OK first, I'm so in love with our library. Don't ask me why, but in seven years I never did more than set a toe inside the PT version a few times. Part of the reason might be the PT library had an assy kid setup; kids didn't stay where they were supposed to and it was kind of a "hush"ing library; furthermore there was no way to do grownup stuff or even look for a book without abandoning your children one floor down - not a possibility for those with younguns. The HQX library has an upstairs that is much louder (at times, depending on number of children) than any library I've been in - which is to say it sounds like a normal building but quieter. Lately I've taken to going daily and letting my kids read / play while I do - this, blogging. Or reserve holds, write an article for the zine, whatever. It's good times. Before we leave Sophie and I check out five books from Timberland's list of 100 to read before school.

There are technical aspects of the library that are just precious. For instance, they have a mid-nineties-esque computer use registry (which is actually quite handy to use; last night I registered station 3 for 11 today, each station funnily enough called HO-INET) and the browser (some version of IE) will not let you find a webpage unless you painstakingly type the "http://", technical pickinesses that further inspire episodes like the one this morning:

At 11 I'm sitting next to this dude who is probably under 60 but has the fretting, soft voice of a much older man as he struggles to do something on the computer. I hear him saying stuff like, "Oh no, not that..." and "I don't understand!", "Oh dear," then, inexplicably, "They always make it look easier on TV." I start feeling like either he talks to himself (which I suppose one should ignore?) or he is hoping I will horn in and assist him with whatever (modest, I'm guessing) computer task he's undertaking. One thing about HQX, you learn to roll with the crazies and more or less mind your own business until they try to talk to you, ask for help, fondle you, or all three.

Sure enough, a few moments after I've noticed his self-talk he says, "Excuse me miss... Do you know how to do things with the internet?" (I am not joking and think he even said something weirder but in my spontaneous glee I was not taking careful mental notes). I get up and look over his shoulder and see he is trying to submit some recepits to Rite-Aid for a refund. He's been doing this for however long without successfully having signed into their website. I take him to the page to do so and give him instruction, then sit back down as he hen-pecks agonizingly and talks to himself some more ("My title? ... What's my title?") and finally clicks something that sends him back to fill in required fields he'd omitted. He asks for my help again and I get up again and look and he says, "Do I click on the star?" (the asterisk denoting required fields). I tell him no, click into the empty text box and ask for his email address. He freezes. "No, I don't have one. Can't you tell? I'm sorry. I'm sorry." (he said, "I'm sorry" no fewer than ten times in our brief transaction, indeed the only thing that even slightly annoyed me).

Apparently he was willing to spend a half hour on these pennies from Rite Aid but getting an email address is the most terrifying thing he's heard of. His self-effacing smile freezes on his face and although I tell him it would only take a few minutes to set up an email account, he shakes his head and says, "No, no..." He puts his hand on the mouse and sighs and says, "I'll just ... kill myself. OK?" (I'm hoping he means close his browser window). Then thanks me, repeatedly and (I think) logs off the workstation. I hear him a few minutes later talking to the librarians: "I found out you have to have an email." Their gentle, flyaway grey spirits are also unsuccessful in convincing him to get an email account and he eventually floats away, after once again passing by, thanking me, and yes, finally putting his arm around me briefly (I have been groped in this library an average of every other visit).

Meanwhilw I log into my account and look at how much longer I have my current audiobook; I'm thinking my parents would like to take it along when they set out next week to drive to southern California. Shhh! Don't tell!

Labels: books, inter-tron, library

No men. No kids. Some beefcake movie and good food. PG-13 / R-rated conversation. You up for it?

Labels: film, friends, party animal

Today I was trying to think of a way to do a weighted list for the front page of my zine (I am biting my tongue to keep from further discussing this publication right now). And I had another in a string of sad, disappointing realizations about my current reality. See when I used to work outside the home I could actually decide to figure some technical project like this out and have the time to do it in a linear troubleshooting fashion. Sure, maybe I didn't get the whole 30 minutes straight to mess about formatting something on the computer (although that was usually easy enough to arrange) but at least if I started it and was called away no one got on my workstation and messed with it or opened an IM client or shoved a CD in the drive or dragged the kitten's ass across my desk. I can't count on any of these things not happening - or even something worse (Nels darted across the street today before Ralph could stop him; later exploits in the day included handling the dirty kitty litter box into the cat's water dish; there's more, I'll stop now). I have a lot of control over my schedule (as the House Boss) but very, very little over how much peace, decency vs. chaos or drama ensues from my two semi-retarded simian coworkers.

Yesterday a friend told me that "if someone didn't know [me] better, they'd think they needed to call CPS on [me]!" alluding to, I think, the darkness of my writings and my unedited Mama sentiments. I just want to point out I'm perfectly capable of warm and fuzzy feelings and I post those often. I'm actually slightly too bummed out and overwhelmed to list a few other things that suck that are going on. For now it's getting by day to day, enjoying the little things (Sophie found a snake on the trail today and dedicated it to me; I visited my mom who's sick and made her tea), and trying to ask Ralph for what I need (and hoping he can help provide it).

Today I am planning on making bagels for dinner and cleaning the kitchen whilst listening to my first-ever audiobook (Rex Pickett's Sideways). If I can't get a full day off I can at least get an hour or so plugged into an iPod while I do chores.

Labels: books, burnout, family life, food geekery, i'm a hater

marriedtothesea.com

Labels: homesteading, Mama's crazy

Our kitty (se llama Harris).

Today my friend Jen and I carpooled our kids and went for lunch in the park. We tried to converse while being besieged by each of the four children, alternatively needing attention, lunch, water, help with clothes, advocacy with other children: the subjects Jen and I attempted ranged from marriage, her political campaign (mayor of HQX!), parenting, our own upbringing, parents' illnesses, employment, counseling. Later in her backyard the children strip down and play together mostly nicely and Nels, with a runny nose and feeling down today, wants me to hold him. I put my arms around him and Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter" comes on over the stereo. The song is such a nostalgic one for me. My friend I'm with today we've known one another since we were eight years old and now our own children approach that age. I think we have an understanding that has only strengthened now that a few years of family are behind us and our second childhood looms.

Today finds me with a sick child, a tooth-dangerously-loose child, a diarrhetic kitten, and a busted checking account. A few minutes before I take my kids home from our playdate and I'm wiping the nose of one and the blood off another (Sophie scraped her foot playing in the pool) and it feels like I'm a magnet and things just snap to me. Children and pets and husband hang off me when they can. It isn't at all uncomfortable for the most part, it still surprises me though. Motherhood, should you choose to take it on in any involved way, is endless, relentless, it never stops. It's beautiful, though, and my favorite thing to do so far (well, the favorite thing I can share publicly). Even our little kitty gravitates towards Mama; last night as I drowsed in the middle of the night I realized that in between in the blanket hammock formed between my legs in the figure 4 position - the little kitty slept and purred, a tiny, insignificant engine. In the morning then: homemade bread toasted, eggs, ripe pear for the children; milk for our grown Blackie kitty (pissed off about little Harris); fresh water and food for the animals. Clean up the breakfast dishes - "Kids, go wash your hands and brush your teeth!" and set clothes out and pack a lunch and then after the lunch and driving and playing and pulling off clothes and nursing sad children home to clean up kids and wash their clothes because they got muddy.

(update 3:56 PM: Sophie just lost her second tooth; she reaches symmetry again for a brief period).

Labels: family life, friends, Harris, HQX, kitty, milestones

Well... that one speaks for itself.

And let me make it clear that I personally am not disturbed if the Senator is gay or lewd or likes "hot cops in stalls" action. In fact, some of my favorite people have exposed themselves in bathrooms (and they know who they are). But it's pretty frakin' disgusting Mr. Craig neither flushed nor wash his hands after his self-alleged "wide stance" pooping spree. I mean come on.

Friends, don't vote for a party that can't practice even bare-minimum level bathroom hygiene.

Labels: random

A few days ago I read about Youssif, an Iraqi boy who was doused with gasoline and set on fire my masked attackers. I repeat, some full grown men threw gasoline on a child and lit this child on fire. CNN aired the story and viewers responded, wanting to help in some way. Two days later the Children's Burn Foundation (great cause; assy-looking website) set up a portal to donate to Youssif's care. He and his family will be flown to their group in California for both physical and psychological care.

Yesterday I only donated $10. I know that isn't much. But maybe someone who reads my blog will donate, too. I have kept this blog over three years and I've never done a plug for a donation. For me, it wasn't Youssif's scars that pained me to see - scars that are quite severe (the picture of his head entirely encased in bandages seemed worse to me). It was his mother's description of the change in his personality after the crime. I couldn't get that thought out of my mind, a beautiful and happy child who'd turned into a sullen and sensitive child.

I believe we should try to be a force for good. If we stop giving, if we stop listening to the suffering and the needs of others, I believe we are a force for evil. It isn't important how we help, it's important we keep ourselves open to helping.

Labels: goodness

Yes, as I type this the cat is running about around my feet and being cute. Last night the kitten turned from the docile, tame creature it had advertised itself as to, well, more of a kitten, and that includes claws and teeth and general randomness.

I really have to give a shout-out to Ralph for what he did yesterday when we brought the little kitty home. My husband had a date with a friend which he ended up being late for because he gave our new pet a painstaking, tender, very long flea-bath. He even used tweezers to remove some of the fleas, as well as a fine toothed comb. The little guy was really suffering and when the flea shampoo hit his fur the parasites started biting him. Ralph said the kitty was bleeding at the neck where the fleas attacked! The kitten seemed to feel so much better after he was dry and flea-free. It was clear he felt his situation was much improved.

The most astounding thing happened last night. I had called the Princess and was blah-blah-blahing about our kitty and he told me he was sick. Then I found out he was rather sick; a very painful sore throat. I asked - ibuprofin? throat gargles? honey and lemon? and soon realized Billy would rather just be sick, and plug along, then pause to take care of himself. You have to understand my brother is likely to have sat inside his apartment - or worse, gone out to do stuff with friends - looking like a diseased rat monkey. Even though his suffering was likely viral I convinced him to come over and let me take care of him.

My husband cut his man-date short and brought Bart along to pick Billy up. I convinced Billy to have some homemade soup and rolls, let me make him tea with honey and fresh lemon. And he stayed over and everything! In the morning I made bagels, an omelet (fresh thyme from Bart's garden), and blueberries from my mom's garden.

I really do like helping people. It is no trouble at all and when I don't want to help or take care of people, I don't. I was glad Billy let me take care of him a bit; it was fun and nice to spend time with him. And so far, none of us seem to have caught whatever disease he has.

Labels: birlo, kitty

with a very important announcement! And yes, it's kitten-related.

Today was kind of a busy day. I was out in the early morning to pick up my brother (who I'm now calling Princess) and head out to visit our parents in Pacific Beach. While there my mom treated us to a very tasty burger stand - they had not only veggie burgers but spicy black bean burgers! Yay and thank you! - and then headed home around 1 PM. I dropped my brother off then headed to the salon for a haircut and color; something I've always found so boring in past sessions but I've come to enjoy my time with my stylist Traci very much. From there I directly came home, loaded kids and their snack into car, and journied to the Y for Sophie's swim lesson (additional news flash - yesterday a kid - not mine! - vomited into the pool and there was a mass evacuation), then hit KITTEN ISLAND, aka a very funky old house in Cosi with four friendly kitten creatures who tried to act like winsome orphans for our benefit.

Yes, you heard me. KITTEN ISLAND. This is the magical place where kittens climb on you and rest and look cute and you think about taking two instead of one. By the way, it had been a number of years since I'd had a kitten and I've forgotten things about them. Like they can't jump up to your knee even on a low sofa so they climb it. Like they are incredibly trusting to new people. Like they can hide anywhere apparently (this one is doing so as I write this).

The kitten is, we believe, male. The kitten is stripey and has grey and white eyeliner. The kitten doesn't have a name; yes, I have taken pictures and will post them soon. The kitten got a flea bath before the kitten's paws touched the floor of my house. I also told the kitten I was sorry to take him from his brothers and sisters. Then I said, "But that's what happens to kittens..." and the male of the couple whom we were adopting from nodded gently and said soberly, "That's life."

Let that be the last sober and sad reflection towards our new family member at Casa del Hogaboom.

Welcome, kitten!

Labels: birlo, family life, pets

Today I read a bit of Miles Levin's story (his blog is, in my opinion, worth registering at carepages.com and reading; after logging in do a search for "LevinStory"). I am sorry to have only heard about this young man on the day after he died. I am glad to have found his website and I wish I'd been reading earlier.

This entry struck me today, penned by Miles' mother two weeks before his death:

I read an article once in Mothering Magazine many years ago when I was studying to be a mother. It made a huge impact on me, shaping my platform for mothering. It identified four key ingredients in an effective mother/child relationship [ ... ] They are: PROTECTION; NOURISHMENT; STIMULATION; AND CHERISHMENT. I could write about each one more fully as I have meditated and reflected on each quality. Each, one no more than another, is essential - in equal measure - to the development of a child into his/her full potential. Each is a requirement of the parent, though some come more easily to each one of us, in order to provide the safety and encouragement, the roots and the wings, that allow the child to develop into a person of responsibility, extension, and self love.

No one has asked me what my view of parenting is, but I'm telling you. I hope that young parents who are reading this site will take to heart the critical role that parents play in raising children who are at once filled with self respect and respect for others: a tricky balance.

I read this while feeling deeply moved after having followed a few months of the successive entries of the mother, father, sister, and that of the brother / son / boy / man himself in this story. And I thought, Is that all? Almost laughing to myself with relief because I do these things, and I relish them, every day.

The thing is, I second-guess myself as a wife, mother, and person - every day. Each one of those identities (and many more: daughter, sister, American, friend, lover... the list is complex and varied) comes with it's own pitfalls and successes - each self-noun I write here I have wrestled with in both public and private struggles. Motherhood is, however, very much with me since my children are at an age they cannot care for themselves or even be left unsupervised for any length of time. It is not only an identity it is my full-time job. This job is the cornerstone of our family right now.

Reading Nancy Levin's words had a special meaning for me today. Lately I've been feeling so odd that most of my day is spent laundering, cleaning, cooking - Cooking! No one tells you that the more you bake bread from scratch and create home-cooked meals the faster these foods just disappear. There are no half-eaten casseroles in my fridge; food is rarely thrown out but eaten voraciously; I cook and it's more more more cooking - washing hands, laying out clothes, brushing teeth, clipping nails, holding and cuddling and instructing and educating. I devote most of my day to those things and there are some imaginary voices (and some real) I hear who tell me these concerns are so small, so provincial. Where is my brain? Where is my proof of life? Where is my contribution to society? Why do I care about making pizza sauce from scratch? Why do I think so much about the clothes on my children's bodies or the state of their bedrooms? Why do I have my hands in dough again and why are my successes getting the dutch oven going before our bike ride to the library?

But I also know there is nothing more important in life than relationships and kindness; nothing more important than striving to be a spiritual and loving person who gives and re-gives to those around me; to my family, to my friends, to the community, to the planet, to the world's people. I know that if my last day on earth was spent baking bread, walking with my children to the hardware store, and talking with my husband on our bike ride together I would not regret this last day.

So today I am taking Nancy Levin's words to heart today and remembering to protect, nourish, stimulate and cherish each of my children. I hope you can and will do the same for your loved ones in your life.

Labels: family life, gratitude, homesteading, navelgazing, writing

Ralph and I are working on a cooking video. Here are some excerpts from film production:

Me: "It should be obvious from the amount of soy sauce and sugar I'm using that these are not healthy. Um... I think? They're vegan."

Ralph: "The problem is not filming your boobs."

Nels (on hearing me say "chicken" on video): "Chicken?! I don't like chicken. They bite me!"

(That last has never happened. Ever.)

Labels: film, food, Nels, Ralph

Last night I had a dream I made out with someone - not Ralph. And I'm not telling who. OK, it was Farm Boy Justin. I always liked Farm Boy Justin and I've made no attempt to hide it. I don't know why I liked him except he was a nice person, he had a big booming laugh, he had a nice body, and there was something clumsy and earnest about him. Let me be clear: I have never been close to risking my marriage on another man. But in years past - ah, the days of single life - I did make out with boys. And boys like this one.

The whole dream experience, upon waking, took me back to my days as a bachelorette. I remember being so cruel to cute boys (I'm not sure if Justin qualifies as "cute boy" or "nice boy", really - still mulling that one over). It wasn't that I deliberately played games or tortured them to keep their interest - quite the opposite, in fact. I think my friends and I literally believed cute boys could not experience pain or disappointment, had less of a soul, than your more typical average guy. My girlfriends and I had a culture of absolutely torturing these boys because it was easier than being invested in them. I spent years and years making out with boys and assuming it meant nothing to them. Some of them, God bless them, were articulate and mature enough to tell me they didn't like it that I didn't call. Most just accepted what I threw to them and either went happily or miserably on their way when nothing else evolved. I will never know.

I do know that despite being relatively amoral in my past - uniformed, really - I have always been drawn to these boys and mostly just wanted to flirt, to tangle up on the couch together, to experience the excitement of connection. I want to say I'm very sorry to the boys I was insensitive to or those I misread. Thanks for the memories. And I'm very sorry I molested you, Justin, in my own mind. It was a surprise to me, too. P.S. you seemed to like it just fine if that's any consolation.

I've been meaning to include an excerpt from The Pleasure of My Company, a novel by Steve Martin (yes, the comedian), that I read recently. I guess I don't want to say too much about the book for risk of spoiling some of it - but I found it not only funny but very sweet and human. These are a couple paragraphs that made me laugh:

Santa Monica, California, where I live, is a perfect town for invalids, homosexuals, show people, and all other formerly peripheral members of society. Average is not the norm here. Here, if you're visiting from Omaha, you stick out like a senorita's ass at the Puerto Rican day parade. That's why, when I saw a contest at the Rite Aid drugstore (eight blocks from my house, takes me forty-seven minutes to get there) asking for a two-page essay on why I am the most average American, I marveled that the promoters actually thought that they might find an average American at this nuthouse by the beach. This cardboard stand carried an ad by its sponsor, Tepperton's Frozen Apple Pies. I grabbed an entry form, and as I hurried home (thirty-five minutes: a record), began composing the essay in my head.

The challenge was not how to present myself as average, but how to make myself likable without lying. I think I'm pretty appealing, but likability in an essay is very different from likability in life. See, I tend to grow on people, and five hundred words is just not enough to tget someone to like me. I need several years and a ream or two of paper. I knew I had to flatter, overdo, and lay it on thick in order to speed up my likability time frame. So I would not like the sniveling, patriotic me who wrote my five hundred words. I would like a girl with dark roots peeking out through the peroxide who was laughing so hard that Coca-Cola was coming out of her nose. And I guess you would too. But Miss Coca-Cola Nose wouldn't be writing this essay in her Coca-Cola persona. She would straighten up, fix her hair, snap her panties out of her ass, and start typing.

Labels: books, girl life

Labels: school, Sophie

I had a difficult time this last weekend. And what I want most when I'm having a difficult time is company. Not necessarily to talk about my troubles, not to do my dishes nor sponsor me in a spa trip or even drink with or have a shopping spree. Simply someone to talk with, recreate with, cook with or for (I love cooking for people), go out to talk over a coffee, and relax. Time is something my FOO gives very sparingly, with vague limits suddenly and mysteriously imposed, with reneging of original plans and a culture of denial that original plans even existed. I am probably the only of the four of us who is generous with their time in an open and honest way and a clear communication of boundaries. I also note that when someone is having a hard time, I love to help them. I appreciate all the times I've been directly asked because it's hard for me to know sometimes when someone wants my help or to know how to give it.

There's a fifth member of my genesis family - my half-sister Jules, who was raised for the most part by her father. I wasn't thinking about company or family this weekend when I emailed her and told her I was having a hard time. However her immediate response was to literally drop everything, rent a car, drive from Portland and take me to dinner (all with very grateful and slightly overwhelmed thanks). It was at first hard for me to accept her offer because - I don't know. Some part of me didn't want to admit I wanted that time. Part of me suspects that some people make these amazing offers and don't mean them (this is actually rare I think). But mostly it's just that growing up and now my family didn't work that way. They don't seem to need help, expect it, or offer it. One result is I have trouble knowing for myself when I need help and what kind to ask for. I also feel sad asking for help and very sad being rejected. I am working to be different than the way I was raised.

The closer I got to expecting Jules the more excited I got. I began to realize I was going to have a night off from the family. I was going to have all the time to talk and listen that I could want in a visit. We were going to enjoy food or maybe rent a movie or go to a movie or stay up half the night. It was going to be open-ended. She wasn't going to tell me she was staying until such-and-such a time then suddenly leave early (classic FOO behavior). She was going to tell me she was leaving Tuesday afternoon and that would be when she left. She was going to believe me and support me when I told her my troubles (not "hint" at how I should or could do things better or differently). A part of me even distantly surmised she was being so generous with her time because I myself had made the same priorities about twelve years ago as her relationship with her husband was faltering (they later divorced). I was a young college student who knew nothing about marriage and I don't know how much help my advice or presence could have been. But I remember riding the bus as often as I could to hang out with her and do whatever she (or we) wanted to do. I remember spending so much time listening to her and caring very much about her and Mark. I realized I have this incredible gift in her and a few of my friends; true, adult friendship that is give and take. It would have been easy in some ways to say "No, but thanks." I'm glad I didn't.

Jules got here at 6 PM and as soon as my daughter's swim class was over I found her and we went out. I hadn't dined in the restaurant we ended up choosing in a long time - over a decade. We also immediately met and began chatting to two men on the Tour de Fat. I ate every single bit of my dinner and had a bloody mary. I started feeling much better. Ralph took the kids to my parents' where they had a slumber party / video game night in the upstairs guest room. Jules and I stayed up until 4 AM just talking. I ate too much candy (I literally had a candy hangover the next day) but my sleep was deep and only cut short by the morning responsibilities of my own children.

One problem with taking half a day off: you want more! And I intend to get it. Everyone should try for it, if they can.

Labels: FOO, gratitude, jules

This morning as I was getting dressed my daughter, laying in bed, opened her eyes and said to me, "As soon as Nels wakes up I'm going to look under all the pillows." We never did find her first lost tooth yesterday - it was truly lost - hence she wasn't sure which pillow her lost-tooth gift would be left under (it was in her room). The gift: beads to make a necklace. When I can get the savage little boy occupied I am going to help her make something.

Yesterday my mom returned from a trip to Portland. While there (visiting my sister Jules) she bought Sophie and Nels the Uglydolls Babo and Tray, resp. The kids innately knew to switch dolls because Tray actually is Sophie with the power of three brains and a symbiotic relationship with Babo, and Babo - well, Babo fits Nels' persona eerily well* (note - the Uglydolls' Icebat is such a favorite for me because he reminds me of how Nels looks in my mind. I even made Nels an Icebat costume for Halloween last year - and yes, some people did recognize him. I see today that they have a Secret Mission Icebat! OMG! Yes, I want it. Yes, I want it badly. Yes, I may in fact end up collecting something. <> ).

Off to swim at the Y with the kids. It's just me and them right now - Ralph is away for the weekend somewhat unexpectedly - and I'm near-exhausted and it's only 2 PM.

* I know they're just dolls, but read this:

"Babo will protect you. Having a bad day? Someone giving you a hard time? Babo's got your back. What Babo lacks in mind power, he makes up for in love. He's everybody's best friend. He will stick with you to the end and when something scary happens, he will send you a nice greeting card from wherever it is he runs away to.

A very curious, mischievous creature, Babo may need some guidance and parenting, so make sure to bring him with you to as many places as possible.

Leaving him at home is fine, but please put all cookies and money on the highest shelf."

OK, that's totally Nels.

Labels: family life, Nels, Sophie

Our last guests left around midnight last night. It seemed like a good party. Everyone who said they'd be there ended up coming. There were 27 people total, including the halflings (I mean children, not hobbits, you dorks!). The food was great. My rather exotic fig / goat cheese / grape leaf grilled kebab was "fine" - but I won't be making it again. We had enough beer and people seemed to interpret my BYOB (if you don't want beer) as being mandatory because a lot, and I mean a lot of wine showed up. If anyone wants to come over and get their drink on - or if anyone wants to retrieve a bottle they brought over! - we're here for you.

It was so odd to hang out with people who had various interweaving but not necessarily close histories (a few knew the same local porn star; many had first kiss stories that were either voluntarily or forcibly retrieved) as well as those who didn't have a history here at all (newly moved to the area) and a few who didn't know others or were shy. I feel acutely for those who "don't know anyone" at a party. The last party I went to where I didn't know anyone was pretty - not boring, but discouraging. In this case I actually attempted to start up conversation with the others there - who all knew one another - and was politely and repeatedly excluded. It kind of sucked but, blue ribbon for the effort. In any case as a hostess it's hard to be a politico as well, so I just don't. I try to greet, talk to, and thank everyone who comes and I keep my dish-washing at a friendly, not "crazy-assed neatnik" level.

Last night - up late - after post-party cleanup my Adium icon started flashing. It was my daughter, writing from Ralph's computer.



Transcript:

Sophie: hi mama
Me: HI SOPHIE / Come kiss me please.
Sophie: ok i will
[ interlude; Sophie comes over to kiss me.]
Sophie: now i want you to kiss me [I comply; she goes back to computer]
Sophie: i love teh kelly hogaboom
Me: i love the Sophie Hogaboom
Me: you are a good girl. let's go to bed.
Sophie: ok let s go to bed ok

My poor son fared less well at bedtime; we did in fact give the kids their pre-bed bath and bedtime treatment (is it good care or some twisted form of abuse that on nights we stay up too late we still bathe and PJ them down to sleep?) and at some point Nels got very angry that Ralph wasn't Mama and ended up yelling, "Reave me arone!" and various other freak-outs. I cuddled him to bed with a piece of homemade pita and he started falling asleep even as he chewed. I gently separated him from the food, made sure he didn't have any left in his mouth, and left him to slumberland.

This morning as we had our various breakfasts (falafel, tzatki sauce, eggplant for me; pita, egg, and cupcake for Ralph and Sophie) I looked at my daughter and realized her long-loose tooth was gone. "Where's your tooth?" I asked, twice, before she and Ralph got what I was saying. Sophie put her hand to her mouth and felt around and her eyes got wider and wider. "I lost it! I did it!"

A couple weeks ago I told her that after she loses a tooth she puts it under her pillow, goes to sleep, and wakes to find a surprise (Mommy and / or Daddy leave the surprise; we aren't down with the Tooth Fairy in this house), she paused then said, "Is it a new tooth?"

Practical on her part.

Labels: party animal, Sophie

From where I sit I can see my son's feet in slumber. The tinny sounds of The Decemberists clatter from where Sophie rests on the couch, waiting for her oatmeal. I've got a cup of coffee: good coffee, for a change. Today was payday so last night we went to the store and got groceries - yay!

Nine cups of flour; 4 teaspoons of yeast await me on my kitchen table. The kids will be helping me make pita for our party tonight. I'm going to wash and air-dry the bedding, mop the kitchen floor, clean out the cooler, and wash some windows. Maybe even (beg) ask Ralph to take out to La Salvadorena for lunch before returning to cook the potatoes.

Phone calls trickle in: Can I drop off a salad in your fridge early? Is tabbouleh OK to bring? Can I show up late?

The weather looks good and last night's launch of the firepit went well. I think my dad is even going to come tonight and hopefully with his creature (the "dog").

Off to mix and knead pita dough.

Labels: family life, food, gratitude

At first I felt kind of sorry for you. Here you are in a quiet family restaurant and you've already talked loudly into the cell phone during one lengthy conversation, ignoring your lunch companion (I think she's your daughter) for a good deal of time. This at least confuses me because a significant part of the population doesn't believe it's rude to talk at normal voice on a cell phone in a restaurant while others (like myself) find it tacky and off-putting. Fine, though. I barely notice you at first as I enjoy my lunch with my family - just note you have that entitled loud-talking way about you and probably don't realize that people who don't even know you think you're a bit of a jerk.

But then as my family finishes their meal and my husband gets up to pay you make yet another phone call and I sense a more keyed-up conversation. I hear you say, 'It's not only against my personal philosophy..." and a few seconds later, louder still, "and I don't see how we should put reconditioned parts on my brand new van. I've had it ten days when this happened. It just doesn't make sense to me." Ah. OK, I get it. I know who you are and recognize the aggressive Man-In-Charge assholishness that has probably served you well to get what you want - nay, deserve, out of life.

Then you start to lecture the mechanic on the other end: "I ran the van pool for such-and-such for twelve years so I'm very familiar with how these things are done," (wonder how many mechanics hear that?). At this point I'm thinking, A. it makes perfect sense that a man who owns a brand new van also would put this display up in a restaurant where others are trying to enjoy their repast, and B. I'm getting the heck out of here before the elderly diner who has just turned in his seat and is sending daggers of hate out of his eyes confronts you - as I'm sure he will. I should have at least looked at your dining companion to see if she supports this behavior as normal or OK or, as I would be, is sitting in quiet mortification whilst thinking, "What a douche!"

In any case, we don't stop to investigate further - we pay our bill and leave. Good luck with the repairs on your twenty-something thousand dollar minivan. But being you is your own reward.

Labels: L2A

Because I'm hosting a "little" get-together on Friday and it is the first time I've invited more than a few people into my house. Suddenly I realize I feel like my house looks freakishly bare (it is), I need to go buy more dishes (I do) and build a firepit (I don't, I'm just weird), and I know there's no way I can figure out stuff for the attending children to do (P.S. my own children play games like, "Guess Whose Clothes These Are?" which is my daily ploy - and it works! - to have them help me with laundry folding and putting away).

I'm just hoping a willing host family, a clean house, and lots of good food is good enough for my friends; I'm sure it is. P.S. I think I might reserve the services of some kind of clown / balloon-blowing / stripper person in the yard and hope we don't have rain and if just one thing goes wrong I will hide in a closet crying.


It's summer in my mom's yard which is a beautiful time of year. Ralph and I were married about this time (early September) and had the reception at my parents' (which is the house of my great-grandparents); I remember the quasi-unruly garden being in full bloom and lovely. I remember being caught on tape revealing I was wearing Friday panties (or whatever day it was).

Tonight, this was odd: my brother is going for a trip until late August to visit friends and his girlfriend (in CA) and he kindly accepted a dinner invitation at my house. This evening after we ate I thought perhaps I'd been smoking crack when he actually hinted for a hug before he left. I assume now that he's planning on dying in a train derailment or perhaps he's eloping, never to return.

In some ways I think my children have brought a lot more demonstrative love to my family. After all they quite frequently hug, kiss, say, "I love you," and "I'll miss you" which is definitely not how I grew up talking with my family. In fact my brother's own hug request was after my children had hugged him, kissed him, said, "Come back soon," and "Have a good trip," not because I trained them to say those things but because we say affectionate things to one another in my family and they feel genuine and deep affection for their uncle. Even their grandpa, and propriety forbids me from writing out all the ways that mean old man barely deserves love (just kidding, I ruv roo daddy!).


She is biting with the side of her mouth to avoid her loose front tooth. That thing is crazy-assed loose.

Labels: birlo, family life, FOO, friends, garden, party animal

If today my day had been designed by tiny angels in heaven it would have included the dinner I had:


(photo by kahuku)

The coolest part of the story is how I found this restaurant. Randomly this morning I noted a photo from fellow HQX blogger kahuku in the Hoquiam, WA pool. Picture me seeing this and a big screeching tire sound in my head. What? Salvadorian cuisine? Somewhere close by? Not one or two but three featured vegetarian pupusas?

So, basically, after my morning chores were done I was scheming to get to this restaurant. All day. I went to my mom's and hinted; she was busy painting signs. Ralph had not only my cash but the only car with gas. Here was my carefully formulated plan: I just milled around until I could convince him to come pick us up. We got there around 4:30 or so to order and the food did not disappoint - my favorite so far is the pupusa calabaza (y el curtido es muy bien tambien) although the frijole version was not available and will be tried soon.

Sophie ate two pupusas all by herself; exclaiming over and over again how much she liked them. Nels, sleeping on Ralph's chest for most of the meal, finally came to and tucked in immediately. It was so divine. We headed to my mom's again to pick up a few items and Sophie said, "Grandma, you were a fool not to come get that food."

Delicioso!

Labels: food geekery

Teenage skater boys are on the whole quite sweet.

Champagne grapes, while tasty, are annoying to eat.

What tiny amount of time I had spent on MySpace will be invested tenfold in Facebook now. Sorry.

Pap smears aren't quite as fun as the fact you know you don't have to have one again for a year.

I need to quit watching movies with Vikings in them.


(marriedtothesea.com)

Labels: random

We are having a potluck next Friday; I'm going to make Greek food, and if you have had my Greek food before, you'll probably try to come. So if you live nearby and are not a creepy stalker (I do have at least one), please consider yourself invited. And please do RSVP.

Labels: food, friends, party animal

In some very small but acutely painful ways it would almost be better to have never moved away from, only to return to, my hometown. 12 years after leaving place of address I return relatively whole as a person - no longer obsessed with new parenthood, having accepted career hiatus, enjoying my family very much but open to experiences outside them. Then I encounter every possible repressed feeling of FOO, of old friends, old hurts, places with bad memories; places with memories bittersweet and nostalgic and feeling as if they happened to someone else. I feel out of touch (not what I want) from friends I used to hold dear. I try to reach out but am sometimes paralyzed by the worry they no longer will care for me. I love the town I live in but every now and then it feels so claustrophobic, as if I will live and die on this same spot and nothing could stop that (and would it be a bad thing?). All in all it can be, occasionally, very painful. I know if I never would have left it wouldn't be painful. I know if I never would have returned I perhaps could have avoided these feelings.

Living close to FOO is a mixed blessing, but so far I'm so glad I moved closer to them. I love them and I love spending time with them. They make me laugh, a lot. I have good boundaries with them. My mother in particular is so loving that any changes I go through, any requests I make, are listened to and usually honored. As well I enjoy being close to them as they live their lives in the ways they are seeing fit these days; I enjoy the thought I will be with my father as he experiences the last days of his life, however many those days will be (I'm hoping for a lot).

My small family took me out of commission for a while. It was a trap. I have always been interested in people and how they work; it's something I love thinking about, talking about. I did not realize this prior to breeding, but to have children is to watch a person form, in fact from the very beginning when they are a quickened fish-flop deep within your own body. Who could blame me that the experience absorbed me for a while? I feel in some ways terribly apologetic to my family, to my friends, to my husband, to my self - that marriage, family and child-rearing took up so much of my mind and soul. Things seem to be different now than they were a year ago. My children are just as fascinating, just as visceral and bone-deep, but I have also looked up and seen the rest of the world again. I am reading history books, I am thinking about the world's people and the world's children; I am trying to listen in to other people's lives with the listening ability so many have praised me for. I am wanting to spend time with my husband more than anyone else. It's hard to make that time but we both try.

As I write this my daughter sits on my lap. I can smell her hair and thinking about her dearness stings my eyes. She is not entirely a separate being from me although she thinks she is. No matter where my mind and body take me, they can always return to her. She can read aloud what I write here and although she can't understand my meaning maybe one day she will.

For now, the beautiful weather and an open day ask us to put our sandals on and get on the bike. We'll probably find modest adventures; watching my mom paint mayoral campaign signs, picking blueberries, getting a little sun. I hope to see you on the road!

Labels: family life, friends, navelgazing

Today I bought:

2 lbs. bananas
2 lbs. broccoli
3 lbs. yukon gold potatoes
2.5 lbs. green beans
7 limes
1 pint raspberries
1 lb. champagne grapes
1 very large mango
3 avocados
6 ears white corn
3 lbs rhubarb (local)
2 dozen farm eggs (local)

The total was $22. The Farmer's Market ladies like me because A. I am obsessive about their eggs, and B. I know how to cook (as evidenced by their cagey reference to rhubarb custard pie where I rattled off my own know-how). Today while we were there Sophie also expressed concern that the green rhubarb they had to offer was not pie-able - turns out, it is, it's merely a green variety. The pair of hens at the register were so excited this girl tracked produce. It made me think about my time at the Farm last year; nostalgic, too, to remember it now.

For dinner I made rolled biscuits (Joy of Cooking), white corn on the cob, eggplant and tomato choka, butter beans, iceberg salad (w/Annie's Goddess dressing). My children ate everything and happily (as did Ralph and I - in our foursome Ralph the Corn Weasel, and Nels, Son of Corn Weasel, in particular seemed very pleased). I was thinking of a friend's child who was over for dinner and exclaimed about our food - "I like what you guys eat!" and I felt a good deal of pride over our nightly ritual together.

Today my Florida honey J. sent me 2 packages of clothes - equaling 48 pounds! 48 fricken pounds! You know what's slightly sad? My middle is too big for almost all the pants. Tops fit well, except for button-ups which don't fit across my chest. Amongst the many very cool clothes there was a small collection of long hippie-like skirts, a garment I've never worn before. I put one on because they were the coolest (temperature-wise) garments in the batch. My husband came home and immediately complimented my skirt - with some grabbing of the backside. I think he likes it because it gives the illusion of a full ass (rather than my very wide yet oddly flat version).

* Edit - I made a count of all the items J. sent me:

1 pintuck white Mossimo button up shirt, L
1 ON cami top, blue L
1 ON green tee shirt, M
1 ON raspberry tee shirt, M
1 ON blue tee shirt, M
1 LS brown pinstripe shirt
1 Mossimo blue v-neck, L
1 Mossimo lavender v-neck, L
1 white polo shirt
1 Mossimo white v-neck, L
1 ON brown v-neck, M
1 ON white v-neck, M
2 tattoo-art tank tops, L
1 ON tank, brown
1 ON tank, tan/lt brown
1 ON tank, white
1 ON tank, black
1 LS dark brown rugby neckline shirt
1 striped pullover shirt
1 striped tri-cot dress, S
1 pull over stretch paisley top
1 brown Olde Navy crinkle fabric top
1 pink & white striped button up long sleeve shirt
1 express LS top, red
1 LS merona pinstripe top
1 white LS peasant top
1 orange LS tee-shirt
1 striped j-crew boat necked top
1 LS blue button up shirt
1 LS black twist top
1 LS ribbed sweater, wine
1 LS ribbed sweater, charcoal
1 lg button up LS eyelet shirt
1 black sweater shrug
1 zip up striped sweater
1 ON brown zip-up hoodie, XXL
1 sporty zip-up hoodie, M
1 brown Ye Olde Man sweater. Needs buttons. Matlock!
1 brown tie-front st john's sweater
1 ezekiel green screen printed tee
1 LS black & pink pullover tee shirt
1 Indian paisley skirt, floor-length
1 floor length patchwork skirt
1 floor length brown linen skirt
1 brown spandex skirt with flounce
1 orange crinkle floor length skirt
1 eyelet skirt, M
1 gray rayon floor length skirt
1 floor length sequined black skirt
1 floor length black polyester skirt, L
1 angels' jeans, sz 11
1 IT jeans, sz 11
1 Bongo! jeans, sz 10
1 Bongo! jeans, sz 13
1 express jeans
1 a byer brown dress slacks
1 ON medium maternity jeans
1 dark blue stretch navy-button slacks
1 ON tech chinos, light blue
1 ON tech chinos, taupe
1 ON tech chinos, dark blue
1 Tommy jeans, sz 10
1 paris blues pedal pushers sz 8
1 Exhilaration black capri sz 11
1 off white Merona capri
1 taupe Mossimo capri
1 Levi low slouch jeans, sz 9
1 Mossimo goucho jeans, sz 11
1 ON white stretch jeans, sz 11

Thank you, thank you, J.!

Labels: family life, friends, gratitude, grocery opus, homesteading

I watched 300 last night. It was surprisingly non-compelling, albeit - of course - beautifully, beautifully done in many places. I was kind of benefitting less from the "beautifully done" aspect because the plot was like something a fifteen year old boy might write down on a napkin in a burger joint talking to his buddy:"OK, then they go here, but like, the queen? Back home, she has to try to convince the counsel to help, um, you know, support the king." and etc. I think the film probably could have spent a little more of its (what looks like considerable) budget making a storyline that had a tiny bit more interest.

I always notice the rating warnings prior to the film's opening. Sometimes it will say something like, "PG for mild peril" and sometimes something very oddly specific: "PG-13 for a written instance of adult language and a brief scene involving teen use of a moderately addictive substance". If I can remember, I will then look for the offending scene(s). 300 told me the film was "Rated R for graphic battle sequences throughout, some sexuality and nudity." OK, violence, sure - the film is about the battle of Thermopylae after all. And what's this? "Some sexuality and nudity"? What does that mean? I'll tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean guys. It doesn't mean they'll show a man's crotch, swinging in the wind or even getting out of the bath. Probably not even a man's backside and certainly, never, ever, a man's sexually excited member. So what does "some sexuality and nudity" mean?

Tits. It means tits. We'll see lots of 'em, or as many as a movie about an all-male battle can possibly find opportunity to do so. Tits in gossamer-thin togas, tits on running peasant girls, tits flopping around on gyrating concubine-whores (because you know those evil tyrant types bring their bitches along to battles), tits in dream sequences of men camped for battle.

I like breasts. They're awesome. Here's my problem: why are they treated the way they are? Why are they even seen as nudity these days - something "forbidden" or set aside for adult viewing, yet exploited in every possible way one could think of and in any venue we can bring them? Why are we so disrespectful of the female form yet slaver at any opportunity to bring it into view and pretend it is somehow illicit, wrong, sinful, intensely desirable yet somehow filthy? Standing in the grocery store line my children and I can daily view breasts oiled, bound, deformed, airbrushed, and set on the Versace platters of nubile startlets like a prime piece of butchery - they should put a little frond of parsley and lemon wedge as a broach. Oh look - we got so-and-so respectable TV character to wear a flimsy, wet undershirt and - tee hee! - splashed her with water, later Photoshopping the results to reveal just the right amount of areola! Yay for us! And then yes: now the public can call her a whore for giving up what we begged, cajoled her for, what she'd have to give up to meet her career aspirations.

I'm afraid my children are being raised in a world that employs very sick and sad values about the female body: an out-of-proportion reverence and the coin-flip dark desires to revenge ourselves upon it. Fortunately for me what could terrify or sicken me merely makes me feel merely sad and aware; I just wonder if in my lifetime we will evolve out of what is not merely a Judeo-Christian remnant of simultaneous worship and denigration, but seems a worldwide one that I try very hard no to lay the blame at the feet of men.

The movie delivered precisely the quantity and quality of nudity I expected. I got to see the bare outline of Gerard Butler's moonlit backside but not even in a way that would be termed "nudity". And speaking of, I was also surpsied to see not only did the Spartans fight in an efficient battle bikini bottom (with cape, helmet, and big-ass sheild) they apparently all treated themselved to a bikini wax before heading out on the campaign. Those Greeks and their pre-battle rituals.

Labels: film