Last night I told my husband I was so hurt about something I simply didn't want to discuss it anymore. Somehow our roles had become reversed: he wanted to talk, talk, talk it out, and I didn't. This wasn't because I didn't have the verbiage to offer. In fact I felt like we'd discussed the subject much over the last year - at least. I was done. I didn't know what I was going to do, and I didn't know what he was going to do. But I'd said my piece, I'd heard his, and I simply needed a break.

The issue? Clothing. My clothing. Currently, at this juncture in my life, my largest frustration. For weeks as this chewed on me more and more I'd felt shallow for my little obsession. But a few days ago I came to the realization: food, shelter, clothing. Basic needs. I think even the cavemen with their depleted frontal lobes had that shit down tight.

Now my family, we have food. We have shelter. My husband hustles at his job in large part pursuing these things; food and housing are our largest expenses as a one-income family of four (39.5% of our take-home pay). Our clothing allowance in our spending plan is currently at 0%, modeled to come out of an "everything else" fund (that would include road trips, fundraising efforts for our childrens preschool, technology for the house, late-night runs for cough syrup or flea medicine, gifts for friends and family, you name it).

I am responsible for the acquisition of, laundering, care for, and inventory of my family's clothing. At any given point I can tell you how many pair of shoes the members of my family have, what I've set aside for consignment earnings, what items are going to the Salvation Army for donation. I mend, I grift, I sew (when I'm not cleaning, cooking, or writing). I have begged and borrowed to supply my children with good winter coats and shoes. I spend a significant portion of my daily chores laying out the wool socks by the fire and folding every t-shirt of my husband's to its proper place and making sure my kids don't leave their coats out in the wild.

You can predict where this is going, right? Because as it turns out the lack of formal acknowledgment of the fiscal burden of clothing coupled with the de facto assignation to myself of the practical elements has left me: dead last out of four, wearing holey jeans, my husband's socks, and (this is the worst, the absolute most demeaning) broken, cheap bras that work so ill my breasts actually ache.

This month it started raining in earnest.

And then a few days ago my husband, beneficiary of a small financial windfall, tells me he is going to buy himself a guitar.

Now, I want to be very careful here. My husband has the right to his guitar. First of all, this is his money. Secondly, he is a songwriter, a good one. His artistic endeavors are as important as, well I don't know as clothing, but they're damned important. It isn't that he's buying a guitar, or the rain is setting in, or that when it comes to clothes (and clothes alone) at this point I carry a huge crazy-person backlog and a skewed perception of poverty. It's my fault, entirely, for letting the backlog reach this point. But the guitar: that point where the codependent machinations of intimate relationships threaten to overcome my more logical, Buddhist spiritual mindset. I find myself at first reeling in the grips of the former: the fact he could even think to buy a guitar when I don't own a coat without holes! I am wearing shoes I bought when last pregnant - approximately one hundred thousand million years ago! A mental picture: I'm outside, kicking the hell out of my car's passenger-side radial, and shouting, "F*cking, stupid, asinine, selfish a*%hole!"

But, I am incorrect. And I don't allow myself more than a few tortured mental moments imagining my husband as this monster. And I don't kid myself: the situation is, in large part, my own fault (he is left on his own to figure out his responsibility). And if he's reading this and decides not to buy the guitar, after what we've discussed since on the subject, I will punch him directly in the nuts.

I typically don't find the need to justify our financial sacrifices for the life we want to live. And I am not a clothing princess (as I type this I'm ill-attired in my husband's pants, a pair of panties from Ross' bargain bin, and a free t-shirt). The point is, my values are not being expressed in my clothing. This trap is entirely of my own making. I can speak of the tell-tale numbers of our financial plan all I like, but the truth is up until now I myself have been out of alignment.

What, then, is my proposed plan? After our conversation resumed last night (and this morning), my husband and I have a plan to recommit financial resources to the family's clothes. I feel defeated by the lag of what I need (raingear, for instance, for bike-riding the kids about in the rainforest in which we live. I still feel stung at my husband's lack of practical support coupled with what has felt like an expectation of impossible frugality. And most baffling I feel - and this is the laughable part - I will betray my own self and find myself, months or years hence, as starved, frustrated, out of sync.

Ask me in a couple months when I have a modicum of waterproofing, at least one sweater, and a pair of shoes that don't leak. Perhaps my perspective will have cleared and the real and true will have emerged, leaving the parts of the martyr (a role I do not play well) left behind.

Our clothes are too much a part of us for most of us to ever be entirely indifferent to their condition: it is as though the fabric were indeed a natural extension of the body, or even of the soul. - Quentin Bell

Labels: blog, clothes, family life, financial panther, homesteading, marital strife, redroom

This morning when my daughter finally woke up she entered the living room with a barking cough and clearly stuffed-up nasal cavity. Momentarily miserable (the mornings are always the worst for head colds) she flopped on the couch, accepting offerings of kitty cat and blanket. I'm having trouble along the same lines myself and thus bagged my bike trip to the preschool today. Best to keep sick children quarantined.

Mondays are small domestic happenings in that they're the days we go off and buy groceries for our week. Our grocery needs are mostly across town. At the fruit stand (where it sometimes seems "everyone" shops) I purchase the weekly veggies and let the kids each choose their own fruit (tropical fare today: a mango for Nels and handful of kiwi for Suse). I'm looking forward to tonight's meal: paghetti squash with basil, feta, and tomatos, blanched beets with bleu cheese dressing. We have local apples at home, waiting for inclusion in salads, turnovers. I buy a few pears for our cupboard and the fruit salad I'll be making at the Deli on Friday: give them a few days to ripen on the shelf (the secret is to not one time even touch the pears as they make ready). With my weekly allowance I can buy a few niceties that make the week so enjoyable: licorice, dark chocolate for Ralph, goat's milk, garlic powder, nutritional yeast.

From produce-buying back to the library where my children pick their books and I pick a few for them (The Paper Bag Princess, a hefty Dinosaur encyclopedia, and Batman: The Sunday Classics 1943 - 1946). The rain has, finally, sadly hit our November; I'll be back up and bundled on the bike as soon as our colds clear up.

Labels: grocery opus, homesteading, illness, Sophie, weather

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'd like to think I've had a handful of accomplishments in my life and hold a few talents as well. But the thing I can do that gives me the most pleasure lately is my breadmaking. Today I find myself tempted to feel pride in my bagels - a history with not a single one collapsing during boiling, all of them turning out taste- if not picture-perfect. Then I quickly spin around three times and spit on the floor, not wanting to upset the capricious devil-gods of bagel cookery, so quick to jealously smite my next efforts in retaliation for baker's hubris.

I view my breadmaking not as a talent - because really, I'm a beginner - but an accomplishment. First of all, it's a frugal way* to add heart to a meal otherwise made from soaking dried beans and pulling tomato sauce out of the freezer and carefully frying a portion of squash. A platter of soft, fragrant pita completely, and I do mean completely, makes up for the fact I'm not serving red meat, chicken, or a rich lasagna (cost: five thousand dollars, with the cheeses needed). This is me: if I'm forced to be frugal on Ralph's cash grocery allowance I will find a way it satisfies me.

I also like breadmaking because it's the closest I get to meditating, praying, or relaxing. Most breads you have to knead (sometimes for many minutes), shape, and wait while the bread takes form. It's something that checks me back into my kitchen and my home. It fits into a busy schedule at the same time - a bread that needs to rise can be slowed in the refrigerator or sped up (within reason) by a pan of steaming water. There's plenty of time to run to get a kid at school or do the dishes and wipe the table and sit for a cup of fragrant tea in a sunny kitchen.

I like making bread because my children are learning not only how (something I missed out on as a child) but are also quite good at and help me with all parts of the process. They see their food created, not under plastic in the harsh lights of the supermarket. There is no better fragerance in a home than the yeasty warmth of fresh bread - unless it's sauteed onions or garlic.

And finally, I take pleasure in the fact that so many people love homemade bread, or at least the breads I make. Last night's dinner company, and my own family as wel, sung praises over the simple homemade pizza (with my own sauce and dough recipes) which was easy to make, economical, and nourishing. Last Thursday with basket on arm I parsed out slices of a chocolate rye coffee cake to those stuck in cubicles and offices and indoors. I'd like to make bread every day. Thomas Fuller said "Eaten bread is forgotten" but I think instead it builds a legacy of care, of frugality and lushness, of a joie de vivre.

* I buy my flour at 1/2 the price found at the supermarket and my yeast at 1/10th the price of the bulk jars at the same; this reduces my bread cost to a fraction of a storebought loaf.

Labels: food geekery, frugality, homesteading

Things My Husband Is Right About:

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

Things I'm Right About:

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

Labels: homesteading, Ralph

It's just before six and I'm kneading dough for pita while my son helps clean the dough bowl. This is the third meal from scratch I've made today and normally this is doable but today, it's not. And yesterday, Saturday, stretches out behind me of a day of cooking and having just a few dollars for groceries. The lack of money is only a problem in that I'm forced to be more creative, but I'm just tired in some elemental way that makes me exhausted tenfold to think on what to feed the family. And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow I get to get up and do it again, amen.

This weekend I didn't get things done I wanted to: printing out my finished zine, making more headway on my brother's coat I'm sewing (I'm currently angry about some bound pockets that didn't quite work), enjoying the family, relaxing. We did do a lot of chores and Ralph's loft bed is finished and painted with the kids' room all set up for them and I freeycled two things and got a buyer for Sophie's old bed frame. But no amount of "getting done" helps me now because with my hands on the dough at the table it just seems all I do is cook and clean and clean the refrigerator and work for other people and when I take time to myself I'm too tired to do anything worthwhile. It's a horrible feeling. It's no one's fault. It feels like being first trimester pregnant again. Wretched and uninspired.

At least today I got to tell my mother, remember that part in that Ya Ya Sisterhood book (we both read it) where the mom goes crazy and just leaves her family for month? I keep telling them I'm going to do it but they don't realize I mean it. I think because to the outside world and to them it looks like I'm functioning the same, functioning well. My mom told me to take a job. I'm not sure that will help; I'm not sure what will help, really. And I don't want help; I want to learn how to take care of myself so I can take care of my Others. And I want to be able to tell people I might be needing a Crazy Person Vacation, even if it doesn't end up happening quite that way.

"Are you OK?" Yes, I'm OK. Just not every minute of every day.

Labels: burnout, food, homesteading, Mama's crazy, sewing

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

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

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

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

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

Today I sustained my first new bike injury. While attempting to strap a cardboard box on my rack (taking a moment to giggle immaturely) the bungee I was using, too short, snapped back and whacked my left index fingernail. I was kind of impressed with how badly this hurt. I now have a nasty bruise under the fingernail and I hope something gross and infected doesn't result. Meanwhile I have Ralph put to work with a Stud Finder (another giggle) to put a hook inside the house for bike storage. Because yes, my bike will be living inside with me.

The local bike shop, I could see myself hanging out there - if I was someone who knew anything about bikes or had more money to spend on them. I have a hard time describing the shop owner T. Firstly, he is a very knowledgeable bike technician and a total pleasure to talk bikes with. Secondly, he is a little bit... different. Personally, I think he's kind of cute but maybe that's because I get inexplicable crushes on focussed mechanical savants who look like they don't have girlfriends. At my parents' last night while I talked about my new bike my husband asked why all bike shop owners are a little odd (he said "weirdo", okay) and I said, "No wait, what about..." and then stopped. Because, well. He was right. I guess there was one bike shop owner in PT that wasn't so much weird as arrogant. But the other two shop owners - woooo! And I had a crush on one of them, too.

Tonight we continued our pleasant weekend experience by a babysitting gift from our friend A. When Ralph and I arrived to pick our children up - after a lovely, lovely dinner at home including uninterrupted conversation - the children were in various states of costumery / undress and watching Ghostbusters (only one of the best family movies ever). On our way out with our two reluctantly-departing children we travelled out the back way to visit A.'s baby goats but the little creatures were apparently sleeping. I didn't know goats took time off like that especially when there was the off chance we were delivering late-night alfalfa.

Then while home Ralph bathes the children and I start come chocolate rye coffee cake (for tomorrow's breakfast - I'd love to make this a Saturday night / Sunday morning tradition) and mix up a batch of laundry soap. Sophie mistakes my grating Fels Naptha soap as a cheese operation and asks for a taste, which I oblige and we laugh at her nose-scrunching reaction.

I love weekends. We sleep in, I make Ralph do stuff, I clean the house, I cook for my family and we cuddle late into the night. Good times.

Labels: babysitting, bike, homesteading, HQX, Sophie

Welcome to the world of Relative Invisibility. When I have a day like today I remember that's where I'm supposed to be stationed. The fact is, one's best days as a housewife and mother (or "domestic engineer" as a recent Etsy survey allowed) are often the days where you take care of the things that no one, and I mean no one, notices needed done nor gives acknowledgment to the tasks' completions.

Today it was working a shift at the preschool, signing up for a dessert raffle, stopping at the notary's to sign the school's lease, mailing a package and buying stamps at the post office, dropping a package (Sophie's shoe return to zappos.com) at the UPS store, dropping off a clothing donation to the Salvation Army, dropping off a letter to a friend, picking up fresh eggs, calling in and picking up an (incomplete) shot record for my daughter's pediatrician, taking my daughter to the pediatrician, picking up a prescription at the pharmacy, along with the requisite grooming, dressing, loving, feeding, and guidance to my children. When all was said and done my van was cleaner, my to-do list diminished, and I was ready to go home. At which point, while taking ten minutes at the computer, my son dismantled the Christmas tree and threw ornaments against the wall.

TGIF or; Ralph, you are so taking care of some shit for me this weekend.

Labels: homesteading, Nels

Tonight I walked the kids to my mom's to have dinner. She was in a muddle of what her current state often is: stress / drinking to relax or relieve stress / over-giving / enjoying herself. The part that was enjoying herself was the part that invited us for dinner, made a lovely stew, and had rented some family movies. The part that was over-giving was the part that tried to make the stew "perfect" for us then (and this was the part that was stressed and used drink to manage it so inhibitions were dropped but not the underlying stress) used an angry tone on my children for preferring their cornbread and eating it first. My dad took some special medicine and seemed to be feeling better than he had over the last few days (something tipped this week and he has now become someone "dying", no longer someone coping with illness. I'd like to feel differently on that one if I could) but this meant he retreated for our viewing of Harry Potter and I didn't get to see him much. It was a nice dinner and I really did enormously appreciate the night out and the homecooked meal. But I can't get away from the the strain and bad feelings that my life's dinnerplate seems to hold when I look down at what I'm eating.

I'm getting that really paranoid, really perfectionist sense of angst. If anything goes wrong I am a wreck (internal, so as not to inconvenience anyone). Sometimes I get a vision of who I might be when age and senility set in. And it feels small, like tiny wheels turning in my head, mucked up and in semi-darkness and doubt, unsure of myself unless someone tells me they love me or not just that they love me, but they promise not to be mean to me. Today I missed two appointments I had. One I was able to recover OK; the other I just completely missed. This is rare for me. And when I screw up like that on a commitment I make to others, or something I told myself I'd do, or whatever, I really just hate myself and it eats away at me for an indeterminate amount of time.

I don't think but two or three people close to me realize what a perfectionist I am. I laugh at the term "perfectionist" a bit because no one who knows me would think my life looked perfect. Yet that drive, that insatiable unsettledness, has a strong a grip on every aspect of my waking hours. I hold myself to ridiculous standards and then feel bad, like pit-of-the-stomach bad, when I inevitably screw up. I have to have a clean house or if I don't, a plan to get it clean. I can't relax until housework is taken care of; then I'd better relax correctly. I hate myself if I have something to drink, or if my husband and I aren't getting along for the evening, or if somehow during the day I was amiss in my parenting. I have to take care of my kids properly which means clothing and grooming and brushing and flossing and if they miss a night of this I have to demand my husband help but if he doesn't do it I feel like a failure that we don't provide this to them. I have to meet my commitments on the three volunteer leadership positions I'm in. If I don't meet them I feel I can't get over it or make amends to those I might have (usually only minorly) inconvenienced. No, for me if I mess up, it means people hate me and they have a right to hate me. It takes me a lot of internal thought and sometimes discussion with a friend (Ralph, my mom, or Cyn mostly) to "talk me down" from the ledge of I-Suck.

For a half year I wouldn't allow myself to buy the family clothes but had to scrump, sew or thrift them. This was a fun and interesting project, sure - but it also became a burden at some point. I hold myself to the standard of preparing nutritious meals without taking culinary shortcuts. I feel bad if I buy anything "extravagant" or even buy anything without having it on a list first - or else I eschew cooking altogether and go out to eat (which, for some reason, feels like a tremendous ease on my daily cooking burdens). I choose to, for God's sake, plan, write, edit, layout, and design for a zine which I then have to publish on our shoestring budget. I have to balance my marriage such that I support my husband and manage my own needs without asking for his emotional help when I'm fragile - which I am all the time these days, whether it's apparent to others or not.

Some reading here may think these confessions mean I'm a miserable person all the time. That is precisely the problem; I'm not miserable, I love doing so many of these things. Every effort of mine is born of love and energy. I thrive on creativity, on learning now to do things well, on pushing myself just a little bit because it seems like I can. I do sometimes congratulate myself on the fact that I can "coast" as a housemom on some days and do well at providing for my loved ones. I love every single thing I write, or sew, or every meal I cook or the way my counter looks when I wipe it down. It is precisely the dual love-hate of the work vs. the drive to do the work right, every time, that makes for tricky terrain.

Perfectionism, as far as I can tell, has no easy cure. It isn't a matter of, "Why don't you do less?"* That question is like asking, "Why don't you stop having the Kelly-brain?" or, "Have you thought about leaving your tits at home before you go out in the day?" It's a non-sequitur. It doesn't follow. My struggle with perfectionism could probably only be helped by - no offense to any reader who thought I was more hip in some way - prayer and discourse with God. My struggle with perfectionism was manageable in PT. It has become at least trebly difficult since moving here. I have my ideas of why this would be; for now it's enough to recognize it's happening.

One thing, the walk with the kids over to my parents' was nice. I'd prepared us for the cold - coats, hats, gloves and good shoes - but the rain started falling intensely and there was nothing to save us from the wet of eight blocks. How to explain a Pacific Northwest winter rain? It is not violent at all but rather like a cold spell that covers us, the air filling with rain that is safe, nourishing, life-giving. You expect rain so you don't begrudge it except a few weak moments, here and there, in the five solidly soaking months we get per year. You get home and strip off your clothes and put some in the dryer and towel your hair (we don't generally use umbrellas here) and fix coffee and look outside at our beautiful weather. Tonight I watch my children on the walk. Sophie walks self-protectively. She puts her hat on firmly and zips her coat and steps carefully but purposefully. Nels just barges out into the elements, sure that he will be fine. I start to know he's cold and wet when his hand creeps into mine and he falls silent. The children act as if they were born for this weather.

* If any well-meaning friend writes or says, "You should relax your housekeeping standards," or "Why don't you give up such-and-such?" I will deliver a cock-punch via Airmail.

Labels: film, FOO, food, homesteading, Mama's crazy, nerves, on foot, walking

Insomnia. Again. No external culprits: no late-night caffeine, no alcohol. Exercise earlier in the day. No illness. Just nerves. Alone, abandoned, sad. Listening to my family sleeping. At least the cats are outside cold (yes, I'm about to let them in). At night I tell myself that in the morning I'll feel better. It doesn't help much but, of course, eventually I do sleep. If I was prone to ulcers I'd have developed one.

My days are good. I have been so busy lately - in a good way. I've been working really hard at helping my daughter's class in their learning and enjoyment of school. Her teacher is awesome in that she will help me integrate a food or food activity into the lessons they do during the week. Ever since we started dong this stuff my little bird-brain gears spin away, bordering on the way-too-involved. Today was pumpkin pie day, pumpkin pie being the food the kids voted on earlier in the week (I'm sad they didn't vote for the soup, which would have been more fun to make!). Two-dozen individual pies and one large one for the teachers. The kids sat and unfolded a napkin and we listened to a song about manners while they all ate. It was a nice scene.

Next week I'm even worse. I am currently cooking recipes and planning a little school unit on bread-baking which includes book holds at the library, a Sesame Street video podcast, and a book the kids and I worked on today.

I have been putting together my zine (website pending) which I must finish before I allow myself to sew again (post-Halloween resolution). I am on the preschool board and run little errands for that which aren't rocket science but nevertheless take up a bit of time. Ralph and I have had two meetings each this week (I missed one), being more active in the film / theatre community here. And just trying to keep on top of housework and stay happy with the children and take Sophie to her swim lessons and enjoy peaceful evenings at home. We're hitting it dead-on this week, for a change. No strain, just fun.

Here's the thing: anytime someone tells you they're busy it's easy to not care, to tune out what they're doing. But the point is I decided these things were important. I decided I cared about them, I committed to doing them. It's different than a paid job where someone gives you a formal accolade or a formal paycheck and says, "Yes, that's what you should be doing." It's a good groove though; I'll admit. Today after baking pumpernickel bread my children opted out of playing together to come back in the kitchen and help me make two-dozen rolls (homemade burgers tonight for my dad's dinner). One nice thing about having an at-home parent is your children learn so very much from you. It is truly an honor and inspiration to have them as pupils, too.

The hour grows only later and my body does not feel ready for sleep. Nevertheless I shall try.

Labels: books, food geekery, homesteading, nerves, sahm, school

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our friend Paige who performed as childcare / housesitter / kid-lover did an excellent job. An excellent job. The main ways I have of knowing this are that A., my children were content and had that well-cared for mien upon our return, and B. the types of questions Paige would ask when we'd IM or call from our break. Yesterday when we arrived our house had been returned to it's previous order (well... no one can clean my bathroom like I can except perhaps Stephanie), laundry done, books on the shelves, children happy and fed - it was like stepping right back into our life, no adjustments needed. And I don't know about Paige, but the kids definitely did not tire of her care. Today as I was getting Nels out of the van he looked me in the eyes and said, "Paige was good to me." Later in the day as we headed out on an errand he said, "Where's Paige?" but was satisfied when I told her she'd headed home (it helps that we get to expect Paige's mother Cyn tomorrow on a weekend visit - yay!).

P.S. I think Paige also fed them far more milk than they're used to from Ralph and I; I also think Nels gained a pound while we were gone.

It's good to be home. I'm currently cooking banana bread and a fresh, local Heart of Gold squash - stuffed with two kinds of rice, barley, tomato paste, garlic, spices, and cheese. It smells so amazing in my house you might as well not try to imagine it, because you can't, it's just that good. Today I have a refreshed outlook on housework and a more centered mind around time with the children, although I won't deny that yesterday had some rough patches as we got used to life as a foursome - and Ralph and my responsibilities - again.

Goals for the remainder of the week: be sweet to children, keep house clean during the day and enjoy more movie / cuddling / hangout time with Ralph in the evening.

Labels: food, friends, homesteading, Nels

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

marriedtothesea.com

Labels: homesteading, Mama's crazy

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

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 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

Housework 101

Some of us keep house. Some of us hang on to housekeeping as the only thing that makes us feel self-worth (nervous, bitter laughter). I am no Domestic Goddess but I take it seriously; on a site I'm active on I was accused of being organized and asked to write out my manifesto: here it is, today at least, and in most of its glory.

Own Less. Don't buy more shit in order to organize your life! I think it is a well-perpetrated myth that more storage and more organizational tools organize the house better. Organization resides in the mind. Organization - for me - is about having fewer items. I see people drive around malls looking for a certain storage unit at Target or whatever or flipping though IKEA catalogs and lusting after the spice racks. I'm like, "Go home and do your fucking dishes, you'll feel better." Not to mention that shopping and looking for things can stimulate the "I wants" - a consumerist state of mind that actually does the opposite of bring peace and order to your mind (which you need to bring peace and order to your house).

Some people exist happily with tons of material items with nary a thought of the emotional baggage "stuff" carries, nor with internal gripes about the state of mess, clutter, or squalor - to those people I say "as you were!" and bless them for finding what works for them. Too bad 99.9% of moms I know aren't this relaxed about it.

Use What You Have. From keeping your pantry clean to a tidy fridge to kid toys being used and respected - if you use it frequently, you will love it, care for it, polish it and put it on the shelf, repair it if it's broken. If you're gripping onto it because it's your "stuff" or it "might come in handy" it will weigh you down and likely be a nuisance except for the very random time a year you use it. Look at anything in your house and ask yourself when you last used it and how much you like dusting it or putting it away or eying it on the cluttered shelf.

My life, like most Americans, contains parasitical clutter or items I don't use daily; of course I have a closet with camping stuff on the shelf where it resides except for a spare few times each year. There is a trade-off to ownership and it's personal to everyone. I will say this; I have never regretted culling an item from my life and I sure wished I'd culled more when we moved recently!

Every Item Needs a Home. If every item has a home, it is as easy to put it away as it is to throw it on the floor. If someone else throws it on the floor you don't go crazy being pissed that it is on the floor, that there's nowhere to put it, and why do you have all this shit and why does no one help? You say, "Nels, please put the scissors back in Mama's sharps box." Two times later and Nels knows where the scissors go and - gasp - will put them away himself! Let me tell you, watching your kids help you keep an ordered house is pretty damn gratifying. P.S. this is the gold standard at the Hogaboom house and hardly a constant state of affairs.

Caveat to the Last Tenet. A temporary but cohesive home is probably a better first-time goal than a Martha-Stewart organized fuck-all project which will make you nuts running around for the drill bits and printing out labels while meanwhile your son's breakfast oatmeal rots on the counter. A cardboard box will serve as an "entryway organizer" for now if it clears spare bills and correspondence off the computer desk; when you have time, please do upgrade the cardboard box. In our house we have an (assily-named) "Technology Shelf" in the utility room - all cords, cables, extension cords and tech bits go on a shelf. Every now and then I ask my husband to organize and cull it. If we're ever wondering where any electronic item is we go look there; if we find something around the house that qualifies we throw it in there. I'll get around to color-coding the sub-shelf space one of these days.

Don't Always Look For The Shortcut. It is also a hoax that "convenience" items categorically make life easier. They add to life's difficulties and management duties too. For instance: yesterday I spent time in the backyard hanging laundry with my kids. We got two loads done. I spent probably an hour and a half total hanging and minding the laundry, folding it, etc. Meanwhile I had a great time and got some sun, I didn't drive and use gas, I didn't eat food out or get a latte, I talked with and enjoyed my kids, no one was inside messing up the house or going stir-crazy and oh yeah - I didn't use my dryer at all. Plus my clothes smelled great and the sun removed stains from my dinner napkins like no chemical could.

Enjoy your home. Find a corner you can retreat to, something you love. Do your best around the house but take a break when you need a breather. For me, it's a clean bathroom and waiting tub with lights out, candles, and an open window with the breeze coming in; the perfect thing to look forward to after sweatily vaccuming like mad or scraping rice off the kitchen table.

Labels: Alpha-bitch, family life, homesteading

We have a unique situation this week as I had thought Ralph was getting paid on the 6th - and it turns out it's the 10th. Four more days of scraping by and not paying bills when I said I would (tee hee!). This actually coincides nicely with the offset time period I was planning our weekly menu. Without further ado, here is our attempt to be vegetarian, economical, tasty, and easy:



(You may notice my life consists of a few meals a week of Mexican food. Fuck you.)

And for this, the grocery list (all purchased yesterday):

1 head cabbage
1/2 head red cabbage
1 lb. jalapenos
1 lb. carrots
1 large bunch broccoli
1 head garlic
1 lemmon
2 serrano chiles
1 bunch green onions
2 lb. green grapes
2 cans medium olives
1 can kidney beans, 16 oz.
1 can navy beans, 16 oz.
5 lb peanut butter (no sugar added)
3 cans vegetable broth, 14 oz.
1 can green chile enchilada sauce, 19 oz.
1 large can chunky organic tomato sauce (1 lb. 12 oz)
1 lb. bag tortilla chips
1 dozen eggs, brown organic
14 oz. firm tofu
5 oz. shredded parmesan cheese
2 lb monterey jack cheese
1 lb. rigatoni pasta
1 pint sour cream
50 corn tortillas (2 lb. 14 oz.)
1/2 lb nutritional yeast, large flake
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/3 lb. white figs, dried
2 lbs. great northern beans, dried
2 lbs. pinto beans, dried organic

The total for everything was $67. Sixty-seven dollars for quality groceries for a week! Now, I will be buying a few odds and ends - I think milk and eggs perhaps. I'll make sure to post the full weekly total when I have it.

Tonight for our company I made the No Mas Carne Enchiladas, chile relleno, and Hogaboom Trademark Roasted Jalapeños.

My brother teases me on the phone tonight (we totally have matching Swatch phones!) that my enchiladas (which I accidentally called "vegan" because, well, they are) aren't any good. First off, I had Ralph drive him over a plateful to prove that little monstrerd wrong. Secondly, there are two types of veg*n food in life: the kind that leave you barely full, vaguely pissy, and longing for real food - and the kind that is delicious and does not leave you ruminating on what's lacking in the meal but rather energized by the goodness of the fare. So help me God, I don't believe I make that first type and I willingly accept the daily challenge to make the second. Even Brother Ass himself reluctantly agreed my food is not bland hippie fare and has variety - although he then went on to say I will soon be making Assy Veggie Loaf. I didn't think I'd say this past the early nineties, but Whatever.

Labels: birlo, grocery opus, homesteading, vegetarianism

Much of my life consists of cooking and cleaning and most of the cleaning is really following along after creatures about three foot high and re-organizing, sweeping, de-cluttering, sweeping up, wiping down surfaces, and crying. Over and over. Think a parade with the horse poop-shoveler merrily right behind the horses. Except I've been doing it for years in a continuous loop and I'm feeding the horses the food that makes them shit.

The truth is, I give a shout-out "Amen!" daily that my duties no longer contain too much literal shit, having both children potty-trained (my son actually perfected his skills upon our move rather than the oft-predicted regression). This has actually freed up a significant amount of time in my schedule. So my (local and national) peer society tells me I'm supposed to plug a few more things into my life as well: working a job, volunteering for school functions, making crafts with kids, keeping the house even cleaner, visiting friends, taking trips to Costco to "save money", growing my own food, working out, owning a matching and nice-looking furniture set, giving a fuck about furniture in general, doing yard work, looking sexy for my husband or the UPS dude, making a positive difference for our planet, getting a new hobby.

I think I'm hitting about a 14% on the abovementioned exploits. Mostly right now I'm (mentally) leaning back and enjoying not cleaning up shit anymore.

This could take weeks, if I want to do it properly anyway.

Labels: family life, homesteading, lazy, shit

Today I bought a pound each of sunflower seeds and cranberry beans, two pounds of Thompson midget (dwarf? miniature? I can't remember) raisins, two pounds of mung beans, two pounds of extra-thick rolled oats, four figs (at Sophie's request), and four pieces of organic black licorice.

The total came to $5.54 for this food.

I am learning things daily now that I don't cook meat. For instance - did you know that when you get those big sprouts on your salad or on top of your noodle bowl - the whitish yellow ones - they are usually mung bean sprouts? Did you know these beans are grown predominantly in China and in the states, Oklahoma (another punch to the groin of any 100-mile diet ambition)? Did you know even though I now have mung beans I will never make daal, because it's tasteless ass?

My children are accompanying me on learning new ways to buy, store, and prepare food. Today I was pleased Sophie recognized the figs she likes: fully 1/2 of the bulk food available at The Marketplace are things I have never tried! Some things I have and found worthless (carob, bee pollen, any kind of "natural" refined-sugar substitute), many others I am slowly learning the skills to prepare. But as I more earnestly throw myself into preparing delicious, nutritious, environmentally-friendly and economical food I really hope my children don't view these foods - as I did and sometimes do - as tasteless "health" staples that lack flavor and texture (P.S. extra big "fuck you" to carob, I am not interested in losing my bigotry there). I like the idea my children really will know what these foods are, even if they don't care for some of them. Fuck you carob. Again.

I am determined not to go overboard and invest in any fancy-assed veggie