And then we packed our car and drove to Portland, where we stayed with the lovely Amy whom I know FROM THE INTERNET and who invited us to crash with her and who made us lattes every morning and who did not harvest our organs. NOT EVEN ONCE.
(And when I say 'drove to Portland' I mean 'stopped in Portland for lunch and then swept on through to Woodburn where we ravaged the outlet malls YET AGAIN.')
Joel needs a lot of grown-up clothes because he is a Serious Doctor now, so he does well at outlet malls. I do not need grown-up clothes, and I favor cheap clothes that can be washed ad nauseum, BUT. Of the many things that I hate about running (the perspiration, the effort, the running), the expense of clothing items that I'm just going to sweat into and then boil in the wash makes me want to barf.
UNLESS YOU ARE AT AN OUTLET MALL. I'm super jazzed to go for a run today, because we hit the Under Armour hard and I have a long-sleeved shirt and a running jacket and (should it rain) a running rain jacket and two new sports bras to add to my running skirt. OH MAN, I SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT SOCKS. I freaking love new socks. You guys, I am the lamest.
And then Joel and Eleanor talked me into some Clarks because I am prone to wearing ten-dollar flats and my Clarks are hideous in a way that I kind of enjoy but since I don't have any photos of them, here's a video of Eleanor losing her mind in the Clarks store.
And then we went to the Oregon Zoo, which is not as large or as sexy as the Woodland Zoo. However, I do not judge zoos on their size or sexiness, but on HOW CLOSE CAN I GET TO YOUR HIPPOS. For your objective comparisons, the Woodland Zoo:
The Oregon Zoo:
Right? And the Oregon Zoo is way more learny and save-the-habitatsy and altogether hippy-ish which, having lived in Victoria, Joel and I can appreciate. And it rained and rained but we just hunkered down in the polar bear exhibit and watched that bear with OCD do his shuffle.
And by Portland we had run out of steam and also eaten some things (I'm not sure if you read yesterday's post, but...) and if you are weary in Portland and also fat, I recommend the 4-T Trail.
Trail, Tram, Train, Trolley! I enjoy things that alliterate, even if by 'tram' they mean 'gondola' and by 'trolley' they mean 'city bus.' I can appreciate an effort.
So we did a gentle hike from the zoo to the hospital, and then took the tramdola down into town, and then took the train further into town.
And this is the point where I talk about my baby's poops and I'M SORRY. But up until now we'd been traveling with a few diapers and a change of clothes and spit-up blankets and sundry baby paraphenalias every day, but because were hiking I just stuffed a diaper and wipe into my purse and called it sufficient. Eleanor hadn't spit up or pooped on herself for days. OH MY HUBRIS.
Because obviously she barfed all over her jacket, like, six times, and then POOPED THROUGH HER PANTS ONTO MY JACKET SLEEVE BUT I HAD ALREADY BEEN SHAT ON BY BIRDS SO NBD. At least she doesn't mind being changed on the floor of a Starbucks bathroom.
And then we went to Powell's because you have to. There are rooms and they are colored and so they are like, Oh yes, you'll find that in the Yellow Room. IT IS UPSTAIRS.
And then we took the 'trolley' back home and showered and changed and 'nothing I'm wearing has feces on it' is the second most depressing thing I said on the trip (falling in the end to 'I slept in til 6:30 this morning').