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

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

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 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

Things My Husband Is Right About:

1. Laundry technique
2. Roughhousing with kids (he does this daily)
3. Recycling
4. Recreational drugs (he's never done them)
5. Money (ask him about his new Financial Panthering Plans!)
6. Physical affection
7. Assembling enchiladas and / or cabbage rolls
8. Real estate
9. Breakfast
10. Spy / caper film plots

Things I'm Right About:

1. Just about everything else, specifically including proper personal hygiene, bathroom maintenance, child discipline, apologizing in a prompt and genuine manner, taking care of material possessions, cleaning out the fridge, buying gifts, changing sheets, keeping in touch with friends, throwing out clothes with holes in them, punctuality, closet organization, any kind of organization, milk.

Labels: homesteading, Ralph

Today I felt defeated by the end of the day. Really, I'd had successes and I'd had good times but somehow around 4:30 I deflated with a big, listless pfffffthbh.

Maybe it was that I'd left my bike guy with the go-ahead to drill holes and install a piece of wood to part of my new bike work. I dunno, that took the starch out of me a bit; but it had to be done.


The Bike Shop has some excellent systems for running smoothly. Here's the thing, it's so incredibly cluttered and crazy yet Terry will never lose even your tiniest set screw (although it might take him a minute to find it).


Sophie makes do in the Lariat while we wait for our keys to be re-delivered to us. It has been so very, very cold - alternating between sunny, sleet, rain and wind.

Highlights of the day:

Cleaning up my sewing room (yay!) but even more meaningful, once again moving my tomato starts to an even sunnier spot and making a hallowed little place for them (tonight my mom asked if I'd named each one). I think growing green things might keep me cheerful this spring.

Driving next to Nels and listening to our latest download (Alicia Keys' "As I Am") while he puts his arms around me and sings to me.

Getting a coupon for free bread at the Franz outlet - what a creepy yet almost wondrous place that is! Nels got a "Cookie Credit Card", an ingenious marketing ploy to inspire children to pester overworked parents to stop in for mass-produced refined grains.

Making dinner, despite being so tired I didn't want to.

Having dinner with the kids; simple fare (homemade pizza dough with layered cheese; roasted brussel sprouts, sauteed tomatoes and squash) but so nice to see their joy in eating and pouring their own beverages from their little pitcher of water.

My husband trying to take care of me. He doesn't always know how much I appreciate this.

Labels: bike, food, gratitude, Mama's crazy, Nels, Ralph, Sophie, sorrows, weather

My husband has been lying in bed sick, or under some general malaise, since early this afternoon; it was left to me to prepare Easter dinner (BLTs with homemade white bread, deviled eggs, carrot sticks, olives, fancy pretzels, hot tea), pick up tomato starts, entertain the children, do the preschool's laundry, tidy the house, and make these:


Please excuse the crappy Photo Booth shot; these turned out as beautiful as the tutorial indicates.

Happy Easter, all!

Labels: food geekery, garden, holidays, illness, Ralph

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I feel a lot better typing that out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: FOO, illness, Ralph

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Apologies that this is, in fact, a commercial. Thanks MF!)

Christmas was good this year. I even had a cat-nap - can't remember the last time I did that. Great food, good company, and nice, thoughtful presents. In fact, there are only - out of all the gifts that came across my stoop this year - two teeny tiny items that will be moving on from my house. It's not what my brother gave my family if you were wondering, because, you know, he didn't. Get us anything. It's the fact I'm so goddamned controlling no one buys my kids Barbie or plastic hoo-ha or anything they aren't sure I'm OK with. On one level I feel like some kind of present-Nazi about this but, yet, light as a feather and guilt free when looking at the high quality comic books, handmade clothes, coloring pencils, free-trade dry goods, cotton kitchen towels, dye-cast cars from antique stores, and locally-bought t-shirts that now grace our home. Also, more Strangers with Candy. Yesss!

I want to stress that I really am grateful for the loving friends and family but of course I play favofites: I've got a soft spot for the a homemade "Double Deuce" shirt from my husband. It truly was the craziest - the Swayziest - Christmas I've had so far!

Labels: birlo, holidays, Ralph, swayze

Nobstreater - fifteen 30 from ralph hogaboom on Vimeo.

D'oh!

Takes me back. I think I missed only one show in their two years.

Labels: music, Ralph

Grays Harbor Wind Storm - The Hogaboom Report from ralph hogaboom on Vimeo.

Seriously, I will love Shannon for the rest of my life with how much she thrilled Nels during this. As she was pulling Allison (her own daughter, the first child you see "stranded") Nels got the biggest, and I mean biggest grin and started crying out, "Shannon, Shannon, help me! Help!" and was like the girl elected as Homecoming Queen when she went back for him.

Labels: film, friends, Nels, Ralph, weather

Today dawned another beautiful, clear, and cold day. My father and I walked our family's favorite 3 mile route. While I walked with him I remembered how he used to run - used to run miles and miles, near every day. His ability to run was taken from him because of the medicine he's on. I wondered how many more walks I'd have with him. I actually pray: I hope so many more years. He is precious to me. He has so many ideas now and is working to see some of them brought to fruition. He asks me if I want to be involved in a neighborhood canvassing he's going to do. Yesterday, he helps me print my zine. We talk about all sorts of things, bit and small; when I listen to him now I listen for wisdom, because this is him offering it. Sometimes what he has to offer is silly or human or wrong-headed. I see him in a new light and appreciate all he has to offer.

Today I thought about how once my parents got back from their trip to the Lake we all joined back up as a family. My mom, despite a lack of sleep, asked the children over to help her install Christmas boughs in her living room (she's using holiday decorating to liven her mood). We work and flow as a family and even if toes get stepped on now and then, we respect one another and show affection in ways that we did not do years ago. I am glad I moved close to my family. It feels draining not because my parents exhaust me, but because the weight of my father's illness sullies my every evening in my home. However, the days and minutes I spend with them are a joy and I am daily grateful for them.

I wish I had more to write, more of my trademark foul-mouthed anecdotes that helped me get some readership started years ago. Or something wise and smart to say. I feel tapped out and sad today, even though it was a lovely day really. I feel sad because a few hours ago I learned of a misunderstanding and ugliness on the Thanksgiving holiday, the holiday I worked so hard for (I love how my brother told me - in jest I think - that no excuses, the kitchen is my domain and if something fails, it's my responsibility). I feel sad because my father is sick and I will never escape feeling sad about this for such a long time. I feel sad because I can't stop feeling sad at night.

I feel grateful for my children and my husband. I spoke with Ralph this morning about resentment. I told him I didn't want him to resent my time with my family. I told him, and I tell him daily, how preoccupied I feel. That does not however exonerate me from the responsibilities in my marriage; to have and to hold. I do have him and I do hold him. Beard and all, heh heh.

Labels: family life, Ralph, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Today besides the normal drill of fixing breakfast and lunch and getting the kids read for school I cooked a mini-Thanksgiving "feast" of roast turkey, mashed potatoes w/butter, and carrot sticks for Sophie's kindergarten class - fresh out of the shower at 12:40 throwing potatoes in boiling water for a lunch date at 1 PM (yes, I made it and on time too), deep-cleaned the bathroom, entertained my father during a surprise coffee visit (our conversation actually took many turns for the personal depths, much to my surprise), took the kids to the Sweet Shoppe and picked up some catered bread pudding while there (the only item on the T-day menu I'm not making), took the kids to the Y and worked out, and cut out two dresses and two skirts to sew for Sophie. At my parents' tonight I realized I couldn't sew at home; my children / the kitten - someone - had got ahold of my bobbin helmet, a part I truly do need in order to sew. On hearing this my husband offered to haul my Singer 201 down the narrow stairs, put it in the van and drive it to our house to set up; the machine itself weighs 25 lbs. and is in a giant cabinet that isn't easy to carry even over level ground. I opted instead to come home and tear the house apart for the missing piece to my 15-91. *

Here's another reason I like being married to Ralph; tonight at 9 PM when I said, "Oh, you should go rent Roadhouse since the video stores won't be open tomorrow," and he said "Fuckin' A'!", grabbed our son, and left to go do it. So. There are so many, many people who would not have had that response.

Through a misplaced Tweet I found Devil's Night Radio and I'm loving it. Tonight I heard Nick Cave's "Stagger Lee" which I haven't listened to in nine years on account of how much it offended Ralph when I played it in my car.

Oh, and I found out that after working out and not drinking alchool for a little over a week I have dropped six pounds. People, just so you know, this is officially the first time in my life I've ever done anything approximating "dieting". I'm glad to have lost weight but I'm even more amazed at how good I feel.

So yeah. Things are going great around these parts.

* ETA - that was fast. I published my post, walked into the living room, moved one couch and immediately found the little metal part. Good times.

Labels: film, food, holidays, music, Ralph, school, sewing, swayze, the bod

Most everyone I know bitches about expenses or claims they "can't afford" this or that - often baldly and in the face of evidence otherwise. Some I know look at other people's seemingly more extravagent choices and vociferously point out just how easy said others must have it because, you know, they themselves are just struggling to make it. Recently a friend with a family transport easily twice as expensive as mine readily pointed out that others in her peer group have vehicles newer, better, more status-y. And I feel confident those she speaks of with the high-dollar brand new SUVs can wave their arms at "proof" they themselves don't have it as easy as so-and-so, or that their car is their only extravagance on an otherwise "tight budget" (actually, I know a few of those moms myself). All of which leaves me and my assy Astrovan that's half paid off and feeling a bit threadbare wondering if there's anyone I can relate to at all besides my own husband.

Twice every month when it gets toward the end of the pay period our finances get tight. For me this means a lot of creative thinking about groceries. It means time at home baking bread and going for walks with the children instead of taking the kids to errands where I send something off in the mail, or go buy lightbulbs for the house. It means not going to the HDA function my mother bought me a ticket for tonight, as I'd originally planned to - because I don't have something appropriate to wear. I mean I have one evening dress that almost fits, but no shoes, no hose, no nice coat, and not even a bra that doesn't show and show with popped elastic in the band at that (my mom gifted the auction a heretofore unknown Elton Bennett painting, given to my grandparents on their marriage. The painting is kind of a big deal and she anticipates being interviewed so she has been buying up makeup and getting her hair done and dry cleaning her dress and in short gussying up for the event - I call her preparations "going to Whore Island"). This morning I tried to make it happen. I walked into an apparel boutique and saw lots of beautiful things. Then I thought, "I can't get any of these and know where my food budget is going to come from for the next week." I left; I wrote my mom a (not-covered) check for the ticket price and asked her to take my father if he'd go (he won't)*.

Twice a month things get tight. It means when I'm supposed to run off 50 copies of a letter for my child's preschool (I'm the board secretary) I find myself not able to buy the envelopes, do the printing and postage, and get reimbursed later, whenever. Oh, I guess I could do that - except my larder has no cooking oil, we are out of milk, behind on preschool tuition, late on at least one car payment, can barely make rent, haven't even touched the debt we owe my parents for their rescue of our family car, and Ralph has needed a haircut for months (yes, I've offered him a DIMY). I hope that last sentence at least can illuminate why I'd walk into a clothes shop and just know I couldn't do it.

I'm not complaining. I'm just explaining what my reality is. I don't think of the Hogaclan as "poor" because we still have freedom in our lives. We have made deliberate choices and they are hard ones. I read a phrase the other day in the paper: "kid poor". The author of the letter meant that all the money in the family went to the kids - their care and feeding, mostly. When I read that I knew it was true for Ralph and I. For instance, and largest in our way of thinking, we have an entire lack of a second income. This is not because I don't want to work or couldn't find work. This is because of what we want in our family life. We spend our money on the children. We put our kids in a co-op preschool because we wanted a good experience for them and believe in these programs for the betterment of our community. Ralph and I may be out of clothes (he has two pair of boxers and yes, they are washed carefully and regularly) but our children always have coats and raincoats and good shoes because we make it a priority. Food. Food is a huge issue for us. We may have $10 to last through the weekend but $4.39 will be spent on a gallon of organic milk. Every night our table is laden with good food and we sit down together. My children have known nothing but the best, warmest, most loving family life (with a little yelling and whacking from their mom when times get too stressful for her). They thrive and their strength and joy proves the righteousness of our lives even when I sometimes wonder why I'm the only person I know without a credit card or a down payment for a house.

Our family life is rich in so many ways. It's just money isn't one of those ways and doesn't look to be any time soon.

* ETA - he did!

Labels: family life, food, gratitude, grocery opus, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Labels: film, hilarity, Ralph, random

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

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: Ralph, vacation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: gratitude, PNw, Ralph, vacation

OK.

So, today was weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: birlo, friends, HQX, Ralph, sewing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


That morning Nels helped me make...


Bagels! Recipe and methods coming soon in the zine.


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


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

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

The fact is, what I hated in the Church was that I hated in society. Namely, authoritarians. Power freaks. Rigid dogmatists. Those greedy, underloved, undersexed twits who want to run everything. While the rest of us are busy living--busy tasting and testing and hugging and kissing and goofi