Hola Spring.

Nice to see ya.

Things That Never Get Old: Rocks and Shells

Thanks, Gramma and Grampa Seward.

A Bed of One's Own.

Things have been busy here.  But quiet.

Too quiet.

So this weekend we decided to push through another milestone for the fabulous Miss S. 

A big-girl bed.

She's going to be three, so we thought it was time (and we were partially right).

So... on Saturday morning, Dave got up out of bed, took the crib apart and hauled it downstairs (where all of our furniture goes to die).  And my stomach hurt.  Wait, it could've been my heart.  Yes!  It was definitely my heart. 

Goodbye crib.  Goodbye baby. 

He replaced it with the toddler bed that Henry used...the one he began using when he was exactly the age Stella is now.  And that obviously meant one thing...Stella and I had to go shopping.  For new sheets, a new blanket and a pillow ("Mamma, I don't have a pillow and I want a pillow.  PLEASE, mamma.  A PILLOW"). 

She picked them all out herself - the sheets are birds and butterflies and flowers... and the blanket is a soft cozy green (my girl digs a cozy blanket).  And, for good measure, she threw in a Lightening Mcqueen pillow to seal the deal.  Holy hannah does this one love the Cars movie. 

And she was happy.  And my heart, stomach and all the rest were happy too.

And, apparently in the spirit of all this milestone craziness, she even let me put her hair up in a pony tail and a barrett (first time ever...ever...that's she's let me do it vs. the certifiably crazy lady that cuts her hair). 

But the funny thing about this whole weekend is, at every turn, we're shown how different - how unique - these children are.

Henry is six, and I can count on one hand the number of times he's gotten out of bed without asking us.

Bless his stinky little heart.

Stella's been in her own bed just two days and gets out whenever she pleases - we can hear her feet hit the floor, the door crack open and a distinct little pattering to our room. 

And here's the thing...

I love that he stays in bed.

I love that she doesn't.

It's all good. The milestones. The sheets.  The barretts. The boy.  The differences.

We may be done with the bebes, but all of it's just good.

Sweet Sugar.

If It Ain't Broke.

So, interestingly enough (maybe not?), we took another trip to the Oregon coast a couple of weeks ago. 

It's not that we don't have imagination. 

It's just that we love that place. 

That hotel. 

That beach.

So.  We got ready.

And headed out of the house (with blue dog and a gaggle of small, blank books for writing in tow).

Oh, and sunglasses.

We were going to the beach afterall.

And made our way to Cape Dissapointment.

No.  Seriously. 

Cape Dissapointment.

A detour in Washington on our way down the coast.

As it turns out, it was not a...wait for it...dissapointment.

Long story short. 

Lewis and Clark hung out there for a while. 

Broad vistas. 

Forts.

Etc. 

Dave would have a heart attack if he saw that synopsis, btw.

Anyhoo. 

We kept heading on down the coast to our favorite haunt.

For good sunsets.

Walks on the beach.

Many vistas.

And running.  Lots and lots of running.

And two of my favorite shots of all time.

My family are the dots in the above pic, btw. 

Little.  Stinky. Dots.

And those are their footsteps.

So.

You know.

If it ain't broke...

Beso Del Sol

When the sun comes out in Seattle, strange things happen.

People tend to smile.

Shortsleeves are worn.  Gasp!

And families take walks.

Like us.  We did that very thing last weekend in the Olympic Sculpture Park downtown.

Was Henry doing "Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" - and Stella just didn't get it?  I'm not sure.

Must. Stop. For. Trains.

In case you can't read the sign below...it says, "Please Do Not Touch." 

My kids get it, man.  They totally get it.

Sure love a good walk in the park.

Chez Stella

It doesn't really matter if you can cook all that well.

What matters is that you look good while you're doing it.