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

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

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

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

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

Labels: babysitting, chaos, paying gig

It would be untrue to say the reason I didn't respond to Chris' IMs - 2:12 PM through 2:24 PM - was due to "the largest poop event I've had to deal with in my life." The truth is, it's more like the biggest event for about a year. It really did come abruptly and without warning. Nels called me in the bathroom and - well, he was trying to take care of things himself and failed. As I ran a bath and cleaned the bathroom he said, "I'm sorry, Mama. Thank you for cleaning up the mess," but I told him the truth is, the whole thing was so out of nowhere and impressive I was amazed. I wasn't even mad.

No, what surprises me is how easily it was for me to go from being used to dealing with someone else's poop - on demand, at any time day or night - to being so, so blissfully happy and used to not having to do so at all after less than a year of reprieve. It seems one's default state of humanity is to not have to clean up excrement on a regular basis. Interesting.

A few minutes later, post-bath, he wraps the towel around him and strolls into his sister's room to select his wardrobe (his latest fad is dressing in sister-drag). After a selection from head to foot Sophie I tell him we have to head out to the van to go grab The Girl from school. Nels descends the steps and grabs at the back of his dress (actually his favorite rugby knit casual frock over a Mary Kate and Ashley full white skirt serving as a petticoat - he's the prettiest girl at the ball) and I ask what's up and he says in surprise, "My underwear!" Because of course, it isn't his underwear, it's his sister's. And apparently a set of boy tackle - even a miniature set - disrupts the fit significantly.

Speaking of Nels' garb, I found out I have only six days to get his little Christmas velveteen suit sewn up in time for the Christmas program. Time to get on it!

Labels: chaos, holidays, Nels, sewing, shit

I don't think I have that hectic of a life. I mean I only have two children and we only have one paying job and I don't take my kids to a million soccer games nor volunteer hours and hours at a church.

However there are just some moments that get the best of me. Like today when after a vet visit where I got financially bamboozled and I'm trying to get the cat inside and put away the various coats and medications and cat-carrier and helping Sophie take our shoes off on the porch and after getting things settled inside when I go out to the van to retrieve Nels (who's been roaming freely and playing inside it as I sort out the rest of our business) and he has stripped down entirely naked, climbed on the passenger seat, opened the van door, aimed and peed outside (mostly; some got on the footboard) in an (entirely successful) attempt to not pee his pants.

I am, however, impressed with his ingenuity and coordination. I'm not sure why he had to take his shirt and socks off to perform this maneuver. Nor why he had to do it in front of our mailman Charlie and Tom the Maintenance Man, either.

In other news: Tom the Maintenance Man is done with our fence. I have to think of something to put back there that will occupy the kids for hours and hours.

Labels: chaos, Nels

Last night was a small slice of hell. Our two children both awoke vomiting at about 1 AM. It continued through the night. As Ralph and I dealt with this drama we got in an argument. Because of course! What else do we need. After about forty-five solid minutes of vomit detail Ralph and Nels went back to bed and I spent until 4:30 AM up with my daughter, cleaning bedding, giving her a bath, helping her vomit, and trying (successfully) not to cry. About every thirty minutes thereafter Sophie and I slept-talked through her illness; she would fidget, I'd say, "Do you have to puke?" and her voice would come back crystal-clear and small and precise and duck-like: "Not quite yet." Then she'd say, "Mama, I have to puke," and I'd whisk her over to the floor where her vassal awaits. After she was done I'd wipe her mouth and go flush and rinse the barf-tub. Rinse and repeat, all night. Surprisingly, I really did sleep pretty well once we got this rhythm down.

And this morning while Sophie continues to dry-heave on the hour, Nels so far has not thrown up since last night. This makes the amount of times he's vomited in his lifetime, um... once? That boy keeps stuff down.

The amount of foul-smelling laundry, bedding, towels and clothes I have this morning is overwhelming. And here I am with my son on my lap typing and smelling puke in his hair and hoping to God I don't get whatever it is they got. We have company coming over for the weekend - one of my best friends, her daughter, and their two dogs. Needless to say my guest preparations are set back a bit (I did disclose to my friend).

Readers, if you're even reading this far, I have two sick kids and a lot of vomit and am feeling very alone.

Labels: chaos, illness

My house is a farkin' mess. I can't clean it. It's full of boxes and packed and soon-to-be-packed items. We're leaving in eight days.

My husband is downstairs playing "Yellow Ledbetter" by Pearl Jam. What he can't know is that this song will always and inexorably take me back to the summer after my senior year in high school.

This morning after a more-than-usual hectic routine - where I was hounding my children for not getting dressed fast enough, not eating their breakfasts properly - Sophie looked up at me as I distractedly buttoned her coat and tearfully said, "Mama, you're giving me and Nels the balls."

Labels: chaos, Sophie

Today I am distracted, frenetic, lazy, and sad.

I am distracted and frenetic because I don't know how to tackle my many, many to-do list items for our move. People ask the harmless and sweet question, "Are you packing up yet?" to which I think, Holy shit, am I supposed to? I mean, how I do I pack a couch I sit on every day, or clothes I wear? Yet the inevitable fact looms: in just a few days this stuff has to go in one truck and I can't even imagine it.

I am lazy because in some way, my confused activity has resulted in a decidedly non-efficient use of my time. Here's the problem: I know that if I tick off my "to do" list, methodically, stuff will get done. But how can I focus on one "to do" item at a time? No, so much easier to run about my house, hands flopping uselessly in front of me and making "pfft! pfft!" sounds with my mouth.

I am sad because I really miss Fancy our cat and would like to have her home.

I have to hand it to single parents and dual-working parents. Today I got just a taste of the kind of shuffle that must be part of their life. This afternoon my lovely friend Sara babysat my two children for a couple hours and this evening my friends the Creccas babysat my boy for dinner (so Ralph and Sophie could do their swimming lesson). The amount of shuffle-shuffle, do-you-have-a-carseat?, remembering details of who went pee and who's been fed, do-you-have-Sophie's swimsuit? - Holy shit. I think I'll keep my quaint and relatively measured SAHM gig. For now.

Labels: chaos, family life, worries

No school today. Mid-morning I ventured out into the world with the kids for errands. First it was steamed milk for the kids and placing an order for some TV I've decided I can't live without - both down at the downtown record store Quimper Sound. Then - since we need shampoo, and I'm interested in a natural-bristle hairbrush for my daughter's soft, beautifully fine hair - we hit a health store uptown in hopes of getting both.

In case it isn't abundantly clear from, you know, reading about my life: it isn't easy to shop with two little kids. Sometimes both of them are angels and they carry my parcels and people smile at them and there is soft tender music playing presenting a facade of control and ease in my life. But usually at least one of them (guess which one) is slightly less "well-behaved" and more like, "let me fuck with everything with my many arms like Vishnu." * Sometimes they both give me the bollucks and in those cases a essential part of my non-reptilian brain is glad the public frowns on corporeal punishment. Yet - it isn't legal (or smart) to leave them in the car while I hit these shops full of knicknacks and snooty fellow shoppers. So my solution, Port Townsend historical-district shopkeeps, is to attempt to actually support your fat, saucy asses with my money and WITH my kids in tow and talk to them before the shop, begging for them to behave, and do the best I can.

Today's shopkeep is an odd person anyhow who I have not enjoyed patronizing in the past. But I'm going to chalk it up to personality differences, what the hell. From the second I walk in she seems instantly pissed I have kids in the shop at all. I ask for help; she answers my question curtly and then darts around the aisle end-cap where my son Nels is running around with some sort of "woman's product" (tea, vitamins, Menstru-Lert, I can't tell - all I know is it's non-breakable and he's happy to carry it in lieu of touching other things). I hear her querying him with that "anxious shopkeep" tone (i.e. "hinty"): "Do you know where you got that box from?" she asks my 2 1/2 year old. And I'm thinking, It's your fucking store, isn't it? Apparently she's hoping he will literally stand in the middle of the aisle doing nothing with folded hands. I give in to her (unspoken) preferences and pick The Boy up to continue shopping thus hampered.

I find one item I'm looking for and put it on the counter by the register since I can't easily carry items and hold my youngest (who is has now morphed into a less benevolent supernatural entity). He wiggles and asks to be let down but I grimly hang on and go back to the shelves. The shopkeep bags the item and rings it up on the cash register, even though I am not finished browsing the shelves. She stands and watches me, clearly vibing, "Pay up and get the fuck out." (please note - there is not one other customer in the store). In hindsight, what I wish I would have done, was to leave without buying anything - to give up the ghost on the shopping trip and the unfriendly shopkeep. But no - I doggedly search for shampoo (mmm), find it, and return to the counter to ask about hairbrushes. They only have two, she shows me. She doesn't know if they'd work for my daughter. She doesn't know where else to find one in town. She isn't going to order any more. I give up and ask her to ring me up, setting Nels on the counter. She gasps and dives for his hand when he attempts to touch - a pen. That's it. I've decided: Fucking bitch. I start writing the check (about thirty-some bucks) and with every movement of my pen I feel more and more sluggish about paying and I do not want to give this business my money.

Normally - normally! - I would either take up the issue with her right that minute, or write a tactful but direct letter requesting their policy on treatment for caregivers with young children. But I am just too damn tired of this vibe from her and others like her. I am just not going to shop there any more. And that's fine.

Oh - and for what it's worth? Many, many places in town have excellent customer service and will attempt to help both you and your child(ren) in your shopping experience. Abovementioned Quimper Sound being one - which is why I buy as many things there as fit my needs.

I made a "love song" mix CD for a friend expecting a baby. Here it is:

1 Neverending / Damien Jurado and Gathered In Song
2 Fell In Love At 22 / Star Flyer 59
3 Hello Love / The Be Good Tanyas
4 Sea And The Rhythm / Iron & Wine
5 La Petite Fille de la Mer / Vangelis
6 Baby, I Love You / The Ronettes
7 You Love Me / Devotchka
8 Between The Bars / Madeleine Peyroux
9 History Of Lovers / Iron & Wine / Calexico
10 Always See Your Face / Love
11 My Beloved Monster / Eels
12 From My Own True Love (Lost At Sea) / The Decemberists
13 All Is Full Of Love / Björk
14 Love Story / Harry Nilsson
15 A Love That Will Never Grow Old / Emmylou Harris
16 Love You / Sondre Lerche
17 Love Me Tonight / Tom Jones
18 Stable Song / Death Cab For Cutie
19 Take Off Your Cool (Featuring Norah Jones) / Outkast

* Actual photograph of Nels in the shop today.

Labels: chaos, consumerism, i'm a hater, Nels

Port Townsend's Windstorm 2006 has abated for the time being. Last night after our dinner out we ventured to the store for candles and matches. Then home to our dark house to pack soap, shampoo, towels and pajamas for showers down at the Boat Haven. I took a lovely 4 1/2 minutes (three $0.25 worth) of hot water while my naked daughter stamped and splashed. After we were clean I sat in the heated shower stall bench and combed out my daughter's freshly-washed fine tangles and realized how very, very comforting it is for me to bathe or shower. I bundled her in her pajamas, socks, rain boots, a hoody of mine to cover her wet head, and her winter coat over all. We ran out to the van to join the boys, also freshly scrubbed.

Home and time for many candles, coloring books, piles of blankets. I set aside some laundry to take to the laundromat should our power still be out in the morning. But at about 10:30 PM the fellows from the power company arrived across the street; two cherry-pickers and a spotlight truck. They remove the offending tree limb and saw it in huge chunks; pieces fall and bang on the mailboxes below (nailing Cynthia and BJs but missing ours by happenstance). We watch the workers brave the storm and cold. At midnight or so our bedroom light clicks on; my husband and children shout, "Thank you! Goodbye!" out the window to the departing trucks.

To bed late, my daughter nestled against me as I read a few chapters of my latest book. Then finally sleep for us all; a nightlight glows in the hall. The small economy of light is comforting for what we briefly lost.

Labels: chaos, family life, PNw, Sophie

Today at about 10:45 AM my life changed temporarily by a modest, but definite, shift. I was standing in my kitchen having tea with my neighbor Cynthia when we heard this horrific BOOM! and a flash of blue light. Just across the street from my house an aging madrona had given up it's spirit in the wind and broke a line.

My son is the first to alert us that our power has failed; he sets up a cry that his computer game is no longer operational. Cynthia calls the power company to let them know. My house seems suddenly depressed, less welcoming. The heat I'd smartly garnered for our day in seems now to be only reserves of warmth. We decide within minutes to head out, the four of us, for pizza and a coffee.

Upon our return the power is still out and although it is only about two o'clock the light is fading a bit. I pile blanket after blanket on my bed. I read a book, I put my my children to bed, and I join my oldest and soon grow drowsy myself. We sleep hours, only interrupted once when my son leaves his bed and joins Sophie and I.

At five my children and I awake and my husband is home. He calls a family meeting, and in the light of the few meager candles we have we discuss our options. At first Ralph is unsure if we can sleep here; it is very cold in the house. We decide to eat dinner at a local restaurant and invite our neighbor along as well. Maybe hunt for some hot showers for tonight, then sleep all together for warmth.

At 5:30 Ralph and Sophie leave to run bank errands while Nels and I get dressed. He follows me around the house as I carry a wine bottle with candle; his hands touch me in the mean flickering light and he is a tiny sattelite of trust. Recognizing the temperature problems, I dress in a not-too-sexy combo of overalls with yoga pants underneath. I know if I get cold tonight I won't easily get warm again.

For now, off to our dinner with our neighbor. And then off for our night's adventures.

Labels: chaos, family life, friends

This morning I awoke amidst the three others in my family, burrowed under blankets on a large mattress Pangaea on the floor of my kids' room. These measures are necessary because we are currently having our house interior painted and sleeping in a freshly-painted room is, well, kind of gross and scary. That's OK because I am secretly (or not-so-secretly) a big fan of family-sleeping. So last night I was only too thrilled to move a TV into the kids' room and watch a movie (a "conventional but entertaining sports flick" indeed - I'm coming to believe the Disney sports films - The Rookie, Invincible, etc. - are my version of other women's romantic comedies - which I don't watch - perhaps because they are always well-crafted, contain a good period soundtrack, and are comforting, formulaic, and only mildly emotionally moving), a late-night snack, and all-night family snuggle.

This morning I disentangle myself from the litter and start coffee; Ralph and Nels soon follow in waking up and while I shower Nels lays on the floor whinging as Ralph washes breakfast dishes (apparently being hungry for ten minutes in the morning is an existential nightmare for our son). After getting dressed I snuggle next to my daughter's sweet body and we lie in bed quietly for a while. Then she starts talking, whispering to me of a purple dragon, a dragon "that saves people". She sits up cross-legged and holds her hands in front of her, meshes the fingers to cup someone gently, and tells me the creature has long claws to hold people, as she talks she is gazing off, remembering. "The dragon had a very friendly face," she breathes, her smile beatific.

Today has been a near-madhouse of activity, mostly including family events - playschool responsibilities, Halloween costumes, trick-or-treating - and significantly hampered by having the house torn apart for painting. But yes, I got all my Halloween sewing done, easy. And don't think I'm not thrilled that I have had emails asking me to post photos! And you would think I'd get to breathe a breath of relaxation now the Halloween sewing is done. My last day of my sewing workshops is tomorrow, however - so I have to prepare for that. Zippers. Funsies.


Nocturnal animals in my car, from the other night's late-night grocery run. Which I and the kids enjoy. Note Nels' many layers of scarf, which he wore all night without even toppling over.

Labels: chaos, family life, film, homesteading, Nels, sewing, tenderness

Well, I just snapped at a perfectly decent human being. And I think it was a pregnant one, carrying a gift for someone else. Yeah, I'm an asshole. See, I was dropping off a gift at a baby shower because I wasn't able to attend and this nice-looking young woman who was dressed lovely and smelled like flowers asked me to park somewhere else, and I fixed her with the dead-eye and said, "I'm not staying", practically hissing like some cretinous Gorgon sister. It wasn't her or what she said; she caught me at a bad time. Then she proceeded to back down on the parking thing, she introduced herself, and then said, "It's nice to meet you." I felt about two inches tall and hideous.

Yes, today is one of those days you don't want to cross me. Or don't even want to try to say anything to me unless it's something like, "Hey, can I help you carry that?" or "You look nice today." That's right, I'm being a bitch. Now I know I joke about being a bitch all the time but I never mean it, because anyone who knows me knows I'm not really. I guess I should stop saying it because it cheapens days like today where I've just about had enough and I extend my regrets to anyone who's going to run across me and I really, really want people to give me a break and not annoy me. But they keep doing it.

Part of my problem may be a slightly heightened sense of schedule and responsibility. My brother is visiting. This is a good thing, except that it's hard for me to have company. I mentally "hover" over the person(s), especially if they're not someone I can trust to help me care for my kids. And it's really a mental holdover of my own, not a reflection of the capabilities or willingness of my guest(s), who are always happy to help I'm sure. Whatever it is, it sucks.

Once in my life I have actually taken a "time out" from my visitor: I basically said, "You need to entertain yourself for a while. I'm going to sew." In that case my friend was probably relieved to have a break. But it's hard for me to do. As I type this now my brother and son are upstairs playing on the computer and I feel guilty. Not guilty for neglecting my son, which I do regularly, but guilty for not providing 100% appropriate entertainment for my guest. This is dumb because this guest, like most, does not need this from me.

An IM from my husband: he is going to be home late. He doesn't know when. Yay! More good news.

Labels: birlo, chaos, FOO, i'm a hater

It's 3:45 PM and I'm at a little celebratory ice cream social at a sweet li'l uptown shop that is celebrating a successful first leg of business. I'm here by personal invitation (which I'm very touched about). The owner of the store is giving a small, tactful speech thanking each person there. Everyone is smiling. Then.

My son. Is the one. Writhing on his back, thumping his head against the flooring, and squalling. Brandishing two markers threateningly. The room is mostly adults who are probably alternating between pretending I don't exist and wishing I didn't. Of course, three other toddlers are there (one, my lovely daughter who is behaving herself very well), but they are pulling it together for the five minutes needed. But it's my kid. Right now. That is the problem.

Today Michelle said, "You must be pretty worn out by the end of the day."

Yeah.

Labels: chaos, humiliation, Nels, Sophie

Sometimes my standards are pretty low. Like, this morning at about 10:25 AM. My standard of life was: keep fecal matter off of clothes and face (hands were out of the picture since I was changing a diaper and unfortunately you still have to use your hands for that). Five seconds later, as I tried to steady the boy and pull his pants up, even my modest boundary had to go. In case you, dear reader, are wondering how I could retain human feces on my hands or clothes let me just say that changing a shitty diaper on the shitty floor of a shitty rec center without a fucking changing table - on a 18-month old child who thrashes like a wolverine and screams like a torture victim whenver I lay him flat - is one of the worst things you get to do as a parent (so far, in my four years). If anyone needs a diagram or further exposition, email me and I'll fill you in.

But you know, I had to keep going with my day. What would I like to have done? I would like to leave my children, go home, strip down, take a hot shower, dress in PJs, crawl into bed, and cry. God, I don't even know what I'd like. It's been a while since I had it, whatever it is.

This afternoon my husband doesn't bother calling to let me know he's going to be an hour late. He calls about fifteen minutes before he's due home. While I'm cleaning Horrendous Fecal Event #3 of the day (the first being abovementioned incident; event Number Two was a delightful Hey-Why-Don't-I-Shit-In-The-Tub incident from this afternoon - by the way, shitting in a tub which was also full of newly-sanitized bath toys) - as I said, while I'm cleaning up shit just to maintain a safe household - my son finds a full pound of rice and dumps it on the floor.

But then I realize this is perfect. My husband was supposed to be home five minutes before the rice got dumped. So, I'm not going to clean it. In fact, I'm not going to go in the room at all. This wasn't the plan. Right now, I should be in the kitchen making dinner as The Boy and Babydaddy are tidying up the living room. Yeah. I'm not cleaning it up. In fact, I'm not leaving this room unless I hear breaking glass or my husband's voice when he gets here. And then I'm not speaking to him for a while, either.

Some days are just like that.

Labels: burnout, chaos, family life, Nels, random potty-mouth, shit

Dear Readers.

So much to tell, and no idea where to start. The family drama. The impromptu, packed-up-in-twenty-minutes roadtrip whereby I loaded up my oldest child in our truck and headed down to visit my brother for the weekend. The two days away from Husband and The Boy where my daughter and I were thick as thieves, staying up to 2 AM then sleeping in together, limbs wrapped around one another and hands tangled in one another's hair. The sheer comedy of my daughter's unconditional and expressive love toward my brother, who can be understated as standoffish (until you get to know him, anyway). At 11:30 PM on Saturday night, the two of them head into a local pizza parlour. She: peaches-and-cream complexion, blonde wispy hair, white sweater and kitten hat, and frilly skirt. Holding the hand of her Uncle Billy: sunglasses, long dark hair and beard, slight glower to his walk, and in his perennial thick dark wool peacoat (which he wears even on the hottest of summer days). They spent many an hour curled up on the couch (watching Nightmare Before Christmas and - Ralph was so pissed to hear this - Jurrassic Park). I think he's still trying to resist her charms a little, but it isn't really working.

I learned that it's possible to have a vacation with a child. Of course, we've had the kids on vacation before. But I mean a vacation in the sense of: totally relaxing, responsibility-free, fun every single minute of the day. No back-breaking lifting of an 18-month-old squirming fiend. Caring for a child 100% potty-trained who also washes her own hands when she's supposed to and can occasionally find her own food. No goddamn breastfeeding! [sigh!] Bliss for a couple days.

Unfortunately, The Boy is making up for his lost time without Mama. He seems to have grown an inch and converted yet more of his precious babyfat to sturdy muscle. He also can climb higher, scream louder, and eat more.

Three more weekdays to survive.

Labels: birlo, chaos, family life, Nels, Sophie, tenderness