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.

While You Were Away

1/27/2013
Dear Carl,

You have been away for a week.  Though I appreciate what it says about you that you would go stay in New Jersey to do a roof in 10 degree weather so that we can pay the mortgage...lets not do this again.

Some notable things about this week:

1. Wendy lost her first tooth!  To be more precise, she and I agreed that enough was enough, this thing had been hanging on by a thread for days, just taunting us, lets yank it out with some floss!  WHOO! GO TEAM! After much flinching and false starts and slipping of the floss, out it came.  It made a sound like slurk.  She wrote a nice note to the Tooth Fairy that asked her to please come back later, because she'd really like to show the tooth to her Daddy before it was taken away forever. This note had disappeared from under Wendy's pillow by morning, so we are pretty sure she got the message.

2. You would have enjoyed this pie that I ate.  You would have enjoyed this pie that was a) Pumpkin cheese pie b) half price c) from the Landis bakery, but I ate it.  After we realized that you were going to be a few more days than expected, I quit pretending that I was saving some for you.  I just left the fork on top of the plastic container, and ate it right out of the tin every time it happened to catch my eye. I did think of you, though.

3. Everything is fine.  Your fish are still alive.  I only left the keys hanging out of the front door once.  I've kept the fire going in the stove pretty well. However, we have GOT to stack the firewood on the porch. I can be a tough girl prairie farm wife all I want, but when it is 58 degrees inside and 7 degrees outside, this sucks:

4. Our kids are awesome. And helpful. And fun. And brilliant. And really great company. When they want to be. I guess. 



No really, they are.  That Liam has become really iffy on naps and how that has pretty much blown a hole in my sewing production and set it on fire does not diminish his awesomeness.  He is very huggy this week, perhaps noticing the lack of a man in my life and trying to comfort me.  We are going to have fun evicting them back to their own beds, because the three of us have been puppy piled in our bed since you left.  

 



 5. Being the only adult in the house creeps me out at night. I am not used to it. All of those sounds?  We do have old floors and four cats and a dog to explain them away.  But.  Well....there are a lot of sounds, and I read a lot, so thus my brain is riddled with delightful ideas about what happens to people home alone directly after they ignore things that go snick or rustle or creak.  I am slightly embarrassed about this, but I really miss having you here to stomp around in the dark all manly like when the dog starts barking, ready to totally kick that innocent deer in the yard's ass for freaking us all out.  Oh. There were some deer in the yard.  They were pretty.

6. This is last, because it is the reason that I am writing. All of these other things are important too (okay, maybe not the pie), but really, I'm just working my way to this.  On Monday, I got word that a guy that I know had died in his sleep, very suddenly, aged 32.  I went to his funeral services on Friday.  This was a guy that was a best friend of my best friend-this funny, smart person that I've known since middle school.  In fact, he and his best friend were prodded into going with me and my best friend to our ninth grade dance.  There is an awkward picture and everything.  Anyway.  On Friday, I went to this difficult funeral, and watched his wife stand in front of everyone amidst what was surely one of the most terrible moments in her life and speak to us about gratitude. 

She told us about how often they said "I love you," and how she knew with every fiber of her being that she was loved.  She was grateful that they had been absolutely living the life that they wanted, together, and that he knew that he was loved too.  Her cup, she said, was so full, because they loved each other.  His death was not okay, but she was genuinely grateful that she had this beautiful thing in her life.  I kept my shit together there (because that is what you do), and through the luncheon (which I found to be bizarre), but pretty much lost it the entire way home (because that is what I do).  

We are not this love-at-first-sight inseparable fairy tale couple, and that is okay.  But...sometimes the anxiety and stress are the ruling forces in our house, and I tell you that I love you, but I don't know if you know how much I love our life together.  Right now, I need to tell you, and I need you to know, because...because shit.  SHIT. You are in another state, and it turns out that 32 year olds are mortal.  

I love that nothing is ever boring with us.  I love that we have so much to do and to look forward to.  I love knowing that you are here, regardless of frustrations and setbacks.  I love that we love the same pie, and that our kids look like both of us, and that we are imperfect, but perfect for each other. I am exactly where I want to be, with you, and with our kids, and I am grateful.

Now come home, damnit.



This is the Way We Get it Done

If I had resolutions they would be...

...all of the good stuff from last year, but bigger! Better! More!

I do have more specific goals, particularly re: taking my adorable little hobby business and making it into something that brings in a viable second income.  All I have to do is what I did last year, but double. No big deal. I can totally do that.  I totally have twice the time and energy that I had last year to pull out of my...hat. (You know, the hat that I keep in my butt.)

For feats of this magnitude, you need a plan, and as part of my plan, I turn to the wisdom of 1950s housewives, who did crazy things like cook a hundred meals at a time, and stick them in the freezer to save thier future selves lots and lots of time slaving over hot stoves.

Did I say crazy? I meant awesome.

My friend Steph and I are doing this together.  Her maternity leave is about to end, so her future self is also on a dog-tired, hollow-eyed trudge toward dinner time, desperately hoping that someone-anyone-cut her a break.  Enter us! Past Self Crazy Awesome Bitchez!

Now all we need are some heels and frilly aprons. And possibly super hero names.

Waiting...

...for the wrappingpapergeddon to begin.

Merry Christmas Eve!

And Melt With You

On this day, December 21, 2012, on the last day of the world, and the longest night of the year...we were married.

We did this in our living room, with our kids in attendance and our moms as official witnesses.   We did this in front of our Christmas tree, with no officiant, just ourselves, self-uniting.

"We have been together for a while, choosing to be together every single day. We don't need anyone else to tell us that we belong together, or to give us permission.  We only need to know it ourselves-that we choose to love and be a family together."

"I can't imagine my life without her."

"I choose you."

"I choose you."

And then kissing, and signing, and eating cupcakes.

Oh my gosh! See my ring? I've been wearing it for six years.  Carl gave it to me for my birthday right before Wendy was born.  I love this ring.  It is pretty, it is special, and it wards off sticky advances from creepy guys with bad breath and chest stubble.

(But now that I'm a real wife, it's not a dirty, whorey lie!)

Why now?

because we are anyway, just not on paper

because my daughter desperately wants us to

because of totally unromantic tax reasons

because he asked me, and I said yes

because life is too damn short.

Obviously, mostly because of the potential for cake.

(chocolate chip red velvet with cream cheese frosting)

I even wore white. Cheers!

My Heart. It Hurts.

It hurts so much.

Human beings have such an amazing capacity to shut out the things that they'd rather not know. Horrible things going on far away, scary things that happen to people right next door, totally unexpected things that could happen to them at any moment, anywhere, at any time.  You have to shut it out, because otherwise, you'd never be able to get on with your day. You have to get dressed and feed the dog and put gas in the car and get milk on your way home...you have to live your life, even though in the back of your mind you know that there are all these...things.

And then you become a parent. 

Wendy started Kindergarten this year. She is totally in love with it. She has a great teacher, and new friends, and this week, she started a "Pony Club," for people who love playing ponies (still unclear if they are pretending to be ponies or pretending that they have ponies).  We made certificates for the sustaining members of Pony Club, and everything, so it's totally official.

And today, the day after the elementary school shooting in Connecticut, I watch her pushing her static-y hair out of her face while she colors her official Pony Club certificates with sparkly crayons...and I want to lock the door, unplug the TV, and shut out the world for real.  I want to tell the world to Go Eff Itself, it cannot have these kids, thank you very much, I prefer to keep them.  I will join the Pony Club myself, and we will have lots and lots of fun by ourselves.

Once upon a time, I didn't have kids.  I distinctly remember having feelings.  At least a few.   But once I did have kids, every foul and corrupted thing on the news suddenly became very... personal. 

You can grow this cynical shell of self preservation all your life, and go around saying things like "yeah, life's a bitch, right? oh well, let's get a drink."  You can paste together your favorite fortune cookie fortunes into philosophies that help you rationalize and believe and maintain basic sanity.  Then, you have kids who are so beautiful and perfect, and you find that those carefully established blinders and defenses and fail safe platitudes against the griminess of human existence...those things may protect you from reality enough to get through your day, but they will not protect your children from reality itself.

Days like today, I question how I could have ever, even for a moment, tricked myself into believing in a rational world.  I do not want to have this fear. 

I am sorry that this is dark.  I know that I was able to tuck my kids in last night, and eat breakfast with them this morning, and there are twenty families in Connecticut who cannot say the same. In light of what happened yesterday, I should focus on loving them and being present with them, and I am (see: making Pony Club certificates)  But in the pit of my stomach, right where it feels like I was punched, I cannot rid myself of this hurt.  I don't know any of the people involved, but it still feels personal.

I do not have a good way to end this post.  I have a six year old.  On Monday, I must take her to school and drop her off at the curb and drive away.   There is no fortune cookie to help me do that.   But maybe...maybe she will.

Gross. But in a Nice Way.

NPR: ...which is why a conversation about being gay, say, when I was 12 or so, might have been a positive thing...

Wendy: Whats gay?

Mo: Gay is when women love other women or men love other men. Like how Mommy and Daddy love each other.  With grown up kisses and hugs.

Wendy: Well thats gross. But in a nice way.

...so...wait. Could there be two Mommies, then?

Mo: yes, sometimes. Sometimes two ladies or two guys will get married, even.

Wendy: But what if they change thier minds?

Mo: Well, people dont usually change thier minds about being gay.

Wendy: *scoff* No Mom. I mean about getting married.

Mo: Oh. Um. Well then they get divorced. Like unmarried.

Wendy: Well, maybe I will marry a girl and a boy. So that way, there can be two mommies and I dont have to get divorced.  That would be nice.

...What if you and Daddy get divorced?

Mo: we cant get divorced, because we're not married.

Wendy: Oh. Well thats nice. Its nice when your mom and dad aren't divorced.

Mo: *proud that I have thusfar avoided a world that combines divorce and my children* Yes. Yes it is.

Updates-For Those Who Wait Like Starving Chicks for my Words to Drop Into Their Open Hungry Mouths Like Worms of Deliciousness

Liam and Wendy

Still Doing This To My Life:

 (Also still cute.)

Erin

Graduated from High School!

She is also still cute.   She is now doing THIS to her dad's life:

Me:

Now a famous model and hugely successful small business owner, blowing the doors off of the fantasy costuming niche market with my stunning vision and hottness. (Note: actual fame and glory may just be in writer's head. Which is crazy. Crazyhead.)

And yet, I can't stop making the duck lips in pictures.  I even "smize" like a duck.  Very sad.

More to come, soon. I hope I just downloaded the Blogger Ap to my phone, and I can't wait to see how it works! *Waves to Jaimie, who misses me and has demanded Blogging, from the land of TooBusyToThink*

Fairies-It's This Year's Harry Potter, Yo

This one time, I was having a conversation with Steph, and said something offhand like, "I don't know...things are kind of crazy for me right now." She replied, just as offhand, "Yeah, but things are always crazy with you."

And it really stopped me in my tracks.

I didn't know it, but it's true. It's not the bad kind of crazy, where you are living out of a car with your two cats because you didn't renew your lease and you have to go ask your friend Steph for $200 to pay to get the boot off of your car/home again so you can go to work and pay to get your phone turned back on....no. Not that kind. None of that stuff is me. My crazy is more like the kind that tenth graders have when they are so used to having straight A's, then they join field hockey, color guard, drama club and lit. mag, and are suddenly getting B's instead of A's, and wonder why they are totally crazy and their friend Steph is standing there like, yeah, duh, you are the one who wanted to do all of this stuff. Does it have to totally take over your soul and eat your face, though? Crazy head.

Except you know. Now with grown-up stuff. Mostly. Point being-

Here is my current chaos tornado.
I told you that last year I made moves toward making "real" money with my "business," which is how I ended up making 87 custom Harry Potter robes in 2011. I should probably actually start calling it a business and not "that thing I do for fun on the side-you know costumes and stuff-not really that big of a deal-is that a squirrel over there, or do the bunnies around here bury nuts?"

A couple of months ago, I decided to really do this thing, which means to take it on the road. I hesitantly and nervously applied to the Sproutwood May Day Fairy Festival, fully expecting mean and jerkish rejection. The kind where Tinkerbell shoots you out of the sky with poisoned arrows, and Rufio totally humiliates you on the skateboardball court. Then the Fairies told me I could come, and I have paid the vendor fees and now...I am consumed with plans and ideas and the Fairy Festival is kind of taking over my soul and eating my face.

I am going around sketching bad cartoonish pictures of these AMAZING visions that I have in my head, sketches that look to me like magic flying elf princesses, but to others look like elephants farting on doghouses. I am writing lists entitled "Oh My God. Get This Done or You Suck," and "Stuff I need to be a Real Business Girl." (Items include a sign for my booth/show space, a business checking account, and six or seven bags of Milano cookies to shove into my head because they make my head feel calm inside.)

I am making stuff like this:

and like this:

And all kinds of other stuff that is leaking out of my brain. I am doing my best to not let the anxiety get the best of me.

I am not succeeding. However, the 15 year-old Assistant Editor of Traces of the Mind/junior varsity mid-fielder/stage hand/flag girl/A+ student in me is making it happen. MAKING IT HAPPEN, PEOPLE.

2012 is totally the year of the fairies (eating my face).

Awake; Quiet

Inexplicably, awake and up at 3:30AM.
Awake and right back to sleep is more my style, but right at this moment? I am enjoying the quiet. The complete lack of "CanIhave CanYouGetMe INEED CanI CanI CanI??"

I miss writing. Starting last May, I decided to take a real crack at making some money via Etsy, and I did it. Not huge money, but enough to make some small difference, and it felt great. Other things suffered-sleep, the frequency of dog fur tumbleweed sweeping, this blog, sleep-but it did feel great.

Being a mom is like this. I add one thing in, and another thing gets edged out. Maybe in another five years, I will not remember what it was like to be able to fit everything in. That time in my life when I could work two part time jobs, have friends, have time to drop everything to help someone move, have sleep, have hobbies, have sex, have EVERYTHING all at the same time...with some energy left over for...oh, I don't know. I really don't. What did I used to DO with all of that excess that I had? Maybe I am forgetting. God I hope so.

With a child in the picture? Most of those things were swept away, but I could still keep a few balls in the air. Add another child? Forget it. Balls down.

That before-time - being 21 with two shit jobs, running around from place to place with nowhere really to go - I am willing to let that fade into the foggy distance behind me. But I miss writing about the good stuff-the stuff I always want to have. I want to write about Liam's first birthday cupcakes, and how instead of going to a party on New year's Eve, we watched an insanely lame/awesome show about kittens called Too Cute! (for realz, cause we are bad ass like that), and how Carl did The. Most. Amazing. Thing. for Christmas, and on and on.

...but right now, I am just enjoying this quiet moment (soon to be shattered when the baby realizes that the parent in the bed with him does not have the "boo"s)
...and my fingers are getting stiff with cold because I live in a drafty old Pennsylvania farmhouse, where it is 13 degrees outside and about three degrees warmer here in Carl's office
...and it is 6:03AM and I am finally tired enough to go grab another 30 minutes of sleep, or at least 30 minutes of warm snuggling.

...so hopefully, I'll be able to add this thing back into my life soon. Because I do miss it.