sweet Oregon

We've only been back for three days.  After almost three weeks away -- the longest trip we've taken since Soli was born.  Three days.  Yet the brown feels sloughed from my skin, the sand no where to be found.  Laundry lingers and it takes the thick smell of campfire smoke on my fleece reminds me that just last week, we were finishing our days by a fire.  It's so easy to slip back into the ease and comforts of home.  Before I settle in too deeply, I have to take some time to savor our little adventure.

Our journey started in Bend, or rather, at a motel on the way to Bend for our bestie Josue's wedding.  Eliana spent the morning of her seventh birthday in a Comfort Inn swimming pool, her belly full from the highly processed and exceedingly novel motel breakfast buffet.

We drove further into the desert, arriving in time to celebrate more birthday shenanigans with some of our favorite people.

From there it was Team Wedding.  Four days of laughter and lake time, toasts and sing along's.  It's pretty wonderful when someone who you love more than anything marries someone that you love more than anything.  Good times all around.  Perhaps one of the loveliest parts of this celebration was the pack of little's that ran around the lake like gangbusters.  The posse was intense, the rounds of Red Rover, for real.

 
From Bend, we headed to the coast for ten days of ocean bliss.  For some crazy reason, the beach was actually sunny and warm, quite odd for the Oregon coast.  So we slid into the groove of sand toys and novels, wave games and ice cream dates, lazy mornings and salmon on the grill.   I wrote a bit in my journal on the last day of our trip.  It seems to capture the feeling better than I can right now:

The children chirp with abandon from inside the yurt.  It's another chapter of, "Baby-Mommy" and they are lost in their imaginations.  Moments ago they were unicorns.  Before that, cheetahs.  It's another busy day of vacation.

Blessings engulf us.  I sit down to write with no idea of the date.  I've been so supremely present this trip that I can barely recall too many of the particulars, just this steady through-line of calm, of quiet inside, of no worry about tomorrow, or even this afternoon.  We have all we need.  We have each other.  We have love from friends.  Books to read.  Universes made from sand and water.  Trails of old growth trees, wild mosses, fairy houses.  We have oysters and wine, water and sleep.  There is decadence and simplicity, long walks and lazy, lie-around days.  I feel the way all of the small wounds of the year settle and close over when we have this quiet time together.  I eel the way we need to drink each other in without rushing, without distraction.

For so many years on these family trips, I crave time alone.  This year, it was the opposite.  I'd have my alone time and find myself only thinking of them, what they were playing on the sane, the sound of their sweet voices.  There's a wholeness that is happening here.  A settling into our identities as mama and dad, sister and brother.  A celebration, a spirit of love-filled contagion that will have to carry us through this next chapter, carry us through the wilds of another fall. 

For now, I'll look out at the moss covered grove, listen to the soft wind and feel the sun on my back, full, so very full, of thanks for this time.