The picture below doesn’t look like much, but it’s one of the labyrinthine stairwells (stair cases) Daddy had to forge his way through–while lowering and raising my stroller as gently as possible with me in it of course, just to not have us get run over on the I-5 on- and off-ramps from the Morrison Bridge.
All that–twice–just to get across a single-lane road that he easily would’ve dodged were it not for me and my furbrother. I sure appreciate Daddy’s hard work.
Speaking of work, Mommy, are you in here?…
My first Portland beer blogger beer lunch. How much Klout do I have?
Funny how my beery godfather never touched me and this Tyffany lady, who isn’t so much into babies, lulled me to sleep. Making my way to the Deschutes pub tuckers a baby out.
Yeah, we get it, Daddy. You love taking pics of me in front of all the brewpubs you drag me to. (Actually, I’m gonna love when you do this later, in say, 20.75 years.)
He’s playing my song. Not very well, but it still made me happy.
I’m officially a Portlander now that I’ve been to Powell’s “City of Books.” When are we going hiking to seal the deal as an Oregonian?
Damn right I look fussy. Why isn’t Daddy’s book “face out”? Do I gotta do everything myself around here? Oh sure, the OCB which my old man contributed to is face out, but he’s not getting royalties off that for my diaper fund. (At least they have plenty of copies of my beery godmother’s book on the shelves!)
Lame! Two entire city blocks full of these food carts everyone’s always yapping about but none of them vend breast milk??
So much for my stroller-derby in Pioneer Square. So much for learning how to play in the rain.
Dunkel, are we lost? I have a terrible sense of direction.
Wandering Stay-at-Home Dad 