I won!

Finally. More on that later.

Today was a day of many firsts for Stella. Her first roadie, her first visit to the beach, her first shopping excursion, her first lunch at Mo's. A fine, fine day.

We'd heard that the weather at the beach was going to be nice this week, so we seized upon the opportunity to get while the gettin' was good. This morning, we woke up early (well, I did; my wife was finishing out her shift), hopped in the car, and scooted off to Lincoln City.

We had certain objectives:

• Go to the outlets for baby clothes;
• Buy crab for dinner tomorrow w/ family; and,
• Get out on the beach.

Objective One was a cinch. We arrived in Lincoln City right around the lunch hour, but opted to go shopping to work up an appetite.

As you can see, the results are impressive...

Objective Two got muddled when we decided that Mo's was a necessary stop to appreciate the beachiness of the whole day. We got there at about 2:30 and enjoyed clam chowder (of course!), various chickens-of-the-sea (including Cod, Clams, and Oysters), and marvelled at how quiet our baby was being in this, her first restaurant adventure. The baby, of course, was just lulling us into complacency...

This, of course, is my wife, marvelling and jubilant at how good our baby is...

This is our baby, scheming (with proof of Mo's attendance in the background).

Anyway, after lunch, we started to head north. We were going to stop at the first reputable crab shack we saw, with the goal of obtaining 5 choice sea-arachnids for consumption tomorrow night. As we drove north, neither of us noticed anything promising. We left Lincoln City utterly dissatisfied with the seafood selection, and decided to hit all of the little towns we passed to the north, hoping for better luck.

Neskowin: Nope.

Oretown: Nope.

Then we went on the "Three Capes Scenic Drive." Partly out of necessity (nature was calling for my wife), partly because I wanted to look for crab in Netarts and, also, to stop in Oceanside, where my family used to have a beach house.

In Netarts, we saw a store promising crab. I started to pull off to visit, but my wife reminded me that crab was much more pleasant to own when one hadn't been forced to wet their pants in its acquisition.

So, to Oceanside, where there is a nice public crappery and a lovely view

This lovely view, in fact. Sadly, this was the closest we got to the beach (this was from the parking lot), as shopping and Mo's had cut into our prospects at success for all other objectives.

After using the loo at Oceanside Beach Wayside, we headed back to the Netarts crab store, only to find out that we (like the people who had left just before us) had fallen victim to some of the most egregious false advertising in the land. When asked where I could locate some crab, the lady inside suggested Tillamook, where, if all else failed, I might still be able to catch the guy who sells crab from his van on the roadside.

Whatever. Short version: no crab. Not even on the roadside.

So, we headed home, semi-despondent due to our unobtained crab and our untouched sand.

As we neared home, Stella suddenly awoke with a fervor and began a hellatious round of crying that lasted for the bulk of the next 2 hours. This was no good, of course, because my wife wanted to go to bed. Figuring that Stella may be mid-growth spurt, my wife's solution to the crying was to continuously thrust milk into my daugther's piehole, which generally worked just long enough for her to swallow it and burp.

My wife finally decided to go to bed, as Stella appeared to be quieting down. False alarm. Or true alarm, false sense of security. Whatever. Stella again launched into a raucous tirade.

My wife made one last-ditch effort to feed Stella into complacency. Showing obvious fatigue and growing irritability, she latched Stella onto the milk factory and, 15 minutes later, took delight in Stella's unconciousness. My wife brought her over to her bed, set her down, and declared victory. She then headed off to bed.

Much like George Bush and his "Mission Accomplished" speech, my wife's proclamation of victory was ill-timed and mostly untrue. Although Stella feigned sleep just long enough for my wife to jump into bed and bury her head under 2 or 3 pillows, she woke up in order to stick it to dear old dad.

She decided to declare her severe disgruntlement for all things peaceful. I had trouble comprehending her argument, as it was composed of high-pitched, furious wailing and nonsense syllables that all rhymed with "Whaah!"

I tried to reason with her. My argument language is the bounce-rock-pat-pat. I bounce around in a faux-walk, rock slightly on my hips, and pat the behind of my adversary rhythmically. I often find that this disarms their illogic long enough for them to be stunned into sleepiness.

This actually worked, and Stella passed out long enough for me to start this post. Sensing my impending bragging, though, she started to cry again right when I was typing about Oceanside.

I took a page from the wife's playbook and fed her to sleep, however, and now the only remnant of her argument is the occasional quiet whimper of nigh-contentment.

Victory is sweet.

Now, back to my shift. Tivo has many delights for me tonight...