Me: "You mean potatoes."
Ralph: "What did I say?"
Me: "Tomatoes."
Ralph: "Oh."
[ brief pause ]
Ralph: "I have to be honest, I started that sentence then just put my mind on autopilot and started thinking about Dee Synder."*

Nels (taunting his sister): "I'm going to eat your brain... And then I'll have TWO brains!"

Me (watching an acquaintance bike by): "You know, Terry is the closest I've come to having a crush on another man in ten years."**
Ralph: "Yeah, well. He has those Billy qualities." (Billy being my brother)
Me: "What? No he doesn't!"
Ralph: "Yeah, they're cut from the same... musty old bolt of cloth... in the back of Clevengers, or something." (P.S. Ralph's voice cracked halfway through, thinking he was so funny).

Ralph: "God, that frosting is so good. You must have made it out of buttered angels or something."***

*Yes, this guy (and don't think it wasn't hard for me to settle on a Dee Snyder image to link to). And no, I didn't ask Ralph why.

** This is a surprise to exactly no one as I regularly make my feelings clear for our local bike mechanic.

*** This was actually said a few minutes later, at home, but it made me laugh and I had to share.

Labels: Nels, pwnage, Ralph

Today in my inbox I received a newsletter from Naomi Aldort:

"It is fine to find ways to nurture yourself away from your child. But, when not available, enjoy the ride. If you knew how close the end of this period is, maybe it would be easier to relax and enjoy each moment. Discover that time for yourself, is time with your child. Being with your child is the way your nurture yourself; it is a treat available for a fleeting moment; it is the gift you chose to give to yourself by bringing this child/ren into your life.

Being with the joys of mothering now is fulfilling. Fearing that you are missing something (or needing a clean house) is painful. When the children become independent, you will find that your interests have changed anyway, or that you can pick them up further than where you left them. These former skills may or may not be relevant to you any more. Life moves only forward. Attaching to the past hurts and separates us from the happy moment of now and now and now. Without the wish to do something else, you love the moment fully and peacefully. Enjoy it. Like the rest of life, it is a passing ride that gives no second chance."

Today I accidentally lived my life this way. I was out on the bike with the kids from 11:00 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon. We went to the bank then the market where we bought my mother* a bouquet of local sweat peas, a pie, our farm eggs. We had lunch in our favorite deli and went to my parents' to visit and do chores. We dug potatoes. We went to the store for supplies to make a birthday cake for my mother. We walked our garden. We bought her gift and had it wrapped. I was in parallel with my children. I waited on their schedule and timeline as I would a guest. I didn't snap or order around. Well, not as much as I usually do. They in response were agreeable, helpful, and took excellent care of our groceries and packages. Ralph was home almost before I knew it as our birthday cake was ready to be assembled.

The days I am very busy with my family and with my parents. Daily I visit them, cook for them, listen to my mom, and I talk a lot too. I sit in their living room. We go long stretches not saying much, then the conversation will liven up around something frivolous (the movie I saw last night), or something less so (this week my dad was classified hospice and has had oxygen, intense pain meds, and inhaler, a bed and wheelchair delivered). I mop the floors, do the dishes, wipe the counters. I listen as my children run around in the garden. Eventually we go and I say goodbye and tell them when we'll be coming back.

* It's her birthday! 59 years old.

Labels: family life, FOO, garden, Nels, Sophie

I make playlists up all the time. Occasionally, I actually put them together, type up lyrics or song list, make some album art, and deliver them to friends and family. I'm working on one now and the theme allowed for inclusion of one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite albums of a favorite artist.

My dewy-eyed Disney-bride what has tried
Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
Monsters?
Whiskey-plied voices cried fratricide
Jesus don't you know that you coulda died, shoulda died
With the monsters what talk, monsters what walk the earth

She's got red lipstick
And a bright pair of shoes
She's got knee high socks what to cover a bruise
She's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use
She's got blood in her eyes in her eyes for you
She's got blood in her eyes for you

Certain fads: stripes and plaids, singles ads
They run you hot and cold like a rheostat I mean a thermostat
So you bite on a towel, hope it won't hurt too bad

She says I like long walks and sci-fi movies
You're six foot tall and east coast bred
Some lonely night we can get together
And I'm gonna tie your wrists with leather
And drill a tiny hole into your head

I love having children that are six and four because they are increasingly in my world. Now they can read, they can perceive, they ask questions, and they like listening to my music in the car, loudly - just like me!

Nels is obsessed with the old Royal typewriter I have on my desk. We're in the process of getting it into typing shape, but it kind of works. Thus the discussion of "monsters" in the above song lead Nels to type "mosdr" - his own rendering of the word.

Labels: music, Nels

My son is brave, impulsive, good-natured, loving, willful, his energy ramped to 100% for every minute he's awake. I guess in reading the above list I'm a lot like him. A few episodes in our last twenty four hours:

Yesterday I am forced to truncate his dessert in a diner and take him out to the car. He's angry, yelling. I'm gentle but firm. As I straighten from placing him in the carseat and swing the door shut he looks at me with angry tears in his eyes and yells, "Everything out of your mouth is CRAP!" Of course I'm dying laughing, internally, but it's not really funny to talk to someone that way, and it's definitely not okay to laugh at someone when they're angry. The door shutting allows me to keep my smile to myself. When I come back to the car with my purse, coat, other child, etc. Nels is wretched, his face tear-stained. "I'm sorry I said what you said was crap," he mourns. I say, "Thank you for the apology Nels," and reach a hand back to him. He and I forgive one another a hundred percent and move on.

This morning he takes me on a tour of the garden. He shows me the new cucumber, the one bean on the bush (he can spy the very first new growth of anything). He remembers, in our unsorted and untidy yard, where things were planted. "I planted an apple there," he tells me. "The love-in-a-mist is blooming. Look what happened to the snapdragons!" "The tomatoes are having Good Times." (yes, he actually said this). "Sweet peas, calendula..." (both blooming fresh). "The amaranth, and..." he trails off, pointing. "Nicotiana," I remind him (a real success story - so far - as they've come back from near-death via slug).

This evening we play a game I play with my children (one he enjoys more than my daughter), a simple exercise in reverse psychology: I say, "Don't come over and push me off the chair and climb on top of me and kiss me on the lips, I'm really busy right now." He starts laughing right away, head thrown back, runs over, pushes me, and tries to wrestle on top of me. He is strong, with a spry strength in his long-bellied little boy body. What I like, what I couldn't and don't do, is that he devotes all his energy, balls-out, into trying to overcome me. And laughs and laughs and kisses me, finally, and he smells of the pint of raspberries he bought (with his own garden earnings!) from our Farmers Market, and ate almost every one in the car.

Labels: garden, hilarity, Nels, tenderness

Today I dropped my daughter off at the last day of Vacation Bible School. Three years ago in one fell swoop I overcame my internal difficulties with sending my children to church functions; the decision was made easier by the fact my daughter especially loves, unreservedly, anything involving church. However I'd avoided this particular VBS installment - despite my appreciation for the free and, to my way of thinking, high-quality childcare experience - due to rumors of this church's recent decision that amount to politics (anti-gay) I personally disagree with. But yesterday a child who had spent the week in the day camp invited Sophie, and I decided to come off my principles a bit - principles which I'm also well aware had not been personally investigated with regards to this church.

At 9 AM my daughter is the picture of well-scrubbed simplicity, ponytail and dress and little tennis shoes and she asks me as far along as to seat her in the pew at which point the super-friendly, energectic grownups introduce themselves and I feel her little psyche pull its hand away from mine. I move to the back of the sanctuary for a moment. It's all smiles, people taking care of our children with the utmost care and perception of their interests and needs. Outside in our summer morning I see the playground across the street set up with games, balls, chairs, ropes. I step outside to head back home, glad for the Sophie's opportunity and mine.

I've been enjoying Nels so very much. Yesterday afternoon while Sophie went swimming with my mother, my son and I shelled peas from our garden together and just talked; mostly, about the things he wanted to (he has lots to say). Last night he set the table before ceremoniously laying out his own contribution to our dinner - clover, buttercups, and cherries from our tree. His knowledge of edible wild plants and flowers is merely a continuation of his gardening interest and abilities, which easily outstrip mine (Abbi would be proud of especially his foraging; she's a forager at heart as well). He gives me inspiration to keep growing, to keep learning.



Last night the boy and I shared a sundae at the deli and he repeatedly asked for "Barack Obama" ice cream; when pressed further, he grew more frustrated and said something that sounded like "Broccoli...". I finally realized he was trying to repeat Rocky Road, a recent addition to his food repertoire. We topped the ice cream with hot fudge and sprinkles - on his half only.

Labels: food, Nels, Sophie

It's 5:12 PM and I'm irritated. I'm irritated because it's taken us a bit longer than I'd thought to walk across the bridge. I'm irritated that despite the sign on the Public Market proclaiming hours until 6, they close down an hour earlier, and I can see the two cars pulling out and away and: I'm irritated because I was counting on some meager produce earnings from the Market to get me a bus pass because (Irritation #3) the kids and I ended up on an overly-ambitious walk (made so because of duration coupled with the amount of exercise we'd had previously this day and our lack of food and water and means to get them). Accepting our loss at least today of lettuce-money now I know that if I want to catch a bus home I have to grab the kids up and cross the street in front of blasting log trucks and wait in a chilly wind God knows how long before a bus comes along and at at that point I'll have to beg off on 15 cents I don't have to complete our bus fare (and the drivers around here might even say No - I'm serious). In this moment I notice the kids have found and are enjoying the very, very poor excuse for a playground that is alongside the Market and I know they won't like abandoning the "park" for this half-assed bus plan but neither should they have to walk all the way home and you know what? It's my decision, my responsibility, to figure out what to do.

I give into the moment and sit in the grass and let the children play. They don't know it, but it's a dismal day, the kind of grey soul-swallowing bleakness that gave Aberdeen such notoriety the Kurt Cobain set (many of them not raised here) often cite. Alongside the river and I'm walking and I know how to dig in my feet and survive, burrowing down into my jacket and being as patient with the kids as I can and hoping for a more promising tomorrow. After all, I have things to look forward to: friends coming over for dinner. The cough syrup nap at night (sadly, still necessary). A day closer to the weekend, where Ralph and I try to enjoy our time together.

This morning the first thing I did to try to make myself feel better than I had yesterday was bake a rhubarb cake and do the dishes. Housework is soothing; I'd enjoy it in perfect bliss if it weren't on a Rinse-Repeat cycle many times daily (ironically: it was having children that made me overcome my dislike of housework). We did have some excitement yesterday: the first hatchlings in our incubating chicken eggs. One died (in my hands - second bird in a month?), two have survived - we now have ten living entities in this house. I know cats and rats and chickens don't count for much by some yardsticks but feeding and cleaning up for them kind of does, especially along with my much more messy and complex (but it must be said, far more rewarding) human younglings. Our cat Harris is pleased with the chicks; he offers his nannying skills regularly although we repeatedly defer.

Tomorrow: city park free lunch program (at my son's request), a date with Jasmine, and Try #2 for gardening proceeds.

Labels: bus, garden, Nels, Sophie, walking

Sometimes your day is just kind of lame and difficult, and what's worse, you are forced to realize how limited you are as a person. And it's my personal theory that when you become a parent, if you're a parent who tries your best (as most probably do), this "limited as a person" thing hits you right in the nose far more often than feels comfortable.

I head out at noon with the following bike load: myself and two children, three coats, my purse, a huge batch of library books, and a birthday package for my brother. Downtown after meeting with my parents I've relieved myself of books and birthday package but have now picked up an antique globe (yeah, yeah, WTF?, I know!) and some trail mix. On to the bus to the grocery store in Aberdeen to pick up the following: asparagus, carrots, cucumber, half a cantelope, half a red cabbage, 1 pound tofu, one lime, 1/2 gallon organic milk, shampoo, conditioner, tea tree oil, 2 large boxes baking soda, and a large bar of olive oil soap. To the feed store for bulk catnip and chick feeders.

As I suspected, putting the Xtracycle on a bus meant that one of the Transit personnel got in a dither ("Oh, I don't know if that will work..." yes it will work, I've seen it work,), fussing around and generally getting in the way of me practicing lifting the (rather heavy) load up where it needed to be. The bike is extra long so in order to fit it on a bus I have to take off the front wheel and load it on the back in the pannier - I admit it looks a bit suspicious to the narrow-minded.

I love the glimpses of people, neighborhoods, life that bicycling affords. In Hoquiam and Aberdeen we have a lot of semi-dilapidated or sometimes merely "well-worn" houses where people are just concentrating on living. In the hot afternoon I see my neighbors out on their front porches smoking, or two little girls who've rigged one of those giant trampolines with a sprinkler. People smile and stare at my bike and the large children dangling off the back. A rough-cut man in multiple trenchcoats shouts out, "Nice socks!" (they're not socks but makeshift legwarmers out of sleeves of a sweater I got off Freecycle). We see lots of kitties and talk about the names of flowers in full bloom.


(Later in the day, legwarmers and coats left behind).


Ralph took the kids to Lake Quinault yesterday. I was sort of dis-invited, but it worked out well enough for me to have some time to myself in the house.

Labels: bike, Nels, roadtrip, Sophie, X

(Skirt handmade that day by Jasmine!). Last night even before we got back in town from the beach our daughter had fallen asleep in the car. Nels was awake, listening to the grownups (myself, Ralph, Jasmine and Randa) talk. Then he'd say quietly, from the very back of the van, "Hey, dad?" He had an idea: he wanted to go home and put bells on our door - "with a needle" (meaning a small nail). We drove to a few lookout spots and talked. I felt pretty sick from the over-exertion of the day; or, My Lung Spot Is Acting Up as I've been saying.

By the way, in the picture above it was slightly normal when we first arrived at Copalis Beach, where we thought we'd put our chairs up and enjoy a small, quaint little fireworks celebration. After we parked things rapidly got more and more pyrotechnic, voilent, and crazed - the quintessential low damp fog of this beach combining with the spent remains of so very many, many fireworks being set off by revelers in cars, trailers, trucks, mopeds and motorcycles and including one charming (= shitty) camper with a Confederate flag prominently displayed and some jerk next to us who thought we'd all like to listen to Toby Keith, full blast, out his hatchback. Still, I like people-watching and I like relaxing into these minor circles of Hell where there's way too much activity and it's wasteful and gratuitous (the only thing that really bothers me about the 4th of July is the litter) and really viewed on the whole, kind of creepy. It's also kind of joyous and hopeless too. And the final mediating factor: my children love it, through and through, and seeing their joy forces me to be a little less uptight.

We had a few dinner guests this weekend:


Of course I've been cooking a lot, it almost goes without saying.

Labels: beach, food, holidays, Nels

I'm standing at the kitchen sink and have been for some time washing, cleaning, cutting, blanching, boiling, freezing. Right now I'm tenderly slicing the tops off strawberries. Some are for our dessert this evening: strawberries so tender and red-ripe all the way through such that no honey or sugar or accoutrement is needed. I just chopped and froze a mix of spinach and arugula (for use in lasagna, or calzones, or casseroles). For dinner tonight: frittata with garlic scapes, arugula, sundried tomatos diced and softened, spinach, and fresh eggs; focaccia with mozzarella and red sauce to dip.

Most of the food bounty is from our CSA share. Because we traveled to a local farm, because it is fresher and superior to the produce one generally buys, every single bit is tenderly pored over, nothing wasted (the strawberry tops go in our compost pile). Tomorrow I'm making a meatball and escarole soup, substituting our head of lettuce for the escarole. After a Monday grocery trip for staples at the Marketpace - 25 lbs. bread flour, olive oil, garbanzo beans, vanilla - it feels nice to have a full larder.

For some reason, despite a day of doctors and cross-town errands, and the repetitive nature of doing dishes again and laying out strawberries on a baking sheet to freeze and having a messy house (I scrubbed the bathroom and washed the table and windows and vaccuumed but it's the paperwork piles that frustrate me the most!) I feel oddly content at the sink. I'm in a work trance; tired but soldiering on. My son flits by, singing to himself about Framps - significance: birthplace of eclairs* and croissants, the latter of which we finished today - and baby peas. Earlier today he found the first pea to go from flower to peapod and has asked each family member to come see, including my mother when she visited. So as he comes by this time I ask if he'll show me and it's a request that makes his day.

We walk out and the pea vines are frighteningly large, jumbled. I can't tell where the pod might be as it looks so much like the leaves. Nels finds it though. I smile and look to him and he's watching my face, beaming. I pick him up and we wordlessly hold one another as I carry him back inside. I feel oddly light-headed, slightly drunk on the cool summer night and The Boy and our bounty, only bathtime and bed ahead of us before kisses and legs kicking at blankets and soft, solid bodies and nighttime.

* Nels pronounces them "Maclair", we joke like a Scottish clan.

Labels: food geekery, garden, Nels, tenderness

Today was an odd, ephemeral and lovely day for the most part, consisting of an enjoyable afternoon out first on the bike, then to lunch and grocery shopping with my parents and my children. I can usually only hope to steal my mother away for daily errands in between the events in her busy schedule (said "busyness" sometimes consisting of just being around the house for my dad - it's very sweet, they like hanging out with each other and almost no one else). And of the four members of my FOO I'm the only one who likes going out to eat (not strictly true: my brother likes eating out but is so tight-fisted with cash he simultaneously judges others or feels guilty himself upon indulging), so it's rare I have enthusiastic partners in this endeavor.

I may sound like I'm poking fun of my family but the truth is I enjoy spending time with them near as much as my own wee foursome. One of the chief good trappings of this day was that my father came along with us. He has been feeling better, despite new tumor growths in his lungs and bones. His good spirits seem largely due to the fact he's had more than two months off chemo (his choice). It's sad to see him off chemo because chemo keeps him alive (albeit tortured and sick). It's almost, in its way, even sadder to see his hair thicken and his skintone liven and his skinny 6' 3" frame gain a few pounds. He starts to look startlingly good. I look at him and think to myself, imagine how healthy and hale he would be now without cancer treatment these last eight years. This is almost the worst kind of thought to think because it takes me back to What Could Have Been, a place I for the most part abandoned and don't often glance at.

I feel oddly exhausted to recount a strange episode from this morning that almost ruined my day: we were visited by a gentleman from DSHS on an issue of child welfare - in fact my child, Nels. On Saturday afternoon my son had ventured out (in the nintey-plus degree heat making him restless, I suppose) two blocks afield and was asking neighbors for food and drink. A neighbor brought him back straight away (after feeding him bottled water and Pop Tart) and spoke to Ralph, who apologized for the trouble and thanked the neighbor for bringing our son home. My husband was pissed - cranky from the heat, angry at Nels for wandering off, irritated at me for - I'm not sure what. Because I know Nels and know there's little we can do except to talk to him about what he shouldn't do and why. But anyone suggesting we "make" him forgo venturing off on his own on some too-grown, precocious endeavor (harmless or otherwise)? Bitch, you don't know my son!

So imagine my mild surprise, then shock, then bemusement, offense, and small dark cloud of rage forming between my eyes when a stranger showed up and wanted to look at the state of my housekeeping, the food in my fridge, and the nurturing conditions and mental stimulus afforded my children (all of which were running smoothly, of course). Here's the weird thing: of course I support these programs and am glad to see what I saw operating in Grays Harbor County this morning. And in theory I tell myself I wouldn't judge nor place myself above the parent who would benefit from these services. But I found out today it's another thing entirely to have them at my own doorstep.

The gentleman interrupted the kids and I as we were studying world atlases and preparing dough for chocolate croissants (the food tying into the geography lessons: croissants from France, as pointed out on the map, and chocolate from - usually - South America). The social worker - who was completely professional, matter-of-fact, and friendly, none of which made the incident less unpleasant - told me the call was from someone (maybe the neighbors who'd returned Nels, maybe not - who knows?) who had reported this was a "drug-addled" neighborhood (WTF?). The sole purpose of his visit seemed to be - besides "checking us out", which had included a call to law enforcement - informing us of services we could take advantage of. In fact at no point did I hear an admonishment or feel chastised in any way; rather, I'd seen a window into institutional procedure based around helping people help themselves. This was an odd relief and in accordance with what I would want from social work at large. Still, I couldn't help wonder: what if my fridge had been empty? What if my house was a pit, or I had a sick kid, or what if Nels runs off again?

Before the social worker left I sat my son on my lap and explained briefly that it's a lot of trouble (for me), drama (for me), and paperwork (for Mr. DSHS) brought down on us for a four-year old to venture off like that, even once. I don't think we made it too heavy-handed.

I know Nels couldn't have known that for me the incident sparked this terrifying, irrational, yet nevertheless thoroughly soul-sickening feeling of the loss of one's child, a fear that lives in the bottom third of my heart no matter waking or sleeping and pumps a noxious cold blood-substitute whenever circumstances hint toward anything of the kind.

Labels: FOO, Mama's crazy, neighbors, Nels, nerves, random, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

We made it to the carnival tonight.

At first I was nervous Nels wouldn't really enjoy the rides. What do I worry for? He was just as relaxed and smiling as he is about 99.8% of the time. Going down the Fun House spiral slide for the second time, he goofed around, miscalculated, and tumbled over on his head. Ralph and I practically raced to pick him up and administer comfort. Our children are getting older, more independent, less clingy. They don't breastfeed or cry out for us to hold them near as often as they used to.

I already feel a small hole working its way outward in my chest: the vacancy of the loss of being so essentially needed so much of the day.

Labels: friends, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

I've been sick (bronchitis), but that's no excuse for not writing. Today is Sophie's last day of school - sort of. It's more like a half day composed of field games. If I was feeling better I'd be there, enjoying the bittersweetness of the event and working one of the activities. Yesterday minorly prophetically I said my goodbyes and brought flowers to my daughter's teachers on their last real full day of school. I didn't say goodbye to the children because they were all trickling out to recess. I've been now and then crying small batches of sweet, sad tears about it - how much I'd miss time in that classroom. It was convenient being ill I didn't have to face up to it yet one more time on the today.

Yesterday evening after dropping off some donations for the preschool garage sale Ralph told us the carnival was at the mall. You know - one of those traveling events with ridiculously priced poisonous food, all sorts of fun rides put together by junkies, and a ticket system that works out to an average of $4 each ride. I had misgivings about just "driving by" the carnival without having the children expressly informed in sober, repetitive detail that tomorrow we'd be going to the carnival: tonight was merely a look-see. However instead of voicing my concerns to my husband I brushed them aside and instead indulged myself in attempting to discuss my day's ideas and feelings with my adult male partner - something I crave and get so little of when our children are in tow.

I pull around the carnival lot and yes, it is mighty and huge. The kids grow excited. We tell them we're "just checking it out". They ask if we can participate tonight, now. We say no, Daddy didn't bring his wallet, and anyway we're going tomorrow. Their anxiety becomes palpable, their pleas increasingly frantic. I try the firm but casually friendly "no". It doesn't go over as friendly or casual. They have wound themselves up: I couldn't have predicted the intensity of their reaction. They throw their heads back and howl. Instantly their faces are streaked, sunburned, disbelieving, tortured. I can hear the tears flying in huge arcs out of their squeezed-shut eyes and raining on the car upholstery.

Ralph and I are laughing in front - hiding our laughter, because we don't want to be cruel. It's just - you can't imagine how much fuss they are making! And for the two of them to both set up wails of protest makes the noise and drama of the event truly impressive (usually it's one or the other: Nels more unflappable, Sophie much more likely to set up a "fussdown" as she calls it). It turns out - as Ralph tells me later - the drive-by was just about the worse idea we've had (he had, I was merely an accessory). Of course I know the kids are going to be fine but I simultaneously am remembering how horrid these sorts of feelings were as a child. Powerless, the glittering brass ring vanishing before my eyes, the adults able to grant me my one desperate wish refusing out of sadism or caprice. Unfair, tragic, horrible.

On the drive home Sophie spits out dire statements ("I'll never get to go to a carnival again! It will never be OK!") while Nels alternates between firm and emphatic commands ("Mom, Dad - take us to the carnival now, please!") to declarations of punitive action ("OK - no treats for Mama or Daddy - no maclairs for you!"*) and then back again. I feel clumsy, bad as a parent. Best to let those moments just slip through as quickly as possible.

At 11:45 this morning my children and husband return from the school event; Nels sporting rather unusual glittery pink and striped makeup. "I'm a princess and a tiger," he tells me.

* By "maclairs" being my son's pronunciation for our favorite breakfast pastries, eclairs.

Ralph and the kids return from

Labels: Nels, school, Sophie, sorrows

If you were going to go out, say, for a long night out where you go to dinner, and a movie, and get to listen to music in the car and have an uninterrupted conversation or two with a friend, I suppose there are worse things you could come home to than your son's huge, giant, enormously swollen black eye obtained from roughhousing with his father - this injury inflicted on the exact eye that had just barely recovered from a rather nasty stye. I mean really, it could be a lot worse.

In other news today I picked up seed potatoes (Russian Banana fingerlings!) and two thai pepper plants while Nels lost a pair of shoes - all at the iconic and fabulous Satsop Nursery, which looks like rundown scary buildings and then you go inside and it's a lovely jungle of beautifully-maintained plants.

Tonight with friend Amy on our date I ordered Irish Coffee and Bangers & Mash at the Galway Bay pub in Ocean Shores. And I really did not regret that decision in the slightest. Yes, that's right, sausages actually covered in gravy, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Labels: film, food, friends, Nels, Ralph

Today while Ralph and I were making up labels on a little home-brewed project of mine (see below) I spied our kitty Harris outside with a bird in his mouth. This is the second one in three days. The bird from Friday was quite dead, and perhaps not even by his hand (or paw, such as it is). This one was still alive. Ralph ran outside and retrieved the cat and went inside the house to look for the phone number of a rehabilitation group. I picked up the bird. The children ran outside and crowded around me. Our neighbor's daughter called over the fence, asking for updates which my kids gave. I couldn't hear them because I was rather distressed.

The bird went through agonies in my hand, arching back it's head and opening it's beak as if gasping. It's gasps began to have sound. Then it died in my palm. I laid it down and it changed very profoundly from something fighting to live into something dead. Something left it's body so obviously as if it was an entirely different thing altogether. I cried. I don't care if you think that's silly. You weren't there.

Sophie cried a little out of shock and then went inside to tell Ralph. She came back outside and the children took turns holding the bird and talking about what happened. They weren't upset. Ralph dug a hole in the yard and we placed the bird, a few worms, and a flower inside the hole.

Life went on. For us.


My mother asked me to make something nice up for a few friends.

Labels: death, Harris, Nels, Sophie

Last night my children and I were lying on the full size bed in their room and they begged me to tell them a story - something that really happened to me. I was lying looking up at Sophie's bunk bed so I remembered one: "One time in the bus, we were driving somewhere. Billy and I were on the top bunk bed. There were three bunk beds: Grandma and Grandpa's, mine, then Billy's. We were in the top one. Billy fell off and hit his head. He split the skin of his head open and we had to drive to a hospital and get him stitches."

They liked that story and talked about it a bit (Nels has had stitches, too). They asked for another story. I was still thinking about my brother so I told them: "One time when we were pretty young we were up at the Mason Lake cabin. Billy and I were in the water. I caught a snake that was swimming, and I gave it to him, and it bit him."

Sophie said, "Why does all the bad luck happen to Uncle Billy?"

Nels said, "Tell us another story."

Now I was on a roll. "One time when we lived in California we were having a picnic with family,"* I told them, "and Billy was about to take a bite of a chip. And just as he put it to his mouth a grasshopper jumped on the chip and Billy bit the bug in half."

Nels asks solemnly, "Was the grasshopper white, or green, or pink?"

Sophie says, with authority, "It was green." And I think she was right.

* I neglected to mention to my children that all the grownups were stoned or sloppy or both.

Labels: birlo, Nels, Sophie

Yesterday evening I biked about 8 miles total - hauling both kids, two huge coffee carafes, cream and coffee cups for two dozen people, my Secretary's binder - and a chicken barley casserole - to my son's preschool for our Open House. Now as one of the school hostesses I'd like to see myself this way: hair impeccably coiffed, one foot extended in a classy patent leather pump, sweater seat or classy dressy frock, and I'm smiling and saying gracious stuff (something like her). Instead it's me loudly cackling and probably saying the word "cock" to my friend Shannon (who also biked with me, and is also loud) and I'm sporting really filthy hippie pigtails, sweat rings*, red face, and leaking barley juice that was at least fragrant (the casserole turned out beautifully) while my children tumble into the school breakneck speed and I'm pretty sure Nels was, as usual, fully cross-dressed.

At the end of the event - four Board members, so much coffee, so much effort and organization - we'd managed to entertain and enjoy the one family that did attend. I looked at Shannon (our President for next year) and said, "We nailed it!" and we cackled some more. In all fairness I do think the family that came to the Open House will be enrolling both their small children. And my family and I had a great time and a great bike ride.

Today Ralph and I met with a school administrator to discuss next year's plan to homeschool Sophie. It was a great meeting and we were assured that the school supports our involvement in any school programs Sophie would like to attend. But I was left with that distinct feeling of - for lack of a better word - company-speak. I found myself wanting to know more from this administrator; more about how someone privy to the school system felt about our WASL, about homeschooling; perhaps some candid talk about the troubles and triumphs of the system. As it is I am still dumb as a post to any political or backroom knowledge. Still, it was nice to meet and discuss; and it was very nice to know the door is completely open to us.

I felt so silly the rest of my day. I've been busy lately but not too busy to avoid a general contentment in my life. Is it true all I want to do is cook**, visit with friends, garden, hang out with my kids, bike, and clean my house? And if it's true that's "all I want to do" - isn't that just a form of living, and a pretty good one? How did I luck into having my life this way (for now)? Why do I feel so odd being - again, for lack of a better word - fulfilled, by such mundane stuff?

* I couldn't find anything on Google image search sweaty and gross enough, sorry.

** Today I made Cypress Easter Bread, sourdough rye from my own starter (pwnage!), and Rustic Baked Beef Stew.

Labels: bike, food, food geekery, homesteading, Nels, school

It's noon and the van is packed, the kids have enough water (it's a hot day), and swaddled in my basket is a lunch of cheese on multigrain bread, roasted garbanzo beans (Nels calls them "grabanzo" beans), and carrot sticks in ice water. This morning I spent $7.34 for the food I brought my daughter's class (a weekly ritual), have exactly $21 for the tank of gas to the city and back( the trip will take every penny), and retain $2 to buy myself a coffee (with tip) on the road.

I'm tired of driving to Olympia and back. This is the third time in about a month for the kids' dentistry. After today, though, we will be done with sealants and fillings and the next trip won't be until their October checkups. If I had a few bucks to buy some lunch or visit Danger Room Comics or a fabric store I'd have looked forward to this trip. Or even better, if I had someone along with me to chat. As it is I am instantly thrilled to my bones with horrific boredom at the little stretch of highway I have to traverse. I've never enjoyed repetitive car trips and incline my head with respect to those who don't mind.

My daughter does well at the dentist's and doesn't even vomit later due to the nitrous gas administration (like she did last time). Driving back I'm impressed with my children; they are champs, not whining, not begging for McDonald's or ice cream or telling me they're bored. I have one earbud in (my iPod converter does not work) and the kids cope without DVD player or strenuous kiddie-music song recitation or even books, looking out the window and lost in their own thoughts. When we get home I give them something cold to drink and hug them and tell them I'm proud of them.

Labels: coffee, doldrums, Nels, roadtrip, Sophie

Last night I had two glasses of wine at dinner with friends (dinner was a nice time) and then two more glasses later the evening. This is a fair amount of wine by any standard, but quite a bit for me. My eyes popped open in the middle-of-the-night-post-drinking way that tells me sleep will not return for a while. Imagine my disappointment when I journeyed to the kitchen to discover it was only 2 AM!

Ralph once told me that if struck with insomnia (which he also sometimes suffers from) there's no point lying in bed trying to sleep if you can't. So I got up and sewed most of a shirt in my sewing room, knocking about on my recently reclaimed serger (fresh back from a tuneup) and fortunately not encountering any of the bad sewing mojo I've had lately. I passed through the bedroom at one point and found my son, curled up against his father but with eyes wide open. See, he'd suffered a similar bump in his normal sleeping arrangements, having fallen asleep at the table at Casa Mia while eating. This has happened several times in this particular restaurant - I guess that's some sleepy pizza. Here he was seven hours later quiet in mind and body and awake in a sleeping house.

I put my arms out to Nels and he silently clambered up into my arms. The next three hours we spent fireside snuggling in blankets, in the kitchen making Mexican hot chocolate, or back in his bed looking out the window at the "firefly" he discovered - a blinking light from a nearby tower on the hill. He talked and talked but what was better is, I listened to him, and he listened when I talked. I'd been feeling like the last few days I'd been ignoring him, often on errands with my mother or friends, or trying to get my chores done and including him in the process but with my mind far away. My mind and body were with my boy last night. And I guess if one is going to be struck with insomnia having company - especially company exhibiting such sweetness - ends up being better than sleeping.

Addendum: I had a really nice Mother's Day. Ralph really spoiled me with gifts (flowers, special breakfast, tickets to my favorite ever songwriter, and a generous gift certificate to one of my favorite ever places). My children each made me cards and gifts and we got to go to a Cinco de Mayo party that afternoon. Only mere "minutes" ago - to my mind - my children were tiny babies I lived for and slaved for who rewarded me with smiles and embraces in between crying fits and meddling with things and diaper needs. Things look much the same these days except my children are intentionally communicating how they feel about me; Sophie's Mother's Day card said, "I [ heart ] My Mothr" (with her photo glued in the middle of the heart) - inside were not only two beautifully-drawn flowers but also a three-tier cake topped with a crown and above this all, fireworks! So I guess to her at least sometimes, I'm pretty awesome.

Labels: friends, holidays, Nels, sewing, sreep, tenderness

This weekend was a busy one - coming off a dinner party (of sorts) on Thursday we took in the school carnival at Lincoln elementary, the bridge opening celebration at the HQX Farmer's Market, the Shorebird Festival, and a private rollerskating birthday party (where I discovered I could still skate reasonably well). All traveled to by foot or by bike and on a shoestring grocery budget. Ralph also worked most of Saturday in the yard mowing, weed-eating, and finishing our "greenhouse" (which Nels calls a "pinkhouse" for absolutely no reason - the truth is it's kind of this DIY recycled materials shanty). I joined him to hang laundry and put out the starts I'd been working up: lettuces, cucumbers, peas, bush beans, cilantro, sunflowers, love in a mist, snapdragons, amaranth, sweet peas, and calendula. Now if only the cats would stop using our lovely large bed as a lovely large litterbox. In fact today I had a very, very sad cat crap experience I won't elaborate on. Yeah, it was really, really bad. Just know this and be glad it didn't happen to you. P.S. I'll be telling Billy every detail.

Yesterday's daytime activities were a very sweet affair: the kids and I played "homeschool" in part inspired by the old-fashioned child's desk we found at the Public Market's associated garage sale (where I also made a new friend, an RN who works up on the Quinault Reservation). The children loved the school play - and I mean loved it. Sophie would call Harris "the school cat" with the most pleased expression of eye and tooth. During the subject of "bath time" I made up report cards in categories Science & Discovery, Art & Creative Play, Exercise & Pet Care, Food Preparation, Personal Hygiene & Clean Up, and Conduct. I wrote things like, "Very good at washing dishes," and "B- : forgot to flush toilet" and, "Was the catcher during 'Parachute Toy Science Experiment'." Smart Mommy and Daddy readers will immediately see this enabled me to also get the entire house clean with their help. Maybe I'll graduate up to Coffee Making and Foot Rubbing extra credit projects.

Tomorrow finds me back to the "normal" school routine and I already miss our weekend together. We had a lot of sunny, easy hours together.

Labels: garden, homesteading, HQX, Nels, school, Sophie

1. We got two rats - Strawberry and Maude. Maude is very sick, probably for lack of care of previous owner? Please pray for my rat.

2. Nels gave Harris a whisker-trim. He did an OK job, actually.

3. I've been working super hard on the Community Garden and learning a lot about the local politics of extending community outside the status quo. ¡QUÉ LÁSTIMA!

4. I finished the g-d Harris costume for Nels. He loves it. It hurt my ego to sew it.

5. My children and husband are minutes away from leaving for the weekend on a little trip.

Labels: garden, Harris, Nels, vacation, weekend

Big news today in our house: tonight in the bath my son retracted his foreskin. You have to understand that for a year and a half I've been worried about his glans. This horrible, horrible, horrible doctor forcibly retracted his foreskin at age 2 1/2 and for well over a year my boy didn't want anyone to touch his penis, for fear of being hurt again. I couldn't find the blog entry - maybe there wasn't one - regarding this, one of the most upsetting experiences I've yet had as a parent (worse than when Sophie whacked her toe with an axe; I felt, inexplicably, like I should have protected Nels from this unforseen mini-tragedy).

"The foreskin therefore can be likened to a rosebud which remains closed and muzzled. Like a rosebud, it will only blossom when the time is right. No one opens a rosebud to make it blossom." - H. L. Tan, MD (from nocirc.org)

Waiting for me to be ready for Family Movie Night, Ralph finds "Wig In A Box" from Hedwig on YouTube for Nels - my beautiful, cross-dressing loving and lovable boy.

Labels: milestones, music, Nels

Yesterday my children asked to go to the kids carnival at the mall. We got there just as it was closing. It's one of those very rare incidents in my life I feel badly for my kids - who generally have a great life - because I could have been more on the ball and committed to the plan, rather then enacting something half-assed.

However, it's hard to dampen the Hoga-kid's spirits because, yeah, their life is pretty good. We carried the last of our week's grocery money in quarters and played a few games at the arcade and let them crawl around on the plastic play structure - so exciting for children, so devoid of wonder and amusement for this mom at least - for about twenty minutes before heading home. I enjoy window shopping, and even though the Southshore Mall is practically a ghost mall - I picture the main phone number will ring on a black rotary phone in a back office with a desk clerk's skeletal remains encased in a moldering uniform - there are a few signs of life, like a good shoe sale at Penney's.

Nels has quite the overhand approach on Skee-Ball:

Labels: Aberdeen, family life, Nels, weekend

Today is my father's sixty-fifth birthday. I remember last year wondering if we'd reached his terminal age. Today he tells me his own father died at sixty-six (also cancer) and he thinks it will be a "challenge" to outlast.

Unfortunately I just couldn't bring myself to have dinner with them tonight. Instead I had breakfast with my parents and catered out a lemon meringue pie - a pie I'd attempted to make myself this morning with disastrous results, disastrous as in my entire kitchen covered in various sugar and cornstarch cements. Bleh.

Today had its good points: I'm still alive, I still have my family, and we're all healthy. A friend took Nels to school today, thereby freeing me from an across-town errand. I met with three other individuals committed to this year's Community Garden - what a bright spot in the day! And in boiling tonight's bagels (all of which turned out perfectly) I looked out the window to see my husband and son gleefully having a flower fight, probably the only thing I smiled about today right down to my heart.

Labels: birthday, food, Nels, Ralph, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Today heading back on Cherry against fierce headwinds I would have given up and turned the corner for the nearest bus stop if I could have - that is, if I'd practiced popping off the front wheel to load the bike on the bus.* It wasn't just the run-of-the-mill tiredness after working a school shift and biking with Nels against the wind, it was that I'd been running late this morning and Nels and I got absolutely dumped on (rain the likes I've never experienced before) which led to the compromise of even our winter-prepared gear and ultimately Nels spent his birthday - the last day in his 3 /4 preschool class - wearing tight Barbie jeans and a babydoll fluffy sweater (spare clothes of the preschool's - and don't think the wardrobe wasn't his dream come true) and I never felt I got dry before I had to head back home.

Even worse for me was a pesky creepy Ju-on rattle emanating from the back of the bike: somehow the child's seat is sitting lower than the 1/4" clearance off the snap deck. Not only does this unsettle me (a potential safety concern), I also am not interested in my seat or snap deck being marred. It's hard for me when something just eats away at me and I can't fix it anytime soon.

I finally got home after dropping Nels off at my mother's. I cleaned and sorted and emailed and filled out acres of paperwork for tomorrow's pediatric dentist appointments, then picked up Sophie for some one on one time. My mother ended up taking Nels on a birthday shopping trip: a soccer ball, dump truck (for hauling dirt in the garden), socks, shoes, underwear, shorts, shirt, and hat. At four PM he swaggered out of her van all decked out and directing her to carry his parcels (reminded of: "Big mistake," Julia Roberts sasses while toting huge shopping bags in Pretty Woman).

Tonight we dragged ourselves to Casa Mia (my foursome, my parents, and friend Jasmine) for our dinner and Nels managed to stay awake, although looking very sleepy (his second wind set in: he's awake behind me as I type this). We had a magical moment as another table serenaded a sixty-something member with a happy birthday, erupting in operatic vocalizations and ending in a round of hearty applause. My husband took Nels over to introduce himself as another birthday and after making acquaintance the group sang even louder to Nels, the entire restaurant joining in as one - it was like listening to a choir performance. I wish I would have asked them who they were or how they came to sing so well. I was trying not to collapse into my dinner with some kind of exhaustion, but that didn't prevent me from smiling like a fool and feeling the sting of tears.

The evening eventually wound to a close at my parents' after birthday cake and gifts. Nels received four presents, two of them additional Lego sets which he has not stopped fixating on since two and a half hours ago. He tells me, "I'm happy on my birthday."

Yes indeedy.

* Last week the children and I rode out to the bus barn on the Aberdeen / Hoquiam border to practice my hand at quick loading of the bike on the front of a transit bus. After a few minutes waiting in the lobby a supervisor came out and told me she was sorry but due to insurance concerns the public were not allowed in the bus yard. She went on to tell me it was easy to put a bike on the front of the bus. I stopped her then and explained that no, it wasn't - I had a special, extra-long bike I needed to take the front wheel off of to proceed. When it started to dawn on her I'd ridden my two children out the barn for the sole purpose of this practice run, she flushed and, from the looks of it, felt rather taken aback at her legalistic refusal. However, I'm not usually in the mood to ask someone to bend the rules. The handful of employees craned their necks out at the bike as I whisked us out and away. Nothing like leaving someone with that, boy do I feel like a douche feeling.

Labels: bike, birthday, Nels, rain, weather, X

I can't believe it's been - four years!

Nels David Hogaboom
a birth story

Born at home to mom Kelly, dad Ralph, and sister Sophia
1:20 AM Wednesday April 7, 2004
8 pounds 7 ounces
21 inches long

April 6th, 9 AM - is it or isn't it?

A couple hours after I wake up on Tuesday I'm having mild contractions that are only a tiny bit more intense than the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd had throughout the last half of my pregnancy. These contractions are only slightly painful and certainly not too intense. Nevertheless, they are somewhat distracting and never truly subside, coming anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes apart. Ralph senses things are going to go into motion and comes home at noon, starting his two weeks off of work. He calls my mom at about 3 PM and tells her to head up to see us (she leaves about 5 PM). At this point I am hopeful of labor but also feeling somewhat silly at the thought I might be treating everyone to a false alarm. My mom arrives at about 9 PM time and she and Ralph start writing down my contractions, calling midwives, and cleaning the house up a bit.

April 6th, 10 PM - the real thing

My mom and I are watching a movie together and my contractions are still coming about 10 minutes apart. I still claim I am unsure if labor is going someplace. But everyone is noticing I pause the movie during each contraction so I can concentrate on getting though it. I'm undecided if I should walk around to "get things moving" or lie down and rest in between contractions. I'm trying not to be too fearful of another long labor like I had with my first child. Suddenly at about 10:30 PM I hop up from the bed and turn off the movie, since contractions have sped up to about 4 minutes apart. Naturally my mom and Ralph are very excited and go about making phone calls and preparations while I pace the floor and cope with each contraction. It is going quite well but I keep telling myself these are the "easy" contractions and I try not to worry about what's to come.

Around 10:30 my midwives and my doula start arriving and I am focusing inward in the classic "Laborland" manner. I notice peripherally how efficient and friendly everyone is, setting up the bed, laying out blankets and birth supplies and getting snacks. Everyone is wonderful to me and provides me with water and encouragement between contractions, respectful silence and privacy during. I feel very protected and honored and so it is easy not to be fearful. My doula Elizabeth arrives and strokes my back and speaks softly to me. She puts me nearly to sleep in between contractions. I am feeling so grateful for the love and encouragement I am getting. I know I am coping very well and in fact since I am doing so well I don't think I am very far along.

April 7th, Midnight - silliest labor quote

Things are intense but I don't want a check to see how far I've dilated. I am somewhat afraid to discover all the work I am doing hasn't gotten me anywhere. Laura (one of the midwives) suggests I get into the tub. I'd always thought of the tub as what you use as a last resort toward the end of labor so I tell her I can wait. After a few more contractions I decide to get in, hoping for some pain relief. I spend about 40 minutes in the tub with contractions edging up their intensity. Everyone is around me encouraging me and vocalizing though my contractions. Elizabeth holds my hands and breathes with me through the contractions, then puts a cold cloth on my head and neck in between. Everyone helps keep me calm and focused, as does the knowledge I have to take each contraction one at a time. Close to 1 AM I feel the urge to have Ralph hold and kiss me while I rest, and help talk me through contractions (he's repeating something I read from Birthing From Within: "Labor is hard work, it hurts, and you can do it"). I don't realize at the time but I am going through transition. After a few contractions I start to feel a little of that, well -- grunting urge. I know it is perfectly okay to grunt and push a little to help with the pain and I instinctively do so. The midwives clue into what I am doing and are back in the room. Laura says, "Gee Kelly, it sounds like you're pushing" and I reply (idiotically) "I'm not really pushing, it just feels good to bear down a little bit". These contractions are pretty rough but everyone is helping me so much it is still very manageable.

April 7th, 1:10 AM - OUCH, OUCH, OUCH!

Kathy convinces me to let her check me and informs me not only am I completely dilated, but that the baby's head has descended quite a bit. I am completely amazed at this (despite knowing I am feeling the urge to push) and even accuse everyone of just saying that to make me feel better! (I feel a little silly about this later). During each contraction I am feeling the pain in my hips, all the way to the bone, which my midwives tell me is a sign the baby is moving. Kathy tells me later I comment that it is like a crowbar prying my pelvis apart. Despite the pain I am coping well and in between the contractions I am still calm. I comment that I am not feeling any pressure in my bottom yet and I think to myself this means I have a ways to go. Oops, I speak too soon -- with the next contraction I feel the baby AT THE DOOR, so to speak. This takes me by surprise and my labor sounds change from low and powerful and very alarmed and - well - a little screechy. Everyone is talking to me and trying to help me calm down and focus. I am amazed at the pain and pressure and overcome with an almost frantic need to push. I am pushing, pushing, pushing, before I can tune into my midwives telling me to ease off. I do the best I can and manage to ease off a bit and direct my energies more constructively. Despite the pain I am overjoyed to know I am so close and my baby will be here any minute. "I know I will feel so good when I see my baby", I tell myself and this helps me. Kathy tells me to reach down and feel the head and after an initial hesitation I do, surprised again at how soft and smooth it is. I can feel each part of his head I deliver. It hurts! But I know I am close. The head is out and then I am surprised by the fullness and difficulty of the shoulders, which I do not remember from my first birth.

April 7th, 1:20 AM - Nels is born

With one final push I feel my baby being delivered and I am surprised it is already over. I have been kneeling in the tub and so immediately turn around and Ralph tells me later I am saying, "Give me my baby! I want to hold my baby!" to the midwives who are doing their thing. I have a vision of his long, smooth body floating in the water, the room lit by candlelight in a soft glow. Within seconds he is in my arms and I am crying and Ralph is crying and the whole room is full of a collective soft and surprised murmur. I am holding him to my chest and saying, "I can't believe it, I can't believe it" over and over, feeling so filled with surprise and happiness. He is perfect and so soft and I feel wonderful. I realize I have done it, I have given birth to a healthy baby boy in my own home, with my own power.

April 7th, early morning - getting to know you

I stay in the water crying and holding my baby for several minutes before anyone thinks to discover the baby's sex. I hold my child away from my chest and in between squirming legs and the umbilical cord I see we have a boy! Of course, this is perfect. Everything feels perfect! After a few more minutes I am ready to get out of the water and get cleaned up, but I know we have to wait for the placenta. I feel like this takes forever but it probably is only a fifteen minute wait. Another surprising feeling of fullness and then the placenta is delivered. Kathy has to pull the cord a bit and gently massage my tummy to get the whole thing in one piece. My mom is on the phone with my dad and has to pass the phone around so she can cut the cord. I am ready to get out and dry off and nurse my second child.

I am helped out of the tub and into some dry clothes. I am so happy to have so much loving help. I prop myself up on the bed and hold my son to my breast. He latches almost immediately like a pro. I keep asking my husband, "Is this really happening?" because it has gone like a dream and I am so happy. After some time of nursing the midwife eventually takes my son to the foot of the bed to weigh him and check his limbs and reflexes. Elizabeth brings me food -- cheese, bread, apples and oranges. My pulse is checked and found to be high (100) so I am encouraged to drink a huge glass of water (this happened with Sophie too). My afterpains are intense, more so than with Sophie, but I know this to be normal. I breathe through them. Sophie wakes up and is brought into the room, looking cranky and confused. I kiss her and introduce her to her brother (she is unimpressed) and Ralph takes her back to the bedroom to settle her back to sleep. Kathy checks my bottom out and finds only two tiny tears, no need for sutures. The energy of the house is settling, people are packing things, Elizabeth says goodbye. Laura leaves too and I take a shower with Kathy's help. She stays long enough to give postpartum instructions and asks me to page her when I can pee. I am a little anxious about this myself, for vague fear of a catheter. Kathy leaves about 3:20 and as her car is pulling out I am able to pee, feeling now finally that everything is alright.

My husband is looking dead tired. I am wired and unable to sleep. We send my mom off to bed. I hold my son who is still awake! He is drowsy though and wants to snuggle. At about 4:30 AM I finally fall asleep on the bed, Ralph on the couch, holding his son. We are awakened just before 7 AM to the joyful sounds of our firstborn running through the house talking excitedly to Grandma. Grandma looks like she really needs a cup of coffee.

Labels: babies, birthday, milestones, Nels

Four years ago today despite the onset of faint contractions I'd taken a lovely, deep nap in the sunlight of my living room, waking as peacefully as I ever had. Deep in my bones this brief sleep felt like a ritual, a final act as mother to one child - before embarking on the New Adventure. I've heard it said any time you add a child to the family it's as momentous as the first child's addition. I knew this to be true that afternoon and time has not proven me wrong.

The family we dined with the afternoon I went into labor with Nels just left this morning - my friend Abbi and her two daughters who decided impulsively to take a trip and ended up staying three days and two nights (yay!). We spent a very active and rather foodie weekend cooking, playing, visiting the sights (including the farmer's market, our fruit and veggie stand, the carniceria, our Salvadorian restaurant, and a local creamery), swimming, recovering (by napping - which saved my body and mind), cooking some more (raw milk cheese! strawberry rhubarb pie! roasted jalapenos!), and sharing gardening hopes, seeds, and starts (the Hogaclan being by far the primary beneficiary on the starts).



About thirty minutes after our guests leave we find ourselves at my parents', serving up the pie I'd made the night before. My daughter suddenly exclaims in proud surprise, "I lost my tooth!" and reveals to us a bloody gap. A small flurry of excitement; my mother and grandfather in tears as they say to one another, "I wish Jean [my grandmother] were here." Sophie's sweet voice develops a slight lisp; now in talking her full upper lip catches a bit on the void her upper tooth left behind. She tells me later with cool confidence, "It fell into my sleeve."

This evening I knead the dough for treat I'm bringing Nels' class tomorrow (his birthday as well as his last day before moving up to the older class which he repeatedly points out, "Is full of new girls!") while he sits at the table, licking the mixer paddles. I am tired but breadmaking is one of my favorite things to do. "This dough is so nice..." I tell my husband, pleased at the soft, springy, smoothness that warm milk, egg, and butter affords (this particular confection contains chocolate and brown sugar, too!) and Nels adds, "Uh-huh!" enthusiastically, busy wiping his fingers and nodding. I lean in and kiss him for being who he is, my golden child who shares my love of cooking (ingredients he's chosen for us over the last week: cauliflower, cantelope, and a special red sea salt) and is forever coming up with the most imaginative games (tonight he was a pie bird and required I pantomime the preparation of a pie using his body).

The rest of the family enjoys the fireside and the warmth, contentment at the end of our Spring Break.

Labels: babies, birthday, food, friends, milestones, Nels, Sophie

I've taught a few sewing classes (to smatterings of attendance) over the last few years and I recently remembered a rather funny moment. My four students and I were about twenty minutes into our first class and introducing ourselves in that sort of nervous way when another woman joined us, flustered at being late. Somehow in her hurried apologies to the class she gestured at her crocheted hat and told us, "I just had brain surgery" by way of explanation for something or other. And in her hands she carried a toy - not a miniature, but an actual toy, machine.

Everyone kind of paused in that "dangerous" moment (in reality, there is no danger) where we are assessing if this person is playing on the same field we are. But it turned out this woman was a sweet, intelligent, mother of grown children who worked in the area. Later that summer I counseled her on a machine to buy (a Singer 15-91), found her a manual, and helped her learn to thread her machine while she fed my children homemade applesauce in her sunny, homey kitchen.

This is no segue, but I just had a rather unfunny but startling moment about five minutes ago when I called my mother (to tell her to cover the truckload of fill dirt we hauled yesterday) and found out she and my father had been at the hospital all night because of his skyrocketing blood pressure (a new ailment). It's like - I know my father is dying, but I still get so scared when I hear his life is in danger - and this is the silly part - I briefly and passionately react as if I can do something to rescue him from this eventuality.

I finished three pair of pants for Nels the other day. My kids' growth and play-use of clothing outstrips my ability to sew for them. I may have to - gasp! - actually buy them a thing or two soon.

Labels: illness, Nels, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

3/28/08 2:15 PM: date and time that my precious, precious X joined the family. I feel superstitious and odd about it though because, A. it isn't fully paid off (but will be soon!); B. heck, even when it's paid off it was a lot of money!; C. I haven't put it on the