Last night our foursome worked at the 7th Street Theatre for the movie (Young Frankenstein). Sophie and I handed out programs (which I design for the films) and Ralph and Skels - I mean Nels - worked concessions.


Let me out my family as huge dorks. Because these aren't the "real" Halloween costumes, these are the ones for the movie nights. I pondered and pondered a way to frizz out Suse's hair. It would have taken lots of product and forever; plus we have two nights of working and I didn't want to go through whatever horrific process that would be twice. So I settled for a haircolor and white spray-in streaks. The dress is sewn from two tablecloths and the ribbon is sewn on to her neck (the ribbon sewn to itself, not my girl). I also tore more of the tablecloth into bandage handwraps and painted her nails a lovely blackish green. She was so into it. P.S. more than one boy / guy checked her out. It's kind of weird.

Nels liked his costume too. Um. A lot. He and I shopped for the costume earlier in the day - black LS shirt, sweats (I cut and hemmed the bottom of them b/c I hate the gathered sweatpant look), furnished with medical tape "bones" - plus a skull mask (not shown) he found all by himself for $1. He was extremely invested in the process. As we travelled to checkout he howled, "Where are the bones!?" having no understanding Ralph was going to fashion them from tape. That night he made a big fuss until we allowed him to sleep in the costume and he clutched his skele-mask in his sleep - all night.


Our friend S. took quite a few of these screenshots; they look great.

Labels: film, geekery, halloween, Nels, Ralph, sewing, Sophie

Labels: food, Grazdma, Nels, school, Sophie

The weather here is, characteristically for this time of year, simply lovely. This weekend we got out as much as we could including a perusal of this year's jack o'lantern candidates.


I'm not sure where Nels got his aversion to dirt and mud but clearly, the knickerbockers I sew for him especially so he doesn't get his pantlegs dirty were not short enough. Next try: hotpants.


It really was a wonderful weekend for all of us. Carved pumpkins and roasted pumpkin seeds, dazzling sunlight, homemade bread, lots of cuddling, BBC's "The Office" (re-watch), fresh homebaked chocolate chip cookies, fresh air, great sleep, some extra nookie.

Labels: family life, gratitude, halloween, holidays, Nels, Sophie

Since late last night our internet connection has been down. I have always known that email, IM, and blogging keeps me from focussing on other household duties but this morning really proved it. By 11 AM I had roused, fed, and dressed each child, taken Sophie to school via bike, done two loads of laundry, made beds, finished the dishes and cleaned the refrigerator, made homemade pizza sauce for tonight's dinner and brownies for dessert, and finished the machine-sewing for Nels' latest pair of pants (there's a story to these pants I will sew-blog later). The efficiency and pleasantness of the morning is almost enough to make me forgo Inter-Tron during my morning hours. Almost.

One reason I am a badass is that I biked Sophie to school in not only rain but gale-force winds (with the help of The Stills on iPod - thanks J. for the suggestion!). I suspect this will be my life for a while until I can figure out how to come up with $793 for my van and it's fubar'd fuel pump. P.S. I just got the estimate yesterday by phone and tried to hold off telling Ralph who's having mental and emotional problems with the realities of our financial situation. It's too bad we couldn't be down to one car during the lovely summer months we just spent.

Due to the storm I wasn't feeling as excited about my normal modes of getting around (biking, walking, bussing). So this morning I'd called to ask my mom if she'd give Nels and I a ride to the library (my current locale as I type here). She was headed to a funeral today - my lifelong next-door neighbor died last week. So I asked for my dad and he agreed to pick us up.

My father is an intelligent, laconic, grumpy person who likes to rudely tease his three nuclear family members in some sort of twisted way to relate to them (example, "Got a job yet?" in a snotty tone to my brother who is currently living below poverty-level - albeit in a nice home with at least one month's rent paid - while he searches for one and daily grows more anxious and sad). I have decided to choose to believe my father loves me, because his behavior towards me could / does indicate a lack of respect - often. I love him and will always love him. And yes, he can be helpful. When he took me out to my van last Friday he assited me in trying to get a jump and evaluating the problem to be needing a tow, or not (it did. Shit. P.S. I surmised fuel pump and was correct as it turns out. Perhaps I should try to hone my auto-psychic skills to make a quick buck). After we left my van to drive into town he not-so-helpfully treated me to a deriding monologue about how this van is a piece of shit and has been giving us problems from Day 1. When it comes to looking for advice and guidance this kind of meanness / weirdness really clouds my judgment at whether to look to him for assistance and mentorship, or not.

So today when he dropped me off as I packed my son out of the van he abruptly grunted, "What are you doing?" (which meant, "Dear daughter, I am concerned at how you will get home in the storm. Would you like me to pick you up and take you back home when you're done?"). I said, "I'm just going to use their computer and pick up a hold." He said, "You're not coming over later?" I said, "No... I've got to get home and do some chores." He said, "I could drive you back," in his patented half-offer, half-belligerant delivery that is so uniquely Dave Fisher. I told him we'd bus home, I thanked him, and said I'd see him at 5 when they came over for dinner.

I love my father and that's one of the major, and I mean major reasons we moved here - to be near my family while my father was facing the last days - or months, or years; whatever his cancer affords him - of his life. But sometimes he and my mother tire me out. His grumpiness, and even more so her excuses for it (for her own personal settling and to encourage my brother and I to settle for it as well). I still love them both and more than ever. I don't feel victimized by them in any way; I am fully aware that I can bring my desire for different behavior to them at any time, and I have in the past. I am proud of Ralph and I for giving them the kindness of moving my family close to them. I am glad for their help, strings-attached as it sometimes seems. Today, I was glad for a trip to the library out of the wind and rain. That, and the bus-fare I stole out of their van for the trip back home.

Labels: bike, financial panther, FOO, iBeak, inter-tron, library, rain, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

This year for my eldest's kindergarten I started work (unpaid) as an assistant to my daughter's classroom every Monday morning while Nels is in school. Let me tell you, getting to know one's child and other children within the school system is a great opportunity and I've been delighted to discover how much I enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I like my friends' children but it has to be admitted these children (and my own) could often be viewed as obstacles to my socializing time with their mommies and daddies (anyone who's been an at-home mommy or daddy of young children knows how much "quality time" with your children is instantly available or forced upon you; hanging out during the day with other parents of young children affords at least some adult-level interaction and pasttimes). At school however there are goals for everyone, there are rules in place and a neutral set of enforcers and pace-setters rather than the children's parents. I find myself really enjoying being an educator rather than a parent or babysitter.

This week the children are "studying" a story about peanut butter sandwiches. I think the exercise focuses on reading comprehension (I have noted that classroom reading exercises are well below what my guess is Sophie's second grade reading level - AR test pending; however, for the median classmate the academic exercises feel spot-on and all the children are attentive and seem to love them). While helping yesterday Mrs. P. asked me if I could come the next day and bring bread, so we could make peanut butter sandwiches (part two of the scientific experiment?).

So this morning with Nels in bike I brought homemade bread, Mrs. P bought the PB and J and we made sandwiches. I took a picture of the little kids freaking out joyously when Mrs. P. announced our project. During sandwich-making time (which coincided with other "stations" of art project and academic work on the letter "P") Nels participated at a very good kgarten level, working so hard on a drawing / sticker exercise we were forced to take the sandwich with us on the bike trip to the bus station. Next week Mrs. P. tells me they are doing pizza and if she's into it I will likely bring the dough and sauce, she can do toppings, and we can cook them in the kitchen. As you can imagine I am well-loved in that class. And I like each and every kid, and really feel like I'm getting to know them. Even The Little Sweet Psychotic (a beautiful, precious girl who scares me with her non-confrontational yet extremely confrontational behaviors) gave me two hugs before I left.

After class time Nels and I biked to the bus station to take the bus to Aberdeen's LYS. After a very nauseating trip (I am very prone to carsick on our busses, sadly) I had Ralph meet me at the downtown shop and take Nels on a photo walk while I learned how to pick up the heel flap and inset to make the sock gusset. I was really irritated to discover the lack of "exact science" in picking up the stitches. However from here on out it looks like super easy sailing and then being walked through kitchener stitch by my fabulous local mentors. Yay socks!

Tonight: library date with kids, board meeting for the preschool, dinner at my 'rent's while watching 300 with the associated rifftrax. A little slice of heaven for me, well except for that Board meeting.

Labels: bike, bus, film, food geekery, knitting, Nels, school, Sophie

Ralph took a photo walk this morning; he's been checking out a camera from the college.

Yesterday didn't go so well. Sure, it started out great. I'd planned a brief Portland roadtrip with Sophie to visit my brother (and maybe my sister too, if the schedule worked out). I woke very excited about a sunny-weather trip. I spent the morning with my kids (both off school for Professional's Day) cleaning house and giving them their Spring Cleaning, a fun little ritual where we clip nails, clean ears, and do an extra squeaky-clean full body overhaul, the three of us splashing in the tub. Sophie brought out her two green vinyl suitcases and we packed. She rattled off the itinerary for our trip to see Uncle Billy. We went to a six-kid playdate at A.'s while I helped two girlfriends with Halloween sewing.

Then, leaving A.'s house just a tad bit later in my schedule - my car wouldn't start. And in a, it's-not-just-the-battery-nor-even-the-starter way. I got a ride into town and decided to feel in despair. My dad came back out with me to A.'s and we confirmed the diagnosis that I was kind of screwed.

By 4 PM I was still in Hoquiam (not happily cavorting with my brother), having paid most of my Portland budget to No No's Tows. The roadtrip was scrapped. I had a hard time telling Sophie this because I was upset, she was upset, and I didn't want her to "read" more upset than there needed to be.

At about 4:30 things slowly began to improve. The van - after lots of helpful suggestions and understanding plus phone calls from A.'s house - had made it to our trusted auto shop. My mom, kids and I went to our favorite cafe and I had some fresh coffee. My mom bought me a few homebaked cinnamon rolls to take home. The waitress at the cafe brought in hand-me-downs she'd reserved for Nels (OK, that's just so sweet). Mom and I made a date to meet up for some sock-knitting tips at the LYS the next day.

I headed home, thankful for kind friends and family, knowing Ralph would be there soon to meet me and try to cheer me up.

Labels: birlo, letdown, pdx, roadtrip, sewing, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Yesterday afternoon I found myself in Aberdeen in the van while it was pouring rain, I had our kitty Harris in the passenger seat, and we'd just escaped the a shop after being hijacked by two separate store employees who were lonely and we'd been in there so long I'd had to timeout Nels (watching the van through the window) and by the time I got out to him he'd been crying and holding his pee and had to go and I wouldn't go back inside (both b/c of the employees' overtalking tendencies and Nels' immediate need) and I said, "Sophie, give me that cup!" and like a well-trained pit crew member she knew what I was doing and got the cup and took off the lid and I got Nels out of his carseat and pulled down his pants and he peed and RAPIDLY began to fill the cup, stopping 1/4" before the top.

As it was happening I was thinking how all of it made sense on some level (except the kitten but he was really lonely and is a good car rider) but I'm pretty sure no one else would have thought it made sense to watch how it all went down.

Afterwards, I poured the fresh hot cup of steaming urine into the gutter. I'm sure that's not the first time anyone's leaned out of a car in downtown Aberdeen and done the same.

Tonight I finished "Freaks and Geeks". I've never seen a show before like it and I see why it's rated so high on IMDB. The funny thing is, it started out decently enough for the first ten or so episodes (there are 18 total). But by the end I was in tears just about each chapter. I've also never experienced high school all over again, but I sure did during that show in the most amazing way - in a good way. Thanks Chris, for the recommendation. I got through them all eventually.

Tonight also marks the first five inches of my first sock! Yes, I'm knitting socks. I'm told it's addictive although it seems to be more like: knit knit knit knit for hours and hours and hours - here's a wristband!

And finally: newness in our household as Nels gave the kitty a bath. Using the toilet. Yes, it really happened. I can't really talk much more about it.

Labels: Aberdeen, family life, Harris, knitting, Nels, pets, rain, random

Today after a memorably annoying lunch date (kids were not on best behavior) Sophie and I rode the bus back from Aberdeen while Ralph and Nels took to Top Foods for groceries. Sophie and I waited a long time for our bus into Hoquiam, and it was cold even in the bus shelter. Then there was a twenty-five minute wait at the HQX station - Saturdays and Sundays the bus routes are nearly dead - and by then the cold was in our bones so we took my last $2 to the 7th Street Sweet Shoppe to split a cocoa. Here's what's funny: the proprietors of this little cafe ply my children with more sweets and extra helpings than a grandma on love-crack. Today I didn't escape without double cocoa portions, extra whip cream, and a giant cake mix cookie to take home to give my kids after dinner (this last excuse was used when I claimed my children had had enough sweets for the afternoon). Jennifer, the patroness of the shop, especially wanted my son to get his part of the decadent cookie. He is her biggest fan in an almost stalky way, which by the way is kind of cute on a three year old.

The leg of bus route that gets us closest to our house runs through the more run-down or low income area of town known as North Hoquiam - my girlfriend who grew up there affectionately calls it "the hood". This is also the most active part of the Hoquiam bus route since those that take the bus in Hoquiam and Aberdeen are usually poor, carless, or both. Today as we passed the Lincoln Commons we let out a man and he winked and smiled sexily at the driver as he crossed behind the bus. He was one of those men that retains a certain handsomeness and dangerousness - a Daniel Desario or Danny Zuko - keeping his lothario charm despite years of bars, pulltabs, smoking cheap non-brand cigarettes and living a life of, well, low-income apartments I guess. In any case I got a kick out of his optimism as the driver in question was a big-boned toothsome woman with Barbie highlights at least fifteen years his junior. She didn't look interested in flirting in any way, her kohl-rimmed eyes weary and irritable from working on a Saturday in the rain.

We passed by the apartments again on my way back from the Perry Ave. loop and I found myself wondering about the families and citizens in my [hometown] / new burg. Who where these people and what were their lives like? How does it feel if you ride the bus because it's your only way to get around? Why do some people live with their family, even a large family, stacked up in these tiny apartments on the edge of town? Why do those who can and do own a spacious home all to themselves pretend these others don't exist or flat out decide they don't exist for all practical purposes? Why am I hearing so much about "the hills" and "the flats" these days - more than I ever heard of the haves and have-nots when I was growing up? Why am I puzzling over remedial "injustice of the world" questions as if I was a thirteen year old just discovering them?

Hey, you know what's awesome? People that let their dogs crap on our sidewalks and yards and lawns without cleaning it up. Today was really great because just a few minutes ago I was helping Sophie remove her boots when my hand, gripping the heel, came into contact with the slimy, rancid horrible backend vomit of some neighborhood pooch. Although this is the first time I have mashed my hand into dogshit, the weird thing is my body had a preternatural awareness of what this substance was, right upon contact. After my revulsion and anger I washed her boot and scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed my hands and I can still smell shit. You know, there's almost no point to this tirade - I don't really feel any differently on the subject than I did almost two years ago.

My brother is moving to Portland in two days. Wish him luck! We've been feeding him a lot. I think he is kind of lonely yet overworked and stressed lately.

Labels: bus, HQX, i'm a hater, rain, shit

When you spend your time with a series of mentally non-challenging and thankless (as in, you get directly acknowledged for around ten percent of your) tasks - a huge, bottomless series that swallows you up - it feels one thousand times worse when you screw up. Because it's not like you fail in something that was really difficult or time-consuming or even Big Picture Important. You screw up on some tiny thing that most people might think, "What's your problem? Pull it together!" or maybe, "Who cares?" about.

In this case I'm speaking of Picture Day, which is today at Sophie's school. So for either Ralph or I this involves filling out a form and writing a check and dressing the child and making sure they're clean, presentable, and / or cute. Well, I completely forgot. So this morning Sophie went without money, without a form, and dressed "like a boy" (her words; sometimes she chooses this costume) which included a hand-me-down camouflaged longsleeve t-shirt. When I got back from dropping her off - actually ahead of the timeline, thanks - I checked my mail and discovered my error (thanks, GCal, for being on the ball!). This meant going back to the school with abovementioned details sorted out. The one neat thing about this annoying, small-potatoes quasi-waste of my time was seeing my daughter light up when I arrived. Not just happy to see me as she put her hand trustingly in mine, but I saw that she viewed my surprise visit not as evidence I screwed up (as an older child might) but purely as evidence that I take good care of her. Awwww.

Today I - yet again - watched a friend's child for a few hours. This was a shift from 11:30 to 2:30 and I took the child C. along with Nels for a long walk to a local cafe and back. C. is loved especially by Nels and my husband. She is a very sweet, social, direct child. She has a few quirks that make me laugh, one of which is that most of the time her speech is like the Weekend Update guest suffering from voice immodulation; the other is that when she's upset about something she descends into a sort of silent hangdog standing / crumpling / threatening-to-cry / series of events that is quite distinct (my children scream or do this crazy phoney hyperventilating thing which is filling me with rage even as I talk about it) and I only notice it after a few minutes when I realize she hasn't spoken for a while. Nels loves, simply loves it when I have extra children to care for. Besides some kitten-torture (today Harris was banished outside our entire duration of in-home with C.; one of the reasons we went on the walk was to allow our Regal Prince his indoor naps) Nels and his (lady-)friends get along wonderfully.

Tonight's family events: Abbi's fingerling potatoes, our first Rifftrax (LOTR:FOTR), (hopefully) my brother over for dinner again.

Quote of the day: Sinead O'Connor, referencing Britney Spears:

"I think to attack someone as a mother is very dangerous. I would say that's what puts a young girl on a precipice which is very, very dangerous, in my opinion. Some people may end up really regretting the way they're treating her."

Labels: birlo, film, Mama's crazy, school

Today my husband sends me this Newsweek article regarding something any traditional (that is to say, two-parent) family knows: that even in dual-working families, mom is doing more of the family work.

There are two potential reactions to this newsbit. There are those without families who read this or hear of it and they simply don't care. Maybe they think it doesn't really matter, doesn't really affect them. If they start families of their own someday their tune will change and they'll be fighting over this mundane shit. Even if they don't start a family, these issues affect them. Cultural and societal expectations of men and women regarding work and the home infuse our entire experience of living, whether we are aware of it or not.

I found the article mostly a waste; under-explored, trite. But the subject itself is very much with me and has been for the last half-decade. In fact on Monday I sat on my counselor Cheryl's couch in our first-ever session without Ralph and this was part of what we talked about - the societal function and personal experience of housewifery. I expressed my growing frustration and disillusionment, an ennui that in part stems from a lack of acknowledgment within my community and larger culture. Cheryl asked me to provide some examples of this and I had so much to say I almost choked on the words: the categorical assumption that my time is valueless and fluid; an observance of how when mommy starts feeling ready to work her income is deemed "supplemental" and therefore any childcare expenses are de facto deducted from her earnings (as opposed to a combined income); how in most blended families I've known or experienced it is stepmom, not bio dad, who manages her step-children's school, doctor visits, social calendar, care and clothing - she is merely expected to do so and in fact Daddy often quickly sits back and lets his former and current mate to sort out the messy issues between families. Some of my examples had no relevance to my personal life (we are not a blended family and I have not seriously considered working out of the home, for instance) and most of my examples have so little to do with my own family (Ralph and the kids are genuinely full of love and acknowledgment) - but these examples and others have everything to do with an oppressive and depressing outer reality.

These issues are not a problem for breeding females alone. Whether the other caregiver (hereafter called "daddy" for ease's sake) can express it or not, he suffers as well. Speaking in generalities I have seen how the lack of know-how, competence, and ownership that daddy feels will create - often, not always - a father who feels out of their element, constantly nagged or perhaps just not ever "getting it right", and tempted to carve out limited space (his shop, hunting trips, the game of airplane referenced in the article) where he can experience life with his children in a meaningful way. Daddy feels a stranger, intruder, or bumbler in his own home; perhaps he is resentful or believes his partner over-exacting or on the opposite end of the spectrum, a slovenly housekeeper (my husband, having spent a year being housekeeper and caregiver - not merely a weekend here or there - never makes this erroneous charge). Daddy pines for time to himself or out with friends while often not fulfilling an egalitarian view of time at home. Neither mommy or daddy are truly satisfied and both feel frustrated with the other and sometimes, their children.

I notice Daddy's consistent contributions seem to be alternately glorified or denigrated. If I hear one more time how "lucky" I am that my husband can and will "babysit" the kids I'm going to deliver a cock-punch (altho' it's usually females that tell me this). On the other hand, when is the last time we ladies earnestly thanked our partners for some of their consistent and not-so-glorious efforts for the family? For instance their willingness to drag the garbage can out in the freezing morning rain, to take a late-night drive to the store (and yes A., I know M. really likes to do that; most people don't), their tireless efforts to actually accomplish tasks on a list that we make for them (I would not like to do that, myself). Have we thanked them for their good spirits when the fact is their work - whether they love or hate it - is made liquid into cash which is devoured, literally, by those in their household? Have we stepped back and marveled at their ability to eschew powerful cultural expectations of being lavicious, selfish caveman lusting afer boobage and instead remain faithful, sexually available, and loving to us for life?

I am grateful to my husband for everything listed above and more. But when it comes to the distribution of household work, I honestly feel like if I worked outside the home it would be easier to know when I'm being taken advantage of for being Mama. Because as it stands, it is right and good that I am doing more work than Ralph. Ralph has his fifty or so hours away from home and during that time I'm expected to do my job - cook, clean, launder, run errands, and mess about with the kids by grooming, loving, reading to, feeding, disciplining and encouraging them; an endless series of repetitive tasks, none of which are rocket science but the balance and coordination required to pull them all off can be by turns draining or exhilarating.

I imagine in dual-earning families it often just seems like a heck of a lot of work when parents return home; both of them tired and wanting respite, wanting time together, time alone, time as a family. Frustrated by projects or housework that is never done to one or both's satisfaction (ask my brother about, "This house WAS looked good!") but at least a fair bulk of the work needed is not definitely placed in one parent's sphere (as in the SAHM's case). I feel like if I worked outside the home as much as Ralph did I sure as hell wouldn't meekly accept more of the dishes than he does.

I have some thoughts regarding the deficit in husband / daddy care - opinions that are based on my own experiences and that of close friends (literally three minutes after Ralph sends me this link a friend (mother to two) says via IM, "Kelly, I need to ask you a question. How clean is your house? ... [I]f you are busy now, I would really like to have this conversation with you at a later date. I trust your opinion and know we are coming from a similar place as domestic workers."). I'm sure I've exceeded Chris's word count tolerance; I'll step off the soapbox in just a minute. Here's my summation, since the article above came nowhere close.

First, let's have some acknowledgment of one another. People - especially you boys - take some time off to say, "Thank you" to your Mama, even if only in your own mind and heart (in person would be better). The truth is, your mom probably worked too hard without enough self-care and respect for what she did. Perhaps she never took the time to find out what she wanted for herself. That's her deal. But in the meantime, thank her for her efforts.

Men, put your minds to how you can help out at home. Diminishing the significance of the ongoing argument about where the dishes go after they're washed is Assholian. You benefit from these systems as does your children. Man up. You have a big brain in your cavity; you are not a clueless Homer Simpson even if you sometimes use it as an excuse to be lazy. Still not convinced? To be over-frank, putting your mind into your household will get you laid. And I mean your wife will buy something slutty and do something really dirty to you. Do you want that or not?

Ladies, ask your man what he might need. Let your kids be dirty or unfed or screechingly loud for a few minutes to focus on your man. It may surprise you. Maybe he doesn't need a night out with friends or more time at his hobby. Maybe he needs more sex (that goes a long way for lots of men), a nicer dinner on the table, or ten minutes to himself when he gets home - after which point he should focus his ass on the family a bit more. Ask more from him and rather than nagging or complaining or accepting his hangdog I-fucked-up routine, meet him with clear-eyed questioning and don't let him off the hook. Don't look at this as you being a Mama to another (adult) child; look at this as an adult who has an agreement with another adult.

And ladies, since you're kind of an overworked mess, take time to acknowledge your needs. Quit pretending that's anyone's job but your own.

Kids, maintain. You're doing good. We love you.

Labels: Alpha-bitch, family life, homesteading, Ralph, sahm

I'm back at the library, hiding from the rain. There's a woman next to me with a passel of kids - one of them in a carseat caddy. Her kids are whining and fighting in the kid section as she types oblivious and in a few minutes when I leave I'm going to use this opportunity to NOT clean the child area to the standards I normally do.

I had a significant parcel of time to myself this last weekend; first, a visit to the Olympus Spa - truly one of the more nurturing places I've ever been - to meet Abbi and Becca (naked, all of us). Then up to Seattle to be shown the sites (including a new dot com startup office, fun for me) by a friend. Being with myself, being away from family, I caught myself really thinking and saying a lot of things that dismayed me. Inner darkness, hello! Hadn't seen you in a while. I was also surprised how much I enjoyed the bits of alone-ness. The absolutely crawling traffic north of Tacoma - fine. I was by myself, well-fed and nourished, with coffee and the iPod. Deep-breaths. It felt great and I think I need to do it again, and soon.

The holidays are officially commencing for our household with the Hogaboom Halloween preparations (it's been cute to find on the computer Ralph's plans for a Destro or Cobra Commandor ensemble). I don't find holidays at all exhausting because I don't feel pressure to spend a lot or go visit any particular people. I just plan things I enjoy (having said that, this season will probably kick my ass in some so-you-think-you're-gonna-be-smug karmic way). Sophie reviewed the fabrics I bought for her elaborate choice of costume (thank Sweet Baby Jesus she eschewed any frilly princessy garbage, at least for this year); my mother, away now for a month and missing my children, has been more than eager to agree to Nels' even more technically-challenging plan.

Tonight in honor of a recent amazing lunch date at Vic's with Amy I am making a double-crusted pizza pie; tomorrow, black bean soft tacos and slaw. My kids have been choosing our dinner plans (last week's highlights included homemade hamburger buns for burgers, homemade fries and Haagen Daaz milkshake).

The mom I spoke of is abusively railing at her kids to clean up while not helping them in any particular way (browsing at books ten feet away and barking out random commands). It's tempting to judge but I've been that woman myself.

And so goes the domestic beat on our Monday morning.

Labels: food geekery, friends, halloween, holidays, Sophie

Living with Nels is kind of like living with a tiny, savage little creature. For instance today when I returned from my trip with Amy to Olympia (fabric-buying; Halloween sewing looms) and after I popped into the bathroom and out he'd gone outside to the driveway, dropped his drawers, and peed in the driveway. Too desperate to wait and too considerate (?) to barge in on my bathroom time. Then an hour later he opens Sophie's bento, scarfs the leftovers, and lays down on the dining bench to fall asleep.

Last night he was teasing me - I called to my husband from the living room and Nels turned to me. "Did you say poopy Ralph?" he asked quizzically, head to the side and a mock-earnest expression on my face (No, I did not say that. I have never said that.). A few minutes later as I sipped from my mug, "Mama," he says sweetly, "don't drink your coffee." "Why not?" I asked. He smiled. "Because it's poisoned."

Labels: Nels