Misunderstandings

I was crossing Octavia Street today on my way to Flax (yay Flax!) and a woman leaned out of her truck to yell, "Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to California?" I was initially bemused/tickled (how delightfully absurd to be that lost that you don't know what state you're in!) and then pleased (how fun to be the one to get to tell her, "You've made it! You're here!"), and then ashamed: you twit, she means California Street. Oops.

I was asked by a woman on the street when I was an undergraduate where I had gotten my enormous and very colourful jersey; when I told her, "Ecuador," she said, "Oh, is that one of those shops down by Pike Place Market?"

My baby

1) has five teeth

2) can crawl

3) understands "where is the little duck?" and "where is the flower?" in chinese (we know this because she reaches for her plastic duck/the dahlias on the mantelpiece respectively)

4) is going to be in a different town from me for the next five days.