ways to say "I Love You"

When you’re courting as poor college students your beau buys you flowers and a dinner out. Later in life, kids out of the house, 20th anniversary: plane tickets for a Euro trip.

When you’re raising young children together, he fashions a toilet-snake out of a wire hanger and somehow fishes out the diaper liner you accidentally flushed. My hero!

Yeah, the Husband fixed the downstairs commode yesterday – which has turned out invaluable, because the upstairs one has problems as of this morning. Something wrong with the arm in the tank. I can’t get to it because I have two (or more) kids hanging off me at all times. Both chilluns extremely clingy today.

In other news: making dinner for a family with a new baby; yay! it’s the weekend; parents coming up for a day trip tomorrow; Easter with the family

np – Erykah Badu’s “Booty”

verms & cagey blog posts

Just at a dear friend’s learning how to worm compost. This gardening thing is very humbling. I am not usually at “the bottom of the class” on any subject. Mostly because if I find myself there I usually quit really fast (“Duh! I wanted a challenge I could do!” – L.S.). Anyway, with a lot of hard work and help from friends I am slowly getting food to grow on my property.

On a different note, my blog is great, but I can’t write everything I *think* or *do*, due to its public nature. I live in a small town and some of its members read this damn thing. But MAN, I totally want to write about how I kicked a dog in the face today! Whoops, did I say that out loud?

Nah, not really. No canine abuse: in this case, today, a victimless crime. Anyway, I shall struggle on with the endeavor to journal online without getting myself into trouble with friends. Or the law. Tee-hee!

np – Muse, various albums

can you tell me why you have been so sad?

Today was the most brilliant wakeup in so long. All four of us in bed; sunlight filtering in. The Girl scooting up to her brother and kissing him on the mouth: “I love you, Nels.” Everyone waking up cozy, warm, and loved. These are moments in your life you will never have the same again.

After story time at the library, I had four girlfriends over with their babies (all girls!). We ladies are coming out of our winter hibernation. In catching up I can’t believe how much everyone’s lives are in flux. Pregnant, cranky and nervous; workaholic husbands, marriage trouble, friendships strained. To look at us from the outside we seem so boring. But there’s so much going on. Ralph came home for lunch to a roomful of 9 females (Nels was asleep in his room). He took it in stride.

Big date night for The Girl and I. First: sushi with Sindee and Julie. Edamame and rice for the wee one. Then some window shopping; a steamed milk; a carousel ride; and to the movie (Robots – great voice talent, little else to offer).

My life is full of love and I want to hold it in my heart.

you were the mother of three girls so sweet

who stormed through your turnstile and climbed to the street
but after conception your body lay cold
and withered through autumn and you found yourself old

can you tell me why you have been so(sad)

he took a lover on a faraway beach
while you arranged flowers and chose color schemes

can you tell me why you have been so sad?
can you tell me why you have been so sad?

the girls were all there
they traded their vows
the youngest one glared with furrowed brows
they tenderly kissed then cut the cake
the bride then tripped and broke the vase
the one you thought would spend the years
so perfectly placed below the mirror
arriving late you clean the debris
and walked into the angry scene

it felt just like falling in love again
and it felt just like falling in love again

can you tell me why you have been so sad?
can you tell me why you have been so…

I’m still geeking out about it!

It is so frickin’ unfair that by the time we get the kids to bed, get the house cleaned up, and attend to whatever personal business we need to (meaning email, phone calls, IMing, blogging, sitting down with a book, bathroom time, etc.) my husband and I are about out of time. We have to choose between catching up on our day, getting the sleep we need, R&R together, or – uh – “intimate time”. Our late evening choices also need to be sandwiched between what I call the administrative details of the house – who’s going to pay what bill, run what errand, buy which groceries, take the kids when and where. If we choose to do anything at all besides sleep, life is that much harder when The Boy wakes up anywhere from one to five times during the night.

OK, enough bitching. I bred ’em, didn’t I? And I love ’em. And hey, I’m slowly training my 3-y.o. how to babysit my 1-y.o. With much success, I might add.

On an entirely unrelated note – I am *so* irritated I like something that just came out with props in Wired. Lame. Lame!

np – Iron & Wine’s “Jezebel”

filling the "God-shaped vacuum"… with waffles?

Damn. It’s hard to get to church* (*p.s. their website sucks – can I offer up a redesign?) every Sunday with Two Tinys. It involves a lot of nursing, rocking, distraction, and heavy lifting (in the case of my bewheeeemoth yearling son). But I think it’s well worth it. Since Ash Wednesday we (or at least I and the child[ren]) have had perfect attendance and it is paying off for our family. It feels good to be tapped-in again. We’re too busy not to go to church.

Another Sunday event we attend regularly before services is a communal breakfast hosted at a friend’s house. While both events have similarities – warmth, fellowship, philosophy, and decent coffee – I find it very strange and a bit jarring when we transition from one event to the other. It’s the Smug Liberals vs. the Comfortable Christians.

The hip Spirituality in these parts (amongst the agnostic / New Age-y / spiritually lazy / what-have-you crowd) seems to consist of a smattering of “love and light”, happy-horseshit vagary, intellectual arrogance, and some Philosophy 101 without too much investment in study, prayer, and stewardship to those outside their own comfortable circle. This group derives their smugness (and hence recieves permission to blast religious types) by their self-held tenet that their personal credos don’t presume to tell others how to live their life (except, perhaps, not to be so intellectually foolhardy as to perscribe to a particular faith with utter sincerity). Hence anything as mundane as Protestantism (or even Christianity in general) is looked upon as dour and unsophisticated and a bit embarrassing (while the same snobbery is not applied to anything Eastern or general “dabbling”). Well, fair ’nuff – a backlash, I suppose, to all the pro-JC bumper stickers and pontifications by vocal-minority far-right politicians.

So then on to my church family, where I encounter a different set of vexations which may or may not have roots in the same anger, fears, and stored-up hurts that I suspect my “pagan” friends are manifesting. In my church circle the Wiccans / New Agers / Seekers / Just Plain Assholes etc. are looked upon as spiritually lost, lonely, egotistical, and beneath it all: feared and vilified. The party line is we are supposed to invite them to church, help them in their needs, pray for them, and seek intimacy with them; but a few years ago at a Christian dinner group when I revealed I actually *roomed* with one and considered her a friend I was met with gasps of horror (and, to be fair, a certain degree of curiosity and a good group discussion after the inital reaction passed). The churchies long to meet others at their needs and share their experience of Christ, yet are overly afraid of what it might mean to really open up to those different than they.

There’s endless justification and backstory behind why both groups hate and fear one another. These days I am wont to listen to my friends and try to figure out how to integrate my separate lives. One problem is when I “come out” to either group I am either regarded with vague disdain (or out-and-out hostility) for the personal bit of naivete I’ve offered or dropped as a trusted friend (this by the liberals), or suspected of being a fairweather Christian for my political leanings (by my churchies). <sigh!> The funniest, yet saddest piece of it all is that both groups are levelling equal amounts of vitriol, inflated righteousness, and ignorance at the other – all the while nursing old wounds and failing in their self-assigned missions to learn to care for one another.

So. Yeah, I feel unheard as the odd girl out sometimes. For now, my family is doing it old-school: going to church every Sunday and throwing in with the heathen mobs the rest of the week. Perhaps one day a friend from one group will cross over with us to The Other Side.

"While you were out ‘earning’ that dollar, you lost forty dollars by not going to work."

It makes me angry and depressed to see fathers not caring for their children. It’s not the guys’ fault, either. Strong, smart, capable women I know are letting this happen. Everyone pretends like it isn’t really going on. But these ladies are still taking most of the weekend and evening care of their child. Men do 12-hour days at work and Mamas, working or no, feel like single parents. Women go off for a week or weekend to their mom’s, friend’s, wherever, and it’s assumed they will take the kids with them. The guys stay home because of course – they have to “work”. I know a couple who – when daddy wasn’t working – still had their kid in daycare. Why is this stuff happening?

I guess it’s easy to put it all on Money. Or that Dad Needs A Break. Or the vague agreement that Mama *is* getting a break by going to her family’s house with her child[ren] – (she’s not). I wonder – why not, even once a year – can’t Mama get away for a while? If it means childcare for the kids, or half-days for Dad at the office, is that so crazy? Lost wages are a hardship – but what is the value of a woman’s / young mother’s feeling of independence and autonomy? Is family survival jeopradized without a day or two of income, when the return on investment is the kids can get to know their father, Daddy can learn how to competently run the household, and Mama can get a break? Who the hell knows, you might have fun.

I think this sort of thing changes face as kids get older and can dress, feed, toilet themselves. Not to say the household becomes more egalitarian: just the inequities change form. It’s depressing. Our family are pioneers in the matter of daddy-care. I just wish we didn’t feel so alone in it.

Today: coffee date with CK, errands for Abbi’s Blessingway, visiting The Husband at his place of employ. Then the gauntlet of shopping for a week’s groceries with two babies. Whew. I am walking out of the store, kids in cart, feeling shellshocked. Then I think of the many full-grown adults who wouldn’t even be able to do what I just did. I smile. I lift my kiddos into the car and give them each a kiss on their gleaming, healthy foreheads.

np – M.I.A.

"I love you so mucks, Mama!"

Yes, that’s me you just saw. Driving by in your hot-ass cockmobile. Yeah, I’m putting the garbage out. And yeah, I’m wearing an apron and those elbow-length yellow gloves. You know why? Because they keep me from getting mucky. Yeah, muck. It’s what I do. Sweeping. Dishes. Toilets. Wiping noses. Mopping up messes. Scrubbing off crayon marks. Cleaning the fridge. One day you’ll have to do it too. Or you’ll have a wife that bitches to and about you because you DON’T do it.

Motherhood occupies some holy pedestal for so many Americans, in theory. Then why does the practice involve so much muck?

Cleaning the fridge is easy when you’re poor (tomorrow’s payday, and not a day too soon!). At least we have two full jars of pepperoncinis (WTF?). I just cooked the last fresh vegetable in the house for breakfast. For dinner, under duress, I have the ol’ brown-rice canned-beans canned-tomato plan up the sleeve – flavored with the old white-trash standby, Canola Oil.

Despite some hardships, today is a day where I am digging this housewife thing. So you, Mr. Hotass Car, can put that in your bong and smoke it.

np – Transatlanticism
Today’s playlist: Van Morrison, Anna Ranger

fugu me!

Ahhhh… the joys of the Dynamite Roll. Coupled with a frosty Red Hook, truly a delight. Another wonderful date night where I come home to a freshly-bathed baby, happy toddler, and a calm home. Lots of dinner dishes, but oh well. I know he’ll do them while I watch a movie with our little girl. I have a Good Man.

Today I busted my arse on uploading the Breeder content. Three issues down, one to go. And I need to mess with the Blogger template. Yes, I am uncool for using a blog template. All youse coding snobs can come over and watch my kids while I fuck around with html.

Speaking of blogs, I may be seducing dear gal pal LoRo to start her own web journal. Our fellow diner and close friend CK is working on her own project (which she’s been stewing on for some time). Our takeover plans were all discussed at our super-important business meeting where I mostly snorted a combo of crazy-ass hot sauce and wasabi (the ahi is only incidental for a sinus steam cleaning).

OK, enough for my tired/unispired posting. Soapy and I are going next door to watch Napoleon Dynamite. Whatever I feel like I wanna do, gosh!