zelda's first

There is a post rattling around in this tapped head somewhere about the past year, about having two children, about one of them being a daughter who is different than my son, about the passage of time or exponential growth of love or how you forget that babies are just so fucking cool and then you have another one and you're like how did I ever forget this? But instead, for now, here's our yearlong documentation of one Zelda Marigold LeJeunesse, cat lover, daredevil, yogurt fiend. When she was first born, I kept saying, "someday we'll have a three year old and a one year old," like that's when we'd be legit. Legitimacy is pretty rad.

Happy birthday, Goldie. 

we already won the sweepstakes prize

I'd tell you why, but I don't know.

32

The other day, it was my birthday. 

Two years ago, the same dude tattooed my left forearm with a blue bird, a poppy, a banner that says George. My baby -- the first one -- was nine months old; I put on a flowered and pheasant-feathered headpiece, got drunk and walked across the street to get my indelible birthday present: a little bird for Woody Guthrie's tune by the same name, for the bluebird of happiness, for the blue of George's eyes. The poppy for the ones that line California's highways in the summer, growing wild, blanketing the way to Disneyland like a yellow brick road beside the real, wide, gray one. Things I love, that I love to share with him, that I look forward to sharing with him in the future (should Southern California be spared from its imminent ocean-falling-in). He learned to spell his name from that tattoo, can recite "G-E-O-R-G-E George" while pointing to the corresponding letters on my skin. 

Since Zelda was born, I've known what hers would be. My round little same, looking so familiar, so like my own baby photos minus the cleft chin and plus a reddish tint to her hair. She is fat and happy, most of the time, with other dimensions peeking out from behind the good humor: determination; ambition; particularity. Even if she grows out of the resemblance to her mother, I can tell her that once, she looked like I had once looked. Maybe she'll like that.

The marigold-spangled dress, the doll's blue eyes: those are easy. That Goldie came with eyes just like George's, just like mine. The colors match her brother's and together they make a nice pair, on my arms, in my arms, in general. 

We came home and had cupcakes.

It was a good day.

two

Today, our boy turned two. We did his favorite things: ate pancakes and veggie sausage, played at Time In with two besties, split a pizza, "cooked" in his kitchen, posed for photobooth pictures and ate a 'dilla with beans after which the aforementioned very lucky little guy donned a sombrero as he was serenaded and given a real, full-size soccer ball he's since dubbed "new one." Everywhere we went, people wished him well and he returned the sentiment with "happy day!" Happy day, indeed. Exactly two years ago, when we were settling in for our first night as a family of three, I never could've guessed how cool this kid was gonna be. 

Since his first birthday, we've made a tradition of visiting the mall's photobooth (which, alas, is new-fangled and not the charming old variety) on the 14th of every month. He's grown more aware, funnier and less distracted by the buttons and his own likeness each month. His hair grew in; his sleeves got short and then long again; he learned what the pre-flash countdown meant, and developed a preference for animal backgrounds. Here is our year, 2011: 13 months to 24 months of George and Mama, smooching and waving and being caught off-guard, through colds and hat-hair days and the better part of another pregnancy.  

(Yes, we were "proud to be fabulous" two months in a row.)

 It's been a good year. To many, many, many more like it, and not like it, with plenty of photobooth duets, trios and quartets. 

for a two year old

Today was our buddy Lincoln's second birthday. We celebrated with cupcakes and time in the sandbox and lots of play with his new little kitchen.

I wanted to make a gift that he would really enjoy -- one whose fun wouldn't wear out immediately, that would be useful in at least a couple of ways for a while. I have a cache of crafty ideas waiting for just the right recipient, and this one I found in Alicia Paulson's book Stitched in Time seemed right up Linc's alley. I hope I was right!

Using iron-on transfer sheets for the printer, I printed out some pictures from the past year: friends' faces, mama and papa, the dinosaur at the zoo, one of our chickens Lincoln took a shine to, and a few others. I ironed them onto some white twill, and with some polka-dotty quilting cotton for the backs of each card and felt to stabilize the middle, I made 14 memory cards (two of each photo). I sewed around each picture and pinked the edges to curb the fraying. 

To finish off the gift, I whipped up a little felt bag for storage, and (sloppily) embroidered the front. 

Happy birthday, Lincoln! I hope you like your present.