I tasted my first fresh Krispy Kreme today (what can I say, I'm the OG Country Mouse). It was a struggle, but I got it down eventually (actually, the remainder I picked up are calling to me now). More surprising than the donut hype around the legendary junk food was the coffee - hot, fresh and tasty - and the fact the retro 50s squeaky-kleen donut factory ambience actually worked on me. I felt pleased and comforted and totally forgot I was sitting in the middle of a square mile of strip-mall concrete in Puyallup.

My fabric trip with my mom (and Nels) was bookended by watching my parents fight about their severely damaged roof, a post-storm saga that does not seem to be winding down to a close (yesterday they had another contractor quit on them). The fighting was kind of surprising because growing up my parents "rarely" fought and somehow the legacy was they "didn't" fight. Today there was yelling and cussing and later a cell-phone apology (delivered by my mother who, distracted and sad she'd yelled at my dad, pulled over on our way out of Aberdeen in order to call) and then when we got back, a wind-up, more yelling, tears, and stomping. "It's not my fault," my father reminds my mother as he angrily saddles up to drive to the roofer's offices. She doesn't quite apologize again, still angry about the stream of contractors she's alienated, anxious to stop the deterioration of her home (the tarping fix fell apart and water damage has started to hurt the insides of the house), and mad that my father isn't taking care of it in the way she feels he should.

My son and I witness these words. I feel badly for my parents. I am sad they are struggling and fighting over these things while my dad is so sick. I am sad that my parents, who used to enjoy household projects together in their mutual interest and good health, now have a total pain-in-the-ass problem that's costing money, taking time, and making my mom crazy which results in her picking on my dad. My dad is so thin he has those crazy old man legs they can cross at the upper thigh. Yet despite this, despite a near-skeletal frame (he's lost an inch to his height, did I tell you that?) and his tests and poisons he still remains my father, the same. I am not all that sorry for him in the sense I think he can still handle life's complexities. But I am sorry that my mom has this household burden at the same time she's facing the poor health of her mate. Oddly, or perhaps you understand, it's exactly experiences like today that make me glad I moved here to be witness, to help if I can, and to participate in their lives through good or ill.

The fabric store itself was great. Mom and I stuck to our small lists (I did not select an underlining for my brother's coat yet; the addition of my four year old to the shopping experience caused us to cut things a bit short) and found things in short order. I felt joy at the fabrics I saw, more types that I could have pictured, and I did not find myself longing for fabrics I can't have. This is a good thing. I saw dual-colored zippers and plush fake fur and lovely wools and found four color combinations of the rare-ish bonded sherpa / minkee fleece I'd sought for my baby slipper project. I also was cheered to discover their minimum yardage cut is 1". It just seemed so sweet and accommodating on their part.

It's funny to visit "the city" and suddenly realize I could find socks for Sophie, or face wash, or exactly the restaurant food I crave, or the perfect color of sheets, or a tiny teapot from an Asian grocer or whatever. I get so used to being in a small town where your spontaneous creativity is hampered by what you can lay hands on (which does make the occasional inspired find all the more exciting). In cases like today, a list is the way to go. Otherwise I just feel an envious sense of overwhelm.

And now, I have a bootleg copy of Sweeney Todd to finish. I think I'm going to get on that.

Labels: film, FOO, food geekery, Grazdma, Nels, OG country mouse, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Nels has very specific preferences and plans. For instance after his late nap today while sitting on the counter he directed my husband to putting in hairclips and ponytail, with about four hundred colored bobbypins. He was very dissatisfied when he felt up for the ponytail and at first my husband thought he wanted it lower. But then Nels made it clear he wanted it up high but long, down his back - "just like Sophie!" - and when Ralph couldn't make this happen my son threw back his head and wailed.

You may be thinking my son has a touch of the femme but, a few minutes later, he also told Ralph about looking forward to growing hair on his penis.

Later, removing all his clips for the bath we exchange the following.

Me: "You looked real pretty today, Nels."
Sophie: "Boys don't look pretty."
Me: "Yes they do. Johnny Depp is pretty. Christian Bale is pretty."
Sophie: "Martin Luther King is pretty."*
Nels: "Chris is pretty."
Me: "Chris who?" ... "Chris Brummel?"
Nels: "Yeah. He has a beard. He has a white hat." Then Nels says a bunch of gibberish about bowling and basketball which I later realize is Wii-related.** "Yeah. He's pretty."

So the recap. Long, beautiful girlie hair. And pubes. And a big bushy beard. And the Wii. I guess it all makes sense.

* Thanks for the one-upsmanship in making me look really shallow, Sophie.

** From a visit in December. Coincidentally it's Chris' birthday today and he re-launched his rather awesome personal website.

Labels: friends, girl life, Nels

Yesterday, annoyed that taking rest the week before had not resulted in a complete recovery, I simply didn't rest. And perhaps in karmic bodily retribution, last night I had the worst case of stuffed-up head I'd ever had. I felt like I'd been hit in the face with a big, blunt object - without the pain, but with all the swollen pressure. A shot-glass of the blue-green heavy duty called Nyquil provided means to sleep through the congestion. Waking up after mouth-breathing all night: priceless.

Today about thirty minutes before school's close I get a call that my daughter is sick; her ear hurts. She'd mentioned this in the morning but had not felt hot nor looked feverish so I'd sent her off. I help Nels into layer upon layer and we go pick up his sister. Home again I begin an afternoon meal of soup (garlic sauteed in coconut oil, broth, pasta, cayenne, lemon, egg), salted cucumber, and sliced blood oranges while my daughter falls asleep in front of the fire, an exhausted pile of empty-looking clothes.

Ralph too is sick but did not stay home from his day trip to Olympia. Only Nels and Harris remain cheerful and virile, my son quickly scuttling under the kitchen table when I catch him, barechested and eating directly from the sugar tin. I place a small table for him in my bedroom so we can watch a movie with monsters together and wait for the man of the house to return.

Labels: food, illness, Ralph, roadtrip, school, Sophie

I have to admit, there was no real reason for me to hang out for the Group Circle time at my daughter's class (which started two hours late today for snow delay) except I had missed seeing those children (I skipped last Thursday's classtime due to illness). Today when it was their turn to talk both Sophie and Nels separately shared about Sophie's new bed. Tom especially always says hi to me, and seems to relish saying "Mrs. Hogaboom". I think all the children like me. It's not that I'm all that likable and not only due to the fact I feed them something each week; it's because children are easy to please when you take time to pay attention to them.

Before I left Sophie took the teacher's chair and read a book of her own premeditated selection (Theo and the Blue Note, a great story) to her class. She did a great job. I was fighting back tears. Not because of the "accomplishment" of her reading but because it struck me how fast our children attain skills and kindnesses when it seems only yesterday you felt confused how to help them find them.

But today went sideways in a couple ways. For one, I was up at 4 AM today with a head packed full of cold again. By 7:40 AM I already felt weary and dejected, and my day was just starting. Then it bellied up and got cold and snowed, preventing a bike ride this morning. And later, after running grocery errands with my mom and Nels, it happened again. This time was funnier because my mother was unsure of the 8 oz. cup capacity (adequate for the 3 year old's bladder) and because I "made" her take the still-warm pisscup into the house to throw away. For some reason she did it, too, with that expression on her face like a cat makes when it smells something rank.

Here's hoping - hoping! - for a restful afternoon.

Labels: books, Grazdma, grocery opus, Nels, Sophie

When I get inspired it's a glorious thing. I'm liable to tear a whole room apart, clean, and reassemble. Or run off to a craft store and purchase a handful of 55 cent vellum sheets for homemade cards; rummage through the hardware store spending way too much time on something silly and mundane; change needles on my machine, surf Etsy or Flickr and think of what I want to sew or draw or write on. I got extra screw-off time this morning as Ralph took the kids swimming and then to freinds' for lunch.

My father came over at two PM - barely able to get through a work session after his Thursday chemo - to help Ralph build Sophie's loft bed. Before they start my husband asks, "So any changes to the plans?" and my dad replies, "No... I mean not unless you've changed something." To which Ralph says, "Look, I just want to know we can work in [awkward] silence the whole time." They vanish into the next room with drill and two by fours and saws and (I hope) a level.

After my father leaves in the early evening - very sick, in fact - the family reconvenes. Sophie so loves the promise of the new bed that she perches up there - on the unpainted plywood plank - with a few books to read, bright with happiness. Nels scuttles off post-dinner and Ralph and I finish out our conversation about our current activities. I wander into the living room while sipping coffee and rice milk and my eye wanders into the dark bathroom where Nels sits, perched on the toilet, shirt lifted to show his newly-fed frog belly as he takes care of toilet business. "It's me," he grins at me when I turn his way. The little hobgoblin.

Tonight: endless zine work, proofreading. Homemade Valentine's Day cards. Loud music and the sounds of kids splashing in the bath. Everyone stays up late and we watch MST3K together. Family life really works for me, sometimes.

Labels: film, homesteading, Nels, Ralph, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, zine

Today dawned hopeful, cold and clear - and plopped down on stuffy, whored-out and pissy. I am having a terribly discouraging time with aspects of Nels' preschool environment. I am having a lot of difficultly lately interacting with my son and expecting respect while getting along (when did he turn into a messy-headed wolf cub?). I am having an annoying time with the local printery. But mostly, I'm having the worst time overcoming my residual head cold and my poor attitude.

So, it's time for a little gratitude. Here are some great things that have come out of the last few days:

• Helping my children learn more chores (they are surprisingly adroit!)
• Explaining money-saving to them both (Nels' goal: a squeaky duck; Sophie's, winter boots)
• Explaining "flashing" to them both (thank you, John Waters cameo!)
• Sophie's term for a productive cough: "hork ball"
• Nels' kisses and cuddles (when he's not directly defying me at every turn)
• New sewing patterns in the mail - Victorian garments (ooh, practical!)
• New laser printer (zine approaches self-sufficiency)
• Ralph's support (very well-rendered this week)
• Friends either helping or offering to help
  
• Ladies' Night at deli tonight
• Brown sugar ham sandwich. 'Nuff said.

I feel a lot better typing that out.

In other news: Sophie is getting a new loft bed in her room now shared with Nels (P.S. I like sewing or the possibility of sewing more than a potential for my own children's coddled existence!). I was recently re-reminded of why we are glad to live our lives more simply (and no, I'm not referring to our phone and DSL services' disconnection for non-payment, which has now been remedied). We're considering going to one car although I will have to draft up my last will and testament now that I'm biking in Grays Harbor. Harris and Blackie have to go to the vet under false premises to have things cut off them (nuts, cancerous growth resp.). My brother never writes nor calls from Portland, the ass. And we are actually very sad here at Casa Del Hogaboom over Heath Ledger's recent demise (rare pop-culture reference, here).

Labels: film, i'm a hater, illness, Nels, Ralph, Sophie, writing, zine

Dear Friend,

You forget that I knew you as a girl; I didn't forget. So today I am sad to see your spark dampened, the girl I knew who threw her head back and laughed and was beautiful and cruel like a dark sun of her own. The girl I rode with who was free and unfettered and knew - at least while with me she did - that she didn't have to apologize for her nature nor improve upon it. She was (is) good enough for me to run out into the night and share meals with our fingers in the day and say crass things over the phone and pen poor poetry together and take time to talk talk talk about our relationships and occasionally throw the rest of the world out the window for just us and a cigarette.

Now age, moral constriction, gossip, husbands, children, in-laws, jobs pile up and squeeze you into some other shape and you take them all on your shoulders and work for them. You are still strong; you are still wild. But you don't run any more. When did the assumed esteem of these people* start to matter so much to you? Do you know those who love you prize you not for the work you do but for the reasons I loved you as a girl - and those that don't love you can go to hell for all I care?

It's a strange thing that, at least in our peer group, it borders on the offensive if I comment in any way that's not flattering or shallow or easy-come-easy-go. So, say, I can't really mention if your kids are acting up too much lately and you seem tired or you seem to have gained weight on the ass and around the eyes, or wonder aloud how it is that in the years stacking up you haven't succeeded in getting the job or the non-job that you always said you wanted. I better not say Hey, I know what it's like to not like one's husband because of course our story must coda with the requisite: Oh, our marriage has it's ups and downs but [ insert euphamism for 'everything's perfect, I'm fine'! ] rather than, Holy shit I am so sick of this man right now! Pass the reefer.** If I said any of these things aloud you might very well think I'm picking on you or that we're having a dangerous (and real) conversation. I think we'd move past it and you'd realize that I'm not, that I love you, that I want to see you cared for, that you're safe with me. But it makes me wonder why women can't speak more frankly to one another; or at least, women of our age.

I'm told that as we grow older, that when our children start taking themselves to soccer practice or when they move to college or out of the house or when menopause hits, that we will achieve some kind of wildness and freedom, some candid repertoire and no longer need to be Good Girls (or Wives, or Mothers) but just be ourselves. Somehow the competition for money, a sexy body, a do-right man, well-behaved children will fall away and we'll laugh it off while we seek what we want for ourselves and serve the world as we should.

But I'd like to get started on this today. How do you feel about it?

* With their building blocks and their tiny plastic phones /
Counting on their fingers, with crumbs down their fronts

** I don't smoke reefer with my friends, just so you know. Figure of speech.

Labels: L2A

The HQX bike shop isn't somewhere you'd want to be in the case of an earthquake. Or maybe even someone closing the door ungently. I can see pieces of lath and rafter through many holes in the ceiling. Funnily enough even though the business in the rest of the building - one that's been here for 96 years - is closing shop, the bike shop owner is hoping to not move. I guess he's more confident in century-old, rain-soaked and barely-maintained Harbor structural integrity than I am.

After an hour and a half slot - about what I budget for this bike shop for even the most simple repair - I leave with my new bike hooked up to my old trailer, a setup I had heretofore not managed due to the old hitch on the trailer and the new disc brakes being incompatible. I've also learned a bit about bike pieces and a bit more about T., the shop owner. Putting my kids in the trailer I see they are almost bursting the seams - leggy Sophie looks like she's in a frank breech. I am also dismayed to discover just how much drag the little pot-lickers put on the bike, even on a flat thoroughfare in sunny, clear riding conditions. Also: I've spent a total of $59 (gift money) on two new hitches (my bike and Ralph's) and a cable lock (when the bike costs money I tell myself: one car family, one car family...). The ride is nice, despite the new drag factor.

Our internet was not-so-mysteriously connected and the library remains my spot to scavenge time on gmail. I say adieu!

Labels: bike, HQX, library

Today at 4 AM I awoke congested with a sore, scratchy throat. I suppose it was bound to happen. I've been around various sick folks (my son, my husband, a good friend, and my hostess for the weekend) and putting travel into the equation seals the deal.

At this early hour my husband hears me up and sick and offers to stay home. He is still getting over his illness - an achy, uncomfortable nausea both he and Nels shared over the weekend. Nels himself sleeps in until 10:30 before awaking. Rest, rest, rest. No sewing like I'd planned, or YMCA workout. Nothing done but holding down the fort, watching TV, reading, and maybe knitting.

Sometimes I don't understand my family - meaning my FOO. This morning I notice that when I tell my parents I'm sick, they express no sympathy - only derision. My mom repeatedly asks why Ralph would stay home. She does not ask about my symptoms. My dad actually calls me a "puss" (I end the phone call, disinterested in this). It sounds callous and assy to write about their response here; but those of you with family know there is some way that family behavior seems "normal" when we live it and only seems rude or strange when it's communicated to an outsider. Thinking about it, it bothers me. And I don't understand it. I ask myself: how do I express myself when my family suffers? How do I wish to be treated when I suffer?

My immediate family and my pets are in more of an accord; loving, cuddling. Ralph offers to make coffee, tea, breakfast. I have some hot broth for breakfast, tea, coffee. A bath. My body aches, my head aches, and I feel chills. Time to go back to bed and maybe later, trying the third treatment:

Labels: FOO, illness, Ralph

My trip to Port Townsend, taken almost a year after we moved to HQX, has come and gone. I enjoyed myself doing what I like to do; taking a leisurely schedule and breaking bread with a handful of dear friends. I was oddly relieved to see that very little felt different; the town was just as it was, warts and loveliness both. Business owners will still doing their thing and restaurant menus and offerings remained the same. The weather competed for Grays Harbor in terms of winter blah (although my logical mind knows this was only a kindness bestowed on me by the weathergods to soften the soaked mossy reality of my new home). My friends' lives hadn't suddenly taken wing without me. The children I'd so missed hadn't changed so much as inserted about 6" in their middle somewhere. Port Townsend itself did not evoke wistfulness or sadness so much as seemed a comfortable, parallel dimension of home.

There were cosmetic differences. Ladies seem to have traded in their Danskos for Merrells. An acquaintance's art shop had moved downtown and Swain's checkout counter had moved up in the store. On Saturday I went to a yoga class and re-connected with that aspect of the community, which I discovered I'd missed very much. In both Friday and Saturday night's gatherings I was inspired by the community I'd known with their impulsive creativity, a bubble that expects, experiences, and serves itself a high quality of life indeed.

I spent almost no time alone this weekend which was highlighted by a little incident on Sunday afternoon. Two o'clock found me outside the Model T Pub and Eatery in Hoodsport with my vinyl green suitcase and my sock knitting (Nels' Christmas socks, still unfinished). It's cold - very cold, but brilliant and sunny. I don't want to go inside the pub (a pleasant place) because I want to see my family when they arrive. As I knit away, yarn ball tucked in my pocket, a man emerges from the restaurant and into the sunshine to smoke. He looks like Grays Harbor stock - handsome but weathered, black jeans, cowboy hat, and biker jacket. "Knitting!" he drawls, surprised. "You making gloves or socks? Whyn'tcha make me a pair?" I show him my son's socks and he replies, "Well, I can't wear wool. And I can't wear colored clothes, you know, dye. If I wear dye, it soaks into my skin and makes me sick. Of course, I'm sixty-five now, so maybe something's changed..." He goes on to talk about his truck - a Mazda like mine that's just had repairs - and his son who happens to be a mechanic in Port Townsend. He talks about himself and his life as if I'd been standing there waiting to hear, which in a way I had.

Our discussion is interrupted by the arrival of my family. By the time I've put my suitcase in the car he's stepped back inside for another beer or coffee. I wish I would have said, "Nice talking to you!" because I like those interactions. I like having a break from thinking about my own life's plans and experiencing the realities of others, of strangers.

On the drive home my husband queries me about my trip; he asks after our friends, what the surprises were. My kids insist I reach back and hold their hands. They've missed me. When we get home Nels, still feverish and strange from his Saturday illness, directs me under the covers of my bed to "cuttle" as he calls it - folds his hot little arms around my neck and kisses, kisses, kisses me. I can wrap my hand almost all the way around his upper arm. The house is messy and tomorrow we have to travel again but for the moment I feel great being home.

Labels: bad habits, friends, Nels, rain, roadtrip, vacation

Last night my parents watched our children for the first time for a sleepover night. It involved a makeshift bed on the floor with lots of quilts and falling to sleep while watching a kids' movie. In the morning my mom made them a far better breakfast than I typically do and got them to school on time easily.

So at 9:19 AM - I wake up. The house is calm, there is no breakfast rush or kids teeth to brush or lunch to fix. I do chores, take a hot shower, listen to music loud and make our bed, begin sewing in my new sewing room. I check and re-check my schedule (Sophie gets out early from school today). Having a house to myself and having no risk the home would get messy anytime I turned around was a revelation. What a nice morning.

Then at 12:15, fully 45 minutes past when I was supposed to pick Nels up from preschool, my girlfriend calls on location to ask if I wanted her to bring my son home.

For about thirty minutes the shock I felt at forgetting my son's pickup time clouded my knowledge of what the chain of events mean - sleepover, then forgetting a child. It's simple: as a parent of young children, if I slow down my breakneck pace I run the risk of losing my system entirely. A more minor example of this was a girlfriend (the same one who brought Nels home today - thank you) who experienced a nice tea and cookie date at my house and was so enjoying herself she forgot her young baby was in the living room, unsupervised. It was like it took her a few moments of being able to straighten her body and not have someone grabbing at her hair before her mind went, "What's different right now... Oh right, the baby! Yikes!"

At least I did not forget Sophie's early release day.

My date night with Ralph was very nice. We both worked on our projects, did a little bit of housework, and watched a movie I'd been meaning to see (it was excellent; my husband didn't seem too impressed although I would have thought he'd love it), and then had some awesome beard nookie (the beard makes everything awesome). I didn't even miss the kids although today I was grinning ear-to-ear to see them again.

Labels: babysitting, family life, Grazdma, Ralph, Ralph's sweet beard

Not everyone has pieced together that I actually do work outside the home. Every Monday I volunteer in my daughter's classroom assisting, usually, with an art project and letter and number exercises. Thursdays I return and bring a snack and (sometimes) a little extra lesson to go along with the snack. Sophie's teacher Mrs. P. is awesome at directing me in a way that corresponds to what they're working on during the week (this week is the well-loved tale The Mitten as illustrated by Jan Brett). About every other Friday I have a shift at Nels' preschool. I'm the secretary on the Board of that preschool which involves a sometimes crippling amount of small but very detail-intensive - well, not exactly busywork, but administrative work. You know, the kind of thing a lot of people don't do until they're older and realize a lot of quality institutions need volunteer work exactly of this caliber. The kind of work you get little thanks for - except from the others working alongside you. And lastly, the whole family is involved in various aspects of running the program at the 7th Street Theatre which isn't as scheduled but is definitely detail-oriented.

My favorite job has to be Sophie's school, so far. I feel it is such a privilege to be able to participate as much as I do in her education and that of her peers. And I have put enough time in to her classroom that I not only feel I know a lot (but certainly not all!) of what goes on during her day, I also know her teachers, her friends, and her world. I never thought of myself as good with kids but my time in her school has made me a kid person, because I see the value in hanging out with children more and more. Each child, to a soul, is treasured by me. Each child is different. Every experience with each child fits them in their own unique way that leaves me storytelling to most anyone who will listen - my parents and husband, usually. The kids make me laugh and surprise me, every day I work with them. I would take any of them home in a minute. I mean, don't worry mom and dad, I don't mean it literally. I mean, "your children have touched me in a very special place and I'm pretty sure I've touched them"... OK, I'll stop there.

Today involved a sewing exercise - students cut out two mitten-shaped construction paper patterns, then we adults helped them punch holes in the perimeter of the mitten and directed them to a running stitch to bind the two pieces. Let me tell you, it restored my faith in my favorite craft of sewing. Every child to an instance enjoyed the process. The boys and girls were of equal ability and interest. Each child was proud of his or her finished work in a way that many previous paper-and-glue projects have not quite spawned.

Even more fun for me was the fact that two of the children who typically struggle with the academic and social learning aspects of kindergarten really excelled at the sewing. One has a speech impediment of sorts that over time I've improved in understanding. The other spends a lot of time in the "watching chair" (time out). Both of these children completed their mittens quickly. One of them was the only child able to course-correct after doing a whip-stitch error. I just loved in my heart to see them do well at something they enjoyed. Because not only do these students get the consideration / stigma of "special ed" kind of help, I get the feeling they are often treated with that "don't expect much" attitude by some of the adults in their lives. It would be tactless of me to say a lot more about the situation, so I won't. Today I was happy to report to Mrs. P. how well each did and how interested they were in the process. I felt proud of them, although they aren't mine and I only get to borrow time with them every now and then.

On my way out of the classroom I stopped into the library to get Sophie's new reading book for study. We reward her with a new comic book each time she gets a 100% test (she is currently joyfully swimming in the Boneville series). It isn't just the comic book reward that keeps her interested in reading; today when I handed her the new book in the car her brows furrowed and she read aloud, perfectly, to her brother. They both simply love to learn and love the world around them. They truly deliver energy and inspiration to the depths of me.

And Nels... "I like your sheets."

Labels: books, gratitude, school, sewing, Sophie

Sleeping with our kids has the benefit - besides a warm cuddly life-affirming experience - of hearing what they say in their sleep. This morning, for instance, Nels was worried about spiders. He kept jabbering about it. In my 6 AM sleepy haze I tried to address his concerns but I must have been lacking as at one point he said, "Mama. Mama, is there a spider here in the bed? - Yes or no?" to get the straight story. Even better: about four nights ago, when suddenly at about 3 AM he said distinctly, "I *EAT* greens!" and then even more hilariously made a huge chomping sound to prove the point. As Ralph and I lay quietly shaking the bed with our silent laughter our three year old made about a half dozen more "for good measure" emphatic chomps before finally quieting back to sleep.

I am currently trying not to hyperventilate at the thought that I might very well be receiving a new sewing machine, and soon, due to the inexplicable potential generosity of my mother. This would be the second of my New Year's resolutions already accomplished in the first month of the year. Did I mention fully three of my five resolutions have to do with buying myself something? Yeah, I know. It means I'm some kind of asshole or something.

You have to understand that this came out of the blue as yesterday, while waiting for our coffee pre-bike ride, my mom went directly from suggesting I save my pennies for a new "low-end" (meaning, $800 or more) sewing machine like she has - to telling me she was thinking of trading in her high-end serger to get me a machine. As a gift. (I think this was her very fast math after I did an out-loud calculation of how long it would take for pennies to get me a new rig.) So tomorrow and Tuesday we'll be going about fishing for a trade-in. It's all a very interesting process for me, and I don't know if I'll end up with a machine or not. I don't pretend to know how her crazy old mind works and I know she doesn't get mine. I'm trying not to think of how wonderful it would be to have a new machine - because a bird in the hand as they say. Don't get your hopes up. Don't sit here, rocking back and forth, wanting a new machine.

Today it was beautiful out and we enjoyed a modest bike ride to the 7th Street Theatre where my husband donated his expertise at getting them set with DSL and my children ran all over the place and tumbled down the ramps while yelling because by noon they'd already had three types of chocolate. Well, I love my new bike. Today Ralph tried to hook the kids' trailer up to it and said, "Hmm, it appears to be rubbing on this part of the bike," and I looked down to see his man-thumb was gripping my disc brakes which are not supposed to be touched by human hand at all, let alone rubbed by a big ol' hardware hookup. This means I'm back to the bike shop ASAP since the shop owner had told me the bike would accommodate the Burley trailer easy and the entire point of my bike acquisition was that of a family transport.

Tonight: a little MST3K courtesy of the DAP project while I attempt to avoid thinking about the bottle of wine Ralph bought.

Labels: gratitude, Grazdma, Nels, sewing, sreep

Today I sustained my first new bike injury. While attempting to strap a cardboard box on my rack (taking a moment to giggle immaturely) the bungee I was using, too short, snapped back and whacked my left index fingernail. I was kind of impressed with how badly this hurt. I now have a nasty bruise under the fingernail and I hope something gross and infected doesn't result. Meanwhile I have Ralph put to work with a Stud Finder (another giggle) to put a hook inside the house for bike storage. Because yes, my bike will be living inside with me.

The local bike shop, I could see myself hanging out there - if I was someone who knew anything about bikes or had more money to spend on them. I have a hard time describing the shop owner T. Firstly, he is a very knowledgeable bike technician and a total pleasure to talk bikes with. Secondly, he is a little bit... different. Personally, I think he's kind of cute but maybe that's because I get inexplicable crushes on focussed mechanical savants who look like they don't have girlfriends. At my parents' last night while I talked about my new bike my husband asked why all bike shop owners are a little odd (he said "weirdo", okay) and I said, "No wait, what about..." and then stopped. Because, well. He was right. I guess there was one bike shop owner in PT that wasn't so much weird as arrogant. But the other two shop owners - woooo! And I had a crush on one of them, too.

Tonight we continued our pleasant weekend experience by a babysitting gift from our friend A. When Ralph and I arrived to pick our children up - after a lovely, lovely dinner at home including uninterrupted conversation - the children were in various states of costumery / undress and watching Ghostbusters (only one of the best family movies ever). On our way out with our two reluctantly-departing children we travelled out the back way to visit A.'s baby goats but the little creatures were apparently sleeping. I didn't know goats took time off like that especially when there was the off chance we were delivering late-night alfalfa.

Then while home Ralph bathes the children and I start come chocolate rye coffee cake (for tomorrow's breakfast - I'd love to make this a Saturday night / Sunday morning tradition) and mix up a batch of laundry soap. Sophie mistakes my grating Fels Naptha soap as a cheese operation and asks for a taste, which I oblige and we laugh at her nose-scrunching reaction.

I love weekends. We sleep in, I make Ralph do stuff, I clean the house, I cook for my family and we cuddle late into the night. Good times.

Labels: babysitting, bike, homesteading, HQX, Sophie

Last night I spent my gym time (twice a week) in a Family Spinning class, which from what I can tell is about the same as a regular Spinning class but doesn't include shrill yelling from the instructor - more like, supportive conversation - and does include arguably less obnoxious music (Family night entailed some Christian contemporary pop rather than, blarf, Fergie). I absolutely love to listen to music while bicycling and at least in Spinning it's entirely safe to do so - if a bit of a sad selection.

I also had a great time, in large part because my two friends Shannon and Jennifer were there. So my normal goofy, snarky humor need not be squelched since I had trusted friends who've know me since the eighties and already know I'm a dork. I also found that my time biking with two children and groceries in a bike trailer was still very much with me. I felt sore after Spinning but it didn't kill me. In fact even at the highest dial point on the bike it wasn't nearly as hard as pulling Sophie and Nels up Hoquiam's big bridge.

And on that note, today thanks to a small donation and with post-payday permission from Ralph, I accomplished one of my New Year's resolutions: I paid off my layaway bike. It awaits me in the garage, about to embark on its maiden voyage. In ideal conditions: cold, wet, and dark. I don't care. My whole life I have only owned cheap / Walmart bikes. I have been towing my trailer on a borrowed big cruiser of my mom's with fatass tractor seat. Even if the bike was OK enough to do it, it wasn't mine. This is mine. It's new. It's going to be getting us around. Nels is only slightly smaller than the installed bike seat so it won't last long, but for a while at least I'll have him behind me and no trailer when it's just he and I.

Sophie just left for her first sleepover next door for a birthday party. She took her little green vinyl suitcase. She was rarin' to go, but kissed us many times to tell us she'd miss us. I am surpressing the urge to stalk the house like the over-involved mother I am. They have a big ol' dog anyway so it wouldn't be wise.

Labels: bike, milestones, Nels, newness

Today.... well, a bit overwhelming in bits and pieces.

On the way to Aberdeen along with my mom she let me stop by the brand spankin' new business of a local blogger, Etsyan, and young mother for a mystery package. After touring their office (the pride in their hard work really shone through) I accepted a gift package and well-wishes for the family. When I got in the van I found in the packet coloring books, crayons, and other little bits for my children as well as a Visa gift card with the following message:

"Sometimes things can be tight - regardless there's always someone looking out for you! Go buy some cheese for those pizzas! [heart] & hugs - [signed] Amazing Family"

I sat there a minute and swallowed hard while my mom asked me what my brief visit was all about. It's hard for me at times because I work so hard to make sure my writing here is never a specific communication to anyone or a plea for any kind of help or consideration (as my friend Cyn says, "can I tell you how I feel without you feeling like you need to solve me"). I always want the freedom to write what I want to write even if that might make others uncomfortable (or maybe, on the other hand, colossally bored, whatever). On the other hand, all the rest of you reading this, you are nowhere near as cool as this woman for how kind she was to me today.

I kid, I kid. No really. I am totally kidding. And yes, I am going to buy us some excellent cheese.

Three minutes after this visit I set my bag of goodies on the floor of the van, get out, and hoist Nels into the parking lot for our all-too-familiar trip to my father's biweekly poisoning session. When we arrive in the new chemo ward (fancy!) I realize I know three of the seven patients there. My own father and two fathers of friends I grew up with. You know, I never get angry at Cancer. But today I was really struck by seeing these men and I felt like there was some cruel joke being played on all of us. Why are these men being stricken, weakened, and yes, taken from us while they still have so much to offer?

The second part of my day I am on foot with my two children through the rain and wind. This is because I had no gas in the van and had piggybacked on my mom's errands (hanging posters for our theatre's upcoming showing of Mary Poppins among other things) so when she suddenly found herself caught short she dumped us in West-ass Hoquiam to take her meeting. Luckily my children are seasoned winter travelers.

"You really need to learn how to play that game," I tell my son as we walk. Nels has this remedial, caveman-like concept of Paper Rock Scissors, the game I've adopted to help the kids choose who gets to ring the bell on the bus, or pick the ice cream flavor to split with one another. He thinks Rock should beat everything else (I swear, this makes sense to me). Depending on Sophie's mood she will either take advantage of this to win, or deliberately Scissors so he gets the prize. When she wins, and we don't do a rematch, he howls with anger.

Spending so much time on foot, bus, and bike (I have $134 left to pay off my new bike's layaway... I am just so excited for it!) is a real blessing. I experience my children, my community, and my world so much more viscerally. Things slow down. I am grateful for my alpaca mittens and I think ahead about packing snacks in my pockets for the kids. I rarely see anyone out with their kids in this town. I see dads walking fast with a kid in a stroller, smoking. That's about it. Everyone else is in cars.

Labels: bus, gratitude, Grazdma, HQX, Nels, on foot, rain

Have there ever been a more connected brother / sister duo than Sophie and Nels? First there's the sleep thing. Wherever the kids start out at night, they end up in our bed by early morning (Nels usually joins us between 2 and 4 AM). So today as I am going about my early-morning shower and washing dishes they are in a pile deep in my bed. After our morning guest E. arrives Nels takes time off playing with her to care for his sister (who started feeling better gradually through the day) by getting her water and feeding her hot cereal. Then, at the tail end of the playdate with E. they show her how to play flashcards: my children both sitting, crossed legs and hands in laps, while Sophie goes through the dual-alphabet cards as "teacher" and Nels models "student". Now as I type this we are at the library, my two taking turns playing on the computer while keeping their voices down. All this in response to my request they not take every board game toy out of the boxes today.

Motherhood has made me superstitious: the moment I give thanks for my children's good health I ahve doomed one of them to fall ill; here I think aloud on their synchronicity and likely they will embark on a catty fighting phase. Maybe the trick is to make sure one avoids gloating and sticks to praise and thanks. I am really grateful for my children and the way they relate to one another. I count on it most days; today I want to take a moment to be glad for it.

In other events: one thing that's not so fun is to be hit with cripping, painful Lady Day cramps in the middle of the day when you're out of home without Midol nor hot water bottle or trashy TV to crash on. What makes it even less fun is for this to happen while bundled up winter-style on a walkabout in HQX, with two young children in tow, needing to do errands then eventually get home and get lunch then dinner (thank you 5 lb. bag of flour!). How I sometimes miss the days where one's emergencies and illnesses really could be focussed on, rather than the background symphony of larger, sometimes stressful dependent-care duties that no one else can or will do for you.

Library time is about over; time to bundle two coats apiece, hats, and off to a visit to my father.

Labels: babysitting, HQX, library, lurve, Nels, paying gig, Sophie

So - whoops, tee-hee! We are temporarily broke. Dry. Out of money. When I say "out" I mean "out". This means no groceries or gas or espresso for us until Thursday (Wednesday, if we want to celebrate early with a check to Top Food & Drug). Hey, it happens. It hadn't happened in a while, so, things were going well as far as I was concerned. And it wasn't even Christmas or anything, which we spent a very modest amount on (by that I mean, I spent less than one hundred dollars). It just... happened. Again. Today I took some random stuff out of the freezer and heated it. Tomorrow I'll get my 5 lb. bag of whole wheat flour from my mom's kitchen and make some pizza without cheese or something.

Our daughter is unexpectedly taking one for the team today, though. She has literally not had a thing to eat except a few ounces of milk this morning. She got sick this afternoon and has been spending her time hot, vomit-y (once), weak, and sleeping. Amazingly she checked herself into the nurse's station at school and slept a while, then returned to class (rather than calling home for me). When I picked her up she was very hot, weak, and a special shade of milky-green. She's been home with me ever since, and I've been taking care of her which mainly consists of bathing, cuddling, and petting her. Poor child.

But thanks, Sophie, for not taking up any of our precious, precious resources. Just a few more days, honey.

Labels: grocery opus, illness, Sophie

Welcome to the world of Relative Invisibility. When I have a day like today I remember that's where I'm supposed to be stationed. The fact is, one's best days as a housewife and mother (or "domestic engineer" as a recent Etsy survey allowed) are often the days where you take care of the things that no one, and I mean no one, notices needed done nor gives acknowledgment to the tasks' completions.

Today it was working a shift at the preschool, signing up for a dessert raffle, stopping at the notary's to sign the school's lease, mailing a package and buying stamps at the post office, dropping a package (Sophie's shoe return to zappos.com) at the UPS store, dropping off a clothing donation to the Salvation Army, dropping off a letter to a friend, picking up fresh eggs, calling in and picking up an (incomplete) shot record for my daughter's pediatrician, taking my daughter to the pediatrician, picking up a prescription at the pharmacy, along with the requisite grooming, dressing, loving, feeding, and guidance to my children. When all was said and done my van was cleaner, my to-do list diminished, and I was ready to go home. At which point, while taking ten minutes at the computer, my son dismantled the Christmas tree and threw ornaments against the wall.

TGIF or; Ralph, you are so taking care of some shit for me this weekend.

Labels: homesteading, Nels

Hoquiam and Aberdeen have a population of about 27,000 people so it should really reveal something about the microculture we live in that today a complete stranger asked me if I was "Ralph Hogaboom's wife" and here's why: she works with my husband who revealed our son's proclivity to his sister's clothes the other day, and this morning at our favorite deli Nels was wearing a hairbow of Sophie's (to a lot of smiles and comments). This "recognition" should just give you a tiny taste of how rare it is for a preschooler boy 'round these parts to wear anything much more girlie than an Elmo shirt.

Of course in PT the requisite look was encouraging one's boychild to wear a Halloween costume year-round and / or thrifted Hanna Andersson playdress, fairy wings, and dirty face comprised of equal parts organic gummi bears, Odwalla Superfood, and Veggie Booty. While I lived there I never thought I'd miss the New Ager Preciousness of that crowd of parents and kids but of course, I really really do - not just my friends, which made my holiday season hit pockets of unbearableness, but the culture there in general. The Port Townsend I knew was exciting, brazenly liberal, and fiercely creative. Port Townsend will always hold a very special place in my heart and in the inheritance of my young family.

OMG I have nothing to complain about these days, and I really shouldn't. I mean really. Today I spent the day running necessary errands and cleaning house, with my children's help in all endeavors. We had a delightful lunch on store credit. And I've since been at the library having me-time while my children quietly play and read. We're about to head home and get ready for a Y visit this afternoon where I can get in some walking and talking with my girlfriend J. And if I'm lucky, the kids won't hate-fuck the house and mess it up again. I am definitely dreading firing up the old clunky sewing machine again, but I do have to finish Sophie's li'l overalls and start on her birthday princess dress. Which will, in all likelihood, be worn more by Nels anyway.

Labels: library, navelgazing, Nels, sewing, YMCA

Cumulative effect = I pee my pants.

Today I had a wonderful conversation, and then a great visit, with a friend and her children. Besides having a good time relaxing in someone else's home with cookies and coffee and a new diversion (in this case, a new pair of super-adorable pygmy goats). It was one of those times where you have a few conversations that happen to provide good mental work and make life seem easier. Where you are grateful for a friend and for life's circumstances that brought you together.

On another issue I am just feeling so congested and horrible. My mother recently bought a smoking new sewing machine. It was about $1000 and she walked into the dealership and wrote a check for the whole thing. I was with her; I helped her pick it out (I'd been scoping machines myself, more in the "wishful thinking" category). I went with her to her first class tonight. I sat there and watched as she messed with one million functions and sewed strong, stable seams and I thought about how sewing is a part of my life - more than hers - and here I am having something cherry dangled in front of me, just enough to see but not to have. Her Twin Demon of a high-end serger, bought as a present from her father for half again as much, sits in her closet almost entirely unused. In fact it was her serger example that led me to push for her to take the class and for me to attend with her; she reported to me she'd been feeling guilty about not using such a developed, specialized tool. I wanted her to, if she was going to buy it, use her new machine to its potential and love it. After all she herself has used mostly low-end machines for her sewing career as well. Still, despite knowing this was a good thing for her, it felt wretched for me.

This isn't about a sewing machine. It's part of a larger feeling of falling behind in some way, never to have what I want, never to catch up. It's a shameful feeling of not being able to deal with going without unless I really put effort into it (effort I'm effecting now, I hope). It's about getting lost in the mental wheel-spinning of envy, or getting caught up in other people's plans and pursuits and reverse-projecting them into one's own life. I know it isn't wrong to want something nice, or well-made, for one of my life's strongest passions. It's soul-shrinking, however, to allow my feelings to prevent me from enjoying someone else's experience of something lovely. For their sake, and because I'm their friend.

The fact is, obviously, her resources and her spending have nothing to do with me. Me, some day, it will come. If and when something (materially) fabulous like this machine is mine (examples of my treasured posessions spring to my mind: my wool pants, my Mac), I will cherish it, use it, and take good care of it. If I'm a talented and "deserving" seamstress I will find a way to make sewing work for me (nevermind the last 10 months of broken and inadequate machines and tons of bobbin case jams and busted seams... okay, deep, cleansing breath...) even when obstacles make it seem like a wasted effort.

Another fact is, I am strong enough to handle "going without" - whatever that means. Not buying something I can't really afford, or struggling for groceries, or occasionally getting my gas shut off. Besides, lately life seems a little easier (financially) than it has been.* Or is it just that my husband and I seem to be on the same page more often these days? Whatever the reasons are, when I think about my own life and what I have to be grateful for, I feel humbled and contrite - and grateful, and, finally, finally! - joyful for my mother and her new purchase.

Today has been a good day but also draining. It is time once again to return to the family, to domestic chores - and tomorrow, painstakingly remove and re-do another crappy seam and try to patch it up again.

* Abbi - "Things are looking up for the Hogabooms!" as we said a few New Years' ago.

Labels: consumerism, gratitude, Grazdma, i'm a hater, sewing