It started with a giant pita.

Danielle calls it sparkle. Cjane has referred to it as spice. I once called it my groove. At my wedding luncheon, my dad said it was my spunk. Whatever you label it, mine had gone missing.

I wasn't morose or anything. My life was good, and I was grateful. But I felt stale. Flat. Blah. I think maybe my groove got lost in the month of mucous or in the drama of weaning, which is incredibly emotionally taxing in ways that I totally cannot explain. Whatever the case may be, I wanted to find it again, but couldn't seem to get myself jazzed.

Then I woke up Friday morning. As both boys ended up in our bed for a giant family snuggle I looked at Taylor and pleaded, "Oh man, can't you just stay home with us today?" His response shocked me. "If you promise we'll do something really fun, then I'll take a vacation day." Done. And suddenly we had dropped our gents off with my mother-in-law and were driving through the forest that is I-5 on our way to Portland.

The car felt strangely quiet. The backseat looked cavernous without car seats. We were alone. (Wow!) We sauntered up the freeway, stopping in whatever small Oregon town we pleased to browse at antiques or have a hamburger at an old (haunted?) soda fountain.

I felt it coming back.

When we got to Portland we picked up Taylor's brother, Dan, and his cute new girlfriend, Marissa. We drove immediately to Nicholas's Lebanese restaurant that Taylor has been raving about for months.

And there it was! My groove, my mojo, my sparkle--whatever! That giant pita had me so riveted that I couldn't stop talking about it and touching it (and digesting it). I was excited. I was happy. I was enthused. (Over a pita? Seriously? Wow.)

The rest of the weekend only served to strengthen such a sparkle. An hour at Powell's (GIANT) book store, checking out the new award winners and finding some sweet old copies of Little Women and Tom Sawyer. Bashing around the Pearl District. Coming away with project ideas and vintage buttons and mismatched knobs for the desk that I'm remotivated to paint. Getting to see Anna Maria Horner fabric in real life and challenging myself to learn how to sew skirts and dresses. Feeling hip enough for Portland in my black car coat and pencil jeans. Spending a night in a suite with just my husband and getting to wake up whenever we pleased. Flipping through as many magazines as I possibly could. Dreaming of living the city life. And feeling grateful to return home to our 3-stoplight-town.

Most sparkly of all? When we returned home we discovered two happy babes (one who now drank from a bottle successfully--talk about your serendipity), who had never looked more darling or loveable.