old friend today, primarily so we could admire one another's babies (but also so she could hand down some toys- woo hoo!).  There was a time (in Jr. High, to be specific) that she, my Katie, and I were inseparable.  And now all of us have the world's most beautiful children.  Apparently lots of Elfquest and elaborate story-telling in your youth leads to better looking children in your thirties.  Who knew?  (Get on that, Science.)

Mom made our ancestral food (schnitzel) for dinner, and Neeps loved it.  Obviously.  And after he was in bed the three of us (Mom, Nathan, and I) went out to watch the shooting stars extravaganza.

It was not what I'd call even a qualified success, since Mom was the champion Star Spotter with a grand total of two.  Stupid cloud cover.

Oh well, there's always next year!

Beneath a Pure Blue Sky

The bleached-out sun beats down, relentless, giving the world a slightly-frayed look: colors of summer slowly unraveling into white.  He is a banked-coal weight on my back, delighted by this new experience, the new sights and sounds and smells that are his for the embracing.  A deep blue hat keeps his face in shadow, safe, while a trickle of sweat begins to form in the long channel of my spine.

The woman at the stand gives us specific instructions- "Go to the shorter bushes.  They have the larger berries.  And start in the middle of the row, not the end- you'll find more."

We are in the habit of listening to the wisdom of experts, and it soon becomes apparent that we are wise in our habits.  I find a likely-looking place to start, and crouch down, setting the box- and my water bottle- just so.  Then, because we are the only ones there, I take him off my back, and settle him in a patch of shade within reach of the berries.  I am counting on the novelty to keep my sprout rooted to the spot.

Although they fall swiftly to my attention, the berries on the bushes prove difficult to harvest for tiny fingers new to the pincher-grasp, and so he takes to collecting the fallen.  While I approve of his ingenuity, I am less thrilled by the accompanying handfuls of mulch that are subsequently shoved into his mobile mouth.

I move the box so that he will reach into it for his berries, thereby hoping to avoid a throat-full of splinters.  He is delighted by this development, for it makes his berry-acquisition easier still.  For a while we work in companionable silence; I put a handful in the box, he takes a handful out.  Fortunately his hands are small, and the level in the box slowly rises.

And then I realize that he is in very real danger of asphyxiating himself in his enthusiasm for this new-found bounty, and so I rearrange once more: now the box is out of reach, and one pale, motherly leg forms a barrier between him and the mulch.  I hand him berries one at a time, which slows my collection rate but soothes my paranoia; he is still probably eating far too many for a creature of his mass, but at least they are going into his stomach and not his lungs. He is simply happy- happy to be outside, happy to be eating berries, happy to be with me.  Happy baby boy.

He will not remember this day, spent feasting in the shade of hardy shrubs, but I will- my heart stained, indelibly, with his blueberry grin.

Pretty Pots

While my mom was visiting, she and I went out to lunch at the most exquisite little bakery.  Everything was so delicious-looking that I actually took a gluten-pill so that I could indulge a little.  In addition to lunch, we each ordered a dessert, and then shared (obviously).  One of the desserts we ordered was a pot de creme, and it was fabulous.  So fabulous, in fact, that I got a bee in my bonnet about making my own.

I found myself a promising recipe for caramel pot de creme, but suddenly realized that I wouldn't be able to make it because I didn't have any ramekins!  Tragedy!  But then, when I went to visit Oma and Opa, I happened to ask Oma if she could help a sistah out, and sure enough, she could.

To the kitchen!

All the finest things.

I used farmer's market eggs, because obviously in a custard egg quality is exceptionally important.  I also used my Secret Weapon, which is a vanilla extract made for me by Adam and SCurry using bourbon from the distillery where Adam works.  Everything I make using the Secret Weapon automatically becomes 3x more delicious.  True fact.

Whisking and whisking

And then I poured water into the pan.

Vintage floral!

They came out super rich and delicious- too rich, really, for the size I made them in (my newly-acquired ramekins being twice the volume recommended by the recipe) .  But honestly, it was kind of fiddly/pain-in-the-ass-ish to make, to the point where this is one dessert I'm going to officially categorize as Worth Buying.

Still, you never know until you try, eh?

Brassicaceae

Pretty

Adulting

I had plans for today.  They did not include taking my son to the doctor.  But that's what I did.  Because parenthood.

(He's fine, by the way.  Just a little upper respiratory infection contributing to/paired with bacterial conjunctivitis.  Whee!)

I also prepped a crap-ton of food, because I've come to the begrudging realization that if I want to eat healthy, that's what I'm going to have to do: meal-prep on the weekend, followed by a rousing round of seal-and-freezing.  Otherwise during the week I'm all, "Ugh no energy.  Pickles are definitely a meal."

::sigh::

Adulting.  It is what it is.

Kablooey!

The scene:

A professional woman in her mid-thirties has just put in her order at the pizza counter of an upscale grocery market.

Cashier: You can pay for that now, or if you want to do some shopping you can pay when you pick up!

Woman: That's okay, I don't want anything else, thanks!

The woman pays, then wanders about the store a bit.  She comes to a display of sodas in glass bottles and decides, on a whim, to pick up two to go with dinner.  She returns to the counter and sets them down with a rueful grin.

Woman:  Guess I was wrong about that whole not wanting anything else thing!

Cashier: (laughs) That's not a problem!

The cashier rings her up, and the woman pays.

Cashier: Do you need a bag?

Woman: (reaching into her purse) No, that's okay, I have one!

The woman unfurls a black fabric bag, printed all over with white moose.  As she reaches for the sodas, she accidentally knocks one, and it tips over onto the counter-

only to SHATTER IN EXPLOSION!

The woman and the cashier stare at one another, dumbly, blood-orange flavored soda water dripping from the counter and their faces.

Woman: (eyes huge) ...I...I...I am so sorry!

***

I don't know who was the most traumatized- me, her, or the little boy standing two people back from me.  (He kept saying to his dad, "That was so scary!"  His dad, on the other hand, kept his head and went and fetched me a new soda.)  Fortunately no one was really hurt- the cashier had a little cut on her forehead, and I had to pick glass particles off of me, but honestly it's a little shocking how little damage it did.

Well, except to my ego.

Vicarious Adventures (Sort Of)

I don't do much of what the average person would call "adventuring" these days- there has been a distinct cut-back in things like climbing, surfing, camping, and even hiking.  Not a lot of travel either, for that matter.  But I'm not bored!  No sir, turns out raising a kid is chock-full of one of my favorite elements of adventure- novel experiences.  Watching his development from larva to nymph is like one long, fascinating science experiment: what will happen next?  For a person who loves stories, raising a human is the ultimate, because I am suddenly enjoying a front-row seat to the beginning of a person's story- something you never get to do with your parents or peers or millions and millions of people.  It's- as mentioned- fascinating.

My current joy is in the whole giving-him-solids thing.  Or, rather, letting him give himself solids.  I get so excited to introduce him to new flavors and textures, and watch his (admittedly hilarious) expressions as he experiences them for the first time, how they move from (essentially) "WTF?  Why?" to "Hmm, okay let's do this some more," to "YAS I WILL NOM WITH ALL MY MIGHT!"

It was so fun to give him a lemon to suck on during breakfast yesterday, to let him demolish a freshly-made corn tortilla last night (full disclosure: he liked the sauteed bell pepper the best).  Tonight I soaked a piece of (low-gluten) sourdough bread in Nathan's famous chili, and let Neeps suck on it.  He loved it.  And I loved watching him decide he loved it!

I've always known that I would enjoy introducing any child of mine to the books that I love, and to the activities that I love- you know, "adventures"- but for some reason it never occurred to me that I'd get a similar thrill from culinary exploration.  Which means that even tho' it will be a while before I can share the joy of Heinlein, or swimming in the Pacific, every evening I get a little mini-adventure of perfectly seasoned broccoli, or delightfully tender beef.

Life is good.

Party People

Today was a highly social day for us, all things considered.

In the morning Neeps and I went down to Portland to get breakfast with some old friends, during which time we caught up on one another's lives, talked about our challenges as writers (and humans) in our mid-thirties, and provided insight, advice, and encouragement all around.  I came away from that date full of love and appreciation for the amazing people I've somehow gathered along the way.  Which is an excellent frame of mind to be in, I must say.

We (including Nathan) headed back across the river in the afternoon, for a Birthday Party where I couldn't help but feel Portland As Frick, what with my baby-wearing, cloth-diapering, baby-led-weaning ways.  Truly, I am a neo-hippie product of my time.

Lumberjack hat and cords?  Yeah that's a PNW baby FO SHO. (neat wrapping still a work in progress)

It was a fantastic party- just the right size to foster real connections and intimacy, in a great location with made-from-scratch Mexican food that was so good that all I wanted to do was eat it all night long.  Except there was also a freaking hammock in the kitchen, so that took up some of my attention, as well (and Nathan's!) which we were able to do because Neeps was more or less the star of the party, and got passed around to one and all.

Kitchen Hammock is brilliant.  BRILLIANT.

Nathan also knows how to Party.  In a hammock.  Like a friggin' CHAMPION.

(Makes me think we should be going to more parties where he is the only baby... give me a chance to get my Shenanigans on.)

Shenanigans.  (I think that camera's been drinking...)