“this movie is just ropes & asses!”

My mom and I exchanged Mother’s Day gifts yesterday, before she traveled south to take care of my grandfather for a month. I would have liked to have spent the day taking her out to lunch and such, but she had to get herself on the road.

I had a lovely day today. The first thing my son said to me this morning was, “Happy Mother’s Day”. As I did my computer-thing he called for me to give him some couch snuggles. So, that had to happen.

My Mother's Day So Far

The rest of the day spun out beautifully. Fresh flowers, awesomeness, sunshine, good food, friends, hanging new curtains. The kids caught a frog then charged neighborhood kids five cents to look at it in its temporary habitat, a wagon filled with water and various floating frog-platform fauna.

Frog In A Jar

Treatment center work. I was not able to bike as I seem to have injured my knee, and any biking hills are treacherous. I’m trying to be patient through this. The work, though, was good for me. And I hope, for others. Afterward a man took me aside and thanked me and said, “Good job.” Something or some things I had shared, resonated with him. He shared a little about his most recent DUI and some medication he was detoxing from. He’s off to another treatment center tomorrow – I will probably never see him again.

Home to the summer-warm house and dusk. Homemade dinner by husband, hot bath.

Soon: time for bed.

But now? Time for a silly-arsed B-movie.

I hope you all have a soft and loving bosom to rest upon, or that you find one soon.

My Mother's Day


*grows extra tits to breastfeed EVERYONE, then does some sick BASE jumping*

Homeschool Swim. @stuffnelssays In The Cat-Bird Seat

Today after Homeschool Swim I spent a good part of my day taking a community elder somewhere he needed to be. He has limited funds and transportation and we treated him to dinner as well. Originally I’d planned on taking the trip without the kids, but it turned out the kids needed to come along. It was a good trip but somehow on the drive back I was on my last nerve.

Anyway. A few pics.


Vanilla Salted Caramel Creamcheese At Bonjour Cupcakes In Olympia

A cupcake shop. A CUPCAKE SHOP. Yes, this is a real thing. Yes, it’s just a wonderful thing. My kids were so pleased. Between that, and the “beautiful”/”amazing” Westgate mall, and a large squirrel, and a playground, they were super-happy. Everyone should be this easy to please.

Playground In Oly

Playground & sunshine & weird Gollum-like mouth-expressions.

Today: Time magazine aired a magazine cover with an incredibly annoying headline and tagline – while purporting a premise I feel entirely skeptical about (i.e. a supposed fair and balanced discussion of “attachment parenting”, perhaps not so fair and balanced considering the cover frames it as as “exteme” and in the most mommy-warmongering manner).



Anyway, Arwyn from Raising Boychick had already been musing this “AP=anti-feminist” argument a while back before said polemic cover asploded onto the internet, and I’m honored my online comments were included in her post, since she’s got her shit together when it comes to anti-oppression work.

This mama’s a bit cranky. Time for some snuggling and B-movie time with the husband.

Not A Single Fuck

the pearls slipping from a broken string

My son gets up and dresses daily. He hardly ever forgets his pearls. I love he wears these and his Romeos and runs around outside such attired, not batting an eye.

Nels & His Morning Smile

I’m blue. A bit. My children have increasingly independent lives. YES I KNOW, this is the supposed point of parenthood, right? I mean here I am often talking about how wonderfully the kids are growing up and how amazing it is to watch them –

So yeah, I should be glad they’re out with their grandma, or gardening, or visiting, or buying groceries, or playing at parks, or bike-riding, or playing at the railroad tracks to the tune of FILTHY clothes, or making dates with other people (Nels is currently, at 10 PM, off having a movie night with a friend – after a day spent with a series of other friends), or rolling around with cats outside, or buying candy cigarettes or whatever. Life is as it should be if they only come home during the day to wash up and eat, and in the late evening to get their baths and cuddle.

And yet. I miss them. I am having a hard time letting them go. I do let them go, but I feel uneasy during my day. Like I’m supposed to be doing more, working harder, than I am. Like I’m still stuck in their toddlerhood, which was hard on me because I overworked. Despite the kids being super-happy and figuring their shit out just fine I’m sad or anxious. And let’s face it, a little self-absorbed. Because I let my kids go out and about during school hours and many parents don’t let their kids out and about with so much freedom, so yeah sometimes I wonder if they neighbors think I’m a Bad Mom.

Will I ever, ever, ever be free of the drumbeat of Mommy-shaming in our culture? UGH.

I seriously need to practice my mantra until it is deeply, deeply cemented in my heart:

Not A Single Fuck


Meanwhile – I soldier on with my work. I have two new collections posted at Homesewn: a pair of adorable toddler travelling suits. One is based in tweed and the other in velveteen.

Toddler Travelling Suit, Tweed & Neon Leopard Print

Toddler Travelling Suit, Velveteen & Neon Leopard Print

Smooth-Finish Raw-Edge Raglan Tee

& here’s a sneak preview of my next item – which should be finished tomorrow.

WIP: Zipper, Backside, Patches

follows like a shadow that never leaves

My son sustained a rather large, nasty-looking splinter at a playdate this AM, out in the country (as we say). He was a happy little camper all day but in the evening the small injury was troubling him. He wanted the problem gone but he wasn’t too trusting of any adult wielding a pair of tweezers. Finally I got him to give me his foot, post-bath and after most of our friends had left for the evening. I swiftly and surely placed the grasping implement on the end of the splinter and firmly but smoothly pulled. Nels shouted in alarm (not pain; later he told me it hurt “only a little”) and sat up and grasped his foot; in disbelieving shock and total relief he cried out loudly, “Mama I’m so proud of you! You SAVED my LIFE! I love you SO MUCH!” His cries were astonishing, but I put some of it down to less sleep last night than usual.

Today was beautiful. Friends helped me out. My children were wonderful to spend time with. Whatever difficulties I’d had the last few days – not all of which I diagnosed – dissipated, and I could feel the moment things finally broke free. It was a tremendous relief. A little after this episode I knew I owed my husband an apology and made good on that. I had bodywork done by an occupational therapist who told me I need to “give myself a break”. You know what, I hear that a lot. I am seriously starting to consider how to do that because so far I haven’t let go completely.

Two friends joined Nels and I for lunch out at Clarks in Artic; I hadn’t been there since age eighteen. I ate a cheeseburger and fries, fried zucchini, hot coffee, and a homemade chocolate ice cream cone. I ate with much relish. My appetite has been returning. It’s rather amazing. Holy cow. I never realized how stunted my appetite for food had been. It’s like tasting all over again.

I bottle-fed a baby today. I realized it was the first time I’d ever bottle-fed. You know what, it isn’t as easy as all that, I mean this was a little baby who had a positional preference and there wasn’t much formula in the bottle but I knew air-bubbles might make her uncomfortable. I could have whipped my breast out and done it just like years before, but everyone would have been dismayed by that, with the possible exception of myself, getting to re-live such a wonderful time. When I realized I’d never bottle-fed I felt this deep honor and enjoyed the simplicity and said a little prayer. It felt wonderful to hold a baby in my arms. Very natural. But I gave her back to her mother with no qualms.

We had a few friends as well as my mother over tonight and we ate a lovely dinner Ralph made.

J. posted a pic of the scarf I made her for Christmas. That made me smile.


Tonight I am tired but grateful to know I can sleep tomorrow morning. I hope I feel well-rested when I wake, but I am committed to being patient if possible:

One never knows what the day will bring.

my punani wears a superhero cape

Recently I was at a group function and I got sandwiched between two C-section Mamas – that is, women who’d delivered their first babies this way and were planning / had planned future births to be surgical ones – who related their experiences. One of them professed a preference to repeat surgery should she become pregnant again, and by partial way of explanation said, “I’ve already ruined this part of my body [gesturing toward abdomen], I don’t want to blow out, you know [gestures toward crotch] … too!” This gave me a giggle, although part of me wondered if a great deal of people really believe your vagina blows out if you give birth through it. I’m picturing something like a tattered fruit rollup or one of those tire fragments you see on the freeway (and in case you were curious, mine seems to have held up rather well – in fact, has even sustained some improvements). I was content to listen for a while without comment – but the “birth choices” conversation carried on long enough that I eventually weighed in with my own experiences and opinions.

One thing I’ve learned from new Mamas is that the subject of birth can be controversial. Even among good friends, the tension in the room can amp up a bit when the subjects of labor, the use of medicine or drugs, safety issues, and pain tolerance comes up. I think this urge to discuss and defend fades with time, since I do not hear too many detailed birth stories from women in my mother’s generation (some of them are quite dismissive that we care as much as we do, damn their eyes). I’m guessing that usually by the time your youngest child is in primary school your birth story / stories have been alloted to a Cliff Notes version and you’ve made peace with how it all went down. But in my microcosm these last few years I have heard birth stories told back to back for hours on end at these functions.

Women aren’t silly, though, to care – whatever differing opinions they may have and however passionately (and occasionally ignorantly) they may hold them. Birth is as major as death and as universal, and how we give birth effects every aspect of how we nurture. There’s also the subjective experience itself. Honestly, birth can feel empowering and life-changing like nothing else (it can also feel like a drawn-out, confusing torture session; a clinical procedure softened by narcotics and culminating in a pink baby swaddled in arms; or a horrible nightmare suffused with deep strains of anger and mistrust). It can feel like you climbed a mountain all by yourself – a spiritual, emotional, and physical ordeal that you kick the ass of on your own terms and under your own power. Not all women are fortunate to have this kind of birth – but I’d like all women to get a shot, a truly informed choice, in the whole business, and our culture is nowhere close.