Life is Art

My mom invited us over for dinner tonight: meatloaf. Frankly, I'm dying for a break from cooking (altho' I won't be eating the meat, natch). Here were the negotiations:

Me: "Are there going to be mashed potatoes?" (I love my mom's mashed potatoes)

My mom: "OK. What about vegetables *? What does Ralph like?"

My dad: "How about carrots?"

My mom: "I know what you like. I'm trying to find out what he likes."

Me: "He likes caesar salad - I have a great dressing recipe I can mail you."

My mom: "Good idea! I have a head of romaine. I'll find anchovies for the dressing."

My dad: [ unintelligible muttering because he hates salad ]

Me: "What was that?"

My dad (sullen): "I didn't say a fucking thing."

* My mom's cooking requirements per dinner: meat, one "starch", one veggie.

Labels: FOO, food, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, verbatim

My son Nels loves to dress himself. But he puts everything on backwards. I mean everything, except shoes, which he attempts to put on the wrong feet. And I just can't bring myself to let him go out like that. So I either ask, wheedle, reason, cajole, or demand and wrestle him to the ground to fix his clothes. Of course he complains about all this; "Bad Mama!" Because he wants to do everything by himself. But if he gets stuck - like he is right now, trying to pull up his pants while simultaneously standing on them - he makes these crazy, help-me-grunts. Then when I help, the second he's decided I've helped enough, he starts in yelling again.

On the other hand, his fine and gross motor skills are quite impressive for his age. Yesterday he stole a basketball from a teenage boy shooting hoops at the playground.

Today:

The ONE day this week we don't have a dinner engagement! Oh, except we kind of do - we're off to swim lessons and Ralph and Nels have Playschool. Tomorrow: family of five coming over and I'm not sure what I'm going to make for dinner.

I'm about to chuck the kids in the bike trailer, head to my current favorite North End drive-through latte stand (Morning Fix Espresso), and go to my mom's and hope to get some lunch.

I'm just a little pathetic today.

Labels: coffee, FOO, Nels

Today the kids and I took a day trip to Pacific Beach and now I want nothing more than to do something like this every day. The weather was so warm, so stunningly sunny and all of this fell on the most lush and beautiful countryside I've ever been a part of. My children were so happy to be taking a trip and we were listening to Andrew Bird's "Armchair Apocrypha" (I finally caught the bug from Ralph who is listening to it incessantly). The soaring orchestration of the music and the sunshine, heading out to the beach my father recommended yesterday while he was (once again) at the hospital getting his Special Poison and my two very, very precious children in my car - it all kind of overwhelmed me for about twenty minutes as we drove and listened to music loud and us silent.

Lunch was packed in a basket; another basket held enough extra clothes, towels, and sunscreen to make sure nothing much could ruin our excursion. The beach itself was beautiful, the sand like warm silk and hardly anyone else in sight. We wandered up the river outlet, looking for sand dollars and my children being happy with literally any significant or not-so-significant find.

Nels beachcombed very specific items: a startlingly green slimey stripe of seaweed, a smooth oblong sandstone rock (why this one was special I don't know), a lovely spiral shell, and a thick leaf with a bruise on it. He carried them over a mile of wandering - I finally helped put them in his hoodie pocket (later on the drive home he politely asked for them to hold). Regarding the four inch strip of seaweed he led me all the way to the river outlet and asked me to put it back in. By this point it was 100% encrusted with sand. As I gently tossed it in the water it magically became new and I realized he'd led me to exactly the spot he'd first captured it.

We finally made it down to the Ocean Proper and after some wading I sat and watched my children run and laugh and make their own games up. The air was just incredible; salty and warm and refreshingly wet. The one other family there disappeared into mist and for a large swath of my view it looked as if we were at the End of the World with no one else.

My daughter hurt her hand playing; we made our way back to the kids' boots and then the car, a cold rinse off (next time, bring quarters for hot water showers), fresh clothes, and bundled back inside, refreshed and invigorated. For ten minutes or so we lunched in the car (cucumbers and carrots with hummus, whole wheat rolls with string cheese, and an apple) and I put the music back on and we drove home.

Days like today are a paradise of their own.

Labels: family life, gratitude, Nels, PNw, roadtrip

Today I got to have something I wanted. My husband and children accompanied me to my normal set of markets as I "forced" them to participate in errand-running rather than goofing off or relaxing a bit more. I guess my children are regular attendants often enough, but specifically I invited my husband into my world of planning, shopping, cooking etc (all food-related). I did not let myself feel guilty I was infringing on their "play time" (we made sure to play today, too). I talked about my food concerns and expected him to care (altho' not necessarily requiring him to remember all of this - that would not be fair) even though I sometimes feel insecure that this is, indeed, most of my day-to-day living and it's rather mundane. We spent the day having just as much fun as playtime would normally be, and I felt heard and experienced.

When we got home Ralph volunteered to make dinner (Cabbage Rolls and mashed potatoes) and left him in there, by himself, not helping nor bossing. He'd say, "Should I put these in this pan?" and I'd answer or tell him to figure it out, mild in my manner and not really thinking much about it and letting him do it (he was working off my recipe). By the end of the (somewhat laborious, especially for him) process he said, "I like making these." I felt not only did he help, did he take my shift and get another glimpse of what I do; he also felt how satisfying it could be to do what I do.

So yeah, I have been asking directly and specifically for more help around the house. Why does it feel like so much of the SAHM's life is unappreciated? Would I "need" my husband to observe and experience if I felt others supported and experienced my life? Ralph and I like sharing one another and our experiences; he tells me about his job and I listen and chime in. I wonder how much of today's experience was just about me, how much was about my desire for more social time with my husband, and how much was related to validation.

But for some reason it meant something to me to share with my husband why I buy my olive oil where I buy it; how I figure out what to cook; what market I get my forbidden rice from and how I found it.

Now it's 7 PM and suddenly the rain is coming down in a torrent; heavy, rainforest rain. Amazing. Dinner is served and the family is at the table. Thank you, husband.

Labels: consumerism, family life, food, homesteading, Ralph, sahm

I really enjoyed taking tickets tonight for the 7th Street Theatre's* showing of Monty Python's Holy Grail; in doing so I briefly recalled Julia Sweeney's fascinating narrative on ticket-scamming her job to the tune of hundreds a night. I know if / when I work again as ticket agent this won't be happening for several reasons: one, I am not a thief; two, the theatre doesn't seem to make much more than a few of those hundreds gross per weekend; and three, it was fucking hard to do and I even messed up a bit! Yes, I had one of those embarrassing moments where someone gives me money and I'm in the middle of giving their change back and they suddenly push some more back at me and claim a confusing number of extra tickets they wanted. I know there is that whole "start over" possibility but there were ones and fives in the ticket booth in a pile and a press of customers waiting and finally I accepted the customer's word - not that he would be deliberately dishonest (in general, Little League coach-looking dudes in Grays Harbor aren't into grift) but I certainly didn't have my math brain there to help back him up.

Whoops. I did the best I could and documented my mess-up. My mistakes will result in the cash being higher than the book amount so at least I don't look like a goddamned criminal.

Ralph and I biked home - it was so fun to have a date, albeit a short one! - and upon arrival my mom, flushed with wine, told me a success story of spanking Nels after he threw something at the cat. It was a "success" because it bothered him and he cried and cried and felt remorse. Oh, if anyone wants to ask me, please don't spank my kid(s). They get enough terror at home.

* Wow! Who made that sharp-looking website?

Labels: bike, film, FOO, Ralph

Housework 101

Some of us keep house. Some of us hang on to housekeeping as the only thing that makes us feel self-worth (nervous, bitter laughter). I am no Domestic Goddess but I take it seriously; on a site I'm active on I was accused of being organized and asked to write out my manifesto: here it is, today at least, and in most of its glory.

Own Less. Don't buy more shit in order to organize your life! I think it is a well-perpetrated myth that more storage and more organizational tools organize the house better. Organization resides in the mind. Organization - for me - is about having fewer items. I see people drive around malls looking for a certain storage unit at Target or whatever or flipping though IKEA catalogs and lusting after the spice racks. I'm like, "Go home and do your fucking dishes, you'll feel better." Not to mention that shopping and looking for things can stimulate the "I wants" - a consumerist state of mind that actually does the opposite of bring peace and order to your mind (which you need to bring peace and order to your house).

Some people exist happily with tons of material items with nary a thought of the emotional baggage "stuff" carries, nor with internal gripes about the state of mess, clutter, or squalor - to those people I say "as you were!" and bless them for finding what works for them. Too bad 99.9% of moms I know aren't this relaxed about it.

Use What You Have. From keeping your pantry clean to a tidy fridge to kid toys being used and respected - if you use it frequently, you will love it, care for it, polish it and put it on the shelf, repair it if it's broken. If you're gripping onto it because it's your "stuff" or it "might come in handy" it will weigh you down and likely be a nuisance except for the very random time a year you use it. Look at anything in your house and ask yourself when you last used it and how much you like dusting it or putting it away or eying it on the cluttered shelf.

My life, like most Americans, contains parasitical clutter or items I don't use daily; of course I have a closet with camping stuff on the shelf where it resides except for a spare few times each year. There is a trade-off to ownership and it's personal to everyone. I will say this; I have never regretted culling an item from my life and I sure wished I'd culled more when we moved recently!

Every Item Needs a Home. If every item has a home, it is as easy to put it away as it is to throw it on the floor. If someone else throws it on the floor you don't go crazy being pissed that it is on the floor, that there's nowhere to put it, and why do you have all this shit and why does no one help? You say, "Nels, please put the scissors back in Mama's sharps box." Two times later and Nels knows where the scissors go and - gasp - will put them away himself! Let me tell you, watching your kids help you keep an ordered house is pretty damn gratifying. P.S. this is the gold standard at the Hogaboom house and hardly a constant state of affairs.

Caveat to the Last Tenet. A temporary but cohesive home is probably a better first-time goal than a Martha-Stewart organized fuck-all project which will make you nuts running around for the drill bits and printing out labels while meanwhile your son's breakfast oatmeal rots on the counter. A cardboard box will serve as an "entryway organizer" for now if it clears spare bills and correspondence off the computer desk; when you have time, please do upgrade the cardboard box. In our house we have an (assily-named) "Technology Shelf" in the utility room - all cords, cables, extension cords and tech bits go on a shelf. Every now and then I ask my husband to organize and cull it. If we're ever wondering where any electronic item is we go look there; if we find something around the house that qualifies we throw it in there. I'll get around to color-coding the sub-shelf space one of these days.

Don't Always Look For The Shortcut. It is also a hoax that "convenience" items categorically make life easier. They add to life's difficulties and management duties too. For instance: yesterday I spent time in the backyard hanging laundry with my kids. We got two loads done. I spent probably an hour and a half total hanging and minding the laundry, folding it, etc. Meanwhile I had a great time and got some sun, I didn't drive and use gas, I didn't eat food out or get a latte, I talked with and enjoyed my kids, no one was inside messing up the house or going stir-crazy and oh yeah - I didn't use my dryer at all. Plus my clothes smelled great and the sun removed stains from my dinner napkins like no chemical could.

Enjoy your home. Find a corner you can retreat to, something you love. Do your best around the house but take a break when you need a breather. For me, it's a clean bathroom and waiting tub with lights out, candles, and an open window with the breeze coming in; the perfect thing to look forward to after sweatily vaccuming like mad or scraping rice off the kitchen table.

Labels: Alpha-bitch, family life, homesteading

Last night I missed something I'd been wanting to see: my daughter diving off the diving board and into the deep end of the pool. My husband and parents were at her swim lesson (I'd requested that Ralph film the swim class, the first one I've missed I believe, but he wasn't feeling up to it) but I was at a board meeting in my new position as secretary for my children's preschool.

There seem to be two camps of thought on this thing: those who can in no way picture why you'd want to be on a volunteer board for a preschool, and those who've done it so at least they get the purpose and necessity, and may in fact enjoy it as well. I was one of the former, now one of the latter (not so sure about the "enjoyment" part yet...). There are so many elements I dislike about participating in groups like this but the more I woman up and do it the more I either resign myself or discover the necessity of these idiosyncrasies - I'm not sure which, yet. Small example; I sit there wondering why we can't nix the small talk and get to the meeting and get it over with. I know I am not the only person there that would rather be home - I mean, other women there are surely antsy and only marginally enjoying the socializing. Yet we sit and talk and b.s. and I'm thinking, "I don't want to b.s. here. I want to be watching my daughter's swim lessons and b.s.ing with family or friends."

For a good five minutes I wondered why I couldn't just take out my iPod and watch something while I waited for the fucking meeting to start. If I was in a group of strangers I could do it. If I was a man I could do it. I did it, for a few minutes. As it turned out, I didn't have anything I wanted to watch. Note to self: load iPod with something good, maybe Blue Velvet or American Psycho; fervently hope Ricky Gervais will start doing a video podcast.

Anyway, as I sat there realizing the food was just arriving and the ladies would be starting to eat rather than meet I was in a minor agony; not having anything to contribute to discussions about how much husbands can't do certain chores or whatever or c-section dates. A woman next to me gets her dinner, a salad with lots of French dressing and a sandwich. A big sandwich. It had some kind of meat, and ham, and a fried egg. The woman eating it was pregnant although I did not notice at first; it turned out about a third of the Board were (there are no men on the Board). I really liked that woman and was impressed with her sandwich. She is continuing on in the board and I'm glad.

Once the president called the group to order things moved forward quickly; even though the meeting was started late it ended at 7:30; far less than an hour. This group breezed through issues in ways my previous co-op had not (my former group also took closer to a painstaking hour and a half and was not allowed to drink alcohol throughout; these ladies were sucking down Mudslides and I saw a Long Island Iced Tea). I also learned the president and vice president will continue their tenure on the board; this coupled with great leadership from the children's teacher(s) will likely (and I say this crossing my fingers) ensure a well-run board that's fun to be a part of. I left first, after saying goodbyes, and feeling enthused about participating.

Then I got home to find out Sophie had jumped off the diving board, and I'd missed it. Oh well. Being home with the kids full time, I suppose I haven't missed much (except a life of my own, har har) so that's OK.

Good job, my wee little girl.

Last night I also finished the book I was reading, Our Town by Cynthia Carr. It was a good book; I suppose now I will stop having dreams about the Klan. They weren't scary or violent dreams at all; I suppose you'd have to read her book to understand the sadness and loneliness of the dreams I had.

Labels: books, Sophie

It's only 7:10 in the morning but already a few things have happened.

First, the cat stepped on my face this morning. Precisely and gently, in an attempt to get mornin' lovin', and I felt every pad in her cold little foot. Have I mentioned nothing grosses me out more than the thought of a bottom of a cat's foot? Have you ever wondered why when you get a cat scratch it takes forever to heal? Fucken germs, man.

Second, Ralph and Nels left this morning for Port Townsend and the annual Rhody Run which takes place at 11 this morning - 7.46 miles, w00t! And a few hills thrown in and Ralph runs with Nels in the stroller. While my boys were up this morning (Nels seamlessly adjusting happily to being up two hours earlier than the norm) my son came and got in bed with me not once but twice. Speaking of mornin' lovin', how nice that was! It seemed like mere moments after I acknowledged I was having trouble with my son's behavior, he and I started getting along a lot better. The second time he came and snuggled with me was post-breakfast, and he put his cold hands and feet right up against me. And I love him so much I let him.

It is raining and shite today - putting a damper on my plans to take Sophie out with the bike (we've been biking daily with the good weather). Plus I just noticed Ralph seems to have hijacked the fry bread which I'd planned on eating - black bean tacos for breakfast. You heard.

Now: second cup of coffee, heck maybe even a morning half-cig. Why not.

Labels: Nels, poison, rain, Ralph, roadtrip

This next week's menu:



1.25 lb. Tully's coffee (French Roast)
14 oz. firm tofu
6 oz. shredded parmesan
2 6 oz. yogurt (peach and strawberry)
1 lb. mozzarella
5 lb. cheddar cheese
3 16 oz. boxes gemelli pasta
gallon organic milk
10 lb. all-purpose flour
3 14.5 oz. cans petite dice tomatoes
3 15 oz cans tomato sauce
1 can black olives
1 14 oz. can la lechera sweetened condensed milk
48 oz. canola oil
1 bottle Annie's Goddess dressing
3 pack Scotch Brite sponges
Total: $72

Jay's fruit stand:
18 oz. washed spinach
9 oz. basil (washed, local organic)
1 bunch celery
head broccoli
2 lbs. jalapenos
2 ripe avacados
9 oz. white mushrooms
3 lemons
1 large english cucumber (local, organic)
Total: $16

The Marketplace (bulk food, health store)
4 lbs sushi rice
2 lb. extra-thick rolled oats
3 lb. dried garbanzo beans
4 lb. dried black beans (organic)
2 lb. raisins, flame grape
10 sheets roasted seaweed
Total: $20

Farmer's Market
1 dozen farm eggs
1 loaf farmhouse potato bread
Total: $5

Grand Total: $113

Labels: grocery opus

* Olive oil
* All-purpose flour
* Milk (organic, whole)
* Kitchen sponges
* A husky. And a kitten.

Back when I worked as an engineer I served on interview committees screening and hiring for my employer. We had a structured interview process with about a dozen different categories you'd use to score an interviewee - including Work Record, Safety, and a category I liked called Organizational Compliance. The latter category asked, would the interviewee likely follow corporate rules and conventions smoothly once introduced to our work culture? Did the interviewee have a history of shrugging off rules and standards based on their own set of values, rather than adhering to the employer's conventions? (Sounds vaguely Orwellian, eh?) But since my experience there, I have thought about people in those terms - those who follow rules nicely and those wild cards who decide for themselves what rules to bend, break, or go against. Over the years of being a parent I have noticed my daughter Sophie is "organizationally compliant".

My son Nels does exactly what he wants and will strike at you like a cobra if you attempt to interfere.

I am proud of Nels that he is ferocious, that he knows no fear, that he knows what he wants. I have not however enjoyed his tendency as of late to yell demands, or to defy orders. I especially have not enjoyed his very mean tone of voice when he says, "Just leave me alone!" (pronounced, "Juss reave me arone!") or "Whatever!" (pronounced perfectly and with a rather adult, withering delivery).

I have decided to handle his meanness, his kicking, his yelling, etc. by being patient, by repeating to him, "Please do not yell at Mama. You say, 'Thank you, Mama!' and 'What a good idea, Mama!'" As goofy as this sounds, it actually seems to work; his brow will instantly clear and his voice turns to sunshine and honey (my mom posits this is because he literally repeats almost every word Sophie says when they are together; they are like some whacky two-part robotic sibling unit) and he brightly says, "Thank you, Mama!" I have even seen him, upon correction by me, begin to give me sass or say something mean then pause and instead say, "Thank you, Mama." (often, he will then wander away and I hear him saying to himself, "I don't say 'whatever.' I say, 'Thank you, Mama'"). In any case, the repetitive kindness model seems to have far better results than when I get mad and scold, shame, grab him up for an abrupt time-out. I do employ time-outs as they are rather effective; I just don't want to be mad and browbeating him (or really beating him) as I take him to his room.

My mother, father, and husband seem to support my model to a much lesser extent. They are likely to scold, shame, or mock my son and his anger or displays of defiance. I mostly let them do this without comment, but I have at times offered up my desire they don't belittle him. First off, I think no one should be belittled, least of all when they're having a hard time. And I can relate to Nels on so many levels; he is, after all, at the mercy of almost any adult's pleasure. In my view, he needs models and teachings of compassion and self-control to balance out his increasing personal power as he grows. And perhaps most importantly I do not want to teach Nels that his anger is either SO UNACCEPTABLE or, on the other end of the spectrum, that he is silly when he gets mad. I am instead focusing on teaching him impulse control, gentleness, and setting my own boundaries before I too get angry - in other words, I'd rather employ a calm and firm disciplinary action in timely manner than a now-i'm-totally-pissed-off-you-little-monster tirade five minutes past my tolerance limit.

Still, I do sometimes get tired of him kicking my shins or just over and over not coming to me when I ask him to, or chasing the cat repeatedly (until she wisely scratches him, at which point he is as upset and betrayed as if there was no reason to expect this), or shouting, "I need milk!" the minute he sits down to dinner.

I will say this: I am so glad that with my first child, when I'd see other kids kick or yell mean things I never, *never* credited myself smugly as parenting properly. I know in my heart of hearts Sophie and Nels have both been parented similarly and (relatively) gently and we are just seeing the difference in his nature from hers; I believe Nels needs us now to provide guidance we can be proud of, not feeling last-resort about.

Labels: Nels

No sooner had I finished my Mother's Day entry the other night as Ralph was off at a concert when I got a panicked call from my mom. My father had collapsed in a faint on the floor of the bathroom. This was new. She wanted me to come over. I reminded her she could call her son that lived a few feet away, upstairs, and told her I'd be right over. I packed the kids up (they were in the bath) and went straight away.

Yesterday my dad had his typical chemo poisoning (along with an EKG ordered to investigate his fainting spell) and seemed the worse for wear. His weight is "up" as in, it's not the lowest it's been. But his spirits have been flagging a bit. And my conversation with my mother last night was depressing. She and my father seem miserable. They're "doing the math" again - his CEA count is steadily climbing, this is the last treatment out there and it's losing efficacy, etc. Doctors have asked them repeatedly not to focus on the CEA count. My mom is panicking and my father is losing heart.

It isn't the thought of my father having limited time left in number of months or scant years, facing eradication by this disease. I have accepted this at least mentally, if sadly. But I don't feel, as my mom does, that "the circumstances have changed" (meaning they're on the last leg of treatment); we've been talking the last six years about the eventuality that cancer will claim his life, increasingly more aware of this when we found out it had become metastatic. What I'm finding troubling is my parents' process; their drinking, my dad's depression. My dad's state of mind seems to fluctuate; at times he does not seem depressed as just - sick and in pain. At times it's hard to tell why he's morose, quiet, not speaking to us.

I can't tell if our - meaning the children and I - frequent visits to their place are a welcome joy and distraction, or simply a loud clamoring nuisance. My children have become as familiar with grandpa and grandma and their home that they are no longer on their best manners, but rather expect enjoyment and community on every visit. My father always seems especially happy to see them. I try not to overstay.

The other day my mother, the children, and I walked past a cat who'd died mysteriously, spread out on the sidelawn of the Elks building - a massive, beautiful striped tom. Now whenever we pass that block my son says, "Kitty is dead!", clearly not feeling any great momentous emotion about this, but rather still turning it over in his mind: What is dead? How did this happen?

I feel so sad how little I got to know two of my grandparents, while I had only limited exposure with the other two. It isn't just that I didn't spend time with them; even when we children did, there are so few stories that survive about the experience. We live here in HQX now, for the time being and for a handful of reasons, but in large part for both my children and parents' experiences of one another for as long as they may have together.

Labels: FOO, illness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Exhibit #1: Giant Centipede vs. Tarantula

Why, oh lord, why?!



WHY, DEAR LORD, WHY?!?! *

* You can see more here if that wasn't enough for you.

Labels: random

Saturday we biked everywhere. It was great. To my parents'; back home, out to the Y for swimming; to Casa Mia (after an hour and a half of swimming in the pool, Nels ended up ala "Sleepy Nacho" at the table); then back home again. It was fun. At one point Ralph, happily exercising serpentine-like motions on the bike trailer, flipped it over. Yes, the trailer with my children in it. I was listening to my iPod (Steve Earle) and luckily did not hear it go over, but I saw it go over. At which point I pulled to the side of the road, calmly removed my earbuds, and screamed,"Jesus Fucking Christ!" at Ralph. A group of guys out in their yard working on their 4x4's averted their eyes as we picked.

The kids were completely unhurt, unrattled and barely registered anything had happened. Ralph solemnly apologized, kneeling down to them (as I calmed myself) and the kids were like, "whatever, nothing happened." That bike trailer rocks, by the way, and it turns out when you use safety equipment properly it really makes a difference. I shudder to think of them unstrapped.

Speaking of profanity, my sister visited for three days and nights. My children love her; Nels especially desires nothing more than for her to constantly watch his every move, many of them no less impressive than shoving a whole banana into his mouth or splashing in the pool. "Root at me, Aunt Juliet!" Anyway, she ended up buying me a shirt I've found completely hilarious since my all-time favorite blogger did a little satirical commentary on it over a year ago.

Labels: bike, jules, Nels, Ralph, random potty-mouth

Years ago my then-boyfriend and now-husband remarked on a small tradition at his church he found troubling. Every Mother's Day Sunday the church would purchase flowers prior to the service. At the conclusion of the sermon (usually rather mommy-centered or at least referential) the deacons would pass out blooms first to mothers, and then to the little girls and women in the congregation. There would be a special meal and lots of smiles and platitudes and recognition.

Let's put aside for a moment the creepy implied dictum that all little girls will grow up to fulfill their lives as mothers, or the inference that older childfree women should have been mothers. My boyfriend's complaint at the time was that a Mother was a Mother. He contended one is not an "honorary" mother simply by being female; Mother's Day is not in fact - to be blunt - Pussy Day (although we really should have one of those).

Of course I didn't see the big deal. Flowers are nice, we said lots of things about Mommy, who cares? Quit being obsessed with details.

But tomorrow is Mother's Day and over the last handful of years it has become special to me. I have been a mother a little over five years and I already know I do deserve a special category - not one especially edified or canonized, but the recognition I get is welcome. Being a mother isn't the same as owning a dog, babysitting or being "aunty" or "uncle", being a grandmother or grandfather even. It is uniquely different than all those roles, as important and lovely as those other things are.

After I had Sophie, the minute of, I became a mother. I did not know what this was or what it meant in any way (except for the overwhelming emotional elation at birthing a child I loved immediately and intensely). And I was alone in this! Despite all the family and friends who have helped along the way there was no "backup" for me and there continues to be no real respite. People may babysit my children, offer commiseration or advice, walk my crying infant in the restaurant as I bolt down food, but I have never been able to stop my ears to my child's cries nor believe anyone else could be truly responsible, not even for a moment. When I read about mothers or fathers abandoning their children I know that such an act is not on my personal radar in any way; I am glad for and humbled by whatever part of my human nature makes this impossible to consider.

My children will one day leave my house; I will one day leave them in death. I simply find the idea of this separation so emotionally difficult I choose not to think about it at all; I pray, I try to be in the moment as much as I can when I'm laying next to my son in bed or holding my daughter's hand in the supermarket. My children are strong and larger than I (though they don't know it) and it will likely be my privilege to watch them grow in strength and identity; strong enough one day to start their lives without me, to raise their family, and to help me die, if I am fortunate.

There are so many potential pitfalls to being a mother. These include the shallow and silly; the alluded-to fashion gaffes, the obligatorily-assigned loss of the self (not true, as it turns out - merely fleeting). Moms are simultaneously pedestaled - Mother's Day is Hallmark Cards' most lucrative holiday - and categorically disrespected as evidenced by the term "MILF" - an apparently radical concept that a mother is, actually, capable of being sexually attractive to males. Imagine that.

My children make me a mother. They make me their mother merely by their experience of me. I will always be a woman and (hopefully) always be a wife; the first category is what I make of it and the second is between Ralph and I. But my children and I have a dance of our own that I think of performed in parts of 1/3 love, 1/3 hilarity, and a remainder of harshness and humanity that I'm finding is unique to the three of us.


Sophie's card she made at school for me. Inside: "I love you because... you make me food to eat." (narrated by Suse, written by teacher).

And as I type this, I find myself knee-jerk saying to my daughter, "Don't run with scissors!"

Happy Mother's Day!

Labels: babies, family life, gratitude, Nels, Sophie, tenderness

Today on IM a friend writes,

"8:49 i dress like a total whore."
"8:49 a homeless one."

Which reminded me of today's clip:


As I type this, a guy across the street jumps down his front steps. He's wearing tight black jeans (w/belt), poofy white sneakers, and is shirtless with a respectable amount of back hair.

I truly love living here, and I'm not being ironic or sarcastic one bit.

Labels: hilarity, HQX, random

This evening I found out that our local take-and-bake pizza place - a place that's been around forever as far as I can tell - is not long for this world. The entire set of buildings on one city block in Aberdeen have been sold and the businesses left to their own devices. My half-assed guess is they were probably paying a very low rent and now that they're forced to go seek leases in the real market, they can't survive and decide to fold tent.

With a lot of whinging I might add, which is what I've been subjected to the few times I've gone in to purchase goods from the shops in the doomed locale. For instance today I'm told I can't get sourdough crust for my pizza. I say, "Oh, you're out?" innocently enough and the proprietor looks at me like I'm, yes, fucktarded, and tells me they're discontinuing items because they won't be around for more than a couple weeks. "It's been all over the papers," he kind of scoffs, clearly disbelieving that I would be so misinformed about matters of such global importance. Now, I love the pizza at this place - it's fresh, tasty, completely unlike Papa Murphy's or any of that franchise crap, inexpensive, and familiar. But the business owner giving me shit right now? He looks like an older, stringier, scarier version of the really bad guy in Fargo (we're talking doppleganger, here). He's also Russian ("or somethin weird"), tends to the surly side, and sometimes wears snug jeans that display his genitalia with too much precision for my taste (right above the counter at eye level since he's on the tall side). So, um... yeah, it's kind of hard to buy pizza from him. Even when he's not treating me like an ass.

When I get home I tried to look the story up on The Daily World for the scoop on the business closures - but as I couldn't find it after five minutes of searching, I gave up.

I'm sad I won't get to have that sourdough crust ever again.

OT - one of the sweetest things about this story is not only the sweetness of this British lad but his teeth as well.

And dear God. If you recognize this, you know what I mean:

Labels: food, hilarity, other haters, random

My son is driving me nuts.

This morning for the third time in the last couple months he poured a bottle of my perfume out - this time, on the kitchen table. I totally lost it - I was so pissed. I tanned his hide. I put him in his room. I cleaned the mess. I was practically crying. He has done this three times now.

But even as I threw heavily-scented kitchen towels in the washer it didn't take long for me to stop being mad at him. The damage was done; it was over. I went back to his room and he flung himself into my arms and sobbed and cried and said, "I'm sorry, Mama!" and yes, it was genuine on his part. I was sorry too and I told him so. Sophie hung back crying because in my fit of temper minutes before I'd told them I wasn't taking them to the Y. After some three-way discussion and cuddling I realized I still had it within me to get them dressed, ready, and pack my gym bag. So that's what I did.

But heck, even that is ancient history. Right now (post-gym and a lunch date just Nels and I at Billy's restaurant) he's making me crazy because he's in his room playing and talking instead of napping. There is just something more claustrophobic knowing they aren't napping, even if theoretically they are occupying themselves (making a mess) which again, theoretically gives you "free time" (P.S. likely time later you have to bust hump to help them clean messes).

I know I'm lucky to have 5- and 3-year old nappers. I'm spoiled. Not just for the break in the day (altho' that's the obvious bonus) but for the fact my children are most always well-rested and happy up until their rather-late bedtime. Oh, and I get a good sleep-in if I want it (I do). For now, my solution to Nels' happy squawking in his room is to put some headphones in as I go about chores.

I need a cup of coffee.

ETA - Overheard a few seconds ago as Ralph opens a care package mailed to us from a family member: "No, no, no! Don't touch that! It's broken glass!"

Labels: burnout, coffee, family life, Nels

Currently drinking: Tully's coffee.

Currently contemplating: buying a Viking Husqvarna Classica 105 used from a friend.

Currently wearing: slutty earrings, Nero kitten t-shirt.

Currently doing: leaving for Olympia for a barbecue at my friend Amore's; I made a very special chocolate cake to bring along.

Labels: friends, random

Last night while my brother was here (for sewing photos and family dinner) Nels and I played one of his favorite games - where he lies on his back and waits for the Prince to give him a kiss. Note cat skulking off. She's had three days of being totally stoned from a rather potent handmade catnip toy we picked up at the Farmer's Market.


Sophie is now a big girl. She barely needs to cuddle and her manner with me is distracted, thinking of other, larger things. I want to be pregnant again and get another baby. They are way more dependent and stuff.


Today after we went grocery shopping we hit this park my Sophie has been begging to go to for weeks. Here we see Nels, back on the carousel after being thrown off it. He is having a rough time of it lately. My husband doesn't even want to hang out with him.

As I type this Ralph and Sophie are with my parents at a protest and I am struggling with a headache. Nels had some down-time playing in his room (one hour plus, because I am awesome and I can get away with that) and he and I are about to take a bath.

Big Fun Weekend this is not - at least not yet. Where is the sun?

Labels: family life, kitty, Nels, Sophie

If I had a cooler blog, there'd be all these need badges and audioscrobbler add-ins that would be impressing you. Well I don't, and there aren't, so here you go:

Listening to:
Muse's Origin of Symmetry - love it!
(Recently purchased):
Bright Eyes' I'm Wide Awake It's Morning - hmm. not sure yet how much I like it. I only bought it a couple days ago.
Air's 10,000Hz Legend (which I'd owned but lost somewhere along the way) - excellent!
Arctic Monkeys' Favourite Worst Nightmare - Ralph and I really enjoy it.

Watching:
"Arrested Development", still. I only get an episode or two a week in. This show is very, very funny and amazingly clever. I am just starting the third (and last) season now.

Clerks 2. Ralph rented this and is begging me to watch it. I saw a couple minutes while he was burning it and I was irritated. But I will watch it because I love watching movies with Ralph - he so seldom wants to slow down to do it.

Want to watch:
Mel Gibson's Apocalypto. I will be the last person on earth that still likes that dude (OK, I like his MOVIES anyway, and tons).

Downloading:
Super-secret project I can't talk about yet because a CERTAIN PERSON reads my blog a lot.

Eating:
I had half an apple for breakfast and of course, coffee. I'm heading out for a smoke soon. Last night I went to my mom's to use her serger (a $1600 beauty Husqvarna courtesy of my grandpa) and I had Ralph stay home to make homemade calzones. I am "making" him cook more. He is enjoying it and I think it's reinforcing not only his ownership of the house but also his appreciation of how much work cooking is.

Reading:

Last week I finished Donna Tartt's The Secret History. Well, I loved it. LOVED it. I think I'm going to have to read some Bret Easton Ellis now, since he was her benefactor and friend and wrote similar stories of the elite morally vacuous world.

A couple days ago I finished Patricia Cornwell's Portrait of A Killer: Jack the Ripper - Case Closed. I found it very interesting. She claims to have identified the murderer. I knew nothing about Jack the Ripper before I read this book. I really enjoyed it but it was also a very creepy read.

Currently reading Caleb Carr's The Italian Secretary, a Sherlock Holmes story. I loved two of his books, The Alienist and Angel of Darkness. And I have read everything Sherlock - or at least all Arthur Conan Doyle's stuff plus The Seven Percent Solution by Nicholas Meyer (which I loved). But this book is borrrrrrring.

Next up: my mom gave me a copy of How to Make An American Quilt by Whitney Otto. I don't like chick books much and it's going to be borrrring to read this after all that murder. But maybe I need a break from grisly stuff.

Labels: books, film, food

Today was more like a work day than I've had in recent memory. I got a reminder call this morning regarding my duties this afternoon as Helper Parent / Snack Parent at my children's preschool co-op. My husband and my experiences differ, but I am so far very impressed by our choice of school which features low tuition, professional staffing and scheduling follow-through, a great ratio (seven kids to at least two teaching adults), kid crafts that are somehow elaborate, beautiful, but kid-friendly, a plethora of books and songs, and a rather academically-oriented program. I looked forward to today's school day.

But after last shift's debacle I was left wondering a bit if my attitude and my menu needed an adjustment. I thought it through and came up with non-health-nut fare: carrot sticks with dipping sauce, pink lady apples, and homemade chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.

As it turned out, the actual class time was great. Because there are so few children, I am already getting to know them and their individual natures. The shy reed-thin artist who meticulously colors inside lines, cuts exacting shapes, is quiet and polite but rages like a maniac during Open Gym time. The Observer with sleepy blue eyes and tangled fawn hair, very thoughtful and deliberate in contributions to the conversation. The tall red-head who watches shyly and levelly with an almost adult gaze and when you return the look smiles in a big, toothy gap. Then there is it - a creature I have mentally coined "The Monsturd" because of its bossiness, rudeness, lack of any native please or thank you and, for two sessions in a row, very obtuse comments about the food served. This particular child took a break from free time where everyone else was playing to come over and point to the first thing I was putting on the plates - ceasar dressing for dipping carrot sticks - and said, "I don't like that." "OK," I reply, moving around the table and trying not to feel irritation. "I DON'T LIKE THAT" the little reptile said again, more loudly. "I don't care. Go back and play." Readers, I am not prone to speaking that way to any children but my own, whom I would likely hug and apologize to after. My lack of empathetic response during what was mostly a lovely day should indicate just how appalling I find the child's behavior.

Note to self: practice tolerance and love. Praise children I find difficult to like.

Despite one or two annoyances, I loved my time with the children today. I observe my Sophie is very adroit in reading, spelling, "math" (memorizing phone numbers and counting days of the month), and even the artistic projects, which she finishes quickly and efficiently. I find myself wondering if she, like me, will find school easy and if she will enjoy it as much as I did. As much as I liked school I did not, as some might worry, grow up "performance-oriented" or what I like to think of as Lisa Simpson syndrome. I find myself - I'm horrified to admit - taking her natural prowess for granted and focusing on anything she isn't doing perfectly - "Sophie, you need to sit still during story time," "Sophie, don't lose your ponytail holder today." Etc. Etc.

Note to self: let own children relax during their preschool hours. Surrender their behavior to their teachers' and peers' moderation.

Nels loved time with the big kids, too. His modus operandi: find whichever kid was doing the wiggliest storytime sitting, the loudest singing, and copy. Pure bliss.

np - Muse's Origin Of Symmetry. No one else in my personal sphere seems to realize how great this album is.

Labels: Alpha-bitch, food, i'm a hater, Sophie