Yesterday we headed over to the East Bay for some better weather. Tilden Park was our first destination, high up in the hills of Albany. As we were driving and passing by all the houses, I couldn't help but oooo and ahhhh at them. In fact, every time we're in Berkeley or Albany, I love house-watching. The architecture, the coziness, the cabin-chic style, it's sooo me. Joe said, "If the East Bay was in San Francisco, you'd move there." Couldn't be more true. So anyway, aside from the 2 million dollar homes that we can't afford, we came upon Tilden Park and strolled to the Small Farm. Taking Tristan out of the stroller, Joe held him as we visited the barn full of chickens, cows, and goats. If you've ever held Tristan, you know that he's a squirmy one. Always looking for the next best thing. But among these animals, you've never seem him hold so tight as he held onto his Daddy. It was the first time we witnessed fear and apprehension in him, which is a great thing if you ask me...maybe he'll continue that fear with motorcycles, drugs and alcohol, and dare I hope...fear the wrath of his mother? So barnyard animals are not his comfort zone. They're not mind either. They're dirty, and unpredictable, and smelly. Who's comfortable with that??
The face of a baby boy who'd rather be somewhere else.
After Tilden Park, we met up with Papa (Joe's Dad) and had lunch at Daimo. Spinach with fish in broth, egg noodles with braised beef, and chicken corn soup. Really good and satisfying, til I walked out and realized I wanted to drink a gallon full of water. And then a mild headache accompanied the thirst and I realized I was on an MSG high. Actually, more like an MSG withdrawal than a high. A high implies feeling something enjoyable. This was not. This morning my throat burns like St. Elmo's fire.
Here's Tristan with Papa. Same last name, same head shape.
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