I have a lot to report re. birthday boys. There have been two of them.

Yesterday, it was Daddy. He turned a respectable middle aged number. Today, Luke. He turned two.

Yesterday there were presents for Daddy.

And present-opening helpers.

And new sandals for Halina. (She found them while shopping for Daddy. They were marked way down, the only pair left, just her size. Destiny!)

Yesterday there was Ethiopian food. Delish.

Today there was a train cake!

Halina's been telling Luke he'll be getting a train cake. I didn't think that was sinking in but when he woke up this morning, right after I said "Good morning, little two year old!", his first croaked-out  words were "Train. Cake." 

Halina helped me make and decorate the cake. I'm pleased with how it turned out -- especially because I rarely bake and have never made a birthday cake before (at least not that I can remember).

Okay, my one regret is the smoke stack. It looks like antennae instead of a smoke stack. Gotto let that one go....

I like that the cake is all-natural. I just spent a fortune at Whole Foods on plant-based food coloring and non-hydrogenated shortening, etc. But natural is what I wanted, so it feels worth it.

For my first handful of birthdays as a kid, my mom made me a carousel cake and a snoopy cake and a rabbit cake, among others. In the photos (and of course there is only one photo of each birthday event unlike the fifty-something I took tonight), I'm always wearing plaid and the cake is always on a cutting board covered in tin foil. And I'm next to it, along with some other eager-to-eat-cake people. 

I like those photos. I feel special, I feel loved, knowing someone went to all that trouble for me.

So, two years old. I try to remind myself that when Luke turned one, I mourned a little that I would no longer have a baby, but what I didn't see at that moment is that I would love him more and more each day, helplessly, because he keeps getting more and more wonderful, and adorable, and smart, and vivid. 

Tonight I reminisced about his birth, right in the living room where I was sitting. And how Daddy caught him, and how Halina came in and cut the cord. And how he already was then who he is now: curious, aware, calm, clever, funny, beautiful, amazing.

Happy birthday, Lukie.

A stay-at-home, play-at-home, unpack-and-put-away day. Sounds doable, hunh? Well, it strikes fear in my very being. I am beginning to see a pattern:  We come home from a trip with loads of randomly thrown together stuff; I put off unpacking (in part because the house is still a bit wrecked from the packing, and the unpacking simply reveals this); I distract myself with outings, play dates, and errands; I snap at wee loved ones for making a new mess on top of my mess; and I become overwhelmed and sort of paralyzed.

So Tuesday I was not feeling upbeat when I declared it such a day. It's a challenge for me because not only do I lose sight of how or where to begin, I also feel anxiety about the kids not having fun or missing out on social things to stay home with their irritable "cleaning up" Mom, who has only fuzzy ideas about how to accomplish the job at hand.

So Tuesday starts off with me saying yes to Halina's finger paint request first thing in the morning, when I'm still in my jammies. Did I enjoy that activity? Was I a bit prickly about the paint that got everywhere and the complaint-filled bath that was required 20 minutes later? Not so much, and yes.

Cut to noon and I'm still in my jammies. I think we had a couple more art projects by then. Some sand and water play set up and clean up. Oh yeah, and an elaborate chalk road and parking lot for the cozy coupe to drive on.

Had unpacking and house tidying occured? Negative.

I gave in and called a friend. I asked her over with her little ones for a play date around 4:00. That got me in gear. God forbid someone should see my house in this state.

Only I had to rearrange the living room furniture as a first step.

Now I know that is insanely off point. But sometimes a big, off-point task provides the energy that I need to tackle the mountain of mundane minutia that unpacking within a very small and very cluttered  house represents.

So I moved some furniture around, vaccuumed, put toys away, and felt a lot better.

At four my friend came. She gamely dug into the dishes and suggested that I was making a bit of a boogey man out of the suitcases. She was right. They were unpacked in about 30 minutes.

The table was still covered in a heap of bags filled with random junk from my car, but I knew I could pick away productively at that now that the suitcases where no longer in the house.

As for the kids, they did okay. There was a lot of neediness and meandering at first. Some claims of torturous boredom. And at one point I channeled parents from a bygone era and told them to go play outside. They were barred from the house for 45 minutes.

This reminds me of something else: Like me, Halina actually craves and requires alone time every day. She eventually finds a way to get off by herself and after she does she leaves behind these lovely, silent scenes that I'll come upon later. Each is an enchanted still life, a peek inside the brain of their young creator. Like this one. I love her for them.

We had a crazily good time at Brian & Barbra's house on our way home. They live in the rural, wild hills above Redding. First of all, they took such great care of us: delicious food and folding our laundry and always up for engaging with the kids. Brian mentioned a few times that he doesn't know anything about kids but they were endlessly attentive and kind -- the kids naturally adored them.

They have a lovely house that they have spent the last decade remodeling. It is kind of craftsman inspired, I guess, and so well kept. There is a slate wrap-around porch with a wooden swing where we spent a lot of time...

and a gated veggie garden, a native flower garden out front, and soft low-water grass out back. And all around are woodlands that Brian has created hiking trails in and cleared all the poison oak plants from.

They have an ample, custom kitchen with a big center island where we gathered often to cook, talk, doodle, and look at pictures that we'd taken on their huge computer screen.

Brian and Barbara bicycle to work and back every day -- 14 miles each way for Barbara and something like 25 miles each way for Brian. They also ride on several long trips each year and hike together and do yoga together. They are so calm and centered. They have made a lovely life for themselves in an inspiring setting and although our messy, noisy bunch came and jostled it up for a few days, we never felt like we were imposing or rattling Brian and Barbara's patient reserves.

When we arrived it had just rained and Halina collected oak leaves with rain drops glistening on them like jewels. After dinner we spent the evening at a nearby lake where a family of ducks followed us...

and a deer appeared and a heron flew from tree to tree screeching its ancient song. Halina and Luke played with sticks and sand and rocks; they balanced among the boulders in Brandy river that feeds the lake. Luke applauded every time someone skipped a stone across the water.

The next day we visited the amazing Turtle Bay museum, where we visited the butterflies...

shared some treats...

and played some more.

That evening after napping we visited the ruins of the goldrush town, Shasta, where Halina goaded us into rolling down a grassy hill over and over until we were all giggling and dizzy. We explored the old boardwalk with it's row of roofless, crumbling brick buildings and the trails behind them.

It's striking to me how much the kids adore playing in nature in this way, just being outside and free, jumping, exploring, inventing, and especially leading the way as we adults followed. It's also striking how nice it is to have loving family right there to help out with caring for children. (So much easier to attend to Luke or Halina individually while the other one is being entertained by someone else! So much easier to read a book or take a shower!) Back at Brian & Barb's, we slept soundly in antique beds with old family quilts and woke early to light flooding the picture windows and birds singing and pancakes and muffins warming in the oven.

While Chris and I packed the next morning, Brian and Barbara read story after story to the kids and took them outside for long walks where they threw pinecones and searched for treasures. Suffice to say, no one particularly wanted to leave.

On the way home we had classic road trip moments, like scrounging up some fun at rest stops and dealing with the excitement/melt-down that goes on in your average ice-cream-based roadside restaurant.

This included the Nut Tree, the place with those big rocking horses that Chris and I remember fondly from our childhoods (except I remember them being much more enormous -- and with yarn tails).

I don't know what it is exactly about a road trip, but I just always like them -- even when they are going poorly. And there were plenty of those moments on this trip. Still I always remember a road trip fondly. Why are they so satisfying? Well, yes, you are all crammed in this little space together with all your piles of random stuff droning endlessly down the highway. But you are making do, in it together, team playing, inching along from point A to point B more or less productively, and being (by necessity) pretty creative and accommodating along the way. Every one of your little crew present and accounted for.

Today is the summer solstice and we are on vacation in Ashland, where we're renting a cottage. Unlike the other cottage that we've rented in this town, this one is obviously someone's well loved home and it is filled to the bursting point with brick-a-brak, much of it breakable. Outside there is a garden with fountains and a jacuzzi and various tables and chairs and a firepit and pot after pot of flowers and stone squirrels and "mom's garden" signs and ... you get the picture.

Halina claimed the flowery bedroom as hers, even though Chris has ended up sharing it with her. I'm in the other one with Luke. She loves the floral bedspread and curtains, the pretty wallpaper, the small desk with dial telephone, the wicker chest of drawers. She has been relatively neat and organized here, putting up her little treasures and unpacking her own suitcase with care, including her toiletries.

It's been interesting to see how this "proper" room has inspired her and makes me think of how she might benefit from a room of her own at home (her previous tiny room has morphed into a playroom and she sleeps in the family bed with us, which I relish for as long as it lasts).

There is a huge rope climbing structure at the gorgeous park here (stream in the center, a pond, trees everywhere, grass, meandering paths) and she climbed up nearly to the top, a great height and impressive feat, without fear. Today I got her a multi-colored pen and a mermaid journal and she wrote her first entry, with help. It's moving to see her independence and courage blossoming.

I've been thinking of what to write about with gratitude or in contemplation. There are many possibilities, including the excellent plays we've seen (Chekov's Seagull, Romeo & Juliet, Troilus and Cressida) and the sweet time spent with Chris's brother and his wife at their beautiful, rural home in Redding and the way they connected with the kids...

... or shopping, cooking, and playing with my mom and her partner, Dick, in Ashland.

But I thought I'd tell about the moment tonight when my Mom and Dick drove away after dinner. It was late, past the kids' bedtime, but still twilight -- this being the longest day of the year -- and Luke walked them out to the the edge of the brick front steps, where the crickets sang, and where he called with great gusto in his nearly-two-year-old voice, "Bye Gampa! Bye Gamma! Bye! Bye!" He was still waving and blowing kisses as their tail lights disappeared down the street and around the corner. "Bye!" he said again, louder, maybe to make sure they heard. After a while he added quietly, thoughtfully, "Gampa, Gamma." Just to himself.

The last couple weeks have been a difficult as I've tried to make the final decision about a kindergarten for Halina. I went into a stress vortex. Now that the decision has been made, I don't know if I've picked well for her or for the rest of the family. There are pros and cons and I worry about how we will all manage and how it will play out for everyone. Maybe especially for me.

This was the first week of summer break. Yesterday Alicia came over in the afternoon and the girls had fun time playing in a make-shift pool and sharing Pez and dressing up in princess regalia. Today we met up with Maya and Lucia at Fairyland. Maya and Halina rode in ferris wheel together. Halina never would have considered doing that last year. Too terrifying. Today she stepped right into the little cage and looked pleased as it lifted high above us, waving. Luke went nuts wanting to join her and the next time she rode with him. He'll follow her anywhere.

Yesterday I was at the grocery store with Halina and Luke in the cart. They were drumming loudly on the oatmeal container -- and this was a relatively calm moment. I was hurrying to bag some produce before Luke climbed out of the cart or Halina squashed the eggs. A woman came up to me and said, "I was just laughing and thinking you are me about 15 years ago. How old are they?" I told her and she said her son will go off to college for the fall. "I remember being you perfectly," she said. I forced myself to look at her. She didn't look like anything. Someone generic and older who used to be someone's Mommy. "It will all go so quickly," she said, predictably. "It will just fly by."

I know it. I vow to remember this as we spend our days entwined, the kids a blur of screeching, running, whining, crying, wheedling, hugging, laughing, being adorable and unpleasant. Me hearing myself sometimes from a distance  as I bargain, bully, tune out, or -- hopefully -- respond with love. I try to stop and see them. See us. See me. I try to remember it won't last forever, this time with young children.

I looked at this woman in the store and smiled and nodded. I chatted with her while I was thinking, "No. I'm not you." I know that she is right and that I will be. But not yet.

So here I am trying to see it. Trying to see something that is flying right by.

Tonight Halina pretended to be a mermaid all while getting ready for bed. It started with her "mermaid soak" in the bath tub -- a term and technique I believe that she picked up from a late night (with bath) at her friend Annika's. This involves lying on her back in the tub with the water coming up over her ears and her hair streaming out around her. Her little peaceful face pokes out, framed by the water line. She has not had the courage to put her head in the water before, so this is a big change.

When it was time to get out I hoisted her out in a big towel, arms and legs wrapped inside and said to the empty living room, "Look what I found in the tub. A mermaid. Should we keep her?"

Daddy came out of the kitchen to take a look. "Well," he considered. "I don't like the look of all mermaids. But I like this one. We will keep her."

She is heavy now. Forty pounds. And tall. I sat down with her on my lap. And I kissed her damp smiling cheeks.

After her mermaid soak, she drew a mermaid picture of us non-mermaids, had some undersea fruit (apple slices) in the shape of an H and was generally agreeable and willing to play with Luke as long as we all referred to her as a mermaid. It was a pleasant getting to bed experience.

In bed, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. "Mommy the best," she said. Yes, it was her pretend baby voice -- not my favorite. But when I'm being told I'm the best, I can roll with it. "Daddy the best too," she added. "Lukie also the best."

Then she lay her head on my chest and said in her normal voice, "I wish I could, like, hug you forever."

Then she went to sleep.