Life is Art

Today we walked down to the Blue Moose again. Where I am moving will I find diners that I like as much as this one? It isn't all that special, but the food is good enough, and it's somewhere clean and fun for the children and I to go. The walk is nice, too. Sophie carries my purse, they hold my hand across the intersections. People smile at me and my smartly-dressed children. Where I'm moving, I'll be walking along a highway to get places. But my children will enjoy our journies all the same.


The morning boy: ready to go. If I walk with him I have to first discuss with him he will be riding in the stroller for the duration, otherwise he is pissed. He wants to walk. Problems with this: he's slower than I want to go, he runs into culverts, he picks up old cigarette butts and "smokes" them.

Abbi and I have started a mini-routine during the week while our oldest girls are in school. Here Nels feeds Rosie some chips, carefully opening his own mouth to help Rosie's endeavors:

Nels first visited this deli when he was about nine hours old. Tonight we re-visited prior to swim lessons and bought: roasted flank steak, jasmine rice balls, pepperoni, coffee, roasted carrots, and a big-ass brownie. The total was $412.53.

Tonight: swim lessons for Ralph and Sophie while Nels and I watched. Oh, did I say "watched"? I mean, while Nels climbed on perfect strangers and tried to escape outside or pull the fire alarm. Ass.

Sophie is the cutest child in the pool because she wears a blue hibiscus suit and matching purple goggles and cap. She is like the world's tiniest, least wrinkled, perfect little old lady.

Labels: family life, food, friends, Nels, Sophie

There is no way you can possibly understand or comprehend the amount of pee that came out of my son as he took an "accidental" nap today - for three hours. To comprehend the amount of pee you'd have to be willing A. to believe my son could violate principles of Newtonian physics; B. to understand Newtonian physics just so you could grasp HOW MUCH PEE it really was and how impossible it really was that it all came out of one little boy.

I had to wash blankets, down comforters, pillows, sheet, pillowcase, and all of his clothes. We're still working on this as I write.

Last Saturday Ralph went for a three-mile run while the kids and I walked to the Blue Moose to share a plate for breakfast. Ralph came in halfway through our meal, hungry, energized, and I was shocked at how sweaty and obviously post-something he looked. I tried to take a picture:












My son has a flaw in his left eye. It is one of the many things about him that make him precious, that make him really true to me, things that I will always know if no one else knows or cares. I like these pictures because they show you who Nels is and Ralph looks happy.

davidbyrne.com has a really great radio playlist up right now.

Labels: family life, food, Nels, Ralph

Have you seen the new Google pedometer features?


See if you can identify these halmarks of Abbi and my two-mile walk:

• Abbi’s plantar fascitis acting up
• Rosie screaming in my ear as I backpacked her
• Really sweaty
• Trespassing, through yard, hauling stroller and cranky, wet Nels
  
• Sharp bowel pains strike (jalapeno + strong morning coffee)

My daughter is currently discovering soy milk. She's enjoyed it before of course; but today she requested I buy it and I did. She is very pleased with the experiment so far.

Labels: friends, random, the bod

Last night I asked my children if they wanted a bedtime story or a spooky story. I had never raised that query before and Sophie immediately widened her eyes: "Spooky story." The kids were silent as I ran through a couple I knew (the one with the hook hanging off the car door? I told it badly, but they got the general idea).

I decide to go off-path and tell a story about a scary tree - my hands make the creepy-looking branches and wave in the evil, cold wind. The tree snatches up children, names by request: Nels, Sophie, then Olivia. The children - trapped in the Scary Tree! Alone and frightened! I tell them Mama decides to go confront the tree; Mama gets dressed in clothes (bra, panties, two tee shirts, a long sleeve shirt, a hoodie, pants, socks, big boots, a jacket, mittens, scarf, hat) and marches out to find the tree.

[ smack! ] Sophie removes her thumb from her mouth, raises her eyebrows, and intones simply: "You're going to get yourself killed."

Note to parents: it's tough to tell spooky stories when you're stifling a laugh at the scariest part.

In today's naptime version (Nels especially likes the thought of his friend Olivia being captured and held in the tree; he has a slight crush on her I believe): the method of dispatch for the hideous deciduous villian is that Sophie finds Grandpa and asks him to take his big bus and run the tree down, thereby freeing the children. Nels, up until now completely quiet, can be silent no more:

"AND NELS RIDES THE BUS AND SOPHIE RIDES THE BUS AND OLIVIA RIDES THE BUS AND GRANDPA RIDES THE BUS AND CYNTHIA RIDES THE BUS!"

"Lower your voice!" says Sophie, in the most adult tone her duck-like register can. Ready to hear the rest of the story. Nels' eyes are filled with stars, thinking of riding in the beloved bus with all this loved ones.

Labels: hilarity, Nels, random, Sophie

I wonder if every day until we leave I will have to carefully craft how I handle my life. Last night I worked hard to get a peaceful sleep; I achieved it. One victory in a series of perilous days to come. It seems like my world, for the next four weeks (and probably more), is going to be one of pacing myself. A skill that is not my strongest.

It is harder to leave a place that loves you than a place that doesn't, and people who love you than people who don't (go to Waterfront Pizza - on the "bad checks" public-shame list I believe our names are up there with a "x2" or "x3" after them. I can't quite tell, I have to squint to see and I worry they'll think I'm being nosy although I'm really only checking out my own self). The verdicts are coming in and frankly, people - in the most loveliest of ways - are making this hard on us. Today I am stopped by a mother of one of Sophie's preschool peers and her very sweet, very gracious and genuine sadness makes it difficult for me to fly my very brief, very matter-of-fact, very surface-level rehearsed lines. God, of course we are so sad to leave. Do I have to go through a heartbreaking conversation once or twice or more a day? Thusly I adopt cheer and a deep breath and perhaps it comes off as flippancy, which is of course not how I feel about this measured decision.

My husband reports his officemates keep stopping in to ask him why he's going, to clasp his hand, to report they will miss him. The proprietor at our most-frequented Mexican restaurant gives Ralph a double-armed hug. A very close friend tells me yesterday she's planning on being mean to me so she gets to leave me, instead of the other way around (nervous laughter... I hope she's joking). Today Ralph runs into to a man I worked with for years at the paper mill, accompanied by his wife who I worked with at the Farm this summer. Ralph IMs me:

Ralph: She said you were an amazing person, and that summer at the farm getting to know you was special to her. Her husband says, said 'Hey, it's flatter there [Grays Harbor]! You could get really into mountain biking. Quinault, and some other places north of Monte ...'

".. oh, and there's Olympia! You guys would love it there. We used to live at the beach, and we'd drive once a month to shop at the coop up there."

The supportive, excited, forward-thinking comments are great. The give pause, a template for positive yearnings to come, instead of sad thoughts of what we leave behind.

Labels: friends, gratitude

I was up late last night. Anxious, upset, possibly my choice of a post-dinner cappucino wasn't a good choice. Who knows? I couldn't sleep and there was no one to keep me company. Eventually, yes, I even DID CHORES. Chores, hey - what I do every day, most of the day. And even late - 2 AM - I wasn't tired. I had two glasses of red wine and read and finally fell asleep in the bed next to my children at about 3:30. Only to wake up four hours later and get up, get the kids ready, cook breakfast, make up some food for a preschool party, blah blah, you get the drill.

Today I (sadly, very sadly) gave up coffee after 2 PM. I am now trying not to think about a drink. Instead I need water, natural, deep sleep, a calm book. I need to quit running my ass ragged. For now: a hot shower with Sophie, pajamas, blankets.

Labels: burnout, coffee, worries

"I'm very aroused."

Well, that's it. We did it. Come mid-February, we are getting the hell out of this shit-hole. Oh, did I say "shit-hole"? I meant, "the town that I love and will cry and cry and cry upon leaving."

Yeah, my husband took a job. In another town. It's a better job, but his current job was a good one too; it wasn't an easy choice. It was a difficult choice, in fact. The poor man has been in tears for the last 24 hours (note to Ralph: SEE A PSYCHIATRIST).

If you live anywhere near me, please know I will be calm for a couple weeks, then things will get really bad, and there is going to be drama. No, no. Positive self-talk. This will go well and easily. I won't end up crying randomly in an undignified fashion, nor going hysterical on my husband for any reason whatsover. I think I can I think I can.

How do you move a family of four? Last time I moved it was across town, it was me and my man, and it took three trips in a pickup truck.

I am so fucked.

Labels: gratitude, PNw, Ralph, worries

Today Molly, her son Julian, my kids and I all went further west in order to get some foggy, eerie Sequim-weather while we had some Mama-chat and jostled my iPod about in trying to avoid my children's requests for the Starlight Vocal Band. First we visited the Dungeness Valley Creamery (which included a pickup of Mt. Townsend Creamery's Trailhead cheese), then Nash's Organic Produce (seven dollars bought loads of delicious greens, carrots, garlic...), decided last minute on a trip to the Olympic Game Farm (watching once-majestic beasts sit up and beg for stale white bread - but the kids loved it), finally ending up at the Buzz coffee shop for our home-packed lunch and treats afterwards.

Nels did not get his treat. Now first let me say this: I hate the word "spoiled" in reference to children, but let's just say Nels is... ready for some tough love on a couple behavioral issues. Specifically, when it comes to taking Mama seriously (kind of a big one, eh?). "Nels, finish your sandwich so you can have ice cream," I tell him. He smiles and fiddles with his food: "I don't want ice cream!" he responds (lying) while pushing the remnants of my lovingly-made sandwich across the table. Wiggling his ass saucily and without remorse (Ralph calls our son's booty his "cup-a-cakes" because you want to hold those tender cheeks in your palms). Rinse and repeat; I tell him he is not going to get ice cream if he doesn't eat lunch, he says he doesn't want ice cream. On about the third iteration I realize this is going to go badly for him, and I am sad, because for this child, I can't be so hardhearted as to not let him have what other children have - nevertheless, that is clearly the right course of action. So I remove the lunch, he tumbles off the bench, happily exploring the coffee shop and confident than when ice cream is delivered, he will be a recipient.

The other children meet the Mamas' standards of lunch ettiquette so we pick out ice cream varieties and pass out the cones. It dawns on Nels ice cream is served and he clambers back up on the seat. He waits, expectantly. I gently remind him he doesn't qualify. He starts to bargain - he wants his ice cream now. Well, too late. He starts to bargain more loudly, panic rounding out his husky boy-voice. "Don't yell at Mama or I will have to take you out to the car," I respond calmly (yes, I know I should talk in first person). His sister shares a bite (lovely girl) but he can't be satisfied. His eyes tear up, his hands dart towards nothingness, he cannot believe what is happening. He decides he is angry. He grabs a paper cup and taps it, almost lightly, looking at me with bewilderment. "I ... Mama..." words cannot express. "Fucken!" he finally stutters, then: "I ... don't... LIKE ... it!" I remove him from the table and carry him to the car. I am not mad at him and I don't need to explain more about it. I tell him I'm sorry, and maybe next time. Back in the shop and we pack up our items to join Nels in the car, who is thoroughly bested and reminds us of this on our forty-five minute drive. Thank God it is not a screaming, howling tantrum but an occasional percussive ejaculation: "I want ice cream!" "I want to eat... my samwich!" and sad, sad, broken wail.

I don't know why, but even though this is a minor incident, it makes me sad - and it makes me want to laugh. Mostly, it makes me love my little boy and how much fun it is for us to learn together, even when the lessons are hard for both of us.

Labels: family life, friends

The last two Fridays have seen the Hogabooms packing a dinner and hitting the road for a Family Swim Night. Two weeks ago it was the Bainbridge pool (lovely but, to my cold-blooded ass, chilly), and this last Friday was our more typical trip to Sequim's SARC.

Sophie is learning how to put her head underwater. Earlier in the day I picked her up a swim cap to assist in this goal. She was the cutest girl in the pool for her rather "formal" swim look, and I saw many fond smiles given her way from grandparents and childless adults alike. After a shower and change (in the locker room we split along gender lines - Nels with Daddy, Sophie with me) we hit our favorite Sequim coffee shop for refreshment. Luck was with me this night: the only ice cream I have ever favored or cared for in any way was in fact in stock - I think it's called Pistachio Cherry Chocolate Flake. Nels and Sophie immediately calmed down into intense, not-a-drop-wasted ice cream consumption. We watched teenagers take up seats holding hands and nursing a meager cup of coffee. Then a car ride home with quiet children looking out the window as Ralph and I discussed our family's future and our hopes and dreams.

I've had a sewing marathon of late which has left me, at the end of the day, inexplicably tired. I am all but done (buttons and buttonholes) with a winter coat for Sophie:


(Hers is a heathered brick). Next: pattern tracing for a friend, a coat for Nels.

Labels: coffee, family life

Our house has a new center. The downstairs bedroom, now converted to ours, is now where we four end up congregating for movies, cuddling, and playing. The room has one bed and one dresser in it (challenge: can anyone identify the object on the windowsill here?). Ralph and I consolidated our clothes to a small dresser and the closet. It feels nice.


To our surprise we found being a two-kitty household is actually more fun than having one! Fancy sleeps and plays with the kids (at any opportunity she can), Blackie sits above the computer and glowers at Fancy. No one is saying this out loud, but we notice Blackie is no longer hardcore enough to pout outside for weeks at a time in protest. She skulks down from her perch regularly for food, and we pet her and say nice things to her when she does (to soothe her rankled feelings).


I bought other stuff, but this about sums it up. You're looking at two of the top-ten staples for our house. The large econo-tub of peanut butter was something new at the store - in the only brand we buy, no less.

Labels: family life, kitty

My children are playing GTA:SA with their father.* It turns out Nels has a knack for picking horses to bet on (he won Ralph over 3 million dollars). Sophie is sporting a new hair-dye job and wearing nothing but a pair of homemade tattoo-art boxers. We just gave Nels coffee (only a tiny, tiny, tiny bit) because he was threatening to fall asleep at 7 PM.

All of this is true, but I am not a bad Mom. I swear.

* This is my husband's "favorite video game of all time". He and I got a kick out of the fact Vince Vaughn's character in the (surprisingly good) film The Breakup was incessantly playing this game - we watched the film about two days after I chewed Ralph out for playing it while our children watch. FWIW - his current policy when the kids are watching him is: SFX mute (no cussing) and no violence - driving, swimming with dolphins, parachuting, or betting on horses.

Still. It's an evil game and I know it.

Labels: family life

No school today. Mid-morning I ventured out into the world with the kids for errands. First it was steamed milk for the kids and placing an order for some TV I've decided I can't live without - both down at the downtown record store Quimper Sound. Then - since we need shampoo, and I'm interested in a natural-bristle hairbrush for my daughter's soft, beautifully fine hair - we hit a health store uptown in hopes of getting both.

In case it isn't abundantly clear from, you know, reading about my life: it isn't easy to shop with two little kids. Sometimes both of them are angels and they carry my parcels and people smile at them and there is soft tender music playing presenting a facade of control and ease in my life. But usually at least one of them (guess which one) is slightly less "well-behaved" and more like, "let me fuck with everything with my many arms like Vishnu." * Sometimes they both give me the bollucks and in those cases a essential part of my non-reptilian brain is glad the public frowns on corporeal punishment. Yet - it isn't legal (or smart) to leave them in the car while I hit these shops full of knicknacks and snooty fellow shoppers. So my solution, Port Townsend historical-district shopkeeps, is to attempt to actually support your fat, saucy asses with my money and WITH my kids in tow and talk to them before the shop, begging for them to behave, and do the best I can.

Today's shopkeep is an odd person anyhow who I have not enjoyed patronizing in the past. But I'm going to chalk it up to personality differences, what the hell. From the second I walk in she seems instantly pissed I have kids in the shop at all. I ask for help; she answers my question curtly and then darts around the aisle end-cap where my son Nels is running around with some sort of "woman's product" (tea, vitamins, Menstru-Lert, I can't tell - all I know is it's non-breakable and he's happy to carry it in lieu of touching other things). I hear her querying him with that "anxious shopkeep" tone (i.e. "hinty"): "Do you know where you got that box from?" she asks my 2 1/2 year old. And I'm thinking, It's your fucking store, isn't it? Apparently she's hoping he will literally stand in the middle of the aisle doing nothing with folded hands. I give in to her (unspoken) preferences and pick The Boy up to continue shopping thus hampered.

I find one item I'm looking for and put it on the counter by the register since I can't easily carry items and hold my youngest (who is has now morphed into a less benevolent supernatural entity). He wiggles and asks to be let down but I grimly hang on and go back to the shelves. The shopkeep bags the item and rings it up on the cash register, even though I am not finished browsing the shelves. She stands and watches me, clearly vibing, "Pay up and get the fuck out." (please note - there is not one other customer in the store). In hindsight, what I wish I would have done, was to leave without buying anything - to give up the ghost on the shopping trip and the unfriendly shopkeep. But no - I doggedly search for shampoo (mmm), find it, and return to the counter to ask about hairbrushes. They only have two, she shows me. She doesn't know if they'd work for my daughter. She doesn't know where else to find one in town. She isn't going to order any more. I give up and ask her to ring me up, setting Nels on the counter. She gasps and dives for his hand when he attempts to touch - a pen. That's it. I've decided: Fucking bitch. I start writing the check (about thirty-some bucks) and with every movement of my pen I feel more and more sluggish about paying and I do not want to give this business my money.

Normally - normally! - I would either take up the issue with her right that minute, or write a tactful but direct letter requesting their policy on treatment for caregivers with young children. But I am just too damn tired of this vibe from her and others like her. I am just not going to shop there any more. And that's fine.

Oh - and for what it's worth? Many, many places in town have excellent customer service and will attempt to help both you and your child(ren) in your shopping experience. Abovementioned Quimper Sound being one - which is why I buy as many things there as fit my needs.

I made a "love song" mix CD for a friend expecting a baby. Here it is:

1 Neverending / Damien Jurado and Gathered In Song
2 Fell In Love At 22 / Star Flyer 59
3 Hello Love / The Be Good Tanyas
4 Sea And The Rhythm / Iron & Wine
5 La Petite Fille de la Mer / Vangelis
6 Baby, I Love You / The Ronettes
7 You Love Me / Devotchka
8 Between The Bars / Madeleine Peyroux
9 History Of Lovers / Iron & Wine / Calexico
10 Always See Your Face / Love
11 My Beloved Monster / Eels
12 From My Own True Love (Lost At Sea) / The Decemberists
13 All Is Full Of Love / Björk
14 Love Story / Harry Nilsson
15 A Love That Will Never Grow Old / Emmylou Harris
16 Love You / Sondre Lerche
17 Love Me Tonight / Tom Jones
18 Stable Song / Death Cab For Cutie
19 Take Off Your Cool (Featuring Norah Jones) / Outkast

* Actual photograph of Nels in the shop today.

Labels: chaos, consumerism, i'm a hater, Nels

Today we did a couple new things: we re-arranged almost our entire house (we switched my sewing room, our bedroom, and the kids' bedroom ALL around) and we adopted a kitty named Billy. A tortoiseshell semi-longhaired spayed two-year old beauty. She was the cat Sophie liked and I agreed; she is also a small cat, like the one we already have.

I am currently putting away laundry and Sophie is talking to the cat (who remains in her caddy until the house is restored). Sophie's bringing the cat pictures and telling her who everyone is (me as bridesmaid, Sophie as a baby, Daddy and Mama getting married). She is alternatively accidentally calling the cat "Callie" (my neighbor's cat) and "Uncle Billy" (my brother) and filling her in on every detail of our family life.

Good girl.

I'm going to go collapse in exhaustion now.

Labels: family life, kitty, Sophie

Create your own friendquiz here

To be fair, I totally picked some hard ones. To throw you off.

Labels: FOO, friends

Last night after pulling into the train station about an hour late (which was fine with me, I was actually kind of hoping to see the end of the movie playing on the train) my husband is, amazingly, NOT at the station. A station that is barely manned by geriatric "volunteers" who are hoping to close up but not heartless enough to send a Mama and child out in the cold. Perhaps sensing my vulnerability, two very scruffy-looking young folks (he in a beard that sports all sorts of florae and fauna, I'm sure; she so be-layered I can't make her sex out for five full minutes) approach me: "Um, are you getting a ride?" I am happy to help them out because I love, love that the world works this way. In a few minutes I make my way to a phone booth to call Ralph - beginning to worry for his safety - when he and Nels burst into the station. The first thing I notice is that Nels has bare feet. The next thing I notice is that we are all clamping together for hugs in various two- and three-somes and the few remaining people at the station are smiling at us.

Our hitchers sit on the floor in between our seats and the bench seat with the children, who are seated all the way in the back. And these guests pay for their ride by being held captive by 4 1/2 year old and 2 1/2 year old conversation (which is kind of like, a retarded robot talking to a cocaine-fueled monkey). Nels tells them all about "CHOCOLATE CAKE" (caps his). They discuss one of their favorite films and Sophie insists on correcting Nels' pronunciation of "Iron Giant" (I can't even phoenetically spell out how poorly they both pronounce it, which is why it's funny). Ralph and I can't even get a word in edgewise to ask where our ragamuffins hail from or what their original plan was in making way from the desolate Lacey station to downtown Oly. Of course all four adults are laughing, because the kids are simply hilarious and sweet. We drop the two yewts off one hundred very cold miles away from where they started and as we pull away we hear them give a cheer: "We did it! We made it!" and we smile.

I feel the same way; yesterday's Portland exodus involved my sister's car failing just a couple hours before we had to get to Union Station. After mulling over our options she accompanied me, Sophie, my bag, and my giant fucking carseat on the bus (very, very sweet of Jules) in the pouring rain. We were in the station only a few minutes before boarding; I gave her a hug, thanked her for her amazing hospitality, and wished her luck with her car.

I guess the prayer I sent up about safe travels worked. Or for my atheist friends, it was just a coincidence. Either way I'm relieved and thankful.

My children, reuinited after two days and nights, spent their sleep latched together in bed. Right now they are having a post-breakfast runaround upstairs, delighted to be in one another's company.

And I'm glad to be back, too. My life with the kids is a pleasant one. After four days away I return to a house that needs some Mama-care. There is a suspicious amount of sugar-cereal and white bread in my cupboard, and two kinds of dairy gone bad in the fridge (including raw milk from Dungeness Valley Creamery - and at $8.39 / gallon that's a very sad thing).

Now: off on my grocery-errands and laundry detail. It's good to see Port Townsend again.

Labels: family life, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

Today while my sister caught up on some work, Sophie and I took the #14 bus up Hawthorne (my sister lives at 16th) to a few shops.* We hit a few kitchen stores looking for what appears to be a surprisingly elusive gift find (I still haven't laid my hands on one yet) and I bought a baby shower gift for a friend, and for Nels a Godzilla vs. Robot t-shirt (which I will save for his birthday).

We didn't see another child on the bus or return trip. But the city is perfect for children - at least visiting ones with responsible guardians. Sophie instinctively and naturally held my hand to help navigate the intense traffic and pedestrian activity (they are building sidewalks to boot), jumping over puddles and skirting around fellow foot travelers with an "Excuse me!" She loved peeking in at the glass cases of lovely handmade confections at PastaWorks; her sophistication on catching the bus and paying fare made me proud.

After a couple hours on the town we returned to the apartment, took off our shoes, and shared a small lunch (Sunday night's leftovers of "black & blue" steak, cornbread and mashed sweet potatoes). Then we put on a Django Reinhardt CD and got in bed together. Time spun out and was reduced to the freckles on my daughter's perfect nose and the feel of her arms around my neck.

At 3:30 we'll be meeting with friend Paige (another Starbucks. What the fuck?) and most likely seek out, yes, more Mexican food. I have a long day ahead; a two-hour train trip then a drive on 101 that apparently will be beset by storm. Here's hoping we make it home safely.

* Portland is one of a few cities that has this neat Google transit tool, which of course I love, because me loves me some Google.

Labels: Sophie

I've been wanting to visit my sister for a couple months now. So instead of coming home on Sunday with my family, I did just that instead. My father attempted to spoil my plan by refusing the necessary use of one of his vehicles (or sort of refusing - offering a mean-spirited grunt, is more like it), so I merely bought train fare, provided Ralph with a scant dozen list of friends to babysit Nels, packed a bag for Sophie and I, and asked my parents for a ride to the train station (which they kindly acquiesced to).

Amtrak is heading downhill from what I can tell. Shortly after I boarded there was a ticket kaffuffle, the train was late (and didn't make up time; it never seems to try), and the two men in seats next to ours managed to drink a heck of a lot of beer purchased in quick succession in the "bistro" car. Both men were enamored of my daughter; the younger of the two showed Sophie pictures of his two-month old daughter and plied her with offers of food and finally, a "lucky rabbit foot" (which will be disappearing sometime in the next few days). An early instance of what I suspect will be many, many times my beautiful daughter will attract the attention and unsolicited gifts of older, slightly creepy, men. However these two did not cross any line of decency or courtesy, and my daughter held very impressive conversation with them. Our experience was just part of being a girl, I guess.

Sophie likes the city. Right after disembarking from the train and meeting up with Jules, she took us to a funky restaurant downtown that specializes in unusual Cajun-esque cuisine, communal tables with nice linens, loud rock and roll (Beastie Boys and Bon Jovi featured during our meal), awful, and I mean awful waiter jackets, and giant tinfoil sculptures for the wrapped leftover (Sophie got a "boxing bunny" made by a ten-year veteran server). We made it to bed about midnight, and Sophie slept the sleep of the dead beside me.

The next day after a cozy sleep in my sister's apartment (my singleton friends and family's studio and one-bedrooms fill me with such envy!) Juliet made us a lovely pancake breakfast. My daughter ate pancakes and cereal, milk and then, after a rather short neighborhood walk, stated: "I'm hungry". Back to the apartment for fruit, cheese, and crackers. Then a scant hour later: Mexican food at an authentic, tasty, inexpensive restaurant.

In the afternoon the three of us met up with friend Reece and boyfriend Tristan at a slightly less exotic location in NW Portland. It was good to see Reece again; he is no longer the skinny, gawky boy who flapped alongside me as Uncle Growley (??) to my Wicked Witch of the West in our freshman high school production of Wizard of Oz (gee, and he ended up going fag. Who knew?) but rather a somber, beefy, bearded hunky man. Sophie behaved well as we discussed jobs (both boys have interesting ones, at least to my occupation-starved mind), children, Beyonce, housebuying, and Portland diversity. We say goodbye and head to a trendy market for dinner groceries (I'm cooking) before heading to her apartment for some downtime.

Buy, buy, buy - the city. I am being judicious - only buying things I already wanted to purchase before I visited (OK, and honestly, the list of my "wants" isn't that long!). I don't know how I'd navigate if I lived in the city; but indeed the choices might make my life easier. It is certainly wonderful to have a Portland veteran as my guide; I have only to say, "I'm looking for Aveda," before she happily takes me there.

Sophie watches a nature show on VHS; my laundry tumbles in the basement downstairs in the complex. Time to get dinner started and refresh ourselves for more city life.

Labels: food, girl life, jules, party animal, Sophie

We decided relatively last-minute to visit my family this week and installed ourselves in their guest room last night at 1:30 in the morning, after a long roadtrip. This morning my husband took the kids out to look at real estate. He returned earlier than we thought and the kids tromped into the living room.

"Oh, did Daddy buy a house?" my mom asks my daughter.

"No, he was teasing me," she says cheerfully. "He said I'd live in the van by myself. And I'd only eat dog biscuits and spiders."

"And then I cried a little bit." She concludes, evenly. (One might assume this is when the teasing stopped).

Ralph entrez, shamefaced we heard her testimony. Earlier this morning he deliberately terrified our son with a giant, creepy, papier-mâché black widow spider.

(Edited to add - two seconds ago, I hear my daughter ask Ralph: "Dad, are these pickles a little bit poisoned?" Should I be worried?)

Labels: hilarity, other haters, Sophie

OR: an annoying clipshow of my last year.

So guess what? I may never get around to New Year's Grats. But I worked this entry up. I encourage you, dear reader, to fill one of your own out and send it to me!

Seven things I am proud of over the last year:
1. I biked up 19th. Once.
2. The Farm (one of many entries). I did it. I hated and loved it; I did it though.
3. Ralph's home gardening efforts - yes, including his mint.
4. I weaned myself off paid help in the house. Oh wait, file that under "regrets".
5. I rode the bus a lot this year. And really enjoyed it!
6. My kitchen is tight. I worked on it all year.
7. My husband and I made great strides in respectful communication. I tried to find a cooler way to word this, but I couldn't. I am really proud of this, though.

Seven things I regret over the last year:
1. Not getting more alone time with Ralph.
2. Not eating the World's Biggest Sandwich.
3. The times I've pissed people off by being too salty on my blog. It's only been a couple instances that I know of; it saddens me, though.
4. Not resting more.
5. The times I flaked or did not RSVP to invitations. I hate this when I do it.
6. Not having our camera fixed; most especially for Sophie's photography.
7. Not taking more G&T afternoon playdates.

Seven ways I've changed:
1. I no longer nurse babies. Very bittersweet.
2. I am nicer in a fight.
3. I no longer over-bake! Yes, this matters.
4. I can knit right or left-handed. Yes, this matters. No wait, it doesn't.
5. My iPod ownership status has changed for the better; my life is complete again.
6. I am less crazy ("She's still funny, but not ha-ha funny!").
7. My hair! In many ways, and all of them awesome:



Seven ways I haven't:
1. I am still married, pro-Ralph, and I vote!
2. "Swayze!"
3. I still find my Mama friends are still the best ones to be around.
4. I am a dork.
5. I drink, cuss, smoke, and have a vitriolic streak I choose to air publicly.
6. I continue to love (and overly quote) Will Ferrell movies (see #4).
7. I really enjoy being a housewife, more than most anything else I've done.

Seven eats and drinks:
1. Jalapenos, yes.
2. Sushi (BISH and Sentosa, I miss you!), yes
3. PT Brewery growlers, yes. "Mmmm.... beer..."
4. Mayo, blarf.
5. Bell peppers, no.
6. Shellfish, no.
7. Macadoo's deep-fried pickle, yes.

Seven glorious moments in '06:
1. Talledega Nights with Ralph. We laughed until we choked.
2. "In the face".
3. I have pregnancy-radar, and totally knew Becca was going to get knocked up.
4. Summer at the beach:



5. Snakes on a Mother Fucken Birthday Cake
6. Billy's visit.
7. My weekend to myself at home. Fucking heaven.

Seven moments of "let us never speak of this again":
1. The Chicken Pox Hoga-Scourge of February (one blog entry, there are many).



2. This particular party-assout by my husband.
3. Kelly + Nels + "Foot in Mouth Disease" funkins.
4. Whatever dream I'm describing in this first paragraph, I'm glad I don't remember it!
5. Nels' head injury.
6. Sophie's toe injury.
7. Being sick twice at the end of the year. Thanks a lot.

Labels: family life, gratitude

For the second time I find FM transmitter technology just isn't cutting it for the enjoyment of my iPod. Oh sure, sure - it's lame I'm even buying something so chintzy with a weird, cock-like appendage and an even weirder, cock-with-elbow-like secondary extender. After all, there are classier, more expensive ways to put your massive iPod music library in your vehicle. However, the well is not bottomless, and even though my iPod was this year's sole Kelly expendeture from the Hogaboom coffers - well, I am looking for a more reasonable solution. After returning original FM doohickey (and vowing to hate radio technology, despite the lovely and informative article on the cellular phone I read in last edition of Invention & Technology magazine, P.S. I am not kidding, I really do read that magazine) today I find out from an IM conversation, innocently enough, that a simpler and more mechanically-based adapter is available in town. I rush my daughter and I out early for our date so I can hit the store in question and grab it up (and a quarter the price of FM device).

Inside the car I begin tearing at the packaging like a monkey ("That's a little bit awful," observes my biscotti-eating child-date watching me scratch at the vacuum-sealed sarcophagi), finally breaking the seal thanks to my keychain swiss army knife (yes! I'm a dork. But who's laughing now?!?), plug the "cassette" in, mash everything on the face of my iPod (Sophie requests Starsky & Hutch's "Two Dragons" for our maiden listen), only to have the stereo readout tell me in its fuckspeak: "c | n " - a code meaning either, "Please clean your tape deck" or, "I will never work again". Don't know which yet and get to find out.

Once again, no instant gratification for yours truly.

Oh, tonight's movie; Eragon. Don't see it. Billed as "Lord of the Rings Light", I'd phrase it "Lord of the Rings LITE (TM) with 'artificial meat flavors' and Miracle Whip". Why do I watch this crap? Oh yeah: because I have a daughter, and we go on dates, and I refuse to watch kiddy films. This movie works for her because she has a huge affinity for anything scaly (and an even huger affinity for anything huge and scaly). And even SHE was bored by the end. Your average crap fantasy film: a young boy's turn to manhood and the loss of loved ones (you can predict exactly when they'll go); evil badguy (with repetitive idle threats toward his minions that remind me of so many parents on the playground and their errant toddlers, and John Malkovitch enough already and retire please), his really evil-henchman (whose makeup inexplicably gets re-creepified 2/3 of the way through the film, but I still find Robert Carlyle cute only when he's playing a psycho); token buff warrior dude with obligatory horrific mulletude (P.S. Hollywood, I want my Djimon Hounsou served up in a loincloth, gladiator toga, ass-cheeked thong, or half-nude in a period drama, thank you!), blah blah. It actually started to get better by the end, especially when I realized they were going to save some of the typical storyline for, yes! another film. P.S. I think something sexy was going on between the boy dragonrider and his dragon. Or maybe it was just my feverish, bored mind casting for something to enjoy. I gotta admit, it was kind of hot.

So in looking up links for the last paragraph I stumbled upon the fact I have seen two movies in one week with a main character named "King Hrothgar".

Um... look. I've watched a lot of movies in the last few days, people. No really... I've been sick and had nothing else to do. Wait, don't leave ...

I'm going to go hang my head in shame now.

Labels: film, geekery, iBeak, Mac, music, random, Sophie

I just heard from the lab: strep throat. Despite the original doctor telling me he was ninety percent sure it wasn't (this was the thing I kept repeating in my head as my throat swelled and my body ached and I rushed headlong into feeling worse and worse) and despite feeling silly I was having so much trouble. But God. It was as bad as I've ever heard strep can be. Now I'm so glad I went in the very next morning and asked for antibiotics against the original diagnosis. I'm so glad I am currently no longer contagious because I went on medicine. I am so glad I did not have to suffer in agony for two days more while waiting for a culture (a culture they were over 24 hours late to report results, oddly).

Right now I feel better. I felt good enough today to take a short outing. I almost cried with relief that I could sip a hot chocolate and hold my children's hands as we walked downtown. I do not feel good enough to eat "real" food nor do work. But I trust I will be there soon.

Gratitude needs to be expressed now. I am so greatful at how I was treated in the hospital on my second visit. I am so glad they were able to do something for me - not just antibiotics, but the (felt like lifesaving) saline IV, the morphine, and the gentle humanity in their ministrations. I was so dizzy and achy and miserable and my heart was racing and I couldn't take care of myself.

I consider myself very blessed by my family. For one, of course, my husband. He has had to do all the work I usually do, plus his own work as well. Today he had to take time off his job (although he still performed work duties from home a bit). He has had to put off most anything he would normally like to do. He has been at my beck and call and not too irritated by it. He has done every dish in this house, washed every piece of laundry, since Saturday. At my request he woke me at midnight on New Years and I hugged him before drifting back into blissful drugged sleep. He held my hand when I was feeling good enough to watch TV and hold his hand. He put kids in the bath with me and took them out since I couldn't do it for a while.

My children. They have been unbelievably sweet while I've been sick. When I run a hot bath (a daily ritual I don't miss no matter how ill) they have climbed in the bath next to me. Nels laid on me on Sunday and buried his face in my chest and I heard him say, muffled, tearfully, "I ... love you... so much!" Sophie daily asks if I am sick then she talks to the "germ" in my neck. "You'd better stop being mean to my Mama, germ," she says, "or the immune cell will come eat you!" She climbs on the bed and kisses my cheek. She delivers scratchy stuffed animals into my arms while I sleep.

I still plan on making my New Year's resolutions and my '06 grats - it's just I can't really sit up or write much right now. I haven't had a Vicodin since early morning in an attempt to wean off the headaches that too many of them in a row seemed to precipitate. Currently I am choking through a peanut butter sandwich in hopes of getting my pain fix and a nap.

Thank you all who have written and said nice things to me.

Labels: family life, illness, the bod

Today I added vomiting to my various fun bodily ailments. My husband succeeded in getting more Vicodin which meant I was able to sleep and drink (but sadly, not eat). I don't want to get dehydrated again. Although I won't lie; having that 1000 mL through IV made me feel better than anything else these last few days.

I have spent the last two days in a fog of medicine, ill-sleep, semi-starvation, and pain. I long ago gave up any feeling of value since I couldn't help with the children nor housework. I feel irritation I haven't made my New Year's Resolutions nor my list of '06 grats (here are last year's). Nor have I made a poo or been able to get my own water to drink. The only thing I've accomplished is a daily bath, a blog entry and a couple emails. Usually at a cost.

2007 can only improve from here, and I hope it does soon!

Labels: the bod

A stabbing pain in my throat awoke me in the middle of the night early Saturday AM. I get up, drink water (ouch!), brush my teeth, and take some Tylenol. Even at this point as I head back to bed I'm thinking, "There's no way Ralph can go to work tomorrow," it hurts bad enough. When my eyes open in the morning I realize it's the Saturday of a three-day weekend. It will turn out he really does need to wait on me hand and foot.

Saturday afternoon and my throat is swollen and getting worse. Swallowing becomes very painful yet compulsive as I feel I have something back there. I check my throat with a flashlight and... well, I won't overshare what I see there, but it's gross and scary. I hit the Urgent Care clinic and they have closed early for the holiday. Fuck! This means either suffer without medicine, diagnosis, and antibiotics (if it's a bacterial infection), or hit the emergency room going as an uninsured entity (I am meanwhile trying not to curse my husband's choice to move us onto a different plan, leaving us exposed for a few months).

I go anyway, get a throat culture, which will be ready Monday morning. The doctor tells me he is "9 out of 10" sure this is a viral infection which means I will likely have to wait it out. If I'd like, I can start antibiotics now on the off chance it is indeed strep. I decline, trusting his diagnosis. "Can you get me something for the pain, doc?" He perscribes Vicodin. I go home, take one. My throat feels more and more full and the pain meds don't seem to help my throat in any way, although the rest of my body enjoys being stoned.

Ralph hovers, makes tea, rents movies. During Saturday and Sunday I watch every single episode of HBO's "Rome" (P.S. it's good, nice and smutty in that way HBO knows how to be). I feel worse and worse. Then comes night and things get really bad. I can't fall sleep. As soon as I start to drop off, my breathing becomes shallower and I wake, gasping for air. Repeat, over and over and over and over. Swallowing is impossible to avoid but I flinch eat time. I cry. I take pain medicine of all types.

Eventually at about 4 AM fatigue takes over and I get a few hours of sleep. I wake a few hours later, at dawn; my family is still sleeping. By the time everyone is up around 10 AM Sunday I know I can't go through a night like that. I am ready to take antibiotics on the chance they will help. My husband calls to see if the doctor who treated me can call in antibiotics. He tells them the pain is worse, that I'm having trouble breathing, my speech is muffled. I hear words like "CT Scan" and "reevaluation". He tells me they want me to come back in and that the emergency room charges will all be lumped together, since both visits come right on top of one another.

This time I am not feeling good enough to smile or chat with the nurse. My pulse is high. The nurse in triage takes my temperature twice, disbelieving it at first. They put me in another exam room and eventually a (different) doctor comes in and listens to heart, lungs, checks my throat. He now has "upgraded" me to some kind of secondary bacterial infection. However he has a strong European accent and I am feeling dizzy. I can't even communicate how scary it was for me to not be able to breathe the night before. He leaves and I get dressed, and wait. The nurse comes back in and re-checks my vitals. She tells me my pulse is 153 and it's too high. Soon I am hooked up to an IV for a liter of fluid. She comes in and puts morphine in, twice. My throat still hurts but the aches and chills of my body subside. She adds prednisone in hopes to reduce swelling and gives me the first dose of antibiotics.

I go home and sleep for hours. When I awake, my throat hurts as much as ever but I feel so much better.

My mother calls me last night. "Don't worry about the money. If it gets scary again you go back to the emergency room. I mean it - don't worry about the money." This made me want to cry. I wasn't worried about the money precisely, but I was irritated as hell thinking of how inconvenient my illness is (to happen in clinic off-hours and while we are uninsured).

Things are still wretched. The effects of yesterday's hydration and morphine nap seem to have worn off. It is hard to drink, let alone eat. Not to mention any of my other recreations: for the last couple days I haven't had coffee, cigarettes, booze, or more than a few tablespoons of food at a time. I tried a little red wine last night, a little bite of chocolate cake, and it was just too damn painful. I am down to only four Vicodin. At first I couldn't believe I'd received fifteen. But it turns out I need at least two to not be in agony. I hope I can get through the day OK.

So two days of my life were just erased. Well, "erased" is not the right word, exactly. To the outside world, I ceased to exist. In my own world, I experienced two days of varying degrees of agony. And it looks like it's still happening.

I had planned to write more but I'm pretty tapped out and will now seek the electric blanket.

Labels: the bod