Happy Holidays

10 Things I Didn't Know I Didn't Know

So everybody tells you all sorts of stuff about having babies and things; however, I've started noticing the real hole in the man market as far as having babies goes. It was on the two hour, six-mile drive to work (thank you Portland ice-drivers) that I decided to embark on a truth journey with you, the faithful readers of our sometimes blog—From a man perspective. What that in mind, I thought it wise to start tellin' it like it is. This evening: 10 Things I Didn't Know I Didn't Know—By David Ewald (parts 10-6).

10) They Will Bring You Shame
When you go to a class to learn all about latching, pumping and 'the let-down' - they will hand you a plastic baby. Unlike the animatronic ones on the TV, these babies don't fuss and pee on you; rather, they are very sterile, plastic representations your little baby-to-be. What was so unexpected, and frankly difficult, was removing our baby from "the football hold" and seeing a permanent, molded look of disgust peering back at us. As opposed to the other, happier babies, we got stuck with the angry babydoll. And while this made absolute sense to us (see also: lottery tickets, carnival games, every sport), we couldn't let go of the thought that we were being punished.

Perhaps it says more about us, but it was difficult to shake the guilt that somehow, someway, with the beady little glance back at us - we had failed this toy - and by extension our baby. His eyes reminded us how little we knew and of the heavy, hungry price he would have to pay as a result.

9) What They Mean by Miracle
I know I'm a pig, or a dog, and perhaps heretic for even considering this; but I think there's a marketing scheme going on here. There's something natural, beautiful and gaussian-blurry about breastfeeding your baby. While I'm pretty far outside the target market for all this stuff, I think what they mean is that we're lucky to be human. And for me, it's less about engorging, nipple confusion and colostrum, but more about opposable thumbs and advanced brain function. We're the only animal in the world to invent the Avent© Isis Duo Twin Electric Breast Pump and LilyPadz© Non-Absorbent Nursing Pads. Don't get me wrong, I see the beauty in all the nature things; but the real soft-focused miracle is in our ability to invent stuff to market and sell to make it all naturally better for you, and most importantly your baby.

8) What They Mean by Friends
We're at an age where circles of friends naturally expand during things like Breast Feeding Basics courses. And while I think we both really want to find new friends in our adopted home of Portland, things keep getting in the way. In our case, it was the oddly paired old man, younger lady couple next to us with the plastic Asian baby. During the question & answer period of the thing, the ONE question she asked (out of all the many possible things associated with helping your baby survive in this world): "Umm yes...Will my cats try to drink my breast milk?"

7) They Will Pull at Your Heartstrings
No matter what, they will always have at least one slide, trifold brochure, flyer or web banner with a baby in sunglasses. It will always work, and we will always buy or do whatever they are telling us. Always.

6) You Will Have Many Wrong Turns
There's just no way around it, you're going to come up with some questionable names. Fight through it - you'll arrive at the real ones. My favorites from the names left behind - Bones, Kirk, Boozy, Collisus, Jax, Lilwayne, Kip and Grandma. Apologies ahead of time if those names were on your hopeful list. We passed all of them up.

Life Lesson #215

Statute of limitations.

We stumbled across some pretty darn good news. So good, in fact, that we spent several months in a state of disbelief, worried that if we breathed wrong the good news might blow away. A few months passed and we finally felt safe enough to come out of hiding. But what were we to do with the good news?

Shouting from the mountaintops requires both hiking and shouting, two things these Ewalds don't really do. A simple, "hey. psst. we have good news.", just seemed too plain. So we sat. and deliberated. started a blog post, then two. and the good news continued to grow.

Turns out there's a statute of limitations when it comes to sharing good news. Hold onto it too long and eventually you feel like a real jerk.

So here it is, neither shouted nor whispered, and just a few months too late...

Our little family is growing by one. Our very own baby is expected to makes its debut in mid-February.

Luckily, good news remains good no matter how late it may be.

Growing Pains

Well, I've really fallen off the wagon. Though I've peppered our blog with a rare post here or there, the only communication I've had with...whoever you are...in the past few months has been in the form of dog videos. Apologies on that front.

Tonight I wanted to let you know that there are very few things in life that can accurately prepare you for the complete devastation that results from a simple (though strangely expensive) growth removal followed by an unfortunately shaped plastic hood. Let me be the first Ewald to tell you - it really is something.

Our brave beagle, and as you know star of many films, had a small surgery today on her left eye. The remainder of her, and our, day has been spent relearning things like: Walking, smelling, drinking water, and laying down. And I'm sure some of you can appreciate the mix of feelings here: You feel terrible for a loved one's pain; though you can't help but chuckle just a little in the awkwardness (and to be fair, the plastic itch shield is pretty damn funny).

Many of you know that I have a knack for talking to kids. For those who don't, I'm the type of guy who encounters a 4-year-old playing with chalk at her parents barn doubling as an antiques shop. She, in little kid voice, says "Hiiiii..." My natural, unfortunately true and automatic response: "Nice weather we're having eh?"—A response I've justifiably yet to live down.

When a 4-year-oldish girl playing in the park saw Patsy this evening, she rushed over to investigate the hooded beagle. Her empty look begged for further explanation from the adult (me). Now, I'm one who learns lessons in life. Where previous girls may have gotten the small talk, this innocent, inquisitive person was met with a "Eh - what the hell can you do" shrug of my shoulders.

It was the first time that I ever wanted a cigarette for effect.

It could have been perfect: The dirty white t-shirt; the long, slow drag; dismissive exhale; and walking the hooded dog back into my house. I could have redeemed my nice weather with life's a bitch. I could have gone out in style as that creepy 32-year-old slightly bearded, yet still reclinerless neighbor. . .

Some dreams come true, and some don't. In the short term, tonight our brave beaglegirl dreams of the day she will be free again. That day will someday come. And I promise to be on this bloggin' wagon to tell you all about it.

Gone Oregonian

Who are those handsome glasses-less mugs?

2 of 2 Ewalds are officially licensed to drive in the state of Oregon. Given it required the passing of a driver's knowledge test, it was no small feat. Fail and you must also take a behind-the-wheel. Considering I still can't parallel park (25% success rate?), failure was not an option.

In celebration of our Class C accomplishments, here are a few helpful reminders from the Oregon Department of Motor Vehicles:

- "Driving is not a time to solve business or family problems."

- "Never shoot a gun or discharge a bow and arrow on or across a highway."

- "If you encounter an aggressive driver... put your pride in the back seat. It's a battle with no winners. Wear your seat belt, avoid eye contact, ignore gestures, and refuse to return them."

Sunday

Yep.

Happy (Other) Birthday

Ugh, it was Saralyn's birthday.

Happy birthday Saralyn!

There goes the neighborhood

The hearty earthworms of our Midwestern past have been replaced with even heartier Pacific Northwest breeds: Slugs and Snails. After the almost-daily rainfall, these guys come out to celebrate. Usually you'll notice their shiny, scribble-like mucous trail before you spy them. This guy was right outside our front door after a rendezvous with our potted rosemary:


Apparently they can wreak havoc on a garden, but one look at their wriggling tentacles and I can't help but think there must be a large caterpillar that's perched on a giant mushroom and smoking from a hookah in the forest nearby - and they are on their way to tea.

After a long day at work.

Sometimes all there is to do is make a movie.

Swag

Now we know what celebrities feel like when they are given a bag of swag. Except instead of a fancy-schmancy watch or jar of Creme de la Mer, our's had a trial-size granola.

A big Whole Foods just opened up across the street from our house. We've been there twice. Once for some tempeh bacon (and $49 dollars later...) and a second time for a loaf of bread used to lure a lost duck out of the road and back to the pond. She stuck with us for a good block and then flew away when we tried to MacGyver her into the Whole Foods grocery bag. but that's a story for a different day.

Although we were a little bitter that it had taken over a year for them to finally open their doors, anyone who leaves chocolate* on my doorstep is immediately a new best friend. (*note: new, wrapped chocolate)

Meet Jennifer and Nicole. Underneath those cute hair-dos are creative brains packed full of paper crafting, pop culture, and home improvement genius. They each shared an office with me once upon a time. And they still like me enough to come out for a visit.

We were treated to 80 degree weather and sunny skies - perfect for "probing" the depths of the tide pools on Short Sands Beach and dining outside while sampling the cocktails Portland has to offer.

It was delightful. And surprisingly more fun than sharing an office once upon a time.

Rock the Taxbah

In true Ewald fashion, we sent off our taxes this afternoon. With a whole 10 hours to spare, thank you very much. This year, we got to file in 2 states, with 6 W2's, multiple freelance jobs, moving expenses, and the sale of a house.

We discovered our trusty folder marked, "taxes 2007", did indeed have important papers we needed. Mainly, papers we've received since our move. For anything prior to the move, however, we got to dig deep in a box marked "*sort post 4/23*". That's code for, "you think you'll have time to sort this the week before you move across country, while staying in your parents' basement, but really this will sit untouched in your new garage for 11 months".

We discovered the box marked, "*sort post 4/23*", did indeed have the other important papers we needed. It also had Dave's harmonica headgear and a linoleum block carved self-portrait I made in 1996. Both of which are almost as valuable as the $7.00 refund we'll be receiving from the State of Minnesota.

Hot dog!

After months of hunting and gathering, I am excited to announce the opening of my Etsy vintage store: re*kindle .




I'll be adding many more trinkets and treasures over the next few weeks now that my store is up and running.

If you're new to Etsy, it's a most wonderful site where independent artists (and vintage hounds) can open small "shops" to sell their wares. The amount of amazing work that's available is the reason 99% of my free-time online is spent at this site. One stunning example is our friends at Labpartners:



Check it out, post-haste! And please stop by to say hello.

Tonight is the night.

The after-school program where I teach runs in 8-week sessions. On the evening of the last day of the eighth week, there's a Showcase. Art projects are hung proudly on the walls. The theater group performs its play. Cookies are served. And my dance class takes the stage.

Usually I am busy thinking about what needs to happen for the Showcase to take place. I am nervous for my dancers. (The opening of the curtain causes them to forget half of their steps.) And I am proud.

Today I find myself with similar feelings - busy, nervous, proud - but overall, its a bittersweet sadness. Today is my last day as their teacher. And of all my classes, this is the hardest one to leave.

Tonight, my dancers are performing to "Crazy In Love" by Beyonce mixed with "We're All In This Together" from High School Musical. (per their request) Yes, its a bit unconventional, but I think its perfect. While they try so hard to keep up with the big kids they can't deny their inner eight-year old.

And I am proud.

One month in photos.

A self-portrait made on the first morning of his 32nd year.


A celebratory (and surprise) weekend in Seattle to honor said 32nd year.


An unexpected sunset in Ecola State Park.


A weekend photoshoot for design super-duo Aesthetic Apparatus. Apparel available here.


A walk on the beach with a visiting mom. (We strolled, we shopped, and we filled her up with Oregonian beer before we sent her back to the snow.)

Sprinkled.

Sure, ours may not dry to a glossy, candy-coated finish. But that's how we roll.

Happy Valentine's Day.

One year ago.

We stepped off the plane and made a beeline for the coast. It was rainy, grey, practically empty. And we thought it was spectacular.

We had arrived for an interview, to dip our toes in the water and see how Portland felt.

There was still a bit of disbelief when he said, "Yes, I'll take the job." When the house sold in under a day. When all of our belongings were packed on a truck. When our two-car caravan pointed west, and off we went.

We haven't quite put our faces under yet, but so far, the wading sure feels nice.

(taken outside our front door at 8:15am.)

Apparently "white-out conditions" have been replaced with "it's white out" conditions.

We heard that the city shuts down when it snows, but we assumed it was an urban legend. Similar to the, "I hope you like rain!" comments we received upon moving. However, all of the schools in our area are closed today due to the, um, snow. I guess we're not in Minnesota anymore.

Week Fourteen

The bathroom pass. It's a simple plastic pocket that holds a card that reads, "Bathroom Pass. Saralyn's Class.", written in purple marker and hanging from a lanyard. It's part traffic control and part freedom, depending on who's carrying it. And it gets a lot of use.

One of my students handed me the coveted pass and pointed out that the lanyard had ripped through the top of the plastic and was no longer attached. Worried that she would be to blame, she blurted out something about a group of passing kindergartners who scuffled with her in the hall. Surely they were to blame. I told her not to worry about it, that I could just punch another hole through the plastic and reattach the lanyard once we were done with class.

Her response? "Or I could just bite a hole through it."