Monday, February 11, 2013

February of Someday

Someday, it will be February, and instead of being poor, we will be having fun in the snow.  Or sleet.  Whatever.  We will be having sleetball fights, because we are so carefree and NOT POOR. 

We will be like "Tra la! It is sleeting, but who cares, because we were smart this year! Let us make sleet angels and then skip inside and make hot chocolate and be happy! This day is not miserable and treacherous like the foggy-gray queasy anxiety crawling up our throats. No, it is a perfect day for snuggling inside with each other, and we can! You don't have to venture out into terrible conditions to do terrible jobs far beneath your skills, because this year we looked ahead, and our bills are paid! Our bills are paid, our bills are paid, tra la tra lee, our bills are paid!"

Someday we will actually be working for ourselves, and not just working to survive the week.  We will be looking for somewhere fun to go on a Saturday instead of looking for stuff to sell on ebay.  We will have a plan, and not a desperate scramble to make sure the mortgage isn't late (it hasn't been yet-talk to me in a few days). 

We will spend more time loving our house, instead of resenting it.  We will spend these money dry spells having fun with our kids instead of bouncing off the walls and staring at the worry lines growing deeper on each others faces, wondering how we got here AGAIN.  Like we do EVERY year. We are both intelligent adults, each with a good work ethic. We can do this. Go team!

The pressure will not suddenly lift, as if by magic or by winning the lottery that we don't play.  Go team go team go TEAM!  It can be a mantra.  Someday can be today.  We can stop living the definition of insanity. We can come up with new answers...we can take the time to find a new way... As soon as we get a little money.  Then we can put turnips in our root cellar, so the next time we circle back to this place, we will actually be somewhere else, and not still wondering if Someday will ever come.

Saturday, February 09, 2013

We Celebrate With Lard!

Steph and Ryans 8th anual Faschnaghtapallooza took place today, and it was indeed grand!

For those of you folks not from PA or of pasty pale central European ancestry, a faschnaght is a kind of donut type thing, made with potato flour and fried in lard, then rolled in sugar.  Its the way the Pennsylvania Dutch celebrate before Lent.

Thats right.  Some people show their boobies and throw beads around, some people confess allof thier sins and celebrate thier Shriven souls with mass sugared lard consumption. To each his own, that's what I say.

Especially because Ryan shoves oreos and peanut butter cups in his faschnaghts, and I get to eat them.  I haven't gone for the past two years, so I was kind of determined to go this year.

I even pried Carl out of the house and to the -pallooza.  At some point (before he ate too many, while he was still in his fried dough happy place), he turned to me with gleaming eyes, and asked, "why don't WE do this???"

Friday, February 01, 2013

Continuing a Thought. Not Too Political. Really.

My friend Bethany sent this article to me on facebook, entitled "Farmers Markets and Home Births Are So Progressive, They're Conservative," By Emily Matchar.  

The first bit includes this:
The current cultural mania for DIY domesticity—backyard chickens, urban knitting circles, the rise of homeschooling, the sudden ubiquity of homemade jam—shows no sign of abating. Across the country, progressives are embracing home and hearth with new vigor under the guise of environmental sustainability, anti-consumerism, and better health.

The movement has made for some very odd attitudes, especially when it comes to gender. The terms "liberal" and "conservative" barely seem to apply. The new progressive morality about food sometimes feels as retro and conservative as anything dreamed up during the 1950s. In many well-educated, well-heeled quarters, what you cook determines your worth as a mother (Is it organic? Local? BPA-free?), laziness in the kitchen is understood to doom your children to lives of obesity and menial labor, and the very idea of convenience is slatternly and shameful. In this culture, we have Berkeley heroes like Michael Pollan writing scoldingly about how feminism killed home cooking. Michelle Obama, every Democrat's favorite organic gardener, has been criticized for saying she doesn't like to cook.

This is a great article.  It has me written all over it, and kind of articulates something that I have been puzzling over, in an abstract kind of way.  I generally think its funny watch people try to categorize other people like this, scratching their heads in confusion when they can't, except that I totally do it too. I go to these events -OMG, I am AT the farmers markets of which they speak-and meet all these other women doing the same attatched parenting organic jam jarring quinoa eating home business things that I do.  I will have these lovely conversations with these people that I know are JUST LIKE ME! Yay! Maybe we can be friends and start a co-op together! We can grow organic broccoli and raise organic chickens and then I am completely FLOORED when they drop stuff into conversation like "the lord will show me the way through this Obamacare nightmare" and "I wish the gays wouldn't drag their issues into important politics, gah," and "well, you know-the lamestream media..."

My head kind of does that record scratching scrriiiiiiiiiizzt thing.  I am pretty sure that it shows on my face too.  My face that is suddenly all open mouth, twitching lip, and one crossed eye.

Preconceived notions=domolished. 
Absolute certainty that I am an open-minded and keep my prejudices well examined/in check=over.

I am a SAHM with an education, a stalled professional career and an Etsy business. I was in the Vagina Monologues twice, AND I am in love with my Kitchen Aid. Its okay. I don't need to scramble my brain trying to justify this.  I live in an era where I can be many things.

I feel a lot better about life when I stop worrying about what "kind" of woman I am "supposed" to be, and just worry about what is best for me as a person and for my kids. I think that most of these women that the article describes are just trying to make good choices for themselves and their families-regardless of the lables that they profess or are given.

When I manage to put my face back in order and reassemble my world view, I realize that I like how the lines are blurred.  I can be friends with them, even if their political ideas are totally wrong.

Let us hold hands, eat some granola, and sing about it.