I forgot to mention, Ralph won the toga contest last night. There were around thirty entrants! The toga itself was made absolutely last minute: I (genius-like) tore a queen-size sheet in half and stitched the short ends together to create the length needed. Each contestant was interviewed onstage and then "runway'd" down the stage to show off.


Beside him you see the female counterpart who tied him for first. She's doing the "looking good" version of the toga; Ralph had a different take since he not only cracked wise (the contestants interviewed prior to Ralph claimed spending a mere five or ten minutes on the toga... when asked Ralph cocked his head in mock seriousness and said, "Seven... seven or eight hours?") but he also pointed to his bare nipple during the clap-off to garner more applause.

Yeah, so. I didn't really marry an introvert or anything.

Labels: film, hilarity, Ralph, random

About six weeks ago our dear friend Cyn had asked to visit and stay with us this weekend. Since we moved she has missed us and we indeed miss her - she was our next door neighbor to the house we started our family in and many a night we've had dinner and a movie together. But there was another reason for her visit: her husband and partner of over two decades was, five years after their divorce, getting re-married this Saturday. And rather than staying in the hometown she and her beloved had met, courted, married, bought a home, started their family, built and then lost their life together she had decided to perform her own ritual. She told me she was planning to throw her wedding ring into the sea. It had suddenly appeared on her desk of its own volition a while earlier. It was time to let it go.

We looked forward to her visit, especially on the tails of Ralph and my vacation (I don't know if you could meet people more happy to have company than the Hogaboom foursome). But I for one felt like, besides the fellowship and meal-sharing that always happens with Cynthia and her family (including this weekend not her daughter but her two dogs), our role as hosts was somewhat suppressed. Our job was to give her space and facilitation for her mission; to help decide where she would cast the ring and to support her in doing so. Ralph and I had also wanted to go to the Saturday night showing of the Patron's Pick film Animal House at the 7th Street Theatre and to show her the theatre. She seemed amenable to this plan and we formalized it.

I think the task ended up being a bit daunting for her, especially coming off a heavy work load during the week. On Friday afternoon she called practically from the road on the way down. Usually her visits and her excursions in general are accompanied by studied and detailed planning. Often on a visit to us she asks me for a list of the beloved sundries and groceries I would like from Port Townsend; she has not made a trip down yet without bringing us some beer from our favorite PT brewery. But this weekend she came down, as she put it, "almost empty-handed", her voice betraying her surprise at the relative impulsiveness of the roadtrip. On the drive down she listened to music near full-volume - something she said she hadn't done for as long as she could remember.

Ralph knows exactly where to deposit the ring: the jetty at Westport. "We can go to Half-Moon Bay, the moon was a half-moon the other night - one wedding ring!" he exclaims. It is a solid plan. After breakfast Saturday we pack a lunch and extra clothes for the kids and settle the dogs in the van and head out. The weather is stunning and the drive passes quickly. Westport is bright and friendly and busy and we wind our way to the jetty. There are more surfers there than I have yet seen; handsome, attractive sun-swept sleek-suited adventurers of all shapes and ages. The late-summer sun illuminates the mist on the beach and the air is, for a veteran coastal dweller like myself, nourishing as food. As we get out of the car Cynthia realizes with shock she has left the ring back in Hoquiam. We eventually decide this is a scouting trip; the three of us will return in the evening while our kids are being babysat by friends. We walk the jetty, beach paths, and admire the impressive and massive swells that roll into shore. Oily-looking seabirds bob and dive in the water. The sand is hot or cool on one's feet, depending on where you walk.

After a trip back to town, lunch, nap, dinner, and packing the kids off it turns out our movie gets out later than we'd planned. Making a trip out to the beach again will involve either picking up the children or abandoning our threesome. Cynthia wishes for a place closer. When she says this I can picture the bay at the bend of the highway, out north towards Ocean Shores. It's not the ocean but it's a great spot for me - lots of memories, none of them poor. I remember several bonfires; one night "babysitting" two friends as they did acid for the first (and only?) time. I remember a few parked cars and one of Ralph and my first ever makeout expeditions back in the day. It is a peaceful place, a sanctuary for the young to get up to (relatively) harmless fun. We could go out together and be back in time to pick up the children.

The two dogs are excited, game, up for anything. The night is mild, with the languid promise of a slow summer night and the hint of the fall chill. The moon is waxing gibbous, past the half-point, brightening the highway and then the beach. We park and make our way down to the bay - the moon lighting our way and keeping us from spraining ankles. We see the lights of Ocean Shores condos and the industrial ports clustering around harbor. The moon dashes itself against the peaceful, cold waters and flashes in serene acceptance.

Cynthia is trying to find purchase to approach the water so she can really haul that ring out into depths; I know that the beach legs that look like solid footing are actually swampy marsh-grass, not navigable without getting mucky or downright soaked. We walk up and down the bay a bit and find the spot. Ralph and I join our friend, standing back a bit. She contemplates a while, ten feet away and facing southwest to sea. She throws the ring, tied to a rock with beach grass and it splashes distant. She stands one minute more then turns around and walks to stand with us. "Thanks, guys," she says in a low voice. Ralph holds me and we stand looking out over the water. "It feels good to let it go," she continues. "I feel sad. But I'm really ready to let something new into my life." Her voice is thick with weeping and her eyes are smudged with tears.

We return back to town and drive through the night to our house. Cynthia says goodnight and heads to her weekend bed in my parents' upstairs. Ralph and I drive to East Hoquiam to pick up our children; both have fallen asleep and the living room is a cozy composition of children swaddled in blankets, pillows, and pajamas as a muted viewing of School of Rock plays on the television. We carry our sleeping children back to the van and drive home, settling them in fully-clothed to their beds.

Labels: friends, goodbye

Today I had about two hours to myself with both kids in school. I spent about an hour doing some computer work, thirty minutes of chores, and thirty minutes getting set up to sew. While I was doing all this I was in mellow, steady-moving state. Kind of the perfect time you think a certain little kitten would want some love. I mean, I would have been happy to put down the dishes and sit with a purring furball on my lap for a few minutes.

But no, it wasn't until I sat down and started winding a bobbin that the wee kitty finally stumbled out of bed (currently favoring the "hammock" of fabric in the box spring) and came at me all sleep-eyed with stick paws kind of stumbling around. He climbed up on the sewing table and started to purr then saw thread spools and then started batting with harmless velvety paws. He was really warm from sleep and really energetic.

A few days ago while on our trip our housesitter came up with a good word regarding Harris:

Paige: Harris has only gotten out once!me: Oh, that's good. He seems to know how to come home. I probably won't let him out regularly until I can chip him and collar him.

My neighborhood is a little sketchy so I want him to be fully protected.

Paige: Ah, yeah. He prounced around the back yard for a little bit, letting me know that I couldn't catch him if he didn't want to let me, then he let me.

"Prounced"! That is exactly what kittens do!

I actually love this song and was belting it out in the car today; I felt inspired to search for the video and, um?:


(Billy, check out the move at 1:24. Or the stair declension here at 0:57. Watch and learn).

Labels: Harris, music, random

Our friend Paige who performed as childcare / housesitter / kid-lover did an excellent job. An excellent job. The main ways I have of knowing this are that A., my children were content and had that well-cared for mien upon our return, and B. the types of questions Paige would ask when we'd IM or call from our break. Yesterday when we arrived our house had been returned to it's previous order (well... no one can clean my bathroom like I can except perhaps Stephanie), laundry done, books on the shelves, children happy and fed - it was like stepping right back into our life, no adjustments needed. And I don't know about Paige, but the kids definitely did not tire of her care. Today as I was getting Nels out of the van he looked me in the eyes and said, "Paige was good to me." Later in the day as we headed out on an errand he said, "Where's Paige?" but was satisfied when I told her she'd headed home (it helps that we get to expect Paige's mother Cyn tomorrow on a weekend visit - yay!).

P.S. I think Paige also fed them far more milk than they're used to from Ralph and I; I also think Nels gained a pound while we were gone.

It's good to be home. I'm currently cooking banana bread and a fresh, local Heart of Gold squash - stuffed with two kinds of rice, barley, tomato paste, garlic, spices, and cheese. It smells so amazing in my house you might as well not try to imagine it, because you can't, it's just that good. Today I have a refreshed outlook on housework and a more centered mind around time with the children, although I won't deny that yesterday had some rough patches as we got used to life as a foursome - and Ralph and my responsibilities - again.

Goals for the remainder of the week: be sweet to children, keep house clean during the day and enjoy more movie / cuddling / hangout time with Ralph in the evening.

Labels: food, friends, homesteading, Nels

Today we say goodbye to the yurt, to the park, to our little vacation town(s), the surf, the wildlife (I saw two snakes on my morning mile walk), the unexpected and dazzling sunshine. I sit in a cafe / roasteria in lower Long Beach - a coffee shop that, besides plenty of seating and free wi-fi seems oddly discourteous and annoying. My husband bought an americano here but I snuck next door to the Organic Market for their superior brew. And yes, to answer your unspoken question, much of this trip has been coffee-centered.

We have a few pictures I'll be uploading tonight - camera phone, unfortunately. Ralph is chomping at the bit - so sayonara, vacation!

Labels: coffee, goodbye, vacation

My husband has of late been snippy with the kids. Borrowing a choice phrase from an online acquaintance, I've been asking him to stop taking the "authoritarian douche" tone with them. Perhaps one reason this has been important to me is that I myself have not been on my best, most gentle or intelligent parental behavior. I mean I have really appalled myself with some things I've said and done around the kids. It reminds me precisely of the very pinched, stressed, and manic time after Nels was born when I was go go go but unable to cope with even minor setbacks in the course of my day.

It isn't as if a vacation is the "much needed" break from the children. I believe, vacation or no, the children need me to figure out how to center myself whether with time out, a time in, a counselor, a brisk bike ride, a drink, an abstention from drink, a long hot bath, or a good cry. But this trip has been a visit to one hundred percent relaxation and with relaxation, a re-emergence of my husband and my most human, genuine selves. Left on our own for a few days our manners appear. We sleep more, we agree on plans and there's no sharpness of tone flying back and forth (OK, maybe a little from me, but that's because as everyone tells me I'm a Squawky Bird). My husband holds open the door for me; he takes off my shoes for a mid-day nap. This morning he said, "You look beautiful today" with such feeling it was a real show-stopper. I realize how much I like him because he says "Hi" to other campers and introduces himself. He tips nicely in restaurants - despite the fact we have a literal $30 per day allowance (we've gone out to eat twice so far). He helps me look for tiny pink beads to finish a hat I'm knitting for Sophie and he genuinely applies himself to the search.

I also realize that if I wanted to keep him happy and married to him for life I would have to do exactly two things: one, provide him with - well, you know - relatively frequently (decency prohibits me to elaborate but you know where I'm going); two, make him breakfast.

See, normally my husband is up in the morning and heading out the door just as I get up. Even then if I myself ate breakfast I might daily favor him with some just as he can expect a hot homecooked dinner each night. As it is I usually feed the kids something easy to clean up and easy to make - say, yogurt with fruit and a spoon of peanut butter. The idea of doing a big egg fry-up or making mountains of pancakes is just so unappealing to me. I don't like breakfast food myself and have an appalling habit of skipping food altogether until a voracious lunch post-noon.

But my husband - and our daughter - could literally sit up in bed and stick his snout into a huge plate of bacon and eggs. And his deepest, not-so-secret desire is that I would provide him with that each morning. In fact on vacation my husband will roam around the cabin or yurt or tent site and pick up and put things down, hoping I will get inspired and make him a huge breakfast. It's the only time I've ever seen him act like an entitled male, when I think about it. It amuses me and touches me.

So this trip I've been prioritizing breakfast and making it for him. Yesterday's fare was bird's nests: that is, toasted bread with a hole in the center, crack an egg and cook and flip it. He is nuts for those (traditionally they involve two strips of bacon which I omitted). Today, a simple toasted bagel, cream cheese, and egg sandwich. Serving to him with salt and pepper, fresh camping coffee and the offer of orange juice and you'd think I'd given him a purple robe and crown and shuffled backwards down our deck ramp in homage. He is instantly pleased and sure that this is the Best. Vacation. Ever. And it's such a simple thing to do for me. And with the fresh air and time on the sea I find I am actually hungry in the morning, as well.

Labels: Ralph, vacation

Our camping township Ilwaco is somewhat incomprehensible. Part working class coast ghost town yet sprouting tourist boutiques and cafes with "OPEN" signs that suddenly wink enticingly between shoddy canneries and trailer parks that look as if the swampy earth heaved them up. The sparkling morning air reveals the irrepressible and distinct busyness of a successful fishing town; that is to say, honest activity, vital weathered men bounding up dock ramps and stomping through town looking to satisfy huge appetites, rumbling diesel vehicles with saltwater damage and crab pots and winches and other massive-looking work-seasoned equipment. The daytime Ilwaco feels open to possibilty and full of vigor. Yet in the dusk, with the town's one four-way stoplight inexplicably disabled and darkness swallowing the place up, there is a distinctly sinister air. It feels like the town has vacated or hid, all home with family and warm beds and leaving the outdoors to the wind and pounding surf that threatens here at the mouth of the Columbia.

This town and indeed many on the peninsula have the carnie atmosphere I associate with northern Oregon's toursit destination of Seaside, but smaller and with fewer out-and-out lusty tourist enterprises. As you head north on the Long Beach peninsula the burgs of Seaview, Long Beach, Breakers, Oceanside, Klipsan Beach, and Ocean Park give way to one another along Pacific Highway in an indistinguishable ebb and flow of businesses, groceries, kite shops, sandwich eateries, antique malls, and that odd video / tanning / internet enterprise we're seeing in so many small towns.

Only locals can tell Ralph and I when we are in "Long Beach proper"; it seems one large strip of township. Retirement money pops up in the form of expansive manors erected and lording over a view of the long-rolling coastline and foggy hills; a stone throw from one such home and in plain, bald sight crouches the absolutely most run-down yet functioning laundromat I have ever seen. There are very few chain stores or eateries in these towns. Instead there are dubious or friendly-yet-modest looking businesses rising and falling with past promises of cozy eateries or current hawking of kitchy treasuers; perhaps a promising homestyle pizzeria truncated by an abrupt "CLOSED" sign stapled to the front marquee, left to rot how ever many years ago. The businesses are all along the strip: funeral homes, realtors camped in ex-sports bars, lawyer offices sandwiched in strip malls between coin-ops and a TBA opening eBay store.

While drying a load of laundry in one of the ten percent of operational washers in aformentioned laundromat Ralph and I took the bikes out and instinctively headed to the coastline. We immediately fell upon a well-paved and wide path that wound up and down the coast. It was a unique biking experience for me as the trail incessantly headed up and back down small hills and wound around countless dunes whispering with pampas grass. It was pedal pedal cost. Soon you wanted to keep rolling on the trail, working then floating, rising and falling in the mist-kissed sun, talking about nothing in particular and hoping you ended up back in town near a taco cart. The trail winded us to who-knows how far down the coastline before we turned back.

On the trail, in town, at the yurt at night. Here the waves pound the shore with a ferocity that creates a dull roar remarked upon over two hundred years ago by the Lewis and Clark expedition. Perhaps due to the local efforts to keep connection with the exploring pair and display the history in a number of exhibitions and museums, to experience this place invokes the spirit of exploration, newness, and savagery. Despite the resort motels and moped rentals and fly-by-night nature of some of the aspiring businesses there is still a deep and profound connection to the natural, beautiful, and ferocious state of the place.

Labels: PNw, vacation

When word got around to our friends that Ralph and I were yurt camping at Cape Disappointment there were two reactions. The first was open-faced envy - who doesn't want a vacation, especially one with your mate / spouse / lover? - and the second was a laugh at just how unappetizing to some the phrase "yurt camping at Cape Disappointment" sounds.

Ralph made the plans for the vacation, including reserving the camping site, arranging childcare (our capable friend Paige), taking time off work, and researching the local area and activities thereof. He also secretly squirreled away money from our household operating expenses the last few months; because although a modest camping trip might seem easily doable to many of our friends it is far less so to us. The combined expenses of babysitting fees, food for all parties, gas, site rental, laundry quarters et cetera have thus far been enough for us to put off, and continue putting off, a getaway of any kind.

We were on the road yesterday by about 2 PM. I was feeling horrible. I knew that being away from the children for four days and three nights would be like diving in for a swim in ice cold water - unpleasant at first but with a little acclimation absolutely exhilarating. On leaving the children I was deliberately casual, saying goodbye as if I were only leaving a few hours. I was trying not to think of three endless nights without being able to hear their breathing or stroke them in their sleep. As we drove out of Aberdeen I sat in the car and somewhat woodenly responded to my husband's (very cheerful) conversation. I felt worse than not crying; I felt the impending doom of something going wrong, of making a bad choice in timing to leave my children. Please understand it doesn't matter who I leave them with - no one can love them like I can. It was a tiny, weird little nightmare that I knew my husband did not share. I breathed through it and took my time with it and told myself it was a temporary adjustment period.

And this unreasonable and morose mood passed, just as I thought it would. After a beautiful drive through windswept sea scenery and sharing an audiobook with Ralph I had almost accepted my fate at having my family split up. We checked into our site, unpacked, then headed back to Long Beach for a delicious dinner with ice cold beer. We headed back to the site in the wet and unfamiliar night and on the way we were beset by frogs; tiny reddish-brown creatures that would suddenly form out of the first of the fall leaves on the road and alarmingly bound across the street. At my request Ralph caught me one; it took twice for him to brake, secure the van, jump out, and dive to catch the little creature in the headlights and it reminded me of years and years ago when he'd gone out kicking mushrooms to lift me out of a sad mood, up in Mason Lake during a Thanksgiving with my family. At the campsite we took quarter-operated showers to warm up, shared some wine in the yurt (after Ralph had dispatched a few arachnoid specimens), and watched a date movie. I think it was about 1 AM when I fell asleep, a little uncomfortable in a bed other than mine (packing up a king-size was just not in the cards for a camping trip) but so glad to be with my husband.

And here's something crazy; when I woke up with Ralph, at 9:30 in the morning, both my children had been awoken, fed, dressed, and taken to school - and I didn't have to do it.

Getting time with Ralph alone is amazing. I can cook for just two and it takes about five minutes. We can eat together without him having to cut someone's food and I don't have to bolt my meal down. I can talk to him without interruptions. I can decide to take a shower or go for a walk and I don't need to secure a list of to-do items before I go nor worry a child will run into the street or try to drink drain cleaner if I turn away for one minute. I can think and be quiet in my own mind and no one is asking for attention or needs help getting dressed or washing hands. This is perhaps the most amazing aspect of a vacation sans children; being able to choose and complete a task in the quietude of my own thoughts.

I joked yesterday that in these parts a thirty percent chance of rain is like a hundred percent chance of rain (perhaps you'd have to live in the PNw to understand). But today we wake to clear skies and a day with nothing we particularly have to do and nothing we can't do - as long as we temper our expenses to keep the total trip under a very modest $100. It would have been more but our van busted a CV joint and a good chunk of our "fun" money was spent in necessary vehicular repair.

And so continues our modest but ever-so precious vacation together.

Labels: gratitude, PNw, Ralph, vacation

OK.

So, today was weird.

Today was Nels' first day at preschool. This represents the first time since becoming a parent, ever, I have had both children at school and time to myself. That alone - and saying goodbye to my littlest one with him barely acknowledging I was leaving and knowing it was the first of many goodbyes for the two of us - was disconcerting enough. It was on the drive home in my very, very quiet truck that I thought, simply, "I miss my children," and finally a few tears materialized.

But today was so busy (making a pie, running flyers off and delivering them, fielding calls from the school Board president with school-commencement stuff, grocery-shopping, sewing something for my brother and working on my own project, making breakfast lunch and dinner and orchestrating coffee and cookies for my sewing group, collecting supplies for my sewing group, dropping school supplies for Suse, picking up both kids, biking biking biking, taking them out for ice cream then home and making food for my family while cleaning the kitchen and Nels fell asleep and I had to call my brother to do a coffee pickup and put a sleeping Boy back in the bike trailer and bike some more...), so anyway, it was busy in that I'm-going-to-forget-something-important way. As far as I know, I didn't forget anything. But I also didn't get any time to process any of my feelings.

At a little after 5 PM, mere moments after Ralph burst in from his bike ride home to take our children, I checked in a the library where my sewing night was scheduled. And as I expected, no one was there. After all I had put only a single, solitary flyer up. And even as I felt sadness for a low attendance, I felt distinctly stupid for not bothering to advertise (that's just who I am). My time to myself (ironing fabric and laying out a pair of pants for Nels) was short-lived; my friend Jennifer showed right on the money. And we proceeded to talk, catch up on the day (she's running for HQX mayor and there's always something to hear!), have a snack, and finally start working on her machine. At about the point she and I were getting into good sewing theory, it started to go a little crazy.

First off, a young woman came downstairs to see us and started talking to me with some degree of familiarity. I didn't know her and was confused she had nothing to sew with; but when she introduced herself as M. - a fellow Hoquiamite blogger, artisan, and zine contributor - I was immediately flung into that good 15 minute experience of disorientation common when you meet someone you've exchanged many emails with and have prematurely formed a mental picture of. Despite my disorientation and quick pleasure at having an IRL meeting, the three of us fell into conversation, comparing notes on Hoquiam, Hoquiamites, and homesickness for previous climes. M. handed me a present: a brilliant little tutorial book on making sock creatures. Her boyfriend joined us and we talked a bit about local sewing machine shops (not many).

Just when I'd gotten over meeting someone new (yet known) it got a bit stranger - a full hour after my sewing tutorial was to begin, some boisterous women started trickling into the room. They had sewing machines but I could sense they weren't there for me. They were all talking at once, mostly to each other, but one of the ringleaders finally made it clear to my tiny, overworked birdbrain that they were a group of Pagans who met regularly to sew together. They had mistakenly showed up a day earlier than their scheduled library slot. It was very odd for me to have thought I would be teaching a subject only to have it first interrupted and then discussed amongst people who had no use for me. However, I was glad to meet these women, I learned their names, I told them I'd be interested in helping them sew if they needed it tonight or in any future iteration, and I gave myself up to the increasing surrealism of the evening.

Ralph and the kids showed up at 8 o'clock to pick me up and I felt my first pang of regret. I knew my husband would be pleased to see these half dozen students of mine sewing away at full swing. Indeed, he sported a satisfied little grin as he entered the room to ask if I wanted to stay longer. Since the ladies didn't seem very interested in my help, I asked Ralph to load up my sewing materials and invited Jen over for peach pie and despite her busy schedule and state of minor sleep deprivation she agreed.

As Jen and I laughed in the car ride to my house, I felt such gladness that I'd moved back. As with a few other friends here I was finding my relationship with familiars from my childhood would not be formed solely of fond memories and anecdotal brief get-togethers but instead a full continuum of life experience as it unfolds in the present. Jen and I had just spoken on the phone days earlier and before that, only a few days before; our children were playing together these days, and our lives were starting to know of one another with the ease and fellowship of a comfortable reunion.

We got to my house and my children enfolded Jen in greetings and hugs (she is the only person besides Ralph and I who can understand every word Nels utters) and then, finally, the coup de grace - the largest spider I have ever seen in my life, clutching itself menacingly on my kitchen floor and throwing long shadows (I am not shitting you how big this thing is; my brother is currently on his way over to bear witness). My daughter made instant and expert capture, a few of us shook off our revulsion, I served the pie, and we laughed some more.

And with the evening drawing to a close and a very full day spent, I say goodnight.

Labels: birlo, friends, HQX, Ralph, sewing

So goes the family legend: my mother attempted to stay home to my brother and I but it didn't work out. I was carefully and repetitively informed that she "couldn't do it". She was "bored", she "couldn't get things done." My father was just "naturally better" at it so, he stayed home. As we got older they both worked more and more, soon having two fulltime jobs. The house was empty after school but the family was together for dinner every night. My brother and I enjoyed a stable and home-centered upbringing and we all knew my mom was too "independent" to be a stay-at-home mom and my dad was "laid back" enough to do it. Read: stay-at-home moms were cow-like and didn't expect much from life; my father was lazy so did well at it.

This story worked well for my interests as at 18 I pursued college (full scholarship) and a career in engineering - a field similar to my mom (she worked in civil; I in chemical). I was one up from most in my FOO since I would be getting a four-year degree right off the bat and supposedly bounce into a well-paying field and then the promotions and if I could catch a man, the coveted DINK status. Sure enough, post-graduation I did well in my workplace; I loved it, I was liked, I was up to the challenge of the job and loved the mental and cerebral energy I could pour into it. Children were not on my radar. Looking back I wasn't doing any of this resentfully, fearfully, or for other people's reasons at all. I loved the schoolwork (not so much the classes or the university) and even more, the work itself. How I loved the work; how I still miss it.

After a few years in the workplace I became pregnant and married my long-term boyfriend and father of the child-to-be. While Ralph and I were pregnant, newlywed, and being begged by our employer (we both worked at Port Townsend Paper Corporation) to stay on to dual salaries we briefly considered it. Not for more than about four minutes. It didn't feel wrong for us to both work, precisely - and my salary was hardly cushy for a single-income family. I think we felt like, Who would be with this baby then? and there was no satisfactory answer. I still can't explain why Ralph and I felt this way - it was instinctive, it was mutual, and it has ended up only strengthening with time.

Of course, I had the better-paying job and the degree, not to mention the familial expectation of breadwinner while Ralph was to get the less glamorous and more onerous duty of nose-wiping, cooking, cleaning, and diapering. When I went back to work after my maternity leave (which, despite being federally protected, I had to fight against my work culture for) Ralph came home as a happy homemaker and loving father to our very, very lovely and precious new baby girl. I remember printing out the latest pictures of her to tape to my hardhat. I remember my pride being an engineer, the first female foreman at my workplace, in charge of men twice my age; a mother, wife, and full-time breastfeeder as well. There is nothing that can take the pride and joy away from me that I felt during that time.

Some people may be under the impression I left work immediately after my first child was born; not so. It happened neither suddenly nor consciously. I left my job because the job started to suck; mostly my boss(es). When I started seriously considering leaving I remember my mother's advice and comments - she was literally split between admiration that I would not be pushed around or work in conditions I couldn't stand - versus many objections to do with my income and my nature - as in, I wasn't the type who COULD stay home and raise children. "Ralph is so good at it... It would be too hard for you!" I remember hearing often.

This internalized bias existed within myself as I quit my job and came home, supplemented on unemployment and more and more reluctant to return to work. At some point it became Ralph more actively looking for work than I (he was doing independent consulting at the time). I still remember being pregnant with my second child as Ralph took on fulltime work with more and less flexible hours and I wasn't quite in ownership of my choices. Deep down I was completely sure I couldn't do it; this sham of Kelly-at-home would crash down. My mother was right, I thought. Helpfully, my father picked on me; to this day makes jokes that I don't have a job, yet he sprinkles enigmatic compliments around our family's lifestyle choices. If I wanted to find out what was beneath his assholian teasings I might ask; perhaps someday I will.

What gradually began to piss me off was this idea that a housewife and mother needs to have "something else" going for her. Money, a job. That a woman who stayed home had to be lazy or have no aspirations or "laid back" in order to enjoy and do well. Because I am none of those things yet time has shown I make a good mother, wife, and run a home well. I existed as a strong, energetic, too-frenetic mother whose strengths were emerging despite being told from all sides this work wasn't worth my or anyone else's time.

It took me years to feel I could stay home. I may have been built to do science and math and work aggressively in a male-dominated field and ironically, I was trained out of thinking I could do anything else. But as it turns out, daily I'm glad I "pushed through" my barriers to staying at home, to leaving (however briefly or for the rest of my life) my career. It hasn't been easy to put myself in a vocation denigrated by so many (men I used to work with would get sad I'd quit, "You had such a great mind!" one once said); nor to feed, clothe, and support four of us on a single income. In fact, in many ways - physically, mentally, and emotionally - it's been the toughest challenge I've faced. In overcoming that challenge along with that of school, engineering, the world of work I discover a few things about myself: one, that I'm good at challenges; two, that I seem to seek them out.

You can't have it all and all at once. I miss work. I miss earning money. I am sometimes sad that my cohorts and peers advance - not so much in position or title but that they are earning work experience in a field I enjoy. I am glad I remain true to myself and don't live life according to anyone's expectations, according to fear or pseudo-security needs regarding money. I'm glad Ralph's career got a chance to flourish and I know he likes it. Mostly I'm glad to get to spend so much time with and love on the three most important and amazing people in my life. I will never regret one moment I've spent with them.

Saturday was my anniversary. Ralph and I have been married six years - which means we've been together for almost ten! Or as Ralph points out, "Nearly one third of our life". I just about fell off the bike when he reported this. I've still been thinking about it. He's been my advocate, cheerleader, lover, partner, best friend, and co-parent for all these years. I guess he's just as up to a challenge as I am.

Labels: family life, FOO, gratitude, homesteading, Ralph

Labels: bike, school

I just sent my oldest to her first day of all-day school.* She was wearing last Thanksgiving's homesewn dress, scuffed brown oxfords, and brown tights. She had two little buns on the side of her head that her father gave her, her nails were trimmed, her teeth brushed, her ears cleaned. She carried a ladybug backpack my sister Jules bought her; on the backpack was a green button designating her as a "Rider" (as in, is picked up at the end of the school day) which apparently must accompany her daily or I will never find out where she got whisked away to (the teacher made no fewer than four impassioned speeches on the subject yesterday at orientation). She was excited to go and didn't want to floss her teeth or she'd be late. At this I half-joked, "You're in a hurry to get away from me!" and she replied, "No mom, I don't want to get away from you..." in this tone that said, Mom, this isn't about you.

I had a bet with a friend whether I'd cry on Sophie's first day of school; I did not. Perhaps I'm just too tired; I was up until well past four AM last night (earnestly I tell you dear reader - I have no idea why. I did not feel particularly anxious or have caffeine too late) and while I still got up and made lunch and sent my girl off with her father I am a bit lagging. But sentimentality at milestones is something that comes and goes with me; it's not a constant. It occurs to me the reason I held her as much as I could and nursed her for three years and cuddled her and smelled her close as often as I could and took baths with her and greedily listened to her voice and kissed her one million times was that yes, I could take as much time with her as seemed reasonable, but also that she'd get her fill of love and be able to walk out the door to other things. I am not sad she can leave without a backward glance. I am glad - and I know she'll come back to me.

A full day with my son, the first of many this school year, awaits his emergence from bed. I start fresh coffee and shower, hoping to lie down for a few moments before beginning the workday.

For those who haven't seen it, Ralph and I posted a wee cooking video on I'm Cooked.com.

* Pictures pending: Ralph left the card reader at work.

Labels: family life, gratitude, milestones, Sophie

My kids cuddle each other and the rest of us more than you would believe possible. Yes, it's awesome.


A rather blurry photo but does anyone have any questions as to why I am incessantly pinching her bum? Nels is trying to read.


The Princess looks alert, but he's actually quite Pink-Eyed and lacking in coffee! This was a capital "E" Emergency and we rectified it at once.


Like an elderly couple, we rely on Ralph for most of the driving.


Speaking of elderly, my mom turned 58 and we took her out to lunch (my treat and it broke our budget). This dessert was called a "melting chocolate cake" and it was divine.


I picked up some yummy and tender romaine. I love garden-fresh lettuce - drenched in dressing, yes.


We got a new kitty. "As you know." Sophie held him on the drive home and he was quite calm.


Sleepover with Billy! Can you feel the love? The kitty felt it too.


Harris, newly named (Billy helped) and looking - dare I say it? - wise.


That morning Nels helped me make...


Bagels! Recipe and methods coming soon in the zine.


Sophie attempts to swipe one, early, like the Bagel Weasel she is.


This photo disguises the very, very threadbare nature of her suit. She continues to love and thrive at swimming.

I enjoyed this quote I read on Molly's MySpace today:

The fact is, what I hated in the Church was that I hated in society. Namely, authoritarians. Power freaks. Rigid dogmatists. Those greedy, underloved, undersexed twits who want to run everything. While the rest of us are busy living--busy tasting and testing and hugging and kissing and goofing and growing--they are busy taking over. Soon their sour tentacles are around everything: our governments, our economies, our schools, our publications, our arts and our religious institutions. Men who lust for power, who are addicted to laws and other unhealthy abstractions, who long to govern and lead and censor and order and reward and punish; those men are the turds of Moloch, men who don't know how to love, men who are sickly afraid of death and therefore are afraid of life: they fear all that is chaotic and unruly and free-moving and changing-- they fear nature and fear life itself, they deny life and in so deny God. They are presidents and governors and mayors and generals and police officers and chairmen-of-the-boards. They are crafty cardinals and fat bishops and mean old monsignor masturbators. They are the most frightened and most frightening mammals who prowl the planet; loveless, anal-compulsive control-freak authoritarians, and they are destroying everything that is wise and beautiful and free. And the most enormous ironic perversion is how they destroy in the name of Christ who is peace and God who is love.

- Tom Robbins - Another Roadside Attraction

Labels: birlo, birthday, family life, FOO, food geekery, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

I finally caught the cold that my brother, my mom, and my son have all suffered through. It is manifesting for me in a congested head cold and very stiff, raw, (but not painful) throat. I am luckier than the rest of them - so far. Ralph has sternly admonished me to rest.

Nevertheless, last night I couldn't sleep easily thinking about my husband's roadtrip today (he, Nels, and my brother are going to Portland for a couple errands and to drop the Princess off for house-hunting). In true Fisher / Hogaboom style we'd planned on packing food so that A. they wouldn't have to take the time to find a place, park, and dine; and B. we could save a little money (my brother also loves this last as he is feeling anxious about upcoming expenses). Of course, Billy had to add to the fare: a carrot (I shit you not, that's all he had). Ralph made up some roasted garbanzo beans last night and was planning on stuffing the last half-loaf of french bread (made fresh Thursday) in the basket and calling it good.

I didn't want Ralph under-fed and over-caffeinated so this morning before the boys left I'd made them a half dozen oven-fresh pita for the beans (I am rockin' the pita these days), garam masala tofu, hard-boiled eggs, a few slabs of blueberry and strawberry sour cream coffee cake, adding a few apples and ice water. And the jewel of the lunch: I gave to them our one perfectly-ripe peach I'd picked up from the Olympia Farmers' Market and kept shrined in its own paper bag, untouched, for days. This thing practically peeled itself and I took a tiny taste this morning - perfect, spicy, melt-in-the-mouth.

After the boys left I cleaned up around the house while Sophie played Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the Playstation. What a child she is! She can play and save video games (far better than I; I have no interest however), clean her room, brush her teeth, mess with my iPod playlist (her current favorite is Dolly Parton's "Touch Your Woman" - Jules, I know you're going to appreciate that), and make rather sophisticated suggestions for the day's plans. As we left for the library she double-checked her book list and donned her apparel for the day - in her words, "Panties, then pants, a shirt, and the frog costume", this latter being a lovely but well-worn hooded towel / froggy-eyed piece handed down from a stylish PT friend. I have also secured a sushi date with my mother for 12:30 where Sophie can further practice with chopsticks.

What else I'd like to do today: take the girl to the new Harry Potter movie. She's still little enough she consents to sit in my lap and I can smell her and hold her close. Nels and Sophie smell like their father (yes, that's a good thing) which amazes me because they are different people. Their intertwined dearnesses are all part of some kind of conspiracy those three have that keeps me in loving bondage to them for most my waking hours.

Labels: birlo, family life, food, Ralph, roadtrip, Sophie