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."

Christmas spirit, in a nutshell.

While trying to come up with project ideas that can keep 7 year-old hands busy for an hour, be somewhat educational, and cost virtually nothing to make, I find myself reminiscing about the things I made as a kid. A wooden clothes pin doll topped with an acorn hat, beads strung on safety pins and traded in friendship (which, by the way, are still fun to make but its so not cool to trade them, let alone wear them on your sneakers).

Maybe its the teaching, maybe its the move 1700 miles from home, or the things I find discarded at thrift stores, but I've found myself reminiscing even more about those little handmade treasures this holiday season. Bells fashioned from cups and pipe cleaners, decorated with foil stars; popsicle sticks-turned stars, carefully wrapped in yarn; one-of-a-kind snowflakes cut from coffee filters. It's these sweet, simple ornaments, made from toss-ables and scraps, that truly represent what the holidays are all about.

For Dave's parents, its a very special house crafted from a milk carton that is hung on the tree each and every year.



For me? It's a plastic baby Jesus, sleeping on a bed of golden tinsel, tucked inside half of a walnut shell. I'm pretty sure its a Catholic and Sunday School standard. I love its simplicity, its tiny scale. And I love the contrast of the small baby, asleep in a humble half-shell, surrounded by Vegas-worthy tinsel.

Whether you celebrate the baby that's nestled inside, the little hands that made it, or the memories that come with it, we hope you find your Christmas this season too.