Today the children and I took the day off to take a trip to Elma on the bike and transit. Graced with four fresh tamales my mom picked up from our local market I first biked to the bank (I'm ashamed to admit I was really irritable when told I could not use the drive-through bank teller at my bank - two clerks were sitting there and no cars were in sight, not to mention I had two children buckled in the bike trailer) then sorted us out at the station for a two-bus trip.

I didn't mind the free occasional bad language or methadone / heroin / prison talk (I heard all of this on both trips between Elma and Aberdeen) although I was shocked and disgusted to hear a woman behind me, in response to discussing a court date, call an area judge a "faggot". I just forget the ugliness some people openly display (I guess I'm more used to those who hide it inside).

My children charmed many on our trip both in shops and on transit. Nels complimented a woman on her hair, eyes, and earrings in such a way several people laughed and the lady herself blushed. Lots of beautiful people who've lived hard, aged early, and have bad teeth. But somehow more vital, because they live so much of their life in public systems and don't hide their light, such as it is, under a bushel.

Total miles not driven today: about 55, or $6.20 in gas (I spent $1 on bus fare roundtrip). This theoretical $6.20 more than paid for the two necklaces the kids had custom made at Unique Beads, a cute little Hawaiian print dress marked down to 50 cents at a new consignment shop (day three of their opening), and three kid-sized ice cream cones at a local coffee shop after our home-packed lunch.

So yeah - I like shopping, as it turns out. It's nice when it's all day, a family experience, and costs next to nothing.

Labels: bike, bus, consumerism, food, Nels

It wasn't for eco-smugness or personal virtue that I biked to Aberdeen and back today; it was simply because my mind has been over-active and I thought some intense physical exercise might help alleviate that (it did). Only a small part of the reason I was keyed up was an invitation to the Hoquiam Business Association meeting to speak on the zine; it was a short and pleasant meeting as well as extremely informative. Everyone was dressed nice (suits and pumps); my "nice" was a flannel shirt covering the skull t-shirt underneath. Whoops!

8.7 miles and counting; the distance I biked today. I had Nels in the trailer about half that time. On the highway I got a wave from M. and J. (I later found out they'd gone around the block to re-wave so's I'd see them) and was treated nicely by not one but two log trucks; it kind of made my day. Getting off the bike at Swansons for groceries (tofu, carrots, broccoli with my dwindling week's cash allowance) the post-physical afterglow made me feel like smiling and making conversations at everyone; many shuffled out of their cars in sweats and did not make eye contact going into the store.

From there I hit our idiosyncratic bike shop to negotiate the ordering and installation of my longtail bike mod and to get Nels' helmet refitted. The rain finally started coming down and the last leg of the trip was a little damp. Home to cats waiting for the fire to be turned up.

Labels: bike, geekery, rain

the number of children for the number of hours I cared for them without adult help. Depending on who I had and the time of day this may or may not have included mile-long walks with a backpacked baby cooing in my ear and four preschoolers in tow (and yes, a coffee in hand), then the bike with my own children after a circus-like ringleading of five kids in one diner (splitting steamed milks before we spent fifteen minutes just getting coats on for departure). During the day I employed several very smart Mama tricks (including holding the hands of the clumsiest or spaciest children while walking on HQX's treacherous sidewalks so if they took a gainer I'd kept them from busting a kneecap) and a few I-thought-it-was-clever ideas that backfired (encouraging the children to each pick a wildflower and then: "Alison took my flower!" "Nels made a bad choice!" "Where's MY flower?!" for about five thousand blocks). Another impressive stat - minutes of televised entertainment I employed today: twelve.

Taking care of children when things are going smoothly is extremely exhilarating for me; I never would have guessed this before. It's like running a well-oiled kitten factory except the kittens are smart enough to talk and be interesting with what they say (OK, the baby's kitten talk is the equivalent of, "Give me fish!" "Change my litter box now!" "Something's WRONG and I am going to squall until you figure it out!!!" Speaking of baby T., I only hurt him once (by sad and freak accident, not on purpose or due to neglect; I told his mom to bring a helmet next time but instead we're settling for a Pack N Play or what you old folks know as a "playpen"). If you see a really abused-looking little blue-eyed baby about town just know I feel worse about it than he does.

Apparently 2008 is the Year of Consumerist Lust for me? It goes deeper than wanting to buy something because I have actually been up at night worrying my quilt with my teeth wondering what the heck I'm going to do about my kids growing out of their bike trailer (a Burley with 100 lb. capacity and my children folded in as it is). Last night cruising around the inter-Tron I find BikePortland which leads me (back) to Clever Cycles for a lingering look at my cycling wet dream - and then, suddenly, I see the word "longtail" and read, with increasing interest, a (potential) exact solution to my family needs + my biking life. When I catch the picture of the fellow with two my-size-children and grocery bags to boot I almost throw up in excitement. And this matrix regarding transportation (yes, I'm aware this is basically an advertisement - and to give fair warning, xtracycle's entire site is rather hype-y) is almost paradigm-shifting in and of itself. "90% of car trips do not carry passengers"; sounds ludicrous and wasteful but, look around and you'll see it's true.

In other news, last night my daughter and I watched most of Disney's 1954 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea and I was struck by three things: 1. it's actually a pretty good movie, and we haven't even got to the squid yet; 2. Actor James Mason as Captain Nemo (the first I'd ever noticed the acclaimed actor)* has the exact booming voice that I so loved in "Darkplace"'s Sanchez / Todd Rivers / Matt Berry (huge crush on all three!); and 3. I'll be stealing the lovely Technicolor look for my third issue of Sure Nail & Fire.

* He also co-authored a book about cats! How sweet.

Labels: babies, babysitting, bike, consumerism, film, paying gig

Nels and I were featured on NPR / Weekend America yesterday for this photo, taken during a trip to one of our favorite spots in Olympia.

Here's a link to the show. The segment starts at 30:00 and you can hear my interview at 31:55.

Labels: flickr, hilarity, Nels

A couple months ago a family friend gave my kids a tupperware container of Legos which quickly became my children's favorite toy (especially Nels). Last night we bought our first new set and, late as it was by the time we got home, my children and I put it together (culminating in a very fetching garbage / recycle truck).

Most Legos these days seem to be cross-branded. - a shame, if you ask me. Not only because I dislike branding in general (it encourages children to drop imagination in their pursuit of toys or clothes they might want and instead simply thirst for anything with Hannah Montana on it, etc) but because these newer Lego kits have many over-specialized parts. The fun in Legos is putting together the specified model once - then you get to take it apart and build your own creations with the blocks. What other use does a Wiggles Aussie Safari Buddy Koala - fully molded with two parts snapping together - have, anyway? Old school Legos were blocks in al colors and sizes, plain and simple.

And let me tell you, they weren't boring. I swear as a child my brother and I played mostly with dirt and rocks - and Legos, which seemed like the one toy my parents would cheerfully invest in for birthdays. In the Fisher clan we joke about my brother lying on his side (in week-old socks usually) raking through his red plastic box (I can see it in my mind - I wonder where that treasure trove of old got to?) for seemingly hours on end. The avidity with which he and I enjoyed these toys was relived in my children last night as they fully participated in every aspect of construction, eyes wide and hands darting for the tiny, specific pieces for headlights or hydraulic lifts.

Oh - and Nels slept with the Lego kit manual last night; even bringing it from his bed to ours in the middle of the night.

Labels: birlo, consumerism, Nels

Here's what I love about pets, specifically of the cat variety. They're like, all of a sudden, total whores that want attention and assume you have the same instinct at the same time (P.S. the earlier instinct was to eat tuna; earlier still, race across the room and then suddenly stop to lick one's balls). So I'm sitting at my Juki sewing, and he comes over and is like, "I'll bet now is a good time," and is up on the table and getting in between me and the machine. He puts his paw out, kind of stutters it toward my lap, purring loudly - right in the way of my arms trying to sew. "I'll just... let me... just like this," as he weasels in to my lap in a way reminiscent of Lundberg's stapler-grab in Office Space (yeah, I didn't feel like using my typical imdb link!).


I can smell his fishy breath from looking at this photo. Nels and Sophie take many pictures of the cat. Because he's so fascinating.


Ralph and I disagree about the comfortable temperature inside the house; and rather than consulting the actual thermostat, we look at the position the cats are in. Spread out like this? It's a little too hot.

In other news, I was interviewed today by American Public Radio's "Weekend America" for a Flickr photo I posted (good God, not those above of course!). Let me first say: I am no natural for a radio interview, and I said some really dumb things, all in the course of trying to tell the photo's story in the way they needed. I am also thinking they may be able to edit me into looking like a total arse / unfeeling, mean mom. T-hee!

Labels: family life, Harris, pets, photos, radio

Today as I warmed up for the day - a day that includes a quick trip to Olympia and later, oddly, a radio interview with NPR - I walked through the house putting away clothes in the low light, making breakfast, and tidying up. My house was clean and quiet and serene and warm. I passed through where my children sleep and a thought came to me: this is like living in paradise.

It doesn't matter so much if my life matches anyone else's concept of paradise; it matters a lot that most every day of my life for much of the day I feel this way. I am blessed.

Labels: family life

I am notoriously bad at "people math" - that is, if we have one guest over I suddenly don't know how many plates to set out for dinner. So you can imagine the fact that today starting at about 6:30 AM I'm taking four extra children (three from one friend for most of the day; a regular Tuesday three-hour gig with my friend's daughter E.) and farming out one of my own children (Suse, to school) means that at this very moment I'm not sure how many children I'm taking care of (OK, it's four now since E. just left).

But I also knew the real dealbreaker would be the 9 month old. I can handle a passel of toddler / preschoolers pretty good but babies - the care of a baby immediately sets you back to this odd formula that is both simple but easily missed. Baby crying inconsolably? You try everything and then you go back to the check-the-diaper and try-to-feed-it ritual, even if you just changed a diaper, even if you just fed them. What's amazing is how much diaper you change; I forgot about that (two Poo Specials by 8 AM). You also pray for a nap (literally, honest-to-God pray) and tell yourself you'll rest while they nap but then don't.

Five minutes ago I finally got the rather sad, very full, completely dry baby sporting a large, quarter-shaped shiny spot on his forehead from either a burn or rug-burn (yes, and I wish I could say I was joking but he did get injured on my watch - I think I'll spend the afternoon finding and kicking puppies, just to make myself feel better). And don't think little baby T. isn't surrounded by as many blanket retaining walls as I could muster! The older three are playing in the living room nicely, I'm listening to Elvis and about to wash dishes - again (I've made ten meals so far today! not including the breakfast enchiladas I scarfed for myself). Most of the way through my shift and we're all safe and (relatively) sound.

The oldest four in my crew are phenomenally well-behaved, sweet children which goes a long way to making the day an enjoyable one. Even amongst the phenomenal task of dressing six people for a walk in our cold sunshine we get these great teaching moments: before embarking for a treasured destination I ask these four, "What happens if we get walking and T. starts crying and crying and crying?" A., the oldest in my flock today says, "We'll stop to nurse." Four pairs of child's eyes beam their headlights on me in silent query and I laugh and say, "Do you think I can do that?" "No but look," says A., "You trick T. by putting him against you like this and then give him his binkee." "You know, that is a great idea," I tell her, "but it doesn't work - it actually makes him mad. Great thinking though!" How smart are these wee ones?

People that do what I do every day for a job? They deserve more compensation than they get paid, and a lot more accolades for their work. P.S. it took me a full ten seconds to think of the word "accolades" because having a baby also makes you temporarily mentally disabled, apparently when you're not even sporting nursing hormones.

Labels: babysitting, chaos, paying gig

This weekend found us at my family's cabin* up near Shelton:


It was beautiful, cold and clear at Mason Lake (note: "Little Hoquiam" where my great-grandfather settled with friends!) for all three days.


My knitting + rustic decor. I also sewed Suse a pair of pants with a cute, but horrible-to-work-with, polyester woven I bought years ago.


A state of such permanency the label my grandmother made lives on and on. There's also a box marked, "Whiskers Nails & Armpits" (for razors, fingernail clippers, and deodorant, natch).


"Let's go to town, kids!" On Sunday we hit Olympia in part to take Ralph's guitar to Music 6000 for an expert opinion. At the Blue Heron Bakery we had a picnic of our own home-made sandwiches followed by cookies, coffee and tea from the shop. Let me tell you something: in my entire coffee-drinking career I have never taken a coffee back for being too bitter, but I had to in the case of the Heron's americano. I asked the barista if there was a mistake or ...? After coyly pouring a bit into his own wee cup the be-mustached, fey young man replied, "Yeah, that's pretty much what our espresso tastes like." Feeling like a puss, I switched out for a drip coffee which smelled faintly like hippie feet (I am not kidding nor exaggerating) but tasted fine enough. The cookies were great and the Garlic Kalamata Sourdough loaf was divine.


Sadly, during our lunch someone joked about eating the "top cookie" (that is, the cookie in the top of a package of five identical cookies) and the teasing was taken quite seriously by my son before we could convince him that yes, the "top cookie" was reserved for him.

As for the sweater: this is the least feminine thing Nels wears these days. His sister's a good sport, sharing her clothes with him.

Last weekend, my school friend Jodi visited along with her husband Doug and their children Cyan and India:


Sophie sat in the stroller and chronicled our gray stroll - down the highway and to a greasy spoon for soft-serve ice cream. Nothing but the best for our treasured guests!


Did I mention we in Hoquiam are sinking into the earth? Now I know why, growing up, people who met me out in the world would ask if I had webbed feet.


This was actually quite brilliant: the four children found a Connect Four game at the local coffee shop / popcorn factory and immediately began playing the game differently than intended. Without any noticeable communication (although children this age together can develop a monkey-language of their own) they'd fill up the board with alternating colors for each vertical row. Sophie, Cyan and Nels instinctively worked together at a high rate of speed while India (the youngest at 2) just did what the hell she wanted and the older children would either firmly grasp and re-direct her paw or, if she succeeded in dropping a color out of sequence, quickly retrieve the offending gamepiece and secure it. After a while the chore of catch-India-before-she-fucks-it-up got old and Cyan and Sophie started broadly hinting that maybe "someone" shouldn't play anymore.

* Built by my great-grandfather back in the day; shared by hordes of extended family now.

Labels: coffee, food, friends, knitting, Nels, Sophie, vacation, weather

I find when I invite gratitude into my life, richness pours in. Today I felt so fortunate to be sitting in the hospital with my mother and son while my father sat pre-surgery awaiting another medical procedure - this time, a port installed into his body so we could pump chemo into his heart. The nurse commented on my father's eyelashes. Since his latest respite from chemo his hair not only grew back thicker and kinkier, his eyelashes are long and curly like a cupid's, a rare physical beauty blooming from a ravaged body. Another strange-yet-true part of our journey with cancer. Nels' behavior is complemented by many nurses and staff and in turn I get to hear the (rare) out-loud testimonies from my parents, who are proud of the care their grandchildren receive.

This morning my husband printed out fifty copies of the zine (click to download: [here] ) and after getting home from the hospital I painstakingly stamp them all. They're off to my East County distributor, whose efforts I appreciate so much in spreading the zine out a bit. Perfectionist I am, I cringe that my website still needs an update; oh well. "Done is better than perfect," I remind myself.

In just a few minutes Nels and I travel to Suse's kindergarten class for a Valentine's Day party. My mother made lovely meringue sugar cookies and I am supplying soaked almonds and dried fruit. Let me tell you, my time with those children is unadulterated joy. Now if I can just pace myself, I'll still have energy to sew on my brother's coat this evening before we're off to an Open Mike at the deli (Ralph is performing).

Labels: gratitude, Grazdma, illness, Nels, Ralph, school, SNF, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Today as I walked between my kitchen and living room I came upon the tipping point about our homeschool decision, which was: if I ever decide I want money more than I want our homeschool / family experience, I can always choose money. I am not destined to poverty for life (which is how I sometimes fear my future) just because - for now, and a while at least - I'm choosing not to work outside the home for financial compensation.

But can anyone know how strongly I feel I'm supposed to be hurrying my children along to free babysitting so I can go put my time and brain and body into someone else's endeavor, so they can give me money, and I can bring it home? Why do I feel this way? Simply because that's what nearly everyone I personally know is doing. Although this doesn't match with my or my husband's goals, I still feel this tremendous pressure to chase investment (in a home, in better cars, in more stuff, in nicer stuff), some outside sense of accomplishment, some way of being smart money-wise so I can have enough that I don't have to actually count up the bits and think about them.

What I need: mentors. I have been told, oddly it seems sometimes, I am a mentor or at least an inspiration to not a few who read here or know me. And I'm seeking the same in this category of my children's education and our life as a family. Applicants, do seek me out because I feel decisively like I'm setting on a path few travel and maybe one more importantly: a path my own family of origin did not travel.

I briefly feel such a kinship with and gratitude for my mother when I discuss this with her, later in the day on the phone. I'm saying, "... trying to accept that I won't be working" when she starts to talk and I add, "well I mean, working for pay." She interrupts herself to laugh "Yeah really!" aside, under her breath, in the exact we're-both-knowing-the-same-thing tone she'd use if I mentioned how perfectly sexy Johnny Depp is or said a perfect joke we both know and love. See, she and I know what "work" I really am looking forward to, work I started in on the moment my daughter was born but only get better at and enjoy more (with a few decidedly horrific "off" days, hee hee). My last six years and my future stretch out in a continuum of priorities and newness and love and learning and gratitude that just seems to bloom more and more and give me more energy than any previous endeavors.

It is funny sometimes finding out who I am, as I grow. I'm always a little surprised to find I'm not who people told me I was.

Labels: goodness, Grazdma, newness, school

This afternoon I'm sitting in Casa Mia with my husband and son drinking coffee and watching, out of the corner of my eye, back-to-back episodes of "Cops" from the television that faces the restaurant kitchen. Onscreen an anemic blonde's shiny, anxious face crumples into ruin as officials pull two small baggies of a plant from under her seat. Her boyfriend sits against a concrete wall, grim and silent, while she is handcuffed and put in a patrol car. Both of their faces are as spare as knife blades, homely with anxiety and a life used to disappointments, setbacks, and drama. I feel so odd seeing this onscreen. We don't have television in our home; getting glimpses of it is a foreign experience.

Today I've had several birthday wishes and songs,* a lovely bouquet from my friend Shannon, and numerous sweet emails and IMs. A morning mocha from my mother and - best of all - Ralph took a full day off to be with me. In the "Gets Your Teary-Eyed Thing Going" category, my daughter ratted my birthday out to her class and after my volunteer time the teacher led them all in singing to me. I love those children dearly.

I also just printed out the finished copy of January / February's Sure Nail & Fire, mailed out issues to subscription-takers, and got our Valentine's out (two separate swaps). Oh, and I've officially decided to homeschool my kids, and been rather busy with that concept as well.



Busy busy.

* I even find the ones from my online community-bots to be oddly comforting.

Labels: birthday, family life, food, SNF

In just a few hours I will have completed thirty-one revolutions around the sun. Good job, me! And thanks, mom and dad! And everyone else involved, really.

Last year on my thirtieth birthday it was a jumble. I was days away from moving our family for the first time (and in denial); I then had a surprise party that included employees, friends, FOO - who I typically would have to beg or cajole to visit, including during times I faced surgery and baby-birthin' - and this great party only minutes after I'd discovered our dear lovely family cat Fancy had been killed. It was an amazing, wonderful, and emotional ride; this year I'm content with a lot quieter. I love the idea of being 31. I like the number itself.

The weekend entailed a visit from college friend Jodi, husband Doug, and their two children Cyan and India. After they left I darted back to my sewing room to finish baby booties for Nels' teacher's imminent birth and enjoyed my mother's company for a dinner of cabbage rolls and baked potatoes courtesy of Ralph's cooking. So all-in-all at 9 PM I'm tired but grateful and content and looking forward to a lie-in.

Labels: birthday, FOO, friends, milestones, PT, sewing

Is there anyway I can skip my boring Juice Parent day tomorrow at school and stay home sewing on... drumroll...

MY NEW MACHINE?!

I am completely drained and overwhelmed by this. I got it home this afternoon and yes, I've already sewn a project with it (tulle underskirt for Suse's Daddy Daughter Dance dress).

Color me excited, happy, and spent.

Labels: Grazdma, newness, sewing

It's just before six and I'm kneading dough for pita while my son helps clean the dough bowl. This is the third meal from scratch I've made today and normally this is doable but today, it's not. And yesterday, Saturday, stretches out behind me of a day of cooking and having just a few dollars for groceries. The lack of money is only a problem in that I'm forced to be more creative, but I'm just tired in some elemental way that makes me exhausted tenfold to think on what to feed the family. And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow I get to get up and do it again, amen.

This weekend I didn't get things done I wanted to: printing out my finished zine, making more headway on my brother's coat I'm sewing (I'm currently angry about some bound pockets that didn't quite work), enjoying the family, relaxing. We did do a lot of chores and Ralph's loft bed is finished and painted with the kids' room all set up for them and I freeycled two things and got a buyer for Sophie's old bed frame. But no amount of "getting done" helps me now because with my hands on the dough at the table it just seems all I do is cook and clean and clean the refrigerator and work for other people and when I take time to myself I'm too tired to do anything worthwhile. It's a horrible feeling. It's no one's fault. It feels like being first trimester pregnant again. Wretched and uninspired.

At least today I got to tell my mother, remember that part in that Ya Ya Sisterhood book (we both read it) where the mom goes crazy and just leaves her family for month? I keep telling them I'm going to do it but they don't realize I mean it. I think because to the outside world and to them it looks like I'm functioning the same, functioning well. My mom told me to take a job. I'm not sure that will help; I'm not sure what will help, really. And I don't want help; I want to learn how to take care of myself so I can take care of my Others. And I want to be able to tell people I might be needing a Crazy Person Vacation, even if it doesn't end up happening quite that way.

"Are you OK?" Yes, I'm OK. Just not every minute of every day.

Labels: burnout, food, homesteading, Mama's crazy, sewing

I'm not in top-form this morning so I don't have a great analogy for my nighttime experience, where I go to bed with one or maybe two people and wake up next to about three, usually with one or two cats as well and with no idea who surrounds me. Today as it happened I was flanked by Sophie and Nels, my daughter's leg thrown over mine and my son soft in the blankets, his features delicate and skin as perfect as a cherub (sleeping is the only way he looks so). Last night I know I'd fallen asleep with only my daughter next to me, my son in the next room and my husband wandering the house with a case of insomnia (rare these days for him).

Only part of the musical bed games are due to the fact we are still painting my daughter's loft bed. I think my parents think I'm some slacker who can't be bothered to finish the job while my husband works during the day. But the truth is I had a horrible time painting the thing and my husband even said I wasn't doing it right (he said this in a very circumspect way) and I just kind of bolted from the bedroom and haven't been back. Our only other usable bed right now is a twin in my sewing room, just a couple arm's lengths away from my own. I think I'll miss when the kids are installed in their beds and I can't see them from my pillow.

In her old age and with the cold winter Blackie has let go her snobbishness and her anger (at the world) for allowing a new kitten into our home; in the morning she is minutely hunched just to my left, sleeping silently and leaving a mat of black cat hair such that each morning she sleeps with us I have to clean the bedclothes. Harris is less prepossessing, stretching over whichever victim is the most asleep and therefore won't struggle, laying on his back with his legs open and front paws awkwardly poised in the air.*

And here I've been thinking about getting a dog. But if we got a California king bed, I think we'd have another 6" along the bottom of the bed...

* And no, I can't tell a cat story as well as Mr. Levin.

Labels: Blackie, family life, Harris, pets