so this is Christmas...

Merry

Christmas

Everyone!!

Love, us

mamma mia!

we like to be in the kitchen, we women folk.

comfort and joy

It's the holiday season, right? Buy something nice for Jesus-he won't mind-charge it!
In other news, the 3 1/2 yr old is grappling with who Jesus is, who God is, why we were made, what we are made of, who made us, and why we can't sing We Three Kings over and over again in unending delight.
She also thinks that we need some "seasoning" and joy. Mmm, this Christmas should be quite tasty.
I anticipated not spending too much this year on gifts for the simple fact that our finances are in a constant state of overhaul-with this house like an albatross around our necks. I don't mind cutting back on the spending issue, though, because each year it seems commercialism gets more disgusting and bombastic in its tactics to make you feel warm and fuzzy for bad smelling perfume and hideous gifts from Kay Jewlers. So I am okay with things.
My life is great, compared with the people in Vernonia, OR, who are digging their lives out from under 5 feet of water and the ensuing damage it caused. This storm hit everyone hard-not just on the coast-but those who are reducing to soggy remnants of homelife have been particularly affected. I sat in front of the tv and computer screens for far too long, obsessing about floods and destruction. Where's the rainbow for these people? happy holidays.

smaller than a breadbox

how much is enough? when is it time to call it quits? when do we surrender the feelings of justification mixed with rage, bewilderment, resentment and helplessness? years? decades? when someone moves away? when the other person says they're sorry? when they die? what does it take to forgive? and why did anyone ever tell us forgiving meant forgetting? they are not mutually exclusive, nor does one help alleviate the other in most cases. we use many resources to forget, alcohol, drugs, sleep, overeating, running away, writing, transference, to forget, but what resources do we call upon to forgive someone? Most of us, by nature, are not naturally inclined to forgive. We are selfish, we cater to our id, we blame everyone and every aspect of a situation in order to avoid any responsibility or actual justice being served. Why do we crave self-seeking behavior? why can't we release from the status quo our death-grip, instead choosing a banal half-fiction to further on and on.

who was it that said the truth would set us free? free from what? when the truth is spoken, or even thought in the dark recesses of vulnerability, what does it free us from? pain? not really. one can be just as mired in emotions before telling the truth to someone, especially truth in the form of forgiveness, because by its very nature we must tell the truth when forgiving, not fictionalize or marginalize events to serve our own needs.

just some thoughts...not done yet...

mmm hmmm

things I like: moms singing songs to their children.

things I don't like: moms(and everybody else) rushing out the day after Thanksgiving at 4am (yes, that's when some stores are opening) to gobble up those Black Friday savings.

things I like: my kids

things I don't like: kids in parenting magazines who look possessed and or like an alien

things I will always like: mom's stuffing because it has apples in it

see you in a few: the parents don't have a computer at their house, let alone Internet access!

fear and loathing

maybe it was the panic attack just before midnight a couple weeks ago, maybe it's that I will be turning the tri-decade milestone next year, maybe it's the fact that I am completely neurotic and obsessive when it comes to the inner workings of the brain, my brain in particular. I don't know, whatever it was, I have been thinking about my own mortality a lot lately-specifically how I don't have any time to waste. I feel like I waste a great deal of time-on the the Internet, driving, sitting around being slightly depressed, thinking, judging, obsessing, etc. Most of my wasted time doesn't have a direct impact on other people, but to some degree it does. This makes me upset, and then I tend to sit around even more and get more depressed. Through and in this viscous cycle I find no relief, no mature way to handle things, just questions and nagging thoughts that bring no resolution.
I feel I have been taking steps to quell this subconscious desire to stagnate, some of them involving simply moving my feet forward and dragging the rest of me along. I remember a college friend telling me that sometimes the first step is taking a step. Simplistic? Maybe. But what it does for me is reminds me that sometimes you have to start with the most basic of functions in order to tackle the greater things looming in your life-like your calling, your purpose, your destination, etc. Sometimes I find that by breaking things down to an almost infant level, I can create something worth moving forward for.

all I want this holiday season

Simple Gifts

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.


-Elder Joseph Brackett

things that go bump in the night

I have been apart from the rest of my family unit for a week now and I've done pretty well in this creaky house until tonight. I get home, take my "carrots" (really it was a hot fudge sundae) upstairs with the new Martha Stewart (so shiny), and settle down in the study to watch some mind numbing tv. The minute I sit down, though, I hear a huge crash and a thud. oh shit. oh shit oh shit. I don't have anything lethal with me except for a spoon and a bad case of onion breath. So I quietly creep downstairs, thinking it was probably the books I stacked up by the piano while cleaning earlier today. No, they are still intact. I stealthily go from room to room, as if there would really be anything wrong, and can't find a damn thing. So, being the conscientious woman that I am, I turn off all the lights downstairs and proceed to watch Flashdash and finish my ice cream(which I dribbled about half of on myself when I heard the noise, mind you.)
I just went back downstairs for bed and started to hang my coat up in the hall closet and found the perp-all the crap we've been placing strategically on the shelf in the closet decided to fall down and create a huge mess! I wonder if Martha has any great organizing tips for me...

the importance of just being

life's hard. life's complicated. life is grand this way. really, if we all achieved equilibrium in our lives we would be...dead. that's right everyone. the concept of entropy, that life moves from order and structure to disorder and chaos means that we will strive all our lives either consciously or not, to live in some state of disequilibrium, imbalanced and imperfect. Whew! That takes a load off of my perfectionism to do list! But what it also forces me to come to terms with is my own ability to create more chaos than is necessary. Take my latest school debacle. So I decided, well meaning mind you, to go back to school, pick up some science credits, and get into a nursing program. yay you say! helping people! But sometimes we must first help ourselves before we can do a damn piddly bit of good in anyone else's life. School=too much chaos in my life! Shuttling the girls thither and yon, $3.11/gallon gas, stressing about not being able to wrap my head around all the damn vocabulary and scientific concepts, billion dollar book costs, not to mention daycare(yikes!!). So school=too much chaos which made me=crazy!

That leads me to my final thought and the reason for this blog-my brain hurts and I am not doing anybody and good by going back to school just to prove I'm not a fucking idiot! I will eventually go back to school to pursue further education in my field-psychology and human development. But I will wait. Like a good girl. I will stay at home and mother my two marvelous children. And I will not become frustrated and long for a different life while at home because I tried that out and it was not a good fit. For now. I will wait and bide my time and in a couple years when the girls are in school (which is just around the corner in case you were wondering) and then I will pursue more education. I am feeling better now that I've got this all out. I'm sure I'll pester my friends and family, asking them advice, mulling over this and that, but for the most part I feel cured of my higher learning wanderlust for now.

plus, I was beginning to miss Sesame Street, footie pajamas till 9am and watching my children just be.

what?! but you're a girl!

so, I sort of had a bad day. the two biology classes went alright-my test grades are improving, and my professors haven't hurled anything at my head while in class which is always a plus. my chemistry class is another story, another world, another me. I find myself incapable of acting like the --year old I am, or with any of the strength and dignity I like to think I posses at most opportune times. Maybe it's the years of being passively and sometimes very directly put down by male teachers and professors of math and science classes. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't taken a fucking Chemistry class in 12 years, or maybe it's due to other circumstances that are personal and are taking their tole on my psyche. Whatever the case, I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread, and just trying to fulfill a promise I made to myself and my family to try something out in the hopes of bettering I and my family's life.
So stinky cheese man professor of chemistry as I shall now call him, gave me hell for not understanding some concepts as readily as he would have liked. I don't think I am mentally deficient in chemistry and the math that goes with it, but I do know about myself that it sometimes takes longer for me to grasp a concept, sometimes after several different explanations. I was not asking Prof. Stinky to "let me off the hook", or to coddle me or even cater to my inability to grasp something at mach speed. I just needed a little more of a constructive conversation than, "okay, what is it?" "+1, no, that's...what?! no!" what is it?!!" if you can't...have you even read the book? have you gone over any of the notes?!!" Meanwhile, I'm looking down at my book attempting not to cry like a girl, and nice class partner man is looking uncomfortable and sympathetic. All conversation then ended with Prof. Stinky turning his back on me, shaking his head, and me shoving my things into my bag and walking very briskly out of the classroom with sunglasses covering my weepy eyes. Pathetic, I know. But I can't help thinking he was a little unfair. I guess we'll see if he gave a shit about his performance or not on Thursday, class #2. Maybe I'll wear a more revealing shirt this time...

it just keeps getting better

first it was the "Fat Cobra" moving in to the NE neighborhood less than one block from an elementary school.

then Kitty's Lingerie Parlor burned down and is now returned to its origional glory on SE 82nd.

there's "Area 69", again on SE 82nd-that's a clever one.

now I'm driving down 39th toward Powell from my house and what do I see but another fine "adult" establishment called "Angel's Sensual Social Club".

I am not an expert in advertising by any means, and I've never actually been to an "adult" establishment, but I've driven by a fair few, and I think that a sensual social club takes the cake.

not really news worthy, but it made me laugh just a little, and that in and of itself is a rare thing these days...

Peter Pumpkin Head

Pumpkin Patch 2007

It was a blur, but I think it really happened. I remember putting a little rouge on the cheeks of my 3 year old, and settling the headband on my little one. Other than that there's just the occasional door bell and the sporadic sugar rush. Abigail sort of became an amalgamation of several characters, leaning most heavily in the "princess" direction. Originally we were fairy bound, but that's the mind of a 3 year old...Charlotte had no say so she was pretty easy to wrangle into a cow costume over her jammies. Zakk braved the cold and driving all the way to Beaverton to visit some friends, while I sat, a slave to the computer, working on a research paper.

Pumpkin Carvin' Time! (see how serious this child can be?!)

A fun time was had by all. Now if only I could stop eating the kid's candy!

java jive

Starbucks has been my semi-quiet refuge between classes this term. Normally there is a slow stream of customers, usually quiet, well-mannered folk, generally blue and white collars. There is usually a student or two, and on a rare occasion, some idiot talking as loud as possible about a work issue on his or her cell phone, two feet from the table where I happen to be sitting. Day after day it pretty much goes like that. Until today...I was sitting, drinking my grande americano with milk and I noticed an older gentleman, of African heritage, I am assuming, he had a dashiki on and a very colorful hat. Anyway, that's beside the point. He sat outside(it was rather chilly), and coughed a lot, before coming inside. I was sitting by the entrance which on one side has all glass panels. As the guy started to walk in he rapped on the glass by my head a couple times. I looked up, startled, and saw he was pointing at my coffee with a smile and making a grabbing gesture with his hand for the cup. I smiled back and mouthed, no, you can't have this coffee! He came inside and proceeded to stand by where I was sitting, pretending to take my coffee and then slipped a $5 from between his fingers and gestured at me as if to say "I will pay you for it". He was still smiling and joking, and I told him "no, you can't have my coffee. That wouldn't be very nice to take a poor girl's coffee! Give the barista your money and I'm sure she'll make you some coffee!" He smiled and laughed and then moved on to another table. The woman occupying this next table was engrossed in a legal pad and some papers. She was not paying attention to Mr. Man as he motioned at her coffee so her proceeded to pick up her iPhone and started to walk with it to see if she would notice. Remember, his hand was less than 5 inches from her arm but she didn't look up once. So he, laughing, walked back to her, tapped her on the shoulder and motioned at her phone as if to say "hey, dummy, you let me jack your $500 phone!" She took it back with a puzzled look on her face and said, "oh, thank you", as if she had dropped it or something. I don't know. It was all very bizarre. Then he sat down at the table across from me and motioned to the poor unsuspecting barista to come over to the table. She did and and he started speaking in a language none of us knew, gesturing to the coffee at the front of the store. The only word I could pick up was cafe, which in many languages means coffee. So after trying to understand him, the poor girl gets him a vente coffee for free. He isn't satisfied, though. He gestures at the carafes of milk and shoos the girl off to get one for him. She comes back, he motions for her to pour the milk for him, which she does. And then after a few minutes of her checking his face to see if he was satisfied, the barista goes back to her work and he begins to noisily slurp his coffee, all the while throwing out little bits of unknown language and laughing to himself.
I think it's safe to say that there is just something about coffee, people can't resist!

spilling some guts all over the floor

Haven't listened to Radio Dept. in a while, so I thought I'd give them a whirl on Itunes. While I'm listening I'll do a little self-loathing. I can't seem to shake this funk. Most of it's self-induced, but damn it, some of it seems to be coming from every which way. Like a little dwarf pelting me with apples, it's just on the periphery, and he's just out of reach. I have dealt with depression, mild and debilitating, for most of my life. I have also struggled with anxiety and had a nice run in with PTSD in my early 20s. That's not to say I am in the midst of full blown depression right now, but I'm getting close. I feel like crap, mentally and physically. I haven't been to the gym in a couple months-not that I think I've gained any weight. My face is broken out like a 14 year old adolescent. I am not sleeping well. I have intrusive thoughts. And to top it all off, I am broke and not a good student. Wow! What keeps me from letting myself go completely? A number of things. Things I won't discuss now. But let's just say right now I want to sit on the pitty potty and shit shit shit. Hmmm, I almost smiled saying shit that many times-in a juvenile way, you know? Okay, this doesn't have to make sense to anyone. Catharsis doesn't have to be a navigable concept for the reader-just go with it. I just wish I knew why these things were happening. I don't believe there is some spiritual force condemning me for my previous actions, nor do I think there's a karmic boomerang out there smacking me on the back of the head. Just for once I wish there was some nice soothing answer someone could give me that would explain it all and make me feel better. Any takers? No? That's okay, dear readers. I, who should know myself better than any of you, don't have an intelligent reason for any of the things going on right now. I just wanted to get it out there in the blog-osphere so I can try to rest my mind a little before tackling biology homework.

when what hugs stopping earth than silent is
-a poem by ee cummings, check it out.

homeless

I saw three men today pushing a shopping cart with a couple plastic bags from Winco, a local supermarket. The warm autumn sun lit on them and I studied their movements from my car as I turned into the store parking lot. They were, I can only assume, homeless. But they were getting groceries and deciding who was going to push the cart and talking about the hotdogs they bought. They are just people-people without homes.


This is the time of year that thousands of ladybugs swarm around our windows and doors, looking for an in. They are, I suppose you could say, homeless. They want to come inside houses and other buildings because they don't like the cold. Simple enough-they just want what everyone else does-shelter.

If you've scanned any of today's headlines you would probalby have come across the news about Southern California and the fires burning there. So far "At least one person was killed in the fires, and dozens were injured. Nearly 130 homes had burned in one mountain town alone, and thousands of other buildings were threatened by more than a dozen blazes covering at least 310 square miles." Okay, so I know there are lots of people without homes, with any basic shelter at all. This being said, what is going to happen to all the 'richies' who have lost their homes? Sometimes I wish NPR would write a news piece, even an op/ed that pertained to these types of struggles. Even though these people have a multitudinous amount of money, they still deserve compassion and our thoughts and consideration. They, just like the homeless men and the ladybugs, deserve a safe place to call home. I hope they all find someplace safe from the fires this night; someplace they can rest and then start over in the morning.

when will we learn?

Sexual perverts, molesters, child predators, pedophiles; whatever title you put on them, they are still involved in the same thing-criminal behavior against a minor. And not only that, but a sexual crime usually in an institution held to be safe because of adult supervision, not a trap for illegal activity because of the adults! Please read this link about an article put out by the AP. If you have children, or even if you don't, please look into the policies of your state and your city on hiring and firing practices of teachers. We have an ethical responsibility to keep our children safe. Moreover, we have a collective responsibility to make sure all children of all families are safe by our practical application of justice in cases of sexual misconduct in schools.
"One report mandated by Congress estimated that as many as 4.5 million students, out of roughly 50 million in American schools, are subject to sexual misconduct by an employee of a school sometime between kindergarten and 12th grade. That figure includes verbal harassment that's sexual in nature."
How can these teachers be afforded a clean slate after abusing a child? How can they be shuffled around through a system that hands them a second chance- "Too often, problem teachers are allowed to leave quietly. That can mean future abuse for another student and another school district.
"They might deal with it internally, suspending the person or having the person move on. So their license is never investigated," says Charol Shakeshaft, a leading expert in teacher sex abuse who heads the educational leadership department at Virginia Commonwealth University.
It's a dynamic so common it has its own nicknames — "passing the trash" or the "mobile
molester."
I know of several cases in my own life, from friends or acquaintances, of sexual misconduct by a teacher or educator. Now that I have 2 children of my own, I worry about their safety in...school. I don't want to become a reactionary, basing my emotions and decisions solely on AP bulletins or the latest crap on 20/20, but I also know that there is a real issue out there. One that needs to be kept alive in our thoughts and in our vigilance towards keeping our children and the children of others safe.
Please check out the school your child is enrolled in. Become involved as much as you can, and stay involved for as long as you can. The education of our children is not the sole responsibility of the system. It falls on all our shoulders to watch on all levels, the micro, the mid and the macro, and make sure we are creating a safe environment for our kids.

censored

Oh yeah, and you thought that meant there would be porn or something on here, right? suckers!

No, I was only referring to the censored book list on my school's library webpage. It's a little disconcerting, and not only for the fact that I've read 85 % of those books listed. I see censorship as a way to keep people in the dark by coloring their choices as "bad" or "good". Sometimes it's not that easy, right? The web page makes the point that banning the books was done with "good intentions"-again with the "good". I think about how many times I've tried to shelter my daughters from something, applying rationale that I was only doing it for their own good, with good intentions. While they are young it is obviously necessary to shield them from certain things that may be potentially harmful. But as they grow and become wiser and hopefully more discerning, I hope that I will not feel it necessary to protect them so much. And I certainly hope with all my heart that my best intentions will not get in the way of their learning.

I think book censorship is a load of crap, and anyone who feels otherwise can argue it out, I'll listen.

The thing is, what good does it do to supposedly protect someone from something like, oh, I don't know, racism, or sexuality, or history? Isn't that what we are meant to do-to experience life through doing and reading?

And don't be fooled, gentle readers, into thinking this whole banning is something of the past. Nope, there are several books on that list from the 21st century. Censorship is alive and well, and permeating the places where freedom of speech and free thinking should be fostered-libraries, public and otherwise.

"Restriction of free thought and free speech is the most dangerous of all subversions. It is the one un-American act that could most easily defeat us."—Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas," The One Un-American Act." Nieman Reports, vol. 7, no. 1 (Jan. 1953): p. 20.

If you are at all interested in learning more about what constitutes a banned book, how to challenge it, and for more info. on the Banned Book Week-check out the ALA website.

the sharks are circling

Update: After working like fiends on our 1900 two-story house here in lovely Portland, we've decided to take it off the market. It's only been up for two months, really, but the day we put up the sign was in the same week as the sub-prime market debacle. So we are re-evaluating to say the least! We have had some real interest, but nothing definite. While it was nice to think we may actually sell this albatross, it is even nicer to think we can sit back and enjoy the fruits of our very intensive labor! The girls are happy, I'm sure, to be able to walk and play downstairs and not have to run into piles of lumber, step on nails, or smear wet paint. I am happy to have the dust settled!
The thing I find the most entertaining to come out of this whole selling/waiting game is that the minute we officially took the house off the market(Sunday), I have had 5 phone calls from over-eager real estate agents looking to help us sell our house. The sharks have smelled our blood and their cruising in for some good ol' sales! Yesterday I had one guy call, pretty nice guy, and thought it was just a fluke. Then three more gentlemen called and I raised my eyebrows some. Now I laugh every time somebody calls! I don't like speaking to sales people in general. They tend to creep me out a little. I think it's the insincerity of their approach. Anyway, now when I see an unknown number on my phone come up, I just spit out the same little pitch I've told to the last couple guys, and they usually end up hanging up, a little chagrined, but no harm done.
Too bad they aren't calling with baited breath to tell me they have a buyer who wants my house more than a night of hot sex!
Oh well, at least Christmas is going to look amazing here this year!

shout outs

Let's give a big hand and a warm welcome to this week's OBP article about Trillium Services, mental health providers for children in the state of Oregon. They join the long list of casualties in our ever-fading funds crisis for people in dire need.



And let us not forget W Week's coverage of Sherri Foster, just one of thousands suffering from borderline personality disorder.

And where would we be without giving a wink and a nod to that crazy scarecrow king of ours for his handy dandy vetoing power!!!

I know I'm proud to be an American!


ps-I just got over the stomach flu, maybe that has something to do with the rancor.

musings

Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither,

our schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me,

Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes not,

One's-self must never give way-that is the final substance-that out of all is sure,

Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains?

When shows break up what but One's-Self is sure?



-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1865

school rules

Here are some questions for all of those of you who have gone back to school in the past seven years:

1. Do we still raise our hands in college when we have a question? (I just blurted some things out but nobody seemed to mind.)

2. Is it okay to call our professors "Mr or Mrs" ? (I would think we should consider their education before calling them anything)

3. Why does everyone at PCC smoke? (yuck)

4. How come everybody gets hepped up about street-corner evangelists when I saw two of them parading around as bank credit card salesmen today in the common area? (those shark-tooths)

5. Is it okay to use the calculator function on your cell phone if you happened to have forgotten your calculator for chemistry lab? (I did.)

6. Where are the on-campus Starbucks??

--Today was my first day back to school since I graduated with my BS in 2000. Today was also the first day of Abigail's journey into pre-academia at the YMCA Child Development Center! Hooray for learning! Abigail informed me that she had salad and oranges and a sandwich for lunch, that her teacher let her play with the big stuffed puppy and that they sang a song about farmers for quite some time.

I sat next to an interesting gal for three hours in a Chemistry lab class. 10 more weeks and counting, folks! Here's to "better late than never!"

Motherhood

Sometimes raising two children under the age of 5 can feel like you are participating in the calf-roping event at the rodeo. Specifically when it comes to getting them dressed in the morning!

Other days you just feel like doing a little light cleaning...at least with the vacuum you can't hear their whining and protests!

And at the end of the day, they will sit in their little seats in a perfectly cleaned up play room, pose for a picture with the uttermost civility and decorum. Well, a girl can dream, can't she?

rants and raves

First:
to the man on 72nd with the shirt reading "need some love?" on the back, with a large, cut out heart before the word love-and I mean, cut out as in you could see his very hairy back, I say thank you. Thank you for having the courage to wear one of those zany, novelty shirts you can find only at convenience stores right behind the day old doughnuts and semi-pornographic magazines with black covers. Thank you for not only sporting it, but wearing it proudly, on your bike, riding around Portland for all the world to see. We, the tailored timid, applaud you and your complete lack of style, but also your complete inability to see you are wearing a shirt advertising 'lovin' with black icky hairs sticking out!

Second:
To the driver of the late 80's model Honda Accord-I don't ask for much, just drive on your side of the road and I'll drive on mine. And if I raise my hands up at you in exasperation, I'm not flipping you off, I'm just showing you that my hands are completely off the steering wheel in an attempt to drive more like you!

Third:
To the customer service person I spoke with earlier today on the phone while wandering around Target, please don't ever tell someone, a customer, that you are bad at spelling. And that it will take you a while to type in my information. They tape those conversations-you know who, your supervisors. Please don't tell me you don't know how to spell 'Portland' and "could I please spell it". Because then I will being to think that maybe outsourcing wasn't such a good idea, after all.

And last:
To the snotty soccer mom at Fred Meyer-there is not enough room in the aisle for your stupid shopping cart, myself, and the poor elderly couple looking at Halloween decorations! Wait your turn! Or at least learn to say excuse me!

all the wild horses

hi again. I've been avoiding blogging and now I think I'm ready. Deep breath. Okay...

So, my older daughter got a card from her Nanna (my mom) this week, along with some cute clothes. The card had two horses running in a field-a mare and her foal. The inside was filled with Nanna-esque goodness, love and kisses. Juxtapose this with the cynical editorials I've been obsessively reading on the net and this is why my head has been roiling(no, not rolling). Sometimes all the human tragedy, the bleakness of our newscasting, the reality of it all, gets to me. I am not saying it isn't important to read, keep ourselves apprised of the current situations outside our window. What I am saying is that sometimes we all need a good love-in. huh? That's right. We need to remember all the good things in our lives, all the things that make us happy, smile, giggle, even. We need to make some room in our lives for love and silliness and dreaming. And my mom's card to my wonderful, loving daughter made me remember that. So I sat last night up the girl's room, lights dimmed, night lite on, snuggley in my daughter's comforter, arms wrapped around her little frame, and read her the card. And I poured all my love for her and her sister, all my longing for them to have a good life, all my apologies for being a crappy mom sometimes, into that recitation.
In the daylight, with the girls running/crawling around, bashing strollers into the walls, throwing blocks and screaming at anything that's moving, the love may not be as easy to draw upon and 'pour out'. But the love is still there. And hopefully, if I can practice what I preach, I can let a little more love in my heart every day, and hopefully give it away, too.

just a song

So I'm driving in my car, thinking about people, past and present, who have influenced my life. I have some freshly loaded music on my i pod and decide to plug it in and listen while making my way to the grocery store. The lyrics posted below are from the song that prompted this blog, and I know it's not totally legal to cite it this way, but hopefully everyone will understand and not turn me in (har har).

Broken

You can close your eyes

And see a picture perfect life

Inside of your mind

Dreaming only of the days ahead

Wanted and wished for more than now

Or the days behind

You waste your time

The picture makes a promise

The flesh lets it be broken

You can never think

You can't even stop yourself

Before the words have been spoken

And you've already said

You would give everything

And something for nothing

Everybody thinks you're joking

You want to be the one

Made over be your own

Before and after

And the supermarket

Beauty in a bottle queen

Who'll one day grace a check-out counter

magazine front cover

Though the fine print reads

The picture makes a promise

The flesh lets it be broken

When your life is never what you wanted

Not even halfway normal

Just tarnished and soiled

when in your reach

A framed and frozen moment

So far from perfection

Not truth or transcendence

Will set you free

Still you don't believe

-song and lyrics by Tracy Chapman; Broken; Let it Rain; c2002

What is truth? Why do we seek truth outside ourselves, never able to face the truth within?

Allspice and everything nice

Autumn is my favorite time of year. I know that sounds like the beginning to a third grade essay on seasons. I don't care. I just wanted to pay homage to the beautiful changing colors of the leaves, to the deepening evenings, the chill in the air, etc.

Things I love about autumn:

apple cider

pumpkins

coats

changing leaves

nutmeg/cinnamon

allspice/cardamom

Halloween

Thanksgiving

hay rides, corn mazes and pumpkin patches at Sauvie's Island

I'm not sure why I decided to upload and place this pic on this particular blog. I just happen to love coffee. And I am happy that, with fall coming on, I can finally switch to hot drinks instead of iced. And add cinnamon to my lattes. I should probably dedicate an entire blog to my love(okay, obsession) with coffee. But we'll save that for another time. Right now I will brew a fresh pot, drag the laundry up from the basement, and get to folding and sipping.

the girls

So, after writing about my girls so many times, I thought I might introduce them to the world-for those of you who don't already know their faces!

Top-Charlotte Louise, age 13.5 months
Bottom-Abigail Nell, age 3.5 years

Lost in Translation

I took several classes in college from a professor who challenged my thinking and instigated a paradigm shift withing my conscious being that I still feel and see the ramifications of currently. There was a particular class, a human development/psych., upper division class, that planted this seed of common translation that I write about now. We were instructed in our papers to first read, digest and synthesize for ourselves the concepts to go into our papers. Then we had to translate the concepts, vocabulary, ideas and complete philosophical argument of our paper onto a level any lay person could read, comprehend, and apply. The first portion of this academic task was difficult enough, but trying to 'translate' academic concepts into easily digestible concepts was even more so. I remember bemoaning my fate to a friend, "How the hell am I supposed to do this, I'm not mature enough, smart enough, ____enough!?!"
I think I did alright, for a slacker junior procrastinator. Red writing all over my paper but I scraped by with mostly A's and B's.
Now I have two children, one who talks incessantly and one who is just learning how to verbalize beyond "dada" and "duckaduckaducka". I find myself becoming impatient, tone getting dangerously annoyed, with my 3 year old, quite often. She has such definite ideas, is stubborn as hell, but has an amazing brain that is constantly planning, plotting, crafting, synthesizing and imitating. We clash, I think, not because we are so different in what we want, but how we go about what we want. It's becoming increasingly, painfully clear that some translation is in order. She needs to understand, on her level, what I want, and I need to understand things from her perspective. Obviously some things will fall between the cracks, some things we will just need time and maturity to flavor in order for their to be understanding. But until then, I will do my best to translate my thoughts for her and to extrapolate meaning from her communications, verbal and otherwise.

I fought the law, and the law won

I was reading the complete ballot measure 50 pamphlet for the state of Oregon, due to come out the end of this month by mail. (Election time is November 6th, Oregonians, be on your toes!)
The official scope of this measure is"AMENDS CONSTITUTION: DEDICATES FUNDS TO PROVIDE HEALTH CARE FOR CHILDREN, FUND TOBACCO PREVENTION, THROUGH INCREASED TOBACCO TAX." Read more about it at http://www.sos.state.or.us/elections/nov62007/.

A few thoughts, fellow noshers:

1. Yahoo! state funding of health care for neglected portions of our society such as children should make me happy, right?
2. But, what about that little tobacco tax increase? What do I think about that?
On the one hand I say, yes, stick it to the smokers, they're just doing myself and themselves a huge disservice by continuing to smoke. Health reasons, air quality, littering, etc. On the other hand I think, well, who smokes? Lots of people, right? But if you look at statistics of a national proportion, a large percentage of smokers are poor. Poor people can't really afford cigarettes, right? They should be doing things like buying bread, and shoes, and milk. If we increase the tax, then maybe they won't buy them. Maybe. Or maybe they'll just skip the bread, the milk, the shoes for poor little Johnny's first day of school, and buy a carton of smokes for $36.50. Maybe if we kill off all the poor people, slowly, via lung disease, without educating them, without creating a means for them to rise up and help themselves, maybe if we do it slowly, no one will notice. By then we will all be living in Utopian bliss, right? No smoking and no irritating poor people taking up space.
3. Concerning what we tax-aren't there other things that we could tax that may provide a more long term benefit to the state budgetary status? I mean, if we tax tobacco, and then tobacco goes the way of the dodo by adding even more stringent anti-smoking legislation at the federal level, then where will the money come from? And isn't that a good thing-obliterating something as harmful as smoking?
4. Now I feel like I'm going round and round and not getting very far in my thoughts. I need help. I need some thing to help me see the light. I need to clear my head. I think I need a smoke.

Learning to try new things

So, I never intended this to be a blog with 90% of the content devoted to my children, but somehow fate has it out for me. I keep remembering little stories, quips and instances that I want to share with the world and write down for memories' sake. One such story is about my oldest daughter, Abigail's taste in music. She loves rocking out to Peter Bjorn and John in the car, listening patiently to her mother chant along with Bob Dylan tunes, and asks if Beethoven is available to listen to in the house.

She's interested in everything from Stockhausen to the Smiths. She also happens to have developed a love and deep appreciation for music from the Lawrence Welk Show and from Andre Rieu's concerts.(both of which I take full responsibility for considering my husband and I have corrupted her with public broadcasting from a very early age.)

Ever heard either of these two music forums before? Ever patiently sat through the Lawrence Welk show on a Sunday night, in rapture by Myron Florin the magnificent accordion player? Or Andre Rieu, the Dutch violinist who frequently uses smoke machines and women in garish, sparkly, somewhat Venetian dresses, accompanying him while he dances and prances on stage, dark brown hair flying in ringlets about his face? Didn't think you would answer yes to most of those questions. My daughter, however, seems to think both these guys are the cat's meow and doesn't understand why I don't want to stay in the family room and watch, eyes glued to the screen whenever they happen to come on. I have to hand it to her, though, she finds the most amazing things to point out like, look mommy, that man is dancing while playing the violin, or look mommy, that man smiles a lot and lets lots of people sing on his show! Her innocence and sensitivity create in me a genuine wonder at what she sees and interprets in that gorgeous little head. Can't think of much more to say about the subject. Just that my daughters are lovely, even if they think watching the accordian being played is on par with getting a sack full of money.

Man and wife, get to man and wife!

Here I sit, listening to NPR, watching my husband out of the reflection of our newly windex'd window. He's working on getting flowers ready for our mutual friend's wedding tomorrow at Horning's Hideout. Like the name? Me too. Never been there but I'm always up for an adventure. I sort of volunteered Mr. Zakky for this assignment, but as I told him earlier, 'you tend to set yourself up as the sacrificial lamb, always availing yourself to others' projects even when you don't have the time. I was just casting the lot first before you could get a chance'. He took it with good humor, although I think an "I'm going to punch you in the face" did manage to come up. (Cool down, cats, it's always in jest!). He really is doing a lovely job-dahlias, hydrangea, eucalyptus leaf, lilies, etc. Very cream and dark spicy colors. I love that he uses a lot of greenery but keeps the hubbub of boutonnieres and corsages to a minimum. Ahh, weddings. Ahh, flora. Ahh, NPR?

Can I get a cheese stick with that whine?

Lessons we have learned this week: by Abigail and Mommy


#1 Throwing things at our baby sister’s head is not sharing

#2 Ripping toys out of our baby sister’s hands is not sharing

#3 Sometimes pee comes out too quick even for the best of us

#4 Sometimes mommies say damn it

#5 Imaginary friends can apparently die several times and come back to life, they just need cookies and a movie

#6 Mommies eventually turn into their mommies, there’s no escaping it, it is inevitable.

bleeding heart

wel·fare (wěl'fâr') n.
Health, happiness, and good fortune; well-being.
Prosperity.
Financial or other aid provided, especially by the government, to people in need.
Corporate welfare.
Welfare work.
Financial or other aid provided, especially by the government, to people in need.
Corporate welfare.

[Middle English, from wel faren, to fare well, from Old English wel faran : wel, well; see well2 + faran, to get along; see fare.]



This year Oregonians can expect a windfall surpassing any other year in state constitutional history due to the infamous "kicker" checks based on personal income taxes paid the previous year. 18.6 % of personal income paid on our state taxes will be refunded as the holiday season approaches. Can it get any better than that? 'Free' money from our state government?! Before you set your sights on that new generation i-pod or a sparkling plasma tv, pause to consider this. With our public schools, especially in the Portland metro area, in a constant state of budgetary crisis, with the Oregon Health Plan losing much needed state funding each year, creating the necessity to turn away thousands of needy Oregonians from obtaining health care, why do we, citizens of this lovely 'green and blue' state, still entertain the notion that we deserve refund checks? I remember a few years back when I was still in college and not as concerned with state issues(being a naive single woman schlepping off federal student aid and scholarships) that concerned citizens groups tried to have a voluntary "give back" program where they petitioned Oregonians to give their kickers to the education system in the hopes of bolstering the budget. I would need to do more research on the monetary impact of this decision, but I can't see how it would have anything but a positive impact on the community and the public school system.



Now we are facing the same situation again but this time with a larger gain for ourselves. Could we, instead of placing orders for the latest toy or gadget, look a little beyond our own welfare and believe in the communal well-fare of our friends and neighbors? Or maybe instead of writing in an amendment to our state's constitution to allow for this kicker check provision, we should have written in something stating that the money would instead be applied to some social service agencies, education programs or health institutions in need? Maybe it's time to take a closer look at the concept of entitlement and why we are buying into it so easily.

Putting the smack down

Charlotte, my 1 year old, likes to express herself. She smiles, she coos, grimaces, raises her eyebrows, frowns, pouts, screams, cries, and babbles. She also likes to express herself with her hands: waving, shaking her fist, grabbing her hair, pulling on her toes, playing with toys, sucking her thumb, and laying some serious smack down on her parents. What? the food's not to your liking, smack the high chair tray! What? not the right toys? smack the floor. what? too tired to keep your head up? smack your head, alternating hands.
I love that babies/early stage toddlers have such a rich battery of non-verbal skills at their ready. Sometimes I find myself telling my 3 1/2 year old to use her words(instead of whining or blubbering). I watch people, unable to communicate efficiently, politely, or comprehensively, and I think, what if we all just smacked our head every now and then in frustration? What if, instead of tyring to come up with the perfect phrase to impress on someone just how intellectually astute we are, we simply sat down and started untying our shoes and drooling?
I think this world could benefit from the winsome ways of little ones.

ps-I really enjoy finding out from my trusty spell check that there were "no misspellings".

It's like Thomas the Train episode #47

Sometimes the most memorable scenes from my day exist in a haze of sniffles, tears raining down like Pagliacci in the final act. Not my own, but my 3 year old. Today my husband had a company picnic(thanks to the "Man" for a steady paycheck and health insurance!!)at Oaks Park in Sellwood. Fun was had by all-with only a few bumps. So the park has this little steam engine train that makes its way around the grounds amidst toots and whistles and a semi-comfy place to sit. Not a bad choice for two weary parents, one hepped up preschooler and a slightly delirious 1 year old. So we wait in line, it's getting a bit sunnier than the weather people had predicted. There's an amazon boy in back of me alternately breathing down my neck and jumping around like a crazed monkey. Abigail, the 3 year old, is waiting patiently with only minor queries as to the trains whereabouts. Then, after about 15 minutes of waiting, shift our stinkin' weight around from flip-flop to flip-flop, a harried gentleman comes by and says that due to mechanical difficulties, the train will be out of commission for the rest of the day. Then come the aforementioned tears. You would think we had told her that we had personally taken Santa out for a late night drive and then shot him out the passenger window going 60 on the interstate. Luckily, ice cream revived her spirits and we spent the rest of the afternoon in slight calm and partial order.

Hello Kitty

My first journal entry was penned in a Hello Kitty diary given to me by my parents at an airport in 1985. I was a wee lass, knowing not much of anything. Except that the fried food I had eaten was causing a certain queasy feeling in my 8 year old gut. My parents and I comprised a small military family gathering, a little camo-tableau; my father about to deploy to a post in Germany with my mother and I along for the ride. Not an auspicious beginning, really. But now, 21 years later I am still looking for a forum in which my feelings can be vented. I found such comfort in the strawberry smelling ink of my HK pen, scratching out my first few words of immature rebellion. Not that I have matured all that much. But at least the technology has. I continue to find comfort in writing, and embrace this new venue at which I can turn my head. This blogging realm.
I still have that shiny, hard plastic journal tucked away amidst boxes and spiders in our basement. I haven't cracked it in quite some time. Maybe my daughters will find a few entries amusing when they get a bit older. Who knows-most things about myself become funny with a little distance. Tune in for more musings later...