Kelly's Dailies is Kelly Hogaboom in small, digestible bits. As a mother, lover, writer, seamstress, & cook.
"an anthropomorphized dancing onion on his arse" *
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Tuesday, August 26, 2008 at 10:27 PM.
I'd been wanting to take an embroidery class for a couple years now, and last night I sat in on my first session. Brazilian embroidery, actually - it was the only class available. (My girlfriend Abbi - an avid embroidery artist - called today and she and I had a giggle over this concept since our experience of "Brazilian" when used as an adjective includes mostly vain cosmetic pursuits). I was a good three decades younger than the next-youngest class member. So as sometimes happens these wise (and wizened) ladies clearly thought I couldn't hold my own with hoop and needle. Of course, I rocked that bitch, now for my efforts enjoying a square of fabric embellished with a pack of froofy flowers (ideas, anyone?). I also got a great recipe for bacon broccoli raisin salad and talked about the thermostat a lot (just kidding about all that, I'm feeling like a jerk).
Next project: PANDA WATCH! On Sophie's backpack.
* for you, Jen.
Next project: PANDA WATCH! On Sophie's backpack.
* for you, Jen.
"the *lemon tree* is doing well"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Monday, June 30, 2008 at 9:09 AM.
No, I'm not much better physically, but the codeine helps at night. Everything else is going well. This weekend was spent on the beach, in the yard, working on the garden, making sweet love, watching family movies, baking bread and yes, even sewing! (a polka-dot shirt from vintage fabric for yours truly).
Ralph put a webcam up on our garden:
Now available to view in real-time: Nels watering garden, cats lying under the broccoli.
Ralph put a webcam up on our garden:
Now available to view in real-time: Nels watering garden, cats lying under the broccoli.
the night watchers
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Tuesday, May 13, 2008 at 9:18 AM.
Last night I had two glasses of wine at dinner with friends (dinner was a nice time) and then two more glasses later the evening. This is a fair amount of wine by any standard, but quite a bit for me. My eyes popped open in the middle-of-the-night-post-drinking way that tells me sleep will not return for a while. Imagine my disappointment when I journeyed to the kitchen to discover it was only 2 AM!
Ralph once told me that if struck with insomnia (which he also sometimes suffers from) there's no point lying in bed trying to sleep if you can't. So I got up and sewed most of a shirt in my sewing room, knocking about on my recently reclaimed serger (fresh back from a tuneup) and fortunately not encountering any of the bad sewing mojo I've had lately. I passed through the bedroom at one point and found my son, curled up against his father but with eyes wide open. See, he'd suffered a similar bump in his normal sleeping arrangements, having fallen asleep at the table at Casa Mia while eating. This has happened several times in this particular restaurant - I guess that's some sleepy pizza. Here he was seven hours later quiet in mind and body and awake in a sleeping house.
I put my arms out to Nels and he silently clambered up into my arms. The next three hours we spent fireside snuggling in blankets, in the kitchen making Mexican hot chocolate, or back in his bed looking out the window at the "firefly" he discovered - a blinking light from a nearby tower on the hill. He talked and talked but what was better is, I listened to him, and he listened when I talked. I'd been feeling like the last few days I'd been ignoring him, often on errands with my mother or friends, or trying to get my chores done and including him in the process but with my mind far away. My mind and body were with my boy last night. And I guess if one is going to be struck with insomnia having company - especially company exhibiting such sweetness - ends up being better than sleeping.
Addendum: I had a really nice Mother's Day. Ralph really spoiled me with gifts (flowers, special breakfast, tickets to my favorite ever songwriter, and a generous gift certificate to one of my favorite ever places). My children each made me cards and gifts and we got to go to a Cinco de Mayo party that afternoon. Only mere "minutes" ago - to my mind - my children were tiny babies I lived for and slaved for who rewarded me with smiles and embraces in between crying fits and meddling with things and diaper needs. Things look much the same these days except my children are intentionally communicating how they feel about me; Sophie's Mother's Day card said, "I [ heart ] My Mothr" (with her photo glued in the middle of the heart) - inside were not only two beautifully-drawn flowers but also a three-tier cake topped with a crown and above this all, fireworks! So I guess to her at least sometimes, I'm pretty awesome.
Ralph once told me that if struck with insomnia (which he also sometimes suffers from) there's no point lying in bed trying to sleep if you can't. So I got up and sewed most of a shirt in my sewing room, knocking about on my recently reclaimed serger (fresh back from a tuneup) and fortunately not encountering any of the bad sewing mojo I've had lately. I passed through the bedroom at one point and found my son, curled up against his father but with eyes wide open. See, he'd suffered a similar bump in his normal sleeping arrangements, having fallen asleep at the table at Casa Mia while eating. This has happened several times in this particular restaurant - I guess that's some sleepy pizza. Here he was seven hours later quiet in mind and body and awake in a sleeping house.
I put my arms out to Nels and he silently clambered up into my arms. The next three hours we spent fireside snuggling in blankets, in the kitchen making Mexican hot chocolate, or back in his bed looking out the window at the "firefly" he discovered - a blinking light from a nearby tower on the hill. He talked and talked but what was better is, I listened to him, and he listened when I talked. I'd been feeling like the last few days I'd been ignoring him, often on errands with my mother or friends, or trying to get my chores done and including him in the process but with my mind far away. My mind and body were with my boy last night. And I guess if one is going to be struck with insomnia having company - especially company exhibiting such sweetness - ends up being better than sleeping.
Addendum: I had a really nice Mother's Day. Ralph really spoiled me with gifts (flowers, special breakfast, tickets to my favorite ever songwriter, and a generous gift certificate to one of my favorite ever places). My children each made me cards and gifts and we got to go to a Cinco de Mayo party that afternoon. Only mere "minutes" ago - to my mind - my children were tiny babies I lived for and slaved for who rewarded me with smiles and embraces in between crying fits and meddling with things and diaper needs. Things look much the same these days except my children are intentionally communicating how they feel about me; Sophie's Mother's Day card said, "I [ heart ] My Mothr" (with her photo glued in the middle of the heart) - inside were not only two beautifully-drawn flowers but also a three-tier cake topped with a crown and above this all, fireworks! So I guess to her at least sometimes, I'm pretty awesome.
"we did it and you know it!"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Monday, April 14, 2008 at 9:26 AM.
One of the things I like about living "back home" (that is to say, the hometown of my formative years) are the many, many memories I have when I bike, walk, or drive around the neighborhoods. It seems like I'd run out of old memories but I just don't and they pop up unbidden: I remember going to a party at that house and this guy answered without his shirt on and I felt weirdly uncomfortable; hey, we watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre there and it scared me out of my wits; I was once invited to a pool date at the house of a higher social status peer - only once invited; oh, we smoked pot in that house; I once got sick doing Robitussin in the driveway of that house; I used to climb out of my bedroom window to see a boy there; I was friends briefly with a preacher's daughter that lived there. Memories all reduced to just that, memory - in most cases not a single tenant remains, the houses have changed or atrophied; nor is there necessarily anyone else who thinks on these things at all.
Last night I helped a young mother during our weekly sewing date (she's sewing pajamas for her oldest as a learning project) and she told me she always thought of her grandmother when she snipped and threw out threads, because her grandmother saved them all. I asked why, wondering if there was a seamstress' trick in there and my friend answered, "Oh, she had heard that when you die, if you go to Hell, the Devil ties your wasted threads to you and sets fire to them."
Yeesh.
Last night I helped a young mother during our weekly sewing date (she's sewing pajamas for her oldest as a learning project) and she told me she always thought of her grandmother when she snipped and threw out threads, because her grandmother saved them all. I asked why, wondering if there was a seamstress' trick in there and my friend answered, "Oh, she had heard that when you die, if you go to Hell, the Devil ties your wasted threads to you and sets fire to them."
Yeesh.
Labels: HQX, navelgazing, sewing
it makes perfect sense
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Friday, April 04, 2008 at 8:07 AM.
I've taught a few sewing classes (to smatterings of attendance) over the last few years and I recently remembered a rather funny moment. My four students and I were about twenty minutes into our first class and introducing ourselves in that sort of nervous way when another woman joined us, flustered at being late. Somehow in her hurried apologies to the class she gestured at her crocheted hat and told us, "I just had brain surgery" by way of explanation for something or other. And in her hands she carried a toy - not a miniature, but an actual toy, machine.
Everyone kind of paused in that "dangerous" moment (in reality, there is no danger) where we are assessing if this person is playing on the same field we are. But it turned out this woman was a sweet, intelligent, mother of grown children who worked in the area. Later that summer I counseled her on a machine to buy (a Singer 15-91), found her a manual, and helped her learn to thread her machine while she fed my children homemade applesauce in her sunny, homey kitchen.
This is no segue, but I just had a rather unfunny but startling moment about five minutes ago when I called my mother (to tell her to cover the truckload of fill dirt we hauled yesterday) and found out she and my father had been at the hospital all night because of his skyrocketing blood pressure (a new ailment). It's like - I know my father is dying, but I still get so scared when I hear his life is in danger - and this is the silly part - I briefly and passionately react as if I can do something to rescue him from this eventuality.
I finished three pair of pants for Nels the other day. My kids' growth and play-use of clothing outstrips my ability to sew for them. I may have to - gasp! - actually buy them a thing or two soon.
Everyone kind of paused in that "dangerous" moment (in reality, there is no danger) where we are assessing if this person is playing on the same field we are. But it turned out this woman was a sweet, intelligent, mother of grown children who worked in the area. Later that summer I counseled her on a machine to buy (a Singer 15-91), found her a manual, and helped her learn to thread her machine while she fed my children homemade applesauce in her sunny, homey kitchen.
This is no segue, but I just had a rather unfunny but startling moment about five minutes ago when I called my mother (to tell her to cover the truckload of fill dirt we hauled yesterday) and found out she and my father had been at the hospital all night because of his skyrocketing blood pressure (a new ailment). It's like - I know my father is dying, but I still get so scared when I hear his life is in danger - and this is the silly part - I briefly and passionately react as if I can do something to rescue him from this eventuality.
I finished three pair of pants for Nels the other day. My kids' growth and play-use of clothing outstrips my ability to sew for them. I may have to - gasp! - actually buy them a thing or two soon.
Labels: illness, Nels, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard
while you were out
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Wednesday, March 12, 2008 at 7:00 PM.
Time slows down on the bike. Today I started the day with sewing machine loaded up in the trailer and lengths of fabric, heading off to my mom's to sew on a quilt (for my son's school's yearly auction). She and I set up in the kitchen and talked and hummed along on our two machines, taking breaks for coffee and to steam-press newly-sewn seams before sitting back down for another round of stitching. Nels joined us after preschool and happily retired to the living room to help Grandpa with a puzzle until it was time for us to hit a diner for lunch.
After eating and chatting with the waitresses it was off in the sunshine to pick up my daughter; we're early so once Nels and I get off the bike and unpack helmets and walk in to the school for Suse, why not let the kids stay and play on the playground for a few minutes? Not something I feel inclined to do when I'm in the pickup line, dutifully driving through the roundabout and pausing to have my child inserted in the car (I've seen other parents stay uninterrupted on cell phone calls during this operation). On the swings I permit myself a foray into Andrew Bird (must... stop... listening to incessantly!) on my new [late] birthday present from Ralph (variety: purple).
Time slows down enough that, say, you suddenly realize you had a date ten minutes ago in Aberdeen and can't possibly make it (shit!). Or enough that you don't jet home for the day and therefore miss a phone message canceling tonight's hosted dinner at friends' house, due to friends' illnesses. Therefore my joke in arriving at our friends' house (smoking a cigarette while biking, observed more often than you might think in GH) is completely lost on the hosts, afflicted with equal parts plague and guilt. Home for a quick plan and make-up of evening repast.
After eating and chatting with the waitresses it was off in the sunshine to pick up my daughter; we're early so once Nels and I get off the bike and unpack helmets and walk in to the school for Suse, why not let the kids stay and play on the playground for a few minutes? Not something I feel inclined to do when I'm in the pickup line, dutifully driving through the roundabout and pausing to have my child inserted in the car (I've seen other parents stay uninterrupted on cell phone calls during this operation). On the swings I permit myself a foray into Andrew Bird (must... stop... listening to incessantly!) on my new [late] birthday present from Ralph (variety: purple).
Time slows down enough that, say, you suddenly realize you had a date ten minutes ago in Aberdeen and can't possibly make it (shit!). Or enough that you don't jet home for the day and therefore miss a phone message canceling tonight's hosted dinner at friends' house, due to friends' illnesses. Therefore my joke in arriving at our friends' house (smoking a cigarette while biking, observed more often than you might think in GH) is completely lost on the hosts, afflicted with equal parts plague and guilt. Home for a quick plan and make-up of evening repast.
Labels: Aberdeen, bike, GH, Grazdma, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard
i made it, yet again
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Sunday, February 10, 2008 at 8:53 PM.
In just a few hours I will have completed thirty-one revolutions around the sun. Good job, me! And thanks, mom and dad! And everyone else involved, really.
Last year on my thirtieth birthday it was a jumble. I was days away from moving our family for the first time (and in denial); I then had a surprise party that included employees, friends, FOO - who I typically would have to beg or cajole to visit, including during times I faced surgery and baby-birthin' - and this great party only minutes after I'd discovered our dear lovely family cat Fancy had been killed. It was an amazing, wonderful, and emotional ride; this year I'm content with a lot quieter. I love the idea of being 31. I like the number itself.
The weekend entailed a visit from college friend Jodi, husband Doug, and their two children Cyan and India. After they left I darted back to my sewing room to finish baby booties for Nels' teacher's imminent birth and enjoyed my mother's company for a dinner of cabbage rolls and baked potatoes courtesy of Ralph's cooking. So all-in-all at 9 PM I'm tired but grateful and content and looking forward to a lie-in.
Last year on my thirtieth birthday it was a jumble. I was days away from moving our family for the first time (and in denial); I then had a surprise party that included employees, friends, FOO - who I typically would have to beg or cajole to visit, including during times I faced surgery and baby-birthin' - and this great party only minutes after I'd discovered our dear lovely family cat Fancy had been killed. It was an amazing, wonderful, and emotional ride; this year I'm content with a lot quieter. I love the idea of being 31. I like the number itself.
The weekend entailed a visit from college friend Jodi, husband Doug, and their two children Cyan and India. After they left I darted back to my sewing room to finish baby booties for Nels' teacher's imminent birth and enjoyed my mother's company for a dinner of cabbage rolls and baked potatoes courtesy of Ralph's cooking. So all-in-all at 9 PM I'm tired but grateful and content and looking forward to a lie-in.
kind of trembly and excited
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Thursday, February 07, 2008 at 3:09 PM.
Is there anyway I can skip my boring Juice Parent day tomorrow at school and stay home sewing on... drumroll...
MY NEW MACHINE?!
I am completely drained and overwhelmed by this. I got it home this afternoon and yes, I've already sewn a project with it (tulle underskirt for Suse's Daddy Daughter Dance dress).
Color me excited, happy, and spent.
MY NEW MACHINE?!
I am completely drained and overwhelmed by this. I got it home this afternoon and yes, I've already sewn a project with it (tulle underskirt for Suse's Daddy Daughter Dance dress).
Color me excited, happy, and spent.
back slowly away from the crazy woman
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Sunday, February 03, 2008 at 6:05 PM.
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.
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
like settlers heading into "town"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Thursday, January 31, 2008 at 4:38 PM.
I tasted my first fresh Krispy Kreme today (what can I say, I'm the OG Country Mouse). It was a struggle, but I got it down eventually (actually, the remainder I picked up are calling to me now). More surprising than the donut hype around the legendary junk food was the coffee - hot, fresh and tasty - and the fact the retro 50s squeaky-kleen donut factory ambience actually worked on me. I felt pleased and comforted and totally forgot I was sitting in the middle of a square mile of strip-mall concrete in Puyallup.
My fabric trip with my mom (and Nels) was bookended by watching my parents fight about their severely damaged roof, a post-storm saga that does not seem to be winding down to a close (yesterday they had another contractor quit on them). The fighting was kind of surprising because growing up my parents "rarely" fought and somehow the legacy was they "didn't" fight. Today there was yelling and cussing and later a cell-phone apology (delivered by my mother who, distracted and sad she'd yelled at my dad, pulled over on our way out of Aberdeen in order to call) and then when we got back, a wind-up, more yelling, tears, and stomping. "It's not my fault," my father reminds my mother as he angrily saddles up to drive to the roofer's offices. She doesn't quite apologize again, still angry about the stream of contractors she's alienated, anxious to stop the deterioration of her home (the tarping fix fell apart and water damage has started to hurt the insides of the house), and mad that my father isn't taking care of it in the way she feels he should.
My son and I witness these words. I feel badly for my parents. I am sad they are struggling and fighting over these things while my dad is so sick. I am sad that my parents, who used to enjoy household projects together in their mutual interest and good health, now have a total pain-in-the-ass problem that's costing money, taking time, and making my mom crazy which results in her picking on my dad. My dad is so thin he has those crazy old man legs they can cross at the upper thigh. Yet despite this, despite a near-skeletal frame (he's lost an inch to his height, did I tell you that?) and his tests and poisons he still remains my father, the same. I am not all that sorry for him in the sense I think he can still handle life's complexities. But I am sorry that my mom has this household burden at the same time she's facing the poor health of her mate. Oddly, or perhaps you understand, it's exactly experiences like today that make me glad I moved here to be witness, to help if I can, and to participate in their lives through good or ill.
The fabric store itself was great. Mom and I stuck to our small lists (I did not select an underlining for my brother's coat yet; the addition of my four year old to the shopping experience caused us to cut things a bit short) and found things in short order. I felt joy at the fabrics I saw, more types that I could have pictured, and I did not find myself longing for fabrics I can't have. This is a good thing. I saw dual-colored zippers and plush fake fur and lovely wools and found four color combinations of the rare-ish bonded sherpa / minkee fleece I'd sought for my baby slipper project. I also was cheered to discover their minimum yardage cut is 1". It just seemed so sweet and accommodating on their part.
It's funny to visit "the city" and suddenly realize I could find socks for Sophie, or face wash, or exactly the restaurant food I crave, or the perfect color of sheets, or a tiny teapot from an Asian grocer or whatever. I get so used to being in a small town where your spontaneous creativity is hampered by what you can lay hands on (which does make the occasional inspired find all the more exciting). In cases like today, a list is the way to go. Otherwise I just feel an envious sense of overwhelm.
And now, I have a bootleg copy of Sweeney Todd to finish. I think I'm going to get on that.
My fabric trip with my mom (and Nels) was bookended by watching my parents fight about their severely damaged roof, a post-storm saga that does not seem to be winding down to a close (yesterday they had another contractor quit on them). The fighting was kind of surprising because growing up my parents "rarely" fought and somehow the legacy was they "didn't" fight. Today there was yelling and cussing and later a cell-phone apology (delivered by my mother who, distracted and sad she'd yelled at my dad, pulled over on our way out of Aberdeen in order to call) and then when we got back, a wind-up, more yelling, tears, and stomping. "It's not my fault," my father reminds my mother as he angrily saddles up to drive to the roofer's offices. She doesn't quite apologize again, still angry about the stream of contractors she's alienated, anxious to stop the deterioration of her home (the tarping fix fell apart and water damage has started to hurt the insides of the house), and mad that my father isn't taking care of it in the way she feels he should.
My son and I witness these words. I feel badly for my parents. I am sad they are struggling and fighting over these things while my dad is so sick. I am sad that my parents, who used to enjoy household projects together in their mutual interest and good health, now have a total pain-in-the-ass problem that's costing money, taking time, and making my mom crazy which results in her picking on my dad. My dad is so thin he has those crazy old man legs they can cross at the upper thigh. Yet despite this, despite a near-skeletal frame (he's lost an inch to his height, did I tell you that?) and his tests and poisons he still remains my father, the same. I am not all that sorry for him in the sense I think he can still handle life's complexities. But I am sorry that my mom has this household burden at the same time she's facing the poor health of her mate. Oddly, or perhaps you understand, it's exactly experiences like today that make me glad I moved here to be witness, to help if I can, and to participate in their lives through good or ill.
The fabric store itself was great. Mom and I stuck to our small lists (I did not select an underlining for my brother's coat yet; the addition of my four year old to the shopping experience caused us to cut things a bit short) and found things in short order. I felt joy at the fabrics I saw, more types that I could have pictured, and I did not find myself longing for fabrics I can't have. This is a good thing. I saw dual-colored zippers and plush fake fur and lovely wools and found four color combinations of the rare-ish bonded sherpa / minkee fleece I'd sought for my baby slipper project. I also was cheered to discover their minimum yardage cut is 1". It just seemed so sweet and accommodating on their part.
It's funny to visit "the city" and suddenly realize I could find socks for Sophie, or face wash, or exactly the restaurant food I crave, or the perfect color of sheets, or a tiny teapot from an Asian grocer or whatever. I get so used to being in a small town where your spontaneous creativity is hampered by what you can lay hands on (which does make the occasional inspired find all the more exciting). In cases like today, a list is the way to go. Otherwise I just feel an envious sense of overwhelm.
And now, I have a bootleg copy of Sweeney Todd to finish. I think I'm going to get on that.
Labels: film, FOO, food geekery, Grazdma, Nels, OG country mouse, sewing, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard
labors of love
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Monday, January 14, 2008 at 11:12 PM.
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."
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."
you can't make stuff like this up! well, you can... i mean, you *shouldn't* - but you can.
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Sunday, January 13, 2008 at 7:03 PM.
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.
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.
"blah-blah-blah"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Thursday, January 03, 2008 at 2:05 PM.
Hoquiam and Aberdeen have a population of about 27,000 people so it should really reveal something about the microculture we live in that today a complete stranger asked me if I was "Ralph Hogaboom's wife" and here's why: she works with my husband who revealed our son's proclivity to his sister's clothes the other day, and this morning at our favorite deli Nels was wearing a hairbow of Sophie's (to a lot of smiles and comments). This "recognition" should just give you a tiny taste of how rare it is for a preschooler boy 'round these parts to wear anything much more girlie than an Elmo shirt.
Of course in PT the requisite look was encouraging one's boychild to wear a Halloween costume year-round and / or thrifted Hanna Andersson playdress, fairy wings, and dirty face comprised of equal parts organic gummi bears, Odwalla Superfood, and Veggie Booty. While I lived there I never thought I'd miss the New Ager Preciousness of that crowd of parents and kids but of course, I really really do - not just my friends, which made my holiday season hit pockets of unbearableness, but the culture there in general. The Port Townsend I knew was exciting, brazenly liberal, and fiercely creative. Port Townsend will always hold a very special place in my heart and in the inheritance of my young family.
OMG I have nothing to complain about these days, and I really shouldn't. I mean really. Today I spent the day running necessary errands and cleaning house, with my children's help in all endeavors. We had a delightful lunch on store credit. And I've since been at the library having me-time while my children quietly play and read. We're about to head home and get ready for a Y visit this afternoon where I can get in some walking and talking with my girlfriend J. And if I'm lucky, the kids won't hate-fuck the house and mess it up again. I am definitely dreading firing up the old clunky sewing machine again, but I do have to finish Sophie's li'l overalls and start on her birthday princess dress. Which will, in all likelihood, be worn more by Nels anyway.
Of course in PT the requisite look was encouraging one's boychild to wear a Halloween costume year-round and / or thrifted Hanna Andersson playdress, fairy wings, and dirty face comprised of equal parts organic gummi bears, Odwalla Superfood, and Veggie Booty. While I lived there I never thought I'd miss the New Ager Preciousness of that crowd of parents and kids but of course, I really really do - not just my friends, which made my holiday season hit pockets of unbearableness, but the culture there in general. The Port Townsend I knew was exciting, brazenly liberal, and fiercely creative. Port Townsend will always hold a very special place in my heart and in the inheritance of my young family.
OMG I have nothing to complain about these days, and I really shouldn't. I mean really. Today I spent the day running necessary errands and cleaning house, with my children's help in all endeavors. We had a delightful lunch on store credit. And I've since been at the library having me-time while my children quietly play and read. We're about to head home and get ready for a Y visit this afternoon where I can get in some walking and talking with my girlfriend J. And if I'm lucky, the kids won't hate-fuck the house and mess it up again. I am definitely dreading firing up the old clunky sewing machine again, but I do have to finish Sophie's li'l overalls and start on her birthday princess dress. Which will, in all likelihood, be worn more by Nels anyway.
Labels: library, navelgazing, Nels, sewing, YMCA
"thou shalt not covet"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Wednesday, January 02, 2008 at 8:58 PM.
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.
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
oh yeah, about that.
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Friday, December 14, 2007 at 2:27 PM.
It would be untrue to say the reason I didn't respond to Chris' IMs - 2:12 PM through 2:24 PM - was due to "the largest poop event I've had to deal with in my life." The truth is, it's more like the biggest event for about a year. It really did come abruptly and without warning. Nels called me in the bathroom and - well, he was trying to take care of things himself and failed. As I ran a bath and cleaned the bathroom he said, "I'm sorry, Mama. Thank you for cleaning up the mess," but I told him the truth is, the whole thing was so out of nowhere and impressive I was amazed. I wasn't even mad.
No, what surprises me is how easily it was for me to go from being used to dealing with someone else's poop - on demand, at any time day or night - to being so, so blissfully happy and used to not having to do so at all after less than a year of reprieve. It seems one's default state of humanity is to not have to clean up excrement on a regular basis. Interesting.
A few minutes later, post-bath, he wraps the towel around him and strolls into his sister's room to select his wardrobe (his latest fad is dressing in sister-drag). After a selection from head to foot Sophie I tell him we have to head out to the van to go grab The Girl from school. Nels descends the steps and grabs at the back of his dress (actually his favorite rugby knit casual frock over a Mary Kate and Ashley full white skirt serving as a petticoat - he's the prettiest girl at the ball) and I ask what's up and he says in surprise, "My underwear!" Because of course, it isn't his underwear, it's his sister's. And apparently a set of boy tackle - even a miniature set - disrupts the fit significantly.
Speaking of Nels' garb, I found out I have only six days to get his little Christmas velveteen suit sewn up in time for the Christmas program. Time to get on it!
No, what surprises me is how easily it was for me to go from being used to dealing with someone else's poop - on demand, at any time day or night - to being so, so blissfully happy and used to not having to do so at all after less than a year of reprieve. It seems one's default state of humanity is to not have to clean up excrement on a regular basis. Interesting.
A few minutes later, post-bath, he wraps the towel around him and strolls into his sister's room to select his wardrobe (his latest fad is dressing in sister-drag). After a selection from head to foot Sophie I tell him we have to head out to the van to go grab The Girl from school. Nels descends the steps and grabs at the back of his dress (actually his favorite rugby knit casual frock over a Mary Kate and Ashley full white skirt serving as a petticoat - he's the prettiest girl at the ball) and I ask what's up and he says in surprise, "My underwear!" Because of course, it isn't his underwear, it's his sister's. And apparently a set of boy tackle - even a miniature set - disrupts the fit significantly.
Speaking of Nels' garb, I found out I have only six days to get his little Christmas velveteen suit sewn up in time for the Christmas program. Time to get on it!
romance is not dead (it's swayze!)
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Wednesday, November 21, 2007 at 8:38 PM.
Today besides the normal drill of fixing breakfast and lunch and getting the kids read for school I cooked a mini-Thanksgiving "feast" of roast turkey, mashed potatoes w/butter, and carrot sticks for Sophie's kindergarten class - fresh out of the shower at 12:40 throwing potatoes in boiling water for a lunch date at 1 PM (yes, I made it and on time too), deep-cleaned the bathroom, entertained my father during a surprise coffee visit (our conversation actually took many turns for the personal depths, much to my surprise), took the kids to the Sweet Shoppe and picked up some catered bread pudding while there (the only item on the T-day menu I'm not making), took the kids to the Y and worked out, and cut out two dresses and two skirts to sew for Sophie. At my parents' tonight I realized I couldn't sew at home; my children / the kitten - someone - had got ahold of my bobbin helmet, a part I truly do need in order to sew. On hearing this my husband offered to haul my Singer 201 down the narrow stairs, put it in the van and drive it to our house to set up; the machine itself weighs 25 lbs. and is in a giant cabinet that isn't easy to carry even over level ground. I opted instead to come home and tear the house apart for the missing piece to my 15-91. *
Here's another reason I like being married to Ralph; tonight at 9 PM when I said, "Oh, you should go rent Roadhouse since the video stores won't be open tomorrow," and he said "Fuckin' A'!", grabbed our son, and left to go do it. So. There are so many, many people who would not have had that response.
Through a misplaced Tweet I found Devil's Night Radio and I'm loving it. Tonight I heard Nick Cave's "Stagger Lee" which I haven't listened to in nine years on account of how much it offended Ralph when I played it in my car.
Oh, and I found out that after working out and not drinking alchool for a little over a week I have dropped six pounds. People, just so you know, this is officially the first time in my life I've ever done anything approximating "dieting". I'm glad to have lost weight but I'm even more amazed at how good I feel.
So yeah. Things are going great around these parts.
* ETA - that was fast. I published my post, walked into the living room, moved one couch and immediately found the little metal part. Good times.
Here's another reason I like being married to Ralph; tonight at 9 PM when I said, "Oh, you should go rent Roadhouse since the video stores won't be open tomorrow," and he said "Fuckin' A'!", grabbed our son, and left to go do it. So. There are so many, many people who would not have had that response.
Through a misplaced Tweet I found Devil's Night Radio and I'm loving it. Tonight I heard Nick Cave's "Stagger Lee" which I haven't listened to in nine years on account of how much it offended Ralph when I played it in my car.
Oh, and I found out that after working out and not drinking alchool for a little over a week I have dropped six pounds. People, just so you know, this is officially the first time in my life I've ever done anything approximating "dieting". I'm glad to have lost weight but I'm even more amazed at how good I feel.
So yeah. Things are going great around these parts.
* ETA - that was fast. I published my post, walked into the living room, moved one couch and immediately found the little metal part. Good times.
Labels: film, food, holidays, music, Ralph, school, sewing, swayze, the bod
"It's Franken-STEEN!"
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Saturday, October 27, 2007 at 8:52 AM.
Last night our foursome worked at the 7th Street Theatre for the movie (Young Frankenstein). Sophie and I handed out programs (which I design for the films) and Ralph and Skels - I mean Nels - worked concessions.
Let me out my family as huge dorks. Because these aren't the "real" Halloween costumes, these are the ones for the movie nights. I pondered and pondered a way to frizz out Suse's hair. It would have taken lots of product and forever; plus we have two nights of working and I didn't want to go through whatever horrific process that would be twice. So I settled for a haircolor and white spray-in streaks. The dress is sewn from two tablecloths and the ribbon is sewn on to her neck (the ribbon sewn to itself, not my girl). I also tore more of the tablecloth into bandage handwraps and painted her nails a lovely blackish green. She was so into it. P.S. more than one boy / guy checked her out. It's kind of weird.
Nels liked his costume too. Um. A lot. He and I shopped for the costume earlier in the day - black LS shirt, sweats (I cut and hemmed the bottom of them b/c I hate the gathered sweatpant look), furnished with medical tape "bones" - plus a skull mask (not shown) he found all by himself for $1. He was extremely invested in the process. As we travelled to checkout he howled, "Where are the bones!?" having no understanding Ralph was going to fashion them from tape. That night he made a big fuss until we allowed him to sleep in the costume and he clutched his skele-mask in his sleep - all night.
Our friend S. took quite a few of these screenshots; they look great.
Labels: film, geekery, halloween, Nels, Ralph, sewing, Sophie
car trubble
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Saturday, October 13, 2007 at 9:08 AM.
Ralph took a photo walk this morning; he's been checking out a camera from the college.
Yesterday didn't go so well. Sure, it started out great. I'd planned a brief Portland roadtrip with Sophie to visit my brother (and maybe my sister too, if the schedule worked out). I woke very excited about a sunny-weather trip. I spent the morning with my kids (both off school for Professional's Day) cleaning house and giving them their Spring Cleaning, a fun little ritual where we clip nails, clean ears, and do an extra squeaky-clean full body overhaul, the three of us splashing in the tub. Sophie brought out her two green vinyl suitcases and we packed. She rattled off the itinerary for our trip to see Uncle Billy. We went to a six-kid playdate at A.'s while I helped two girlfriends with Halloween sewing.
Then, leaving A.'s house just a tad bit later in my schedule - my car wouldn't start. And in a, it's-not-just-the-battery-nor-even-the-starter way. I got a ride into town and decided to feel in despair. My dad came back out with me to A.'s and we confirmed the diagnosis that I was kind of screwed.
By 4 PM I was still in Hoquiam (not happily cavorting with my brother), having paid most of my Portland budget to No No's Tows. The roadtrip was scrapped. I had a hard time telling Sophie this because I was upset, she was upset, and I didn't want her to "read" more upset than there needed to be.
At about 4:30 things slowly began to improve. The van - after lots of helpful suggestions and understanding plus phone calls from A.'s house - had made it to our trusted auto shop. My mom, kids and I went to our favorite cafe and I had some fresh coffee. My mom bought me a few homebaked cinnamon rolls to take home. The waitress at the cafe brought in hand-me-downs she'd reserved for Nels (OK, that's just so sweet). Mom and I made a date to meet up for some sock-knitting tips at the LYS the next day.
I headed home, thankful for kind friends and family, knowing Ralph would be there soon to meet me and try to cheer me up.
Labels: birlo, letdown, pdx, roadtrip, sewing, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard
yeah, I really don't know what to make of any of it
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Wednesday, September 12, 2007 at 9:40 PM.
OK.
So, today was weird.
Today was Nels' first day at preschool. This represents the first time since becoming a parent, ever, I have had both children at school and time to myself. That alone - and saying goodbye to my littlest one with him barely acknowledging I was leaving and knowing it was the first of many goodbyes for the two of us - was disconcerting enough. It was on the drive home in my very, very quiet truck that I thought, simply, "I miss my children," and finally a few tears materialized.
But today was so busy (making a pie, running flyers off and delivering them, fielding calls from the school Board president with school-commencement stuff, grocery-shopping, sewing something for my brother and working on my own project, making breakfast lunch and dinner and orchestrating coffee and cookies for my sewing group, collecting supplies for my sewing group, dropping school supplies for Suse, picking up both kids, biking biking biking, taking them out for ice cream then home and making food for my family while cleaning the kitchen and Nels fell asleep and I had to call my brother to do a coffee pickup and put a sleeping Boy back in the bike trailer and bike some more...), so anyway, it was busy in that I'm-going-to-forget-something-important way. As far as I know, I didn't forget anything. But I also didn't get any time to process any of my feelings.
At a little after 5 PM, mere moments after Ralph burst in from his bike ride home to take our children, I checked in a the library where my sewing night was scheduled. And as I expected, no one was there. After all I had put only a single, solitary flyer up. And even as I felt sadness for a low attendance, I felt distinctly stupid for not bothering to advertise (that's just who I am). My time to myself (ironing fabric and laying out a pair of pants for Nels) was short-lived; my friend Jennifer showed right on the money. And we proceeded to talk, catch up on the day (she's running for HQX mayor and there's always something to hear!), have a snack, and finally start working on her machine. At about the point she and I were getting into good sewing theory, it started to go a little crazy.
First off, a young woman came downstairs to see us and started talking to me with some degree of familiarity. I didn't know her and was confused she had nothing to sew with; but when she introduced herself as M. - a fellow Hoquiamite blogger, artisan, and zine contributor - I was immediately flung into that good 15 minute experience of disorientation common when you meet someone you've exchanged many emails with and have prematurely formed a mental picture of. Despite my disorientation and quick pleasure at having an IRL meeting, the three of us fell into conversation, comparing notes on Hoquiam, Hoquiamites, and homesickness for previous climes. M. handed me a present: a brilliant little tutorial book on making sock creatures. Her boyfriend joined us and we talked a bit about local sewing machine shops (not many).
Just when I'd gotten over meeting someone new (yet known) it got a bit stranger - a full hour after my sewing tutorial was to begin, some boisterous women started trickling into the room. They had sewing machines but I could sense they weren't there for me. They were all talking at once, mostly to each other, but one of the ringleaders finally made it clear to my tiny, overworked birdbrain that they were a group of Pagans who met regularly to sew together. They had mistakenly showed up a day earlier than their scheduled library slot. It was very odd for me to have thought I would be teaching a subject only to have it first interrupted and then discussed amongst people who had no use for me. However, I was glad to meet these women, I learned their names, I told them I'd be interested in helping them sew if they needed it tonight or in any future iteration, and I gave myself up to the increasing surrealism of the evening.
Ralph and the kids showed up at 8 o'clock to pick me up and I felt my first pang of regret. I knew my husband would be pleased to see these half dozen students of mine sewing away at full swing. Indeed, he sported a satisfied little grin as he entered the room to ask if I wanted to stay longer. Since the ladies didn't seem very interested in my help, I asked Ralph to load up my sewing materials and invited Jen over for peach pie and despite her busy schedule and state of minor sleep deprivation she agreed.
As Jen and I laughed in the car ride to my house, I felt such gladness that I'd moved back. As with a few other friends here I was finding my relationship with familiars from my childhood would not be formed solely of fond memories and anecdotal brief get-togethers but instead a full continuum of life experience as it unfolds in the present. Jen and I had just spoken on the phone days earlier and before that, only a few days before; our children were playing together these days, and our lives were starting to know of one another with the ease and fellowship of a comfortable reunion.
We got to my house and my children enfolded Jen in greetings and hugs (she is the only person besides Ralph and I who can understand every word Nels utters) and then, finally, the coup de grace - the largest spider I have ever seen in my life, clutching itself menacingly on my kitchen floor and throwing long shadows (I am not shitting you how big this thing is; my brother is currently on his way over to bear witness). My daughter made instant and expert capture, a few of us shook off our revulsion, I served the pie, and we laughed some more.
And with the evening drawing to a close and a very full day spent, I say goodnight.
So, today was weird.
Today was Nels' first day at preschool. This represents the first time since becoming a parent, ever, I have had both children at school and time to myself. That alone - and saying goodbye to my littlest one with him barely acknowledging I was leaving and knowing it was the first of many goodbyes for the two of us - was disconcerting enough. It was on the drive home in my very, very quiet truck that I thought, simply, "I miss my children," and finally a few tears materialized.
But today was so busy (making a pie, running flyers off and delivering them, fielding calls from the school Board president with school-commencement stuff, grocery-shopping, sewing something for my brother and working on my own project, making breakfast lunch and dinner and orchestrating coffee and cookies for my sewing group, collecting supplies for my sewing group, dropping school supplies for Suse, picking up both kids, biking biking biking, taking them out for ice cream then home and making food for my family while cleaning the kitchen and Nels fell asleep and I had to call my brother to do a coffee pickup and put a sleeping Boy back in the bike trailer and bike some more...), so anyway, it was busy in that I'm-going-to-forget-something-important way. As far as I know, I didn't forget anything. But I also didn't get any time to process any of my feelings.
At a little after 5 PM, mere moments after Ralph burst in from his bike ride home to take our children, I checked in a the library where my sewing night was scheduled. And as I expected, no one was there. After all I had put only a single, solitary flyer up. And even as I felt sadness for a low attendance, I felt distinctly stupid for not bothering to advertise (that's just who I am). My time to myself (ironing fabric and laying out a pair of pants for Nels) was short-lived; my friend Jennifer showed right on the money. And we proceeded to talk, catch up on the day (she's running for HQX mayor and there's always something to hear!), have a snack, and finally start working on her machine. At about the point she and I were getting into good sewing theory, it started to go a little crazy.
First off, a young woman came downstairs to see us and started talking to me with some degree of familiarity. I didn't know her and was confused she had nothing to sew with; but when she introduced herself as M. - a fellow Hoquiamite blogger, artisan, and zine contributor - I was immediately flung into that good 15 minute experience of disorientation common when you meet someone you've exchanged many emails with and have prematurely formed a mental picture of. Despite my disorientation and quick pleasure at having an IRL meeting, the three of us fell into conversation, comparing notes on Hoquiam, Hoquiamites, and homesickness for previous climes. M. handed me a present: a brilliant little tutorial book on making sock creatures. Her boyfriend joined us and we talked a bit about local sewing machine shops (not many).
Just when I'd gotten over meeting someone new (yet known) it got a bit stranger - a full hour after my sewing tutorial was to begin, some boisterous women started trickling into the room. They had sewing machines but I could sense they weren't there for me. They were all talking at once, mostly to each other, but one of the ringleaders finally made it clear to my tiny, overworked birdbrain that they were a group of Pagans who met regularly to sew together. They had mistakenly showed up a day earlier than their scheduled library slot. It was very odd for me to have thought I would be teaching a subject only to have it first interrupted and then discussed amongst people who had no use for me. However, I was glad to meet these women, I learned their names, I told them I'd be interested in helping them sew if they needed it tonight or in any future iteration, and I gave myself up to the increasing surrealism of the evening.
Ralph and the kids showed up at 8 o'clock to pick me up and I felt my first pang of regret. I knew my husband would be pleased to see these half dozen students of mine sewing away at full swing. Indeed, he sported a satisfied little grin as he entered the room to ask if I wanted to stay longer. Since the ladies didn't seem very interested in my help, I asked Ralph to load up my sewing materials and invited Jen over for peach pie and despite her busy schedule and state of minor sleep deprivation she agreed.
As Jen and I laughed in the car ride to my house, I felt such gladness that I'd moved back. As with a few other friends here I was finding my relationship with familiars from my childhood would not be formed solely of fond memories and anecdotal brief get-togethers but instead a full continuum of life experience as it unfolds in the present. Jen and I had just spoken on the phone days earlier and before that, only a few days before; our children were playing together these days, and our lives were starting to know of one another with the ease and fellowship of a comfortable reunion.
We got to my house and my children enfolded Jen in greetings and hugs (she is the only person besides Ralph and I who can understand every word Nels utters) and then, finally, the coup de grace - the largest spider I have ever seen in my life, clutching itself menacingly on my kitchen floor and throwing long shadows (I am not shitting you how big this thing is; my brother is currently on his way over to bear witness). My daughter made instant and expert capture, a few of us shook off our revulsion, I served the pie, and we laughed some more.
And with the evening drawing to a close and a very full day spent, I say goodnight.
earning my way
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Thursday, July 19, 2007 at 2:45 PM.
News, news, news.
Last month I (in bullheaded fashion) decided I simply had to enter a SewUseful contest (sponsored by Etsy and Instructables). Part of the contest requirements was to put up a listing for the item along with an accompanying Instructable. OK, fine. Surprisingly, my "invention" (bike chaps) sold out in a few hours.
Sadly, on the last day of the contest I (and others) had mucho technical difficulties uploading image libraries and editing text. I almost gave up; my husband insisted I soldier on. Today they fixed the last of the bug and I uploaded the final pieces of my Instructable. I think I got one hand-clap so far so, if you view it and like it, comment on it. I think that involves you registering, which you likely don't want to do, unless you're some DIY dork that already is registered. Um, not that Instructable members are dorks. I mean, I'm one.
My other income this month were earned in zine form; my writing is featured in the new Aussie MixTape zine. Oooh! Oooh! They like me!
So yeah, this week I made like, $34.
Last month I (in bullheaded fashion) decided I simply had to enter a SewUseful contest (sponsored by Etsy and Instructables). Part of the contest requirements was to put up a listing for the item along with an accompanying Instructable. OK, fine. Surprisingly, my "invention" (bike chaps) sold out in a few hours.
Sadly, on the last day of the contest I (and others) had mucho technical difficulties uploading image libraries and editing text. I almost gave up; my husband insisted I soldier on. Today they fixed the last of the bug and I uploaded the final pieces of my Instructable. I think I got one hand-clap so far so, if you view it and like it, comment on it. I think that involves you registering, which you likely don't want to do, unless you're some DIY dork that already is registered. Um, not that Instructable members are dorks. I mean, I'm one.
My other income this month were earned in zine form; my writing is featured in the new Aussie MixTape zine. Oooh! Oooh! They like me!
So yeah, this week I made like, $34.
bikin'. and stitchin'.
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Saturday, April 28, 2007 at 7:21 PM.
We have decided we are only going to do fun things this weekend.
This morning I had the zany idea to go out to Ocean Shores' Shilo Inn for breakfast. Years and years ago we had brunch there and it was fancy so maybe I was hoping for something to bring that special feeling back (hopefully without the $16-a-plate prices). As it turned out, the brunch is actually on Sunday, while Saturdays features typical breakfast fare, the most exotic item being a "seasonal" fruit bowl (which included sour grapes and wooden strawberries, the latter of which only my children would eat) but at least we had decent coffee - and decent prices, too.
After breakfast we checked out the rather lovely large saltwater aquarium and rather dreadful (but very titsy) mermaid sculpture. Such a successful set of morning activities got Ralph so fired up he would not take no for an answer on a little enterprise he'd been talking about for years, but I'd been hoping he was kidding. He wasn't.
Now keep in mind a surrey bike looks innocuous (dorky) enough at first but it is in truth, as I found out, both extremely hard work to pedal and also feels very dangerous, as if you are going to tip over any second or fly out of control off the embankment which Ralph came close to many times and would have had not my stentorian voice (Ralph's word: "sharp", said while laughing at me) alerted this crazy man to near-disaster. Ralph mocked me our entire ride for being nervous but I knew what he didn't, that this thing was a death trap. While mid-ride he ran up to the van to get his camera, I gingerly leaned out of my side of the bike (the faggot side that had a steering wheel that steered nothing, and thank God Ralph didn't get the episode on tape where in a panic I attempted to counter his "driving" [careening] by using it) to feel that center-of-balance point. The bike stayed pointedly and solidly on all four wheels, acting like a car. But I knew better.
Of course it goes without saying that our children, ensconced in the basket in front of us, had the time of their lives. Ralph said he didn't realize until he watched his footage that I was laughing the entire time we were out at the beach (that's my mannish voice you hear in every second of that footage). Big Fun Weekend is looking like a good plan afterall.
Now, sadly, a 100% "fun weekend" plan got fucked because I had a prior commitment: see, the minute I felt slightly better after my illness I also knew I had to complete my obligation to finish a quilt for my children's school. This quilt was a sad enterprise because every thread of fabric and bit of composition had been planned out by someone else - namely, our daughter's teacher and a friendly neighborhood quilter. It was left to me (and the very vital efforts of my mother) to finish the quilt and finally, a half-hour before the auction tonight at which the item was due, drag it in, fingers bleeding but all smiles to be done, and done doing a very good job (well, except for a detail or two).
My mother and I sew very well together. I probably tease her too much, or rather talk too much shit about my superior speed in the whip stitch (I'm not kidding, I made a joke about it). But we speak our own foreign language of sewing, developed in no small part together but also refined and practiced in many ventures apart. We work well together and laugh and my dad circles in the background and wishes for our attention and makes jokes when he thinks of them. It was good times today.
This quilt is currently being auctioned off at a fundraiser and I feel a real pang that I'm not there - especially since my lovely friend Jen and her family is.
But Family Fun Weekend calls - onward!
This morning I had the zany idea to go out to Ocean Shores' Shilo Inn for breakfast. Years and years ago we had brunch there and it was fancy so maybe I was hoping for something to bring that special feeling back (hopefully without the $16-a-plate prices). As it turned out, the brunch is actually on Sunday, while Saturdays features typical breakfast fare, the most exotic item being a "seasonal" fruit bowl (which included sour grapes and wooden strawberries, the latter of which only my children would eat) but at least we had decent coffee - and decent prices, too.
After breakfast we checked out the rather lovely large saltwater aquarium and rather dreadful (but very titsy) mermaid sculpture. Such a successful set of morning activities got Ralph so fired up he would not take no for an answer on a little enterprise he'd been talking about for years, but I'd been hoping he was kidding. He wasn't.
Now keep in mind a surrey bike looks innocuous (dorky) enough at first but it is in truth, as I found out, both extremely hard work to pedal and also feels very dangerous, as if you are going to tip over any second or fly out of control off the embankment which Ralph came close to many times and would have had not my stentorian voice (Ralph's word: "sharp", said while laughing at me) alerted this crazy man to near-disaster. Ralph mocked me our entire ride for being nervous but I knew what he didn't, that this thing was a death trap. While mid-ride he ran up to the van to get his camera, I gingerly leaned out of my side of the bike (the faggot side that had a steering wheel that steered nothing, and thank God Ralph didn't get the episode on tape where in a panic I attempted to counter his "driving" [careening] by using it) to feel that center-of-balance point. The bike stayed pointedly and solidly on all four wheels, acting like a car. But I knew better.
Of course it goes without saying that our children, ensconced in the basket in front of us, had the time of their lives. Ralph said he didn't realize until he watched his footage that I was laughing the entire time we were out at the beach (that's my mannish voice you hear in every second of that footage). Big Fun Weekend is looking like a good plan afterall.
Now, sadly, a 100% "fun weekend" plan got fucked because I had a prior commitment: see, the minute I felt slightly better after my illness I also knew I had to complete my obligation to finish a quilt for my children's school. This quilt was a sad enterprise because every thread of fabric and bit of composition had been planned out by someone else - namely, our daughter's teacher and a friendly neighborhood quilter. It was left to me (and the very vital efforts of my mother) to finish the quilt and finally, a half-hour before the auction tonight at which the item was due, drag it in, fingers bleeding but all smiles to be done, and done doing a very good job (well, except for a detail or two).
My mother and I sew very well together. I probably tease her too much, or rather talk too much shit about my superior speed in the whip stitch (I'm not kidding, I made a joke about it). But we speak our own foreign language of sewing, developed in no small part together but also refined and practiced in many ventures apart. We work well together and laugh and my dad circles in the background and wishes for our attention and makes jokes when he thinks of them. It was good times today.
This quilt is currently being auctioned off at a fundraiser and I feel a real pang that I'm not there - especially since my lovely friend Jen and her family is.
But Family Fun Weekend calls - onward!
typical day + best. quote. ever.
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Tuesday, April 03, 2007 at 5:56 PM.
Billy comes over for lunch and to take some pictures. I wish we had a camera. Scratch that. I wish we'd get off our asses and scrape up the $100 to fix ours.
Small gaffe on Mama's part - so today my brother is taking pictures of Sophie and the latest two shirts I've sewn her and she says, "I want to take pictures of my bottom and punani!" and I say (without thinking), "That's called kiddie porn. And we're not going to do that." She responds crankily, "Well I want kiddie porn!"
Billy and I doubled up in silent laughter. I immediately regretted that whole conversation. But, let's just move on.
Nels, pensive. He's been like that lately. I think he's undergoing a personality change. Since it isn't in the direction of savagery, I'm happy with it.
My room, sunlit. I would say "our room" but as Ralph points out, we are sleeping along gender lines these days. Unless we can trick the kids to sleep together, which we do now and then.
P.S. I found some crystal meth on my walk to my parents' today. Yay!
accomplishments that are worth a damn to ME anyway
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Sunday, November 05, 2006 at 6:38 PM.
Tonight I brought the following dinner to a friend who recently had a baby:
And no, I don't work my ass off nor have a messy home nor a rigorously clean one. Nor do I use TV to "babysit" while I do these various activities. I do however have a relatively ordered home, a joy in learning how to care for it, a husband who participates in housecleaning, and children who (more or less) know how to entertain themselves or even assist me in the sewing room or kitchen.
I have found my groove in life, again.
- Chicken salad (chicken marinated in lemon juice, soy, rice vinegar, and sugar, then broiled)
- Cold sesame noodles
- Peanut sauce
- Rooster sauce
- Satsuma mandarins
- Two-layer cake with chocolate frosting (my friend's favorite), all from scratch.
red-leaf lettuce, cucumber, carrot, baby corn
sweet sesame dressing
And no, I don't work my ass off nor have a messy home nor a rigorously clean one. Nor do I use TV to "babysit" while I do these various activities. I do however have a relatively ordered home, a joy in learning how to care for it, a husband who participates in housecleaning, and children who (more or less) know how to entertain themselves or even assist me in the sewing room or kitchen.
I have found my groove in life, again.
Labels: cocky, food, friends, homesteading, sewing
gearing up for Halloweiner
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Tuesday, October 31, 2006 at 12:12 PM.
This morning I awoke amidst the three others in my family, burrowed under blankets on a large mattress Pangaea on the floor of my kids' room. These measures are necessary because we are currently having our house interior painted and sleeping in a freshly-painted room is, well, kind of gross and scary. That's OK because I am secretly (or not-so-secretly) a big fan of family-sleeping. So last night I was only too thrilled to move a TV into the kids' room and watch a movie (a "conventional but entertaining sports flick" indeed - I'm coming to believe the Disney sports films - The Rookie, Invincible, etc. - are my version of other women's romantic comedies - which I don't watch - perhaps because they are always well-crafted, contain a good period soundtrack, and are comforting, formulaic, and only mildly emotionally moving), a late-night snack, and all-night family snuggle.
This morning I disentangle myself from the litter and start coffee; Ralph and Nels soon follow in waking up and while I shower Nels lays on the floor whinging as Ralph washes breakfast dishes (apparently being hungry for ten minutes in the morning is an existential nightmare for our son). After getting dressed I snuggle next to my daughter's sweet body and we lie in bed quietly for a while. Then she starts talking, whispering to me of a purple dragon, a dragon "that saves people". She sits up cross-legged and holds her hands in front of her, meshes the fingers to cup someone gently, and tells me the creature has long claws to hold people, as she talks she is gazing off, remembering. "The dragon had a very friendly face," she breathes, her smile beatific.
Today has been a near-madhouse of activity, mostly including family events - playschool responsibilities, Halloween costumes, trick-or-treating - and significantly hampered by having the house torn apart for painting. But yes, I got all my Halloween sewing done, easy. And don't think I'm not thrilled that I have had emails asking me to post photos! And you would think I'd get to breathe a breath of relaxation now the Halloween sewing is done. My last day of my sewing workshops is tomorrow, however - so I have to prepare for that. Zippers. Funsies.
Nocturnal animals in my car, from the other night's late-night grocery run. Which I and the kids enjoy. Note Nels' many layers of scarf, which he wore all night without even toppling over.
This morning I disentangle myself from the litter and start coffee; Ralph and Nels soon follow in waking up and while I shower Nels lays on the floor whinging as Ralph washes breakfast dishes (apparently being hungry for ten minutes in the morning is an existential nightmare for our son). After getting dressed I snuggle next to my daughter's sweet body and we lie in bed quietly for a while. Then she starts talking, whispering to me of a purple dragon, a dragon "that saves people". She sits up cross-legged and holds her hands in front of her, meshes the fingers to cup someone gently, and tells me the creature has long claws to hold people, as she talks she is gazing off, remembering. "The dragon had a very friendly face," she breathes, her smile beatific.
Today has been a near-madhouse of activity, mostly including family events - playschool responsibilities, Halloween costumes, trick-or-treating - and significantly hampered by having the house torn apart for painting. But yes, I got all my Halloween sewing done, easy. And don't think I'm not thrilled that I have had emails asking me to post photos! And you would think I'd get to breathe a breath of relaxation now the Halloween sewing is done. My last day of my sewing workshops is tomorrow, however - so I have to prepare for that. Zippers. Funsies.
Nocturnal animals in my car, from the other night's late-night grocery run. Which I and the kids enjoy. Note Nels' many layers of scarf, which he wore all night without even toppling over.
Labels: chaos, family life, film, homesteading, Nels, sewing, tenderness
one of those ways people think I'm a Good Mommy, but I'm actually a Bad One
Published by Kelly Hogaboom on Sunday, October 22, 2006 at 5:43 PM.
Today after a breakfast out (I begged Ralph and he only begrudgingly agreed) we took the family to Slobberdale so I could buy fabric. Because I am a huge frakin' sewing dork. This year for Halloween my daughter is going to be a Corpse Bride so I have to get crackin' (Nels' "Ice Bat" is all done). I just got home with my fabrics and pattern, threw the kids in bed, washed the fabric while cutting out the pattern:
(Butterick 4887) for her gown. I'm doing a lace overlay and a tulle peplum and currently cutting out tulle and it's really, really weird stuff. Oh, should this be going on my sewing blog? Too fucken bad!
In other news, ever since Girls' Movie Night (v. October '06) I can't stop thinking about Patrick Swayze. And not in a pervy way, either. More an intrigued way. Why doesn't he work much these days? Why has he aged less like a person and more like a sleek rock formation? How did he get away with his hair for so long? Why doesn't he have a better ass? I just told Ralph to go rent me another Swayze film - I gave him a trifecta of choices in order of my preference. "And," I said, "If those three are all out, then someone in this town loves Swayze more than us - and we should just back off."
(Butterick 4887) for her gown. I'm doing a lace overlay and a tulle peplum and currently cutting out tulle and it's really, really weird stuff. Oh, should this be going on my sewing blog? Too fucken bad!
In other news, ever since Girls' Movie Night (v. October '06) I can't stop thinking about Patrick Swayze. And not in a pervy way, either. More an intrigued way. Why doesn't he work much these days? Why has he aged less like a person and more like a sleek rock formation? How did he get away with his hair for so long? Why doesn't he have a better ass? I just told Ralph to go rent me another Swayze film - I gave him a trifecta of choices in order of my preference. "And," I said, "If those three are all out, then someone in this town loves Swayze more than us - and we should just back off."
Labels: geekery, homesteading, sewing, swayze
RECENTLY POSTED
"an anthropomorphized dancing onion on his arse" *... »
ARCHIVES
- December 2004
- January 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- August 2005
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- July 2008
- August 2008