I love to shop. I love to buy things. Being a one-income family of four I've had to adjust a bit. Mostly, I focus this pleasure of mine on the acquisition of groceries and food. I enjoy immensely learning to cook something new; to find something different to pursue, to go on a hunt for a rare item, to try a new restaurant (although mostly I limit my restaurants to our favorite deli and our local Latino fare). I enjoy buying a big or little thing for the house (last week it was two $1 prisms and fishing line to hang in our small living room windows), to clean or meagerly furnish my "nest". I've always been this way.

Our local garage sales are excellent for spending frugally, and 'tis the season indeed. Some of my best Fridays and Saturdays lately have been spent biking around Hoquiam and Aberdeen with kids in tow, hopping off at various yard sales and going though piles of clothes in hunt for our wardrobe (my children especially do not benefit from newly-purchased clothes). This weekend's garage sale expedition was largely funded by my lettuce sales at our local Public Market (oddly, while visiting my family before I left, my dad first made fun of how little money my lettuce raised, then insisted I wasted it all by driving to the Market. But in reality I haven't driven to that Farmer's Market once in my produce-selling escapades and in fact had just disembarked from my bike to share my excitement).

This Saturday for $11 I purchased the following: an evening scarf (Kelly), 2 t-shirts (Kelly), 2 t-shirts and a dress shirt (Ralph), dress pants (Nels), a pair of herringbone cotton pants (to refashion for kids), denim jacket (Kelly), hoodie (Nels), ls tee shirt (Sophie), and 2 vinyl albums ("South Pacific" for me, "If I Could Only Remember My Name", hippie David Crosby for my parents).

Labels: Aberdeen, consumerism, FOO, garden, HQX, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: bike, bus, consumerism, food, Nels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Labels: birlo, consumerism, Nels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I recently found an anti-Walmart piece by an author I respect, for publication in my zine. In fairness, ideally, I'd like to put in a pro-Walmart or rebuttal piece (Walmart is a big deal here on the Harbor). So yesterday I'm telling my parents about my desire to find someone to write an article I could put side-by-side in the publication.

"You know..." I say, "Someone who can tell me some positives or a piece by a Walmart supporter."

"Problem is, they don't know how to read or write," my dad snorts.*

"Oh come on," I roll my eyes, annoyed with the put-down and wanting real conversation.

"Gap-toothed hicks..." he's continuing on, mostly to himself.**

"Um," I say, "As opposed to your gaps, and all the metal, and the pieces coming out like a messed-up drawer of silverware?"

He draws himself up with dignity: "A missing tooth isn't a gap," he imparts, offended. ***

* I hope the fact he's currently dying from cancer alleviates some of my readers' annoyance at his asinine, snide nature.

** No really. I am so sorry. He's terrible.

*** My father did indeed stop being a jerk and come up with the idea to publish a call for a rebuttal or feedback, in case I don't find someone to pen the pro-W piece this time around.

Labels: consumerism, SNF, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, writing

Roadtrip! Today my mom, brother, husband, children and I headed to Olympia - mostly for fabric and sewing purchases. My mom bought us lunch and post-shopping snack - how awesome is that? I didn't eat a snack but I did bring home some amazing cinnamon bread for Wagner's.


I just want to say that the only reason my mom took us on such a long trip - 11:30 AM to 6 PM - was that Billy was along. She likes spending time with him more than with me. Because they are dating.

I love hanging out with the FOO. Sometimes certain members are a right pain in my balls, but mostly, I like spending time with them daily if I can. Today my poor brother and I had to run and keep Nels and Sophie at bay in Music 6000 while Ralph was "grinding his axe" (i.e. playing a guitar out of tune, to try out a pedal) and headphoned. Why did we get Nels to monitor in such a valuable commodity shop? I was glad Billy was there, besides for his company.


Nels fell asleep on the drive home and still, about three hours later, is out.


Sophie napped too but, once home, stripped her shoes off and started coloring. She and Billy like taking pictures together.

(And just for my secret thrift-whore housewifery buddy - here are my recent thrift store purchases on Flickr - I really do love the inexpensive and fun thrifting to be had in HQX!)

Labels: birlo, consumerism, FOO, Grazdma, roadtrip

Just lately I have struggled with not being harsh with regard to my progeny. I had been on a rather zen, non-harsh Mama roll for months - even during our move and some not getting along with husband! - but lately it's been a struggle. One can say it was the kid doing this-or-that but I believe real harshness resides within the parent and each of us knows if we have it in us or not. My body is flirting with anger right now; it's residing within.

Today seemed to not go well from the get-go. Ralph and I are having a disagreement (ah... how much I'd like to vent, but I won't). This is aggravation that stays with me, even though mostly I have put it on hold. This morning after busting my ass at home I got the kids et all loaded into bike trailer: shit! tire is flat. OK. I can deal. Drive to the Farmer's Market for eggs (2 dozen fresh), then I'm going to take the kids to split a steamed milk, then to the park. The kids have been borderline; Nels has been a little naughty. It's nothing I can't handle when I'm at my "normal" self but right now I'm at my harsh-on-everybody-mostly-including-myself self.

While at the Market my kids are just looking at the pies - no touching - and an employee I've observed before (always, every time I've seen her, complaining about or gossiping to someone) with the kind of wrinkles around her mouth that indicate she maintains her puss at a sphincter factor of about 8, 24/7 - passes us by and in a bored, aggressive tone drones, "Don't touch the pies please!" to my children who are looking at the saran-covered pies with their (clean, as it happens) mitts a full eighteen inches away from said pastry.

Well, she actually corrected the wrong kids today - or the kids of the wrong Mama. Instead of ignoring her rudeness and saying a prayer for her day (my gentlest self), or perhaps saying, "I'm sorry, but I'm watching the children. Don't worry, they won't be permitted." (my more assertive form), I say flatly, "They weren't. touching. the pies." At my tone the [ hag ] woman snaps to attention and her attitude becomes more conciliatory to the point where she tries to "friendly"-like interrupt the conversation I'm having the cashier. Get how bitchy I am - I don't even respond to this implicated olive branch. Fuck her. I continue talking to the cashier, pay for my eggs, and prepare to leave.

Sadly, my children take this exact moment to misbehave. My daughter starts wheedling that I'd pulled her hair (actually the clasp of my purse had snagged it) and my son, oddly, grabs a penny from the penny jar and (more oddly still) won't put it back! By this time there are three employees sort of watching my scene. My scene isn't that bad but I want to leave. I am so frustrated and in that moment I am *only* frustrated at the kids (who I know, even in my mind at that moment, aren't being that bad).

I am outwardly calm and nice to my kids, prying the penny out of Nels' hand and guiding Sophie out the door verbally. But inside I am so angry. I walk to the van, holding Nels very firmly by the hand and I'm making plans at "disciplining" them in the most assholian sense of the word. I envision putting them in their carseats and delivering each one a slap. Then I will tell them what they did wasn't cool and why (p.s. - "what they did" includes a bit of other, earlier non-cooperation I haven't written about). If you haven't contemplated slapping your kids before, it's quite a trip. Your rational mind knows, "Not a good plan". Your body and your emotions say, "Do it! Goddamnit!"

By the time I get to the car, my knowing self has given it up. I am tired and sad, not angry. I put them in their seats. I tell them I won't take them to the park and get the milk after all. They start crying (predictably), but not hysterically so. Sophie reasons with me, "I'd like one more chance!" she says. I say OK. I outline what this "one chance" will be - namely, they do A, B, and C in the library. If they do, we will go on the rest of our outings as planned. We are all clear-eyed and only slightly weary as we leave the parking lot.

We go to the library and they follow instructions perfectly; I take them for their milk and park visit. Our relating improves and I read to them - our afternoon turns sweetly.

Obviously, I am glad I didn't slap them or raise my voice or be mean. I am not so sure I shouldn't have slapped the market lady. Sure, it would have been unwarranted, inappropriate, and wrong. But in that moment it would have felt kind of good, don't you think?

Labels: bike, consumerism, i'm a hater, Nels, other haters, poison, Sophie

Today I got to have something I wanted. My husband and children accompanied me to my normal set of markets as I "forced" them to participate in errand-running rather than goofing off or relaxing a bit more. I guess my children are regular attendants often enough, but specifically I invited my husband into my world of planning, shopping, cooking etc (all food-related). I did not let myself feel guilty I was infringing on their "play time" (we made sure to play today, too). I talked about my food concerns and expected him to care (altho' not necessarily requiring him to remember all of this - that would not be fair) even though I sometimes feel insecure that this is, indeed, most of my day-to-day living and it's rather mundane. We spent the day having just as much fun as playtime would normally be, and I felt heard and experienced.

When we got home Ralph volunteered to make dinner (Cabbage Rolls and mashed potatoes) and left him in there, by himself, not helping nor bossing. He'd say, "Should I put these in this pan?" and I'd answer or tell him to figure it out, mild in my manner and not really thinking much about it and letting him do it (he was working off my recipe). By the end of the (somewhat laborious, especially for him) process he said, "I like making these." I felt not only did he help, did he take my shift and get another glimpse of what I do; he also felt how satisfying it could be to do what I do.

So yeah, I have been asking directly and specifically for more help around the house. Why does it feel like so much of the SAHM's life is unappreciated? Would I "need" my husband to observe and experience if I felt others supported and experienced my life? Ralph and I like sharing one another and our experiences; he tells me about his job and I listen and chime in. I wonder how much of today's experience was just about me, how much was about my desire for more social time with my husband, and how much was related to validation.

But for some reason it meant something to me to share with my husband why I buy my olive oil where I buy it; how I figure out what to cook; what market I get my forbidden rice from and how I found it.

Now it's 7 PM and suddenly the rain is coming down in a torrent; heavy, rainforest rain. Amazing. Dinner is served and the family is at the table. Thank you, husband.

Labels: consumerism, family life, food, homesteading, Ralph, sahm

We have moved to a locale with specific health issues that become apparent almost the minute we slushed into our driveway. Parents seem as a whole less involved in providing their children with healthy food (my own recent example precipitated more comments from my readers than any blog entry in recent history). Diabetics shoot up insulin then consume soda and candy for dinner. Shoppers "save money" at Walmart but are forced to do so by driving motorized carts, their visible disability being obesity and no, not all of it is "glandular". Naturally, Ralph and I are concerned with both the health and well-being of our community and the influences on our own family's habits.

Compare this to the culture of the town we moved from - a populace that seemed more progressive and active about eating locally, organically, sustainably, macrobiotic(ally?), and responsibly. Along with the education, concerns, and passion came a fair bit of smugness, often bolstered by economic advantages that helped foster abilities and attitudes that the working poor simply don't have the luxury of. I remember a comment by a parenting group peer - in a single-income lifestyle with an at-home parent, a comfortable income, living in a brand-spankin'-new house in a lovely neighborhood with two working cars - completely flummoxed at why "some people" (poor) would eat such processed and horrible-for-you foods. "I mean, it isn't cheaper to eat that kind of food... apples are 39 cents a pound, potatoes are a couple bucks for five pounds..." I didn't even know where to start with this comment but I knew it was unfair. Perhaps I should have at least pointed out that single-income families have one person at home who can peel and boil potatoes, and yes providing three healthy squares does take considerable more time, planning, and work than Kraft Mac 'N' Cheese does - or gee, what the fuck takes up half my life these days? I also remember feeling very sad as this person was reflecting an attitude many of us share; we who can and do stave off junk food and empty calories either silently or vocally judge those who have neither the education or ability to do so, carving ourselves off as separate / smarter / more moral than, well, the white-trash fatties.

Fortunately, this article (by Michael Pollan, author of the well-received book The Omnivore's Dilemma) does a more elegant and helpful job approaching the subject*. I feel his explanations for how we really screw over the poor is ultimately undeveloped - mostly likely simply in the interests of brevity, since it's already a lengthy article. One quote that summed up a bit for me and the responsibilities of people in my socio-economic slot:

"Yes, there are eaters who think it in their interest that food just be as cheap as possible, no matter how poor the quality. But there are many more who recognize the real cost of artificially cheap food — to their health, to the land, to the animals, to the public purse."

Thank you, MK for the link.

* P.S. This peer was also incorrect: as we see in Mr. Pollan's breakdown, calorie-for-calorie, it is cheaper to eat processed and unhealthy foods - not to mention often more convenient than fresh-prepared. Couple this with how overeating can be one form of "entertainment" most Americans can afford (as opposed to entertainments some Americans can afford, like oversea vacations or a boat or a weekend at a B&B) and the drug-like addiction and short-term soothing nature of corn syrup, saturated fats, and high-salt snack foods. Still. Michael Pollan is doubtless smarter and more well-researched than I and I encourage you to finish the article if you can; read his book(s) if you're so inclined.

Labels: consumerism, food, writing

What is it about the city where any time I plan something there I'm sure it's going to go tits-up? I fret we will be late (even though I leave with adequate time to get there), I'm sure our event tickets won't be recognized (they always have been), that my wheels with catastrophically fail and somehow I'll be stranded with no help in sight (never happened). In any case the night before our trip to Seattle for Bodies the Exhibition I couldn't sleep well at all, having minor anxiety attacks over the 5-hour roundtrip drive and who knows what else.


So this morning at 9:00(ish) Sophie, my brother, and I head up and I stop for coffee and gas and after that we make rather excellent time. Good thing too as parking in the city... meh. We eventually find a space that gives me a postage-sized room to maneuver and after a few minor detours we wave our tickets at some attendants and are allowed into the almost pitch-black rooms and softly lit displays of human anatomy, all plasticized but still somehow gooey looking.

The exhibition itself mostly made me sad. I couldn't help feeling that no matter how classy they tried to dress it up as "science" basically this was a circus, a money-making enterprise. My brother reported getting hungry while looking at the layers of meat ("like really good jerky"). For me it just bolstered my vegetarianism. It wasn't disgusting or anything (OK, some things were slightly off-putting, especially the teratoma and the slices of diseased organs) but the flesh of the specimens reminded me of the cats we dissected in highshool anatomy and those, those were gross.

Sophie is solid. She can recognize the shapes of organs, even at the displays that had somehow chemical frozen blood and arterial structures with no surrounding tissues. She was a bit distressed at dead babies but soon moved past it emotionally. I think. I at least get some inkling of what the spleen does through the small placards ("The entire volume of your blood travels through your heart in one minute") but am glad she didn't ask much about it because I still don't quite "get it".


We head out of town and miss any traffic.


I attempt to avoid my brother by a pretend cell phone conversation. Kidding, kidding.

Labels: birlo, consumerism, roadtrip, Sophie

If you visit Los Arcos family Mexican restaurant in Hoquiam, you will find a picture of my daughter, beaming yet gripping my arm shyly as she is sung "Happy Birthday" in front of a ginormous Cinderella double-layer cake my mother made her, replete with a large Cinderella doll. Except Sophie pronounces it, and I'm not kidding, "Cingorilla". She is suddenly interested in princesses. I am trying not to hate on princesses but rather find examples of useful princesses. P.S. I am open to suggestions!


My mother bought Sophie a Mary Kate and Ashley Olson white embroidered blouse and long skirt. Yeah, you heard. But it is actually just fine - not too trampy nor barfy. Don't ask me about her pensive expression here - I have no idea. The little "glowing things" in her hair are tiny clips - my mom fixed her up before we went out.


I made Sophie a swim kit: her own Sophie-sized duffel bag (a black Nike one), a towel, small shampoo and conditioner, goggles (she had the suit and cap already), and Cliff bars (one after each swim lesson). Here was the coup de grace - my brother made her a laminated "swim kit key" with her name on side of the tag, and a pictorial and label reference for the items she needs to pack:


Get this, my brother created this off of photos I took of Sophie's exact swimsuit, etc. Now she has a waterproof tag listing her gear. Cool, huh? And yes, my brother just is that talented and available to hire except perhaps to me.


The princess hair didn't last long... (note my psoriasis - yay!)


... and the goggles were a big hit.

My brother, father, and husband did not get gifts for Sophie. But everyone had a great time (or seemed to) at the restaurant and celebration afterwards.

Labels: birthday, consumerism, FOO, party animal, Sophie

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

(Here's mine last year - for reference).

Hogabooms:

• traditional Christmas pajamas, opened Christmas Eve (Ralph did PJ reconnaissance)
  
• 2 x glue sticks, marker set, fingerpaints, scissors, construction paper, watercolor and fingerpaint pads (from my parents)
• this crazy-assed fucking popcorn that has chocolate, pretzel sticks, and craisins and is just... insanely tasty (from my parents)

Ralph:

• Mauna Loa Kona Coffee Macadamian nuts (in stocking, courtesy of Paige)
• 2 x boxers (from Sophie)
• An Inconvenient Truth (from me)
• leather-clad flashlight from Sundance (from my parents)
• hot-ass jeans (from me)
• Homemade gingerbread house (made by Sophie at preschool)

Kelly

• 1 package Newman's Own caramel cups (in stocking, courtesy of Ralph)
• Candle card (made by Sophie at preschool): "Dear Mama, You have a present - so much that I bet you would like to see it!"
• video iPod - aw yeah, I just slip it in there all casual-like! (from Ralph)
  
• Homegrown teas, Italian seasoning mix, and blueberry jam (grown / made by my mom)

The kids:

• Kitchen set - pots, pans, and spatulas etc. (from me)

Sophie:

• Monster finger puppet (googly-eyed), toy helicopter bath toy, tie-dye panties, monkey bubblebath (in stocking)
• 3 x white socks (from Ralph)
  
• Bug case with 2 types of magnification (It's science!)
• I SPY Mystery book (from my dad)
• Brown and black ribbed tights (from Ralph)
• 3 X panties, black and white tights (from my parents)
• 6 x socks (from my mom)
  

Nels:

• Monster finger puppet (crab monstrer), wind-up robot, tie-dye briefs, fish bubblebath (in stocking)
• Boat bath-toy (from Mama)
• Drawing of Christmas tree and "Scary Hand" (by Sophie)
• How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? (from my dad)
• 6 x socks, 6 x briefs (from my mom)
• 3 x undershirts (from Ralph)
• 6 x briefs (from Ralph)
  

Gee, see a pattern? Socks and underwear for the kids, particularly for Nels (thirteen pair of knickers!) who is going to think of Christmas as a holiday all about "big boy pants". I am proud to say my children really enjoyed my presents. Nels played with his tiny windup robot ($1.50 at a local shop) for hours.

Other Christmas loot of note:

• An all-day adventure to the Pacific Science Center on Saturday, all-expenses paid (from Cynthia and Paige)
• A great conversation with my sister on Christmas Eve
• Many lovely cards (some handmade) from friends
  
• A Christmas Day run at the track (courtesy of iPod and my beloved Beyonce)

Labels: consumerism, family life, FOO, holidays

Day 1:
Shave legs. Well, halfway up each leg anyway.

Day 5:
Begin using fabulous Aveda highlighting conditioner for redheads. Hair begins transition from dishwater-reddish to Brassy Slut.

Day 7:
Somewhat capriciously visit thebodyshop.com and fill shopping cart up with $70 worth of lovely products. Ponder marital influences of making such a purchase without discussion and sex-bribery. Log off without purchasing.

Day 8:
Make a resolution; NO new beauty products, shampoos, pedicures, et cetera without going through the cluttered hallway cupboard full of makeup, snarled jewelry, the bobbypins used from my wedding, menstrual products, an old positive pregnancy test, and a large and assorted pharmacy of utilitarian first aid and recreational pain pills. Vow to tackle cupboard and throw out items with extreme prejudice.

Later in the day, buy a bottle of Coconut Trip lotion in the foreknowledge I will, in fact, get to abovementioned chore.

Day 9:
Receive long massage from oh-so-talented massage therapist. Sip a cup of tea and think on the spring. Feel refreshed. Go to bed early and cuddle with husband.

Day 10:
Confront the hallway cupboard during my children’s naps. After a forty minutes of grueling work - success! Throw out of copious amounts of makeup and perfume, much of which hasn’t been used since "Seinfeld" went off the air. Enjoy going through the various trappings of harlotry I used to court my husband.

In the evening, spend 20 minutes giving myself a pedicure while hiding from the children. Toes scream in protest as they are contorted into the toe-spreader. Paint nails in subtle winter pink. Feet look and smell great. Join the legs for smoothness and semi-respectability.

Day 11 – Day 226:
Abandon plan to keep “Beauty Journal” entirely until 7 months later when I stumble on it while cleaning computer files.

Labels: consumerism, family life