hand-me-downs

Before X was born, my friend B had me over to her house for a little informal hand-me-down party. Her and her old friends are all done having their babies, and so they pooled a lot of their things together and graciously gave me nearly everything I needed to clothe and outfit X once he arrived.

This outfit was worn by B's boy when he was a baby (now a big 10 year old). It was also worn by several of her friend's children. It is sweet to think that all our little ones have shared so much. It makes me feel as though I am a part of a tight-knit village community instead of just living the city life, separate & isolated from others.

sleepover

It is 109 degrees in the rainy city, if that can be believed. I would hardly believe it myself, were my house not approaching 94 degrees inside, according to my thermostat. The new ceiling fans can't cut heat this thick. So, we escaped to the cool, air conditioned interior of my friend B's Tigard home (thank goodness for friends wiser than we are -- we could have installed AC when we sprung for central heat but the extra $3K killed the deal). B's kids were thrilled to get a few minutes of face time with the X-man and we adults enjoyed the chance to hang out and suck a few beers like old times (pre-baby times, that is). And the AC wasn't half bad either.
(Judging by this photo, I can't say X enjoyed playing with the big kids as much as they enjoyed playing with him).

oregon coast

Portland has been buried in an unprecedented smoldering wave of intense heat of late. It has been nearly unbearable. To beat it, we decided to hit the Oregon coast for a little relief. Little did we know, whenever the valley is baking the coast becomes shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. And this is precisely what we found when we left the warmth of the coast range and descended to sea level. It rather reminded me of the opening lines of Dicken's Bleak House:

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing my the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon, and hanging in the misty clouds.

x meets the cat

A few weeks ago X suddenly started appearing highly curious about this graceful, furry creature that wanders around our house, so I figured I would give him a chance to make a great first impression. The cat curled up on the pillow and started to get comfortable and I held X next to her and let him explore. X gingerly patted the cat's face with one hand and gripped fistfuls of fur with the other. I reminded him "gentle! -gentle with the kitty" and guided his hand so as not to offend her. The cat seemed rather oblivious, if somewhat annoyed. I can tell she is going to be very tolerant of this little kid who is destined to be her playmate.

bloom

hot, hot, hot

M thinks I'm insane. For reasons unknown to me I always get this overwhelming urge to bake stuff precisely when it is hot as hell outside. I almost never bake, although I love to cook and fancy myself something of a natural in the kitchen. But cookies and breads and muffins and cakes never seem to interest me...until it is over 90 degrees!

This most recent heat wave has spawned an epidemic of bread baking. I have been meaning to try the "no-knead" bread method for a long time -ever since I first read about it several years back in the venerable (or not so much) New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/08/dining/081mrex.html). I have never been much for all the hard work that goes into baking bread -really, it is the kneading that always gets me. I am just too lazy to put in the necessary elbow grease, which is why a "no-knead" method seems right up my alley.

And boy, were we impressed with the results! -This bread seriously rivals that of Grand Central or any other high-end bakery in town -perfectly crisp, crunchy crusts, & open, airy, moist innards -mmmmmm. I cannot recommend this highly enough. The only requirement is that you purchase a dutch oven, and the enameled variety that we went for can be rather spendy ($80.00 at Freddies for an American made version). But it is a worthwhile investment since you can consider yourself liberated thereafter from the tyranny of $4+ artisan loaf.

Feast your eyes...

35 and counting

Today was my birthday. I didn't make a big to do about it -- it was just another peaceful, easy-going house-mama sort of day. My dear friend K accompanied me on a walk to the Arleta Library where we enjoyed lunch on the back patio. X was a really great conversationalist, hanging out, smiling -just staying cool (as opposed to melting down). We returned from lunch and spent the afternoon lounging under the new ceiling fans in the sunny living room, chatting about this & that. It was one of those long, meandering conversations - the sort that twist and turn down all the random passages and byways of our minds. I am never so at my ease as when I am with K.

M returned from work in the evening and brought with him a beautiful, blue hydrangea for my garden. Tucked among the blossoms was a sweet card that brought tears to my eyes. I have so few tokens of his love for me (we are not really the overly romantic type), it is nice to have a little something every now and again. We all piled in the car and hit Pastini Pasteria for dinner (I know, I know -absolutely lacking in creativity, but we wanted Italian and somewhere kid-friendly and we haven't gotten our bearings yet on safe places to bring the babe). X was a sweetie during dinner as he sat on M's lap and grabbed stuff off his plate. We let him stuff his fingers into the birthday tiramisu so he could feel how squelchy and squishy it was.

After dinner, we wandered up Mt. Tabor, found a nice spot in the shade, laid down a blanket and watched the sun slide down behind the western horizon. It was a near perfect day.

planes, trains & automobiles

Let me pause for a moment to rant about boys clothes:

Why is it that boys are only permitted pastels and sweet, bright, fun colors for the first 3 months of life, and everything thereafter is either navy blue, brown, gray or dark green? Okay, okay- there is the occasional smattering of primary red and yellow, but generally speaking it is as though little boys are required to grow up and be serious and business-like as soon as possible.

And another thing -why aren't boys allowed to wear flowers? -what on earth is so damned girly about flowers? The only patterns that appear in boys clothing are either stripes or plaid -or (most annoyingly) transportation themes. I guess jungle animals sneak in there every once in a while, and dinosaurs. Oh -and let's not forget hammers, screwdrivers and that sort of stuff - I know I've seen that before on a baby sleeper. Honestly, it just seems so ridiculous.

As annoyed as I am by all these unwritten boy restrictions, I am pretty sure I might find the girl-princess thing even worse. So, I should count my blessings....at least I am not fending off a trend towards mini-skirts and play-make-up kits and Disney themed pink plastic shit.

I think what bothers me most about all these rules is the fact that I follow them -just like everyone else, regardless of how frustrating I find them. I won't buy the pink pastel flowered stroller at the garage sale, despite the fact that it is only $10 and in great shape because I don't want to have to deal with the strange looks when I tell people "no, he's a boy -no, really -it's OK -I don't mind. Why does he have a pink stroller?....well...ummm." And if good people like me don't buck the gender trends, then how are things ever going to change?

portland rose garden

dinner time

Note to dad: we do not let the baby stuff his fingers into piping hot brown rice no matter how willing we are to let him "freely explore his world." Sometimes babies need to be protected from themselves.

4 months

X is a whopping 4-months-old today! -and to mark the occasion he has pushed up a brand new bottom baby tooth. I am told this is early, but given X's growth to date (muy rapido!) I am not at all surprised. It definitely explains the raging river of drool that has cascaded from his face for the last month or so.

I cannot believe 4 months of life have passed with this precious child in my care. It amazes me how quickly the time has gone away. I wish I could slow it down just a bit -at least enough to find a few moments to write about it (which sadly I am finding very difficult). So many powerful emotions flit past and I can scarcely capture a one of them on paper (or in this blog, as the case may be).

*sigh*

concentration

We've recently introduced block play and X was intrigued from the start. He loves to pinch them in his fingers (he still can't quite get a handle on that opposable thumb thing) and bring them (inevitably) to his mouth. He can't quite make a "quick trick block stack" & he hasn't attempted to smack them together and make noise, but in good time I am sure he will figure out all the many possibilities inherent in a few small wooden blocks. I love the look of concentration that comes across his face as he tries to manipulate them -how he purses his lips and looks oh-so serious. What a little genius!

(all apologies for turning this into a baby blog -it really can't be helped:)

belly laughs

Last night we returned home from a 9 day trip to the Midwest. X glanced around our familiar abode and appeared more relaxed than he had in days. We enjoyed the endless rounds of friends and family, but I could tell the constant handling and over-stimulation was starting to drag him down.

M and I hovered over his changing table late in the evening and interacted with him as he lay there smiling. He chuckled as I blew puffs of air into his face. He began to coo and squeal and as I mimicked him he laughed hard belly laughs and cooed and squealed again and again in response. We went back and forth, squealing and laughing uproariously for some time. His eyes showed excitement and surprise, as though he were finally understanding that he could communicate with us in new and unusual ways. It was our first glimpse of the silly little boy he is becoming. It was our first real give and take.

homemade strawberry jam