I have recently been gifted by a few packages in the mail and these have been lovely to receive. These are gifts from friends, acquaintances, and blog-readers. Most recent was a lovely little makeup bundle from Jessica, a friend I've never meet in person (or IRL as the Intertron-kids like to say) but have spent many hours in email or IM. Her thank-you is winging its way to her.

Regarding this subject and thank yous: I goofed. A reader I will identify as J. sent me a beautiful package and I have misplaced her Port Townsend address to which I'd like to send a letter. J., if you are reading, would you please email your address to kelly @ hogaboom DOT org, or mail it to 330 Eklund Avenue Hoquiam WA 98550.

Labels: gratitude

I've had more than a few inquiries about my health. To report: I am doing much better and not in pain. I have an appointment scheduled with a doctor. I appreciate those who've expressed concern.

I am well-aware that I am particularly blessed: I have a solid body of friends, family, and acquaintances who not only care about me, they think about me, and they ask after my health and well-being. I try to thank every individual when they ask or offer assistance but I truly hope I do not boorishly forget any well-wishers.

Tomorrow the children go in for haircuts after more than a year of home-cutting. Issue of the day: should Nels retain his shoulder-length locks or get a shorter cut? Of course I will leave it up to Nels. I am curious to see what he will decide. Sophie has expressed her desire to keep her hair long, and I don't see her budging.

Labels: friends, gratitude, Nels

I have never, to my knowledge, strained my back by lifting, carrying, or doing physical work. But this morning marked the second time in my life I've hurt my neck badly - by lying in bed, or more precisely, moving my head in some incorrect way. At just after 6 AM I awoke to the distinct "twang!" of muscle spasm. Thoroughly awake, I lay uneasy with a hot dagger of pain working its way in my neck. I get up, take iboprofin, steel myself for the likely recuperation over the next couple of days, and lay back down. Ralph awakens and is sympathetic; I ask him to pass our daughter over to me. She snuggles up against me in the quiet, clingy, lovely way she does. I can smell her cornsilk hair and feel her deep, peaceful breathing. Soothed, I fall asleep for another couple hours.

During the day I got as much "done" as might be imagined: namely, nothing. I watched some things I'd had on the computer and had been meaning to get to: Dial M For Murder (I giddily enjoy this film so very much) the final two episodes of "John From Cincinnati" (loved it!) and From Here to Eternity (a decent film and yay Burt Lancaster in tiny bathing shorts!). I finish knitting Sophie's hat and start on a scarf for Ralph. Ralph, meanwhile, does the dishes, the laundry, takes the kids to parks and on hikes. They flit in and out of the house while I cringe on our couch.

This evening my mother brings us a delicious dinner (pork chops, garden potatoes, avocado, celery, garden carrots, blue cheese dip, and sauteed mushrooms), strawberry ice creams cones, wine - and codeine. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It isn't often I need assistance with food but tonight it's welcome.

Currently reading: Bigfoot: I Not Dead (or rather, Sophie's reading it), plotting for more knitting, and eagerly awaiting getting to know my "new" Singer sewing machine (a Freecycle score) as soon as I am healed.

Labels: food, gratitude, Grazdma, Sophie, sorrows, the bod

It's 3:35 AM and I owe an immeasurable debt to hospice nurse Corina. There is simply no greater comfort, medical knowledge, and support I could have been given when I called to ask for advice regarding my father's breathing difficulties and resultant anxiety.

Yes, I should be sleeping; I'm not. My mother, however, is. This is a huge blessing, as is the family I am surrounded by - all sleeping, too. I only have a few hours to go and maybe I'll get some sleep, too.

Labels: death, gratitude, illness

Today after this-and-that chores and breakfast we went to my parent's house. While Ralph mowed their lawn I cooked custard (my dad loves it), made two loaves of egg bread, washed all my parents' bedding, and dusted the bedroom and grand piano. And we all had lunch and visited, of course. I started in on making jam out of the fresh blueberries we picked but sensed my mom was ready for me to exit her kitchen. A project to tackle tomorrow.

I felt so unbelievably satisfied when we left. It's not even that we did my parents "favors". I know my mom appreciated some of it. I don't really know what else. Sometimes I think they must like our company. But I don't even know how much they enjoy that. In fact I laugh to think I don't know, at all, what my parents care for. They are unwilling or afraid to tell me. Sometimes they tell me thank you (my mom far more than my father), but this is a language hard for my family.

It's not about them, it's about me being who I want to be, at least with the information I have.

Labels: FOO, food, gratitude

Labels: gratitude

Last spring - I know this may sound foolish even as I write it - I was involved in an online quarrel with an acquaintance I'd met through a social networking group and met twice in person. The spat resulted from a miscommunication and this individual - who as it turned out, was a deeply troubled woman or at least going through a very difficult time - had decided I was a cruel, incredibly rude "Alpha mom" who'd deliberately snubbed her. I watched in horror as she trashed my name and character in a venomous assault to what felt like the whole world - which really was only a group of people online, some of which knew me personally and most who knew me through my screen name (which as always is my real name). I knew this person was far too angry to listen to reason or even stop dragging my name through the mud to talk to me personally (which I tried) so I more or less felt forced to accept the abuse (or stop reading it, which I did).

That afternoon I'd had to take my daughter to get a couple vaccinations for her entry to kindergarten in the fall. I was so distressed over what was going on in the internet-ether that I remember I was not able to focus on my children. To the outside world I know I looked calm and that I tracked what was happening but inside I was sickeningly split in two - a part of my mind dedicated to the automatic functioning of caring, capable mother - and the much larger part of my mind writhing in an overwhelming noise of being hurt so unfairly.

My thin-skinned nature is a fairly recent (a couple years' worth) demotion of my character and deserves to be the subject of another entry. But that moment sitting on the doctor's bench with my child in my lap I knew something was dreadfully wrong if I could let a near-stranger disrupt my peace so entirely - take me away from where I wanted to be, which was with my kids.

I left the online group about a month later. I'd loved the group and had participated enthusiastically but there was too much of this sort of thing going on amongst the members. I also decided I had to be stronger than how I'd been until now, for my children at the very least, but yes for myself as well.

Did my children notice I wasn't there that afternoon? I'm sure they did not. Would in growing older they begin to perceive a mother who was so permeable, who suffered so readily when anyone hurt her, that she would leave her own mind in order to gnaw away on her pain? Absolutely they would.

In my recent family crisis I got to show my quality. I had improved. I have invested in my own strength and my hope is my children will invest in theirs.

Labels: gratitude, sorrows

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

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

Not everyone has pieced together that I actually do work outside the home. Every Monday I volunteer in my daughter's classroom assisting, usually, with an art project and letter and number exercises. Thursdays I return and bring a snack and (sometimes) a little extra lesson to go along with the snack. Sophie's teacher Mrs. P. is awesome at directing me in a way that corresponds to what they're working on during the week (this week is the well-loved tale The Mitten as illustrated by Jan Brett). About every other Friday I have a shift at Nels' preschool. I'm the secretary on the Board of that preschool which involves a sometimes crippling amount of small but very detail-intensive - well, not exactly busywork, but administrative work. You know, the kind of thing a lot of people don't do until they're older and realize a lot of quality institutions need volunteer work exactly of this caliber. The kind of work you get little thanks for - except from the others working alongside you. And lastly, the whole family is involved in various aspects of running the program at the 7th Street Theatre which isn't as scheduled but is definitely detail-oriented.

My favorite job has to be Sophie's school, so far. I feel it is such a privilege to be able to participate as much as I do in her education and that of her peers. And I have put enough time in to her classroom that I not only feel I know a lot (but certainly not all!) of what goes on during her day, I also know her teachers, her friends, and her world. I never thought of myself as good with kids but my time in her school has made me a kid person, because I see the value in hanging out with children more and more. Each child, to a soul, is treasured by me. Each child is different. Every experience with each child fits them in their own unique way that leaves me storytelling to most anyone who will listen - my parents and husband, usually. The kids make me laugh and surprise me, every day I work with them. I would take any of them home in a minute. I mean, don't worry mom and dad, I don't mean it literally. I mean, "your children have touched me in a very special place and I'm pretty sure I've touched them"... OK, I'll stop there.

Today involved a sewing exercise - students cut out two mitten-shaped construction paper patterns, then we adults helped them punch holes in the perimeter of the mitten and directed them to a running stitch to bind the two pieces. Let me tell you, it restored my faith in my favorite craft of sewing. Every child to an instance enjoyed the process. The boys and girls were of equal ability and interest. Each child was proud of his or her finished work in a way that many previous paper-and-glue projects have not quite spawned.

Even more fun for me was the fact that two of the children who typically struggle with the academic and social learning aspects of kindergarten really excelled at the sewing. One has a speech impediment of sorts that over time I've improved in understanding. The other spends a lot of time in the "watching chair" (time out). Both of these children completed their mittens quickly. One of them was the only child able to course-correct after doing a whip-stitch error. I just loved in my heart to see them do well at something they enjoyed. Because not only do these students get the consideration / stigma of "special ed" kind of help, I get the feeling they are often treated with that "don't expect much" attitude by some of the adults in their lives. It would be tactless of me to say a lot more about the situation, so I won't. Today I was happy to report to Mrs. P. how well each did and how interested they were in the process. I felt proud of them, although they aren't mine and I only get to borrow time with them every now and then.

On my way out of the classroom I stopped into the library to get Sophie's new reading book for study. We reward her with a new comic book each time she gets a 100% test (she is currently joyfully swimming in the Boneville series). It isn't just the comic book reward that keeps her interested in reading; today when I handed her the new book in the car her brows furrowed and she read aloud, perfectly, to her brother. They both simply love to learn and love the world around them. They truly deliver energy and inspiration to the depths of me.

And Nels... "I like your sheets."

Labels: books, gratitude, school, sewing, Sophie

Sleeping with our kids has the benefit - besides a warm cuddly life-affirming experience - of hearing what they say in their sleep. This morning, for instance, Nels was worried about spiders. He kept jabbering about it. In my 6 AM sleepy haze I tried to address his concerns but I must have been lacking as at one point he said, "Mama. Mama, is there a spider here in the bed? - Yes or no?" to get the straight story. Even better: about four nights ago, when suddenly at about 3 AM he said distinctly, "I *EAT* greens!" and then even more hilariously made a huge chomping sound to prove the point. As Ralph and I lay quietly shaking the bed with our silent laughter our three year old made about a half dozen more "for good measure" emphatic chomps before finally quieting back to sleep.

I am currently trying not to hyperventilate at the thought that I might very well be receiving a new sewing machine, and soon, due to the inexplicable potential generosity of my mother. This would be the second of my New Year's resolutions already accomplished in the first month of the year. Did I mention fully three of my five resolutions have to do with buying myself something? Yeah, I know. It means I'm some kind of asshole or something.

You have to understand that this came out of the blue as yesterday, while waiting for our coffee pre-bike ride, my mom went directly from suggesting I save my pennies for a new "low-end" (meaning, $800 or more) sewing machine like she has - to telling me she was thinking of trading in her high-end serger to get me a machine. As a gift. (I think this was her very fast math after I did an out-loud calculation of how long it would take for pennies to get me a new rig.) So tomorrow and Tuesday we'll be going about fishing for a trade-in. It's all a very interesting process for me, and I don't know if I'll end up with a machine or not. I don't pretend to know how her crazy old mind works and I know she doesn't get mine. I'm trying not to think of how wonderful it would be to have a new machine - because a bird in the hand as they say. Don't get your hopes up. Don't sit here, rocking back and forth, wanting a new machine.

Today it was beautiful out and we enjoyed a modest bike ride to the 7th Street Theatre where my husband donated his expertise at getting them set with DSL and my children ran all over the place and tumbled down the ramps while yelling because by noon they'd already had three types of chocolate. Well, I love my new bike. Today Ralph tried to hook the kids' trailer up to it and said, "Hmm, it appears to be rubbing on this part of the bike," and I looked down to see his man-thumb was gripping my disc brakes which are not supposed to be touched by human hand at all, let alone rubbed by a big ol' hardware hookup. This means I'm back to the bike shop ASAP since the shop owner had told me the bike would accommodate the Burley trailer easy and the entire point of my bike acquisition was that of a family transport.

Tonight: a little MST3K courtesy of the DAP project while I attempt to avoid thinking about the bottle of wine Ralph bought.

Labels: gratitude, Grazdma, Nels, sewing, sreep

Today.... well, a bit overwhelming in bits and pieces.

On the way to Aberdeen along with my mom she let me stop by the brand spankin' new business of a local blogger, Etsyan, and young mother for a mystery package. After touring their office (the pride in their hard work really shone through) I accepted a gift package and well-wishes for the family. When I got in the van I found in the packet coloring books, crayons, and other little bits for my children as well as a Visa gift card with the following message:

"Sometimes things can be tight - regardless there's always someone looking out for you! Go buy some cheese for those pizzas! [heart] & hugs - [signed] Amazing Family"

I sat there a minute and swallowed hard while my mom asked me what my brief visit was all about. It's hard for me at times because I work so hard to make sure my writing here is never a specific communication to anyone or a plea for any kind of help or consideration (as my friend Cyn says, "can I tell you how I feel without you feeling like you need to solve me"). I always want the freedom to write what I want to write even if that might make others uncomfortable (or maybe, on the other hand, colossally bored, whatever). On the other hand, all the rest of you reading this, you are nowhere near as cool as this woman for how kind she was to me today.

I kid, I kid. No really. I am totally kidding. And yes, I am going to buy us some excellent cheese.

Three minutes after this visit I set my bag of goodies on the floor of the van, get out, and hoist Nels into the parking lot for our all-too-familiar trip to my father's biweekly poisoning session. When we arrive in the new chemo ward (fancy!) I realize I know three of the seven patients there. My own father and two fathers of friends I grew up with. You know, I never get angry at Cancer. But today I was really struck by seeing these men and I felt like there was some cruel joke being played on all of us. Why are these men being stricken, weakened, and yes, taken from us while they still have so much to offer?

The second part of my day I am on foot with my two children through the rain and wind. This is because I had no gas in the van and had piggybacked on my mom's errands (hanging posters for our theatre's upcoming showing of Mary Poppins among other things) so when she suddenly found herself caught short she dumped us in West-ass Hoquiam to take her meeting. Luckily my children are seasoned winter travelers.

"You really need to learn how to play that game," I tell my son as we walk. Nels has this remedial, caveman-like concept of Paper Rock Scissors, the game I've adopted to help the kids choose who gets to ring the bell on the bus, or pick the ice cream flavor to split with one another. He thinks Rock should beat everything else (I swear, this makes sense to me). Depending on Sophie's mood she will either take advantage of this to win, or deliberately Scissors so he gets the prize. When she wins, and we don't do a rematch, he howls with anger.

Spending so much time on foot, bus, and bike (I have $134 left to pay off my new bike's layaway... I am just so excited for it!) is a real blessing. I experience my children, my community, and my world so much more viscerally. Things slow down. I am grateful for my alpaca mittens and I think ahead about packing snacks in my pockets for the kids. I rarely see anyone out with their kids in this town. I see dads walking fast with a kid in a stroller, smoking. That's about it. Everyone else is in cars.

Labels: bus, gratitude, Grazdma, HQX, Nels, on foot, rain

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

Today I went to my parents' house as soon as I was done dropping off kids and fetching groceries. They were just back from the oncologist's. They'd heard a number. The number represents the amount of time this doctor thinks my father would have if they "did nothing" in terms of medication or treatment. It wasn't a very big number.

My parents and I sat at the kitchen table and talked about our options, our choices, the time we have left, all the medicine and treatments and our future plans. It was a good conversation; there was a lot of laughing, actually (my father's insistence on a coffee-can ash receptacle inspiring recitations of scenes from The Big Lebowski). I felt a lot of hope. It's also sad, and it just stays sad. It doesn't suddenly one day get poetic or easy or anything.

In the afternoon after Sophie's first-ever school conference (high marks, natch!) we went back to my parents' where the children played and snacked while my mom and I baked up a huge amount of pumpkin pies - 24 miniature ones, and one large one - for Sophie's school tomorrow. As soon as the pies were done we went to a house my mom is interested in buying (a downgrade from the large family house they are currently in). The house itself was a 1916 little cottage in a ghetto / river / industrial corner of town. The yard was amazing and even more so was the owner who'd built the garden - a jack-of-all-trades, an entrepreneur with glass-blue eyes and painter jeans, gesturing excitedly with his cigarette while talking to my father about solar power. He and his partner had formed the most amazing, beautiful garden I'd seen - orchards of cherry, fig, kiwi, pear, apple - bushes of beans and peas and carrots, potatoes, fennel, tomatillos, garlic - I mean literally almost anything you could think to grow. It was a really interesting part of our day. It was really lovely.

Labels: food, gratitude, illness, newness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

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

The weather here is, characteristically for this time of year, simply lovely. This weekend we got out as much as we could including a perusal of this year's jack o'lantern candidates.


I'm not sure where Nels got his aversion to dirt and mud but clearly, the knickerbockers I sew for him especially so he doesn't get his pantlegs dirty were not short enough. Next try: hotpants.


It really was a wonderful weekend for all of us. Carved pumpkins and roasted pumpkin seeds, dazzling sunlight, homemade bread, lots of cuddling, BBC's "The Office" (re-watch), fresh homebaked chocolate chip cookies, fresh air, great sleep, some extra nookie.

Labels: family life, gratitude, halloween, holidays, Nels, Sophie

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

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

I just sent my oldest to her first day of all-day school.* She was wearing last Thanksgiving's homesewn dress, scuffed brown oxfords, and brown tights. She had two little buns on the side of her head that her father gave her, her nails were trimmed, her teeth brushed, her ears cleaned. She carried a ladybug backpack my sister Jules bought her; on the backpack was a green button designating her as a "Rider" (as in, is picked up at the end of the school day) which apparently must accompany her daily or I will never find out where she got whisked away to (the teacher made no fewer than four impassioned speeches on the subject yesterday at orientation). She was excited to go and didn't want to floss her teeth or she'd be late. At this I half-joked, "You're in a hurry to get away from me!" and she replied, "No mom, I don't want to get away from you..." in this tone that said, Mom, this isn't about you.

I had a bet with a friend whether I'd cry on Sophie's first day of school; I did not. Perhaps I'm just too tired; I was up until well past four AM last night (earnestly I tell you dear reader - I have no idea why. I did not feel particularly anxious or have caffeine too late) and while I still got up and made lunch and sent my girl off with her father I am a bit lagging. But sentimentality at milestones is something that comes and goes with me; it's not a constant. It occurs to me the reason I held her as much as I could and nursed her for three years and cuddled her and smelled her close as often as I could and took baths with her and greedily listened to her voice and kissed her one million times was that yes, I could take as much time with her as seemed reasonable, but also that she'd get her fill of love and be able to walk out the door to other things. I am not sad she can leave without a backward glance. I am glad - and I know she'll come back to me.

A full day with my son, the first of many this school year, awaits his emergence from bed. I start fresh coffee and shower, hoping to lie down for a few moments before beginning the workday.

For those who haven't seen it, Ralph and I posted a wee cooking video on I'm Cooked.com.

* Pictures pending: Ralph left the card reader at work.

Labels: family life, gratitude, milestones, Sophie

Today I read a bit of Miles Levin's story (his blog is, in my opinion, worth registering at carepages.com and reading; after logging in do a search for "LevinStory"). I am sorry to have only heard about this young man on the day after he died. I am glad to have found his website and I wish I'd been reading earlier.

This entry struck me today, penned by Miles' mother two weeks before his death:

I read an article once in Mothering Magazine many years ago when I was studying to be a mother. It made a huge impact on me, shaping my platform for mothering. It identified four key ingredients in an effective mother/child relationship [ ... ] They are: PROTECTION; NOURISHMENT; STIMULATION; AND CHERISHMENT. I could write about each one more fully as I have meditated and reflected on each quality. Each, one no more than another, is essential - in equal measure - to the development of a child into his/her full potential. Each is a requirement of the parent, though some come more easily to each one of us, in order to provide the safety and encouragement, the roots and the wings, that allow the child to develop into a person of responsibility, extension, and self love.

No one has asked me what my view of parenting is, but I'm telling you. I hope that young parents who are reading this site will take to heart the critical role that parents play in raising children who are at once filled with self respect and respect for others: a tricky balance.

I read this while feeling deeply moved after having followed a few months of the successive entries of the mother, father, sister, and that of the brother / son / boy / man himself in this story. And I thought, Is that all? Almost laughing to myself with relief because I do these things, and I relish them, every day.

The thing is, I second-guess myself as a wife, mother, and person - every day. Each one of those identities (and many more: daughter, sister, American, friend, lover... the list is complex and varied) comes with it's own pitfalls and successes - each self-noun I write here I have wrestled with in both public and private struggles. Motherhood is, however, very much with me since my children are at an age they cannot care for themselves or even be left unsupervised for any length of time. It is not only an identity it is my full-time job. This job is the cornerstone of our family right now.

Reading Nancy Levin's words had a special meaning for me today. Lately I've been feeling so odd that most of my day is spent laundering, cleaning, cooking - Cooking! No one tells you that the more you bake bread from scratch and create home-cooked meals the faster these foods just disappear. There are no half-eaten casseroles in my fridge; food is rarely thrown out but eaten voraciously; I cook and it's more more more cooking - washing hands, laying out clothes, brushing teeth, clipping nails, holding and cuddling and instructing and educating. I devote most of my day to those things and there are some imaginary voices (and some real) I hear who tell me these concerns are so small, so provincial. Where is my brain? Where is my proof of life? Where is my contribution to society? Why do I care about making pizza sauce from scratch? Why do I think so much about the clothes on my children's bodies or the state of their bedrooms? Why do I have my hands in dough again and why are my successes getting the dutch oven going before our bike ride to the library?

But I also know there is nothing more important in life than relationships and kindness; nothing more important than striving to be a spiritual and loving person who gives and re-gives to those around me; to my family, to my friends, to the community, to the planet, to the world's people. I know that if my last day on earth was spent baking bread, walking with my children to the hardware store, and talking with my husband on our bike ride together I would not regret this last day.

So today I am taking Nancy Levin's words to heart today and remembering to protect, nourish, stimulate and cherish each of my children. I hope you can and will do the same for your loved ones in your life.

Labels: family life, gratitude, homesteading, navelgazing, writing

I had a difficult time this last weekend. And what I want most when I'm having a difficult time is company. Not necessarily to talk about my troubles, not to do my dishes nor sponsor me in a spa trip or even drink with or have a shopping spree. Simply someone to talk with, recreate with, cook with or for (I love cooking for people), go out to talk over a coffee, and relax. Time is something my FOO gives very sparingly, with vague limits suddenly and mysteriously imposed, with reneging of original plans and a culture of denial that original plans even existed. I am probably the only of the four of us who is generous with their time in an open and honest way and a clear communication of boundaries. I also note that when someone is having a hard time, I love to help them. I appreciate all the times I've been directly asked because it's hard for me to know sometimes when someone wants my help or to know how to give it.

There's a fifth member of my genesis family - my half-sister Jules, who was raised for the most part by her father. I wasn't thinking about company or family this weekend when I emailed her and told her I was having a hard time. However her immediate response was to literally drop everything, rent a car, drive from Portland and take me to dinner (all with very grateful and slightly overwhelmed thanks). It was at first hard for me to accept her offer because - I don't know. Some part of me didn't want to admit I wanted that time. Part of me suspects that some people make these amazing offers and don't mean them (this is actually rare I think). But mostly it's just that growing up and now my family didn't work that way. They don't seem to need help, expect it, or offer it. One result is I have trouble knowing for myself when I need help and what kind to ask for. I also feel sad asking for help and very sad being rejected. I am working to be different than the way I was raised.

The closer I got to expecting Jules the more excited I got. I began to realize I was going to have a night off from the family. I was going to have all the time to talk and listen that I could want in a visit. We were going to enjoy food or maybe rent a movie or go to a movie or stay up half the night. It was going to be open-ended. She wasn't going to tell me she was staying until such-and-such a time then suddenly leave early (classic FOO behavior). She was going to tell me she was leaving Tuesday afternoon and that would be when she left. She was going to believe me and support me when I told her my troubles (not "hint" at how I should or could do things better or differently). A part of me even distantly surmised she was being so generous with her time because I myself had made the same priorities about twelve years ago as her relationship with her husband was faltering (they later divorced). I was a young college student who knew nothing about marriage and I don't know how much help my advice or presence could have been. But I remember riding the bus as often as I could to hang out with her and do whatever she (or we) wanted to do. I remember spending so much time listening to her and caring very much about her and Mark. I realized I have this incredible gift in her and a few of my friends; true, adult friendship that is give and take. It would have been easy in some ways to say "No, but thanks." I'm glad I didn't.

Jules got here at 6 PM and as soon as my daughter's swim class was over I found her and we went out. I hadn't dined in the restaurant we ended up choosing in a long time - over a decade. We also immediately met and began chatting to two men on the Tour de Fat. I ate every single bit of my dinner and had a bloody mary. I started feeling much better. Ralph took the kids to my parents' where they had a slumber party / video game night in the upstairs guest room. Jules and I stayed up until 4 AM just talking. I ate too much candy (I literally had a candy hangover the next day) but my sleep was deep and only cut short by the morning responsibilities of my own children.

One problem with taking half a day off: you want more! And I intend to get it. Everyone should try for it, if they can.

Labels: FOO, gratitude, jules

From where I sit I can see my son's feet in slumber. The tinny sounds of The Decemberists clatter from where Sophie rests on the couch, waiting for her oatmeal. I've got a cup of coffee: good coffee, for a change. Today was payday so last night we went to the store and got groceries - yay!

Nine cups of flour; 4 teaspoons of yeast await me on my kitchen table. The kids will be helping me make pita for our party tonight. I'm going to wash and air-dry the bedding, mop the kitchen floor, clean out the cooler, and wash some windows. Maybe even (beg) ask Ralph to take out to La Salvadorena for lunch before returning to cook the potatoes.

Phone calls trickle in: Can I drop off a salad in your fridge early? Is tabbouleh OK to bring? Can I show up late?

The weather looks good and last night's launch of the firepit went well. I think my dad is even going to come tonight and hopefully with his creature (the "dog").

Off to mix and knead pita dough.

Labels: family life, food, gratitude

Today I bought:

2 lbs. bananas
2 lbs. broccoli
3 lbs. yukon gold potatoes
2.5 lbs. green beans
7 limes
1 pint raspberries
1 lb. champagne grapes
1 very large mango
3 avocados
6 ears white corn
3 lbs rhubarb (local)
2 dozen farm eggs (local)

The total was $22. The Farmer's Market ladies like me because A. I am obsessive about their eggs, and B. I know how to cook (as evidenced by their cagey reference to rhubarb custard pie where I rattled off my own know-how). Today while we were there Sophie also expressed concern that the green rhubarb they had to offer was not pie-able - turns out, it is, it's merely a green variety. The pair of hens at the register were so excited this girl tracked produce. It made me think about my time at the Farm last year; nostalgic, too, to remember it now.

For dinner I made rolled biscuits (Joy of Cooking), white corn on the cob, eggplant and tomato choka, butter beans, iceberg salad (w/Annie's Goddess dressing). My children ate everything and happily (as did Ralph and I - in our foursome Ralph the Corn Weasel, and Nels, Son of Corn Weasel, in particular seemed very pleased). I was thinking of a friend's child who was over for dinner and exclaimed about our food - "I like what you guys eat!" and I felt a good deal of pride over our nightly ritual together.

Today my Florida honey J. sent me 2 packages of clothes - equaling 48 pounds! 48 fricken pounds! You know what's slightly sad? My middle is too big for almost all the pants. Tops fit well, except for button-ups which don't fit across my chest. Amongst the many very cool clothes there was a small collection of long hippie-like skirts, a garment I've never worn before. I put one on because they were the coolest (temperature-wise) garments in the batch. My husband came home and immediately complimented my skirt - with some grabbing of the backside. I think he likes it because it gives the illusion of a full ass (rather than my very wide yet oddly flat version).

* Edit - I made a count of all the items J. sent me:

1 pintuck white Mossimo button up shirt, L
1 ON cami top, blue L
1 ON green tee shirt, M
1 ON raspberry tee shirt, M
1 ON blue tee shirt, M
1 LS brown pinstripe shirt
1 Mossimo blue v-neck, L
1 Mossimo lavender v-neck, L
1 white polo shirt
1 Mossimo white v-neck, L
1 ON brown v-neck, M
1 ON white v-neck, M
2 tattoo-art tank tops, L
1 ON tank, brown
1 ON tank, tan/lt brown
1 ON tank, white
1 ON tank, black
1 LS dark brown rugby neckline shirt
1 striped pullover shirt
1 striped tri-cot dress, S
1 pull over stretch paisley top
1 brown Olde Navy crinkle fabric top
1 pink & white striped button up long sleeve shirt
1 express LS top, red
1 LS merona pinstripe top
1 white LS peasant top
1 orange LS tee-shirt
1 striped j-crew boat necked top
1 LS blue button up shirt
1 LS black twist top
1 LS ribbed sweater, wine
1 LS ribbed sweater, charcoal
1 lg button up LS eyelet shirt
1 black sweater shrug
1 zip up striped sweater
1 ON brown zip-up hoodie, XXL
1 sporty zip-up hoodie, M
1 brown Ye Olde Man sweater. Needs buttons. Matlock!
1 brown tie-front st john's sweater
1 ezekiel green screen printed tee
1 LS black & pink pullover tee shirt
1 Indian paisley skirt, floor-length
1 floor length patchwork skirt
1 floor length brown linen skirt
1 brown spandex skirt with flounce
1 orange crinkle floor length skirt
1 eyelet skirt, M
1 gray rayon floor length skirt
1 floor length sequined black skirt
1 floor length black polyester skirt, L
1 angels' jeans, sz 11
1 IT jeans, sz 11
1 Bongo! jeans, sz 10
1 Bongo! jeans, sz 13
1 express jeans
1 a byer brown dress slacks
1 ON medium maternity jeans
1 dark blue stretch navy-button slacks
1 ON tech chinos, light blue
1 ON tech chinos, taupe
1 ON tech chinos, dark blue
1 Tommy jeans, sz 10
1 paris blues pedal pushers sz 8
1 Exhilaration black capri sz 11
1 off white Merona capri
1 taupe Mossimo capri
1 Levi low slouch jeans, sz 9
1 Mossimo goucho jeans, sz 11
1 ON white stretch jeans, sz 11

Thank you, thank you, J.!

Labels: family life, friends, gratitude, grocery opus, homesteading

Today a series of small but essential things happened that made me happy.

One, after checking in with my parents' home (and watering plants) I walked with my kids to a local sandwich shop and people recognized us and greeted us; a woman behind the counter said to her workmate excitedly, "That's the one that bikes with her kids!" This made me feel nice, as well as the fact my children ate every bit of their lunch then ordered their ice cream (each of them chose a horrid, electric blue bubblegum) in a very grown-up fashion. Their manners at restaurants are improving.

Two, after lunch when it seemed my son could not walk the whole way back home without incident (I had a cup of coffee to carry to boot) we crossed the street and I boarded the bus to Quinault in hopes it would get me a bit closer to my homestead. What I discovered immediately is that many people take this bus: it was more than 75% full and as soon as we climbed aboard they let out a collective gasp at my tousle-headed son, who is less than three feet tall and gets on buses with his hands in his pockets and in this case the pockets were in a handmade dinosaur costume. The driver kept trying to engage my son as I tried to ask him if he would be passing Emerson: "Yeah, yeah," he waved at me vaguely, still chuckling after The Boy who mustered dignity, excused himself past passengers, and clambered up in a seat. Soon this driver was blasting past my street of destination as I desperately scrambled for the cord to save us an even longer walk to our house. This whole time half the bus raptly watched my children whose bus-riding skills really are funny to watch, although Nels did nothing more than act like a little boy.

Three, this afternoon as I did dishes a friend called me. She and I talked about our sick fathers. We talked about another dinner and movie date, which is exactly each of our speed. I put it on my calendar and it's what I look forward to the most in July, second only to Ralph's thirtieth birthday where I get him something outrageous (but useful) for his birthday. (Except damn! Ralph has a new rule where we dont' have a kitchen gadget with only ONE function. Shit, I'd also been thinking about a sandwich grill. Back to the drawing board.)

Four, tonight another friend and her kids came over for dinner. Our four kids played marvelously together, and we had homemade pizza, veggies and dip, and more homemade chocolate cake. After our dinner my FOO came over; my parents having just arrived from their vacation. We talked about bears, churches, and I offered my mom as treasurer to my friend's mayoral campaign.

Five, Ralph took charge of the four children as my girlfriend, my mother and I hit a local bar for one drink and some good talk.

I am so glad to have a few very dear, very lovely friends here in HQX. I haven't yet seen much of them - honestly? I don't want to screw anything up. I still feel slighly hermitty and sad, so it is only right I'm not painting the town. It already feels "right" and normal to have my parents back in town; to know I can see them any time (or almost any time) I want. Even to know I get to take my dad milkshakes at the hospital while he gets his chemo or feel aggravated at their pet-like creature.

Labels: bus, FOO, friends, girl life, gratitude, Grazdma, Nels

I'm kind of extra exhausted today. I'm physically tired because I've been biking and bussing everywhere with the children (who continue to love this lifestyle). I'm lonely but I accept this is reality for now. I've made a few choices recently (jettisoning a person / conflict or two) and although I am better off, these choices were painful. I haven't found close friends to consistently spend time with (that's bad!), but neither have I sacrificed my personal integrity to join a group I don't feel right about (that's good!). I also just know it's hard to move, hard to leave a life behind. I'm not trying to push myself feeling any better than I do, which is not so good.

My creative well is being drained slowly and for a while I was watching helplessly; but I'm coming to a decision about my sewing. Currently, I'm not sewing enough to feel happy about my sewing, to succeed in my Etsy contest efforts, and to create clothes for my family in my 6-month commitment. It is not working for me to try to sew at home and this is mostly because my children often do not nap and I am not getting the one to three hours of solid, silent, me-time. In the evening I am far too tired, mostly from the additional physical exercise we're getting. I am not going to bemoan this or be overly frustrated, but I need to find a solution. Perhaps when my parents get home from their vacation I will take my mom up on the "sewing studio" offer. I have finally let go of thinking I could sew daily, and although I'm sad, it's more realistic.

Today my Nels did in fact nap; while he did, my daughter watched and helped as I made a chocolate cake from scratch and homemade pizza (from easy and tasty recipes on allrecipes.com for dough & sauce). I have been enjoying learning to cook new things: also buying cheaper groceries than I'd been used to in PT. Because of this I am now, finally, making yeast breads my bitch! You heard me.

I'm grateful to my husband. He has shown nothing but enthusiasm for our biking routines, for my cooking, for my requests at housework and my desire for more recreation as a foursome (tonight: family swim). And today two books arrived from Amazon: Ralph had surprise-ordered me a sewing book and a cookbook, both that I've wanted for some time.

So due to my efforts being applied in the culinary sphere I now have, foolishly, 85% of a giant chocolate cake on my counter. Anyone?

Labels: bike, bus, food, gratitude, Ralph, sorrows