Dusty Room

Rated PG

Whoa. What is this strange place? I think I've been here before. It feels like an overlooked room, dusty and musty. I need to get in here and kick up some energy. There are so many things I've wanted to write about, but I seem to have forgotten how to get here. Summer swallowed my mind up like a sinkhole. And usually autumn brings in a sense of motivation and busy-ness for me, but this year I am at sixes and sevens, spinning in circles and indecisive.

At the end of May, a friend of mine passed away which was tremendously sad and discombobulating. Following that, it seemed like sadness and mishaps were falling from the sky for various reasons. I got really and very suddenly quite depressed. I wrote a post about it, and about how I eventually achieved a sort of vibrational shift for the better. But I didn't actually post it.

I did, however, out of desperate curiosity, look into astrology. I just wanted an explanation for the shitstorm. I stopped reading my horoscope in junior high school because I found it was affecting my attitude too much; I was mopey and tortured enough, I didn't need the nuances of a horoscope to fuel the confusion. And I've sort of shied away from them ever since. However! In my hour of desperation a few months ago, I poked around the internet and found some interesting tidbits. This summer of 2018, there were a bunch of planets in retrograde at the same time. Don't ask me exactly what this means. I think I know what it means. I'm not sure. It felt to me like my plans, my thoughts, my actions, my intentions, were stumbly and uninspired. My brain was blah. My brain IS blah. I'm forcing myself to write this post to un-blah my brain.

Maybe the brain planet is still in retrograde. I don't want to look into all of it too much because I think it will swallow me up. I became a stay-at-home-mom so I could get some shit done around here, not so I could become an amateur astrologist. Mind you, I've been at home full time for almost four years and a lot of that shit has not yet been done, so I don't know what to tell you.

Nevertheless, it is October and October is one of my favorite parts of being alive and it makes me want to carpe the diem. At least, it usually does. Maybe the carpe diem planet is also in retrograde. I seem to be low on the carpe diem. I am fully stocked with bored-and-grumpy, but low on look-at-the-beautiful-leaves(!). I'm hoping a little blogging will help me carpe the diem. What I don't want to know is that this is just my lady hormones and that I need to embrace and accept the changes that come with the majesty of the maturing female at this time in life and all that is yet to come or something. What I honestly want to hear is that the path to enlightenment is via binge-watching British crime dramas. That's all I want to do. Instead, I'm writing this post. At least it's something.

Otter Pops

Rated PG for minor cussing.

You guys. The news is a very bad place. I mean, things were already woeful, but I've just seen that Justice Kennedy is retiring, so now we are really and truly you-know-what. I mean, this shitshow just keeps getting bigger. But you wanna know what is amazing and fills me with hope and revitalization?! Let me tell you.

Yesterday my mind was a tumultuous place because these are tumultuous times. I went to Costco (because evidently all I do is go to Costco) for provisions, distracted by the fact that I was even lucky enough in this world to chose from such ridiculous provisions. Well, lo and behold, look what exists now: 

Otter Pops made from 100% fruit juice!!!!! Holy crap, there is some goodness in the world. No more neon-colored food-type frozen material of questionable origin! Actual fruit and actual natural ingredients. Don't tell me what evil conglomerate owns Otter Pops. Don't tell me what evil conglomerate owns Costco, either. Just give me this for today. These things better be good. All of my hopes and dreams are riding on this. And I promise we will recycle the box and repurpose the plastic into...something that helps rid the world of disease, lets say. Thank you. The end. 

Books

I recently finished the most delightful book called "Birds of a Feather" by Jacqueline Winspear.

I think if your name is Jacqueline Winspear you should write books because that is a very authory name. This book is the second in the Maisie Dobbs series of mysteries. Maisie Dobbs is a smart, young woman who operates a private investigation firm in London in the inter-war period of the 20th Century. She has had a unique upbringing, jumping social classes and gaining a good education, followed by service in WWI as a nurse. After the war, she spent years as an apprentice of a very learned doctor who himself practiced private investigation. I like Maisie because she is sometimes lonely, but also very self-aware, intelligent. And watching her navigate a man's world as a professional woman is enjoyable. I've never really gravitated towards mysteries, but I'm really enjoying these books, partly because they are part historical fiction. I definitely recommend.

In the middle of reading this book, my friend Whitney sent me "Everything Happens For A Reason, and Other Lies I've Loved" by Kate Bowler.

Bowler is a professor at Duke divinity school whose research emphasis has been on the prosperity gospel in North America. (She also wrote "Blessed: A History of The American Prosperity Gospel.") Bowler was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer in 2015. This book is a memoir of her journey through the first years of treatment. She very honestly frames her experiences in the religious faith of her upbringing and of the traditions she has examined in her research.  (katebowler.com)

My friend Whitney is an oncology nurse practitioner, and I often pretend I am an oncologist, so we like to talk shop. I think she knew I would appreciate this book as I'm always up for the story of a search for meaning (aren't they all?), especially in the challenge of fighting a deadly disease. I am fascinated by the role of faith and religion in fighting disease. Bowler offers her fears, doubts, comforts, frustrations - all of the aspects I would want to know about. She also shares a lot of the absurd things that come out of other peoples' mouths when talking about dying or talking about cancer, and its her thoughts about these exchanges that brings the reader close to her heart. Or brings her close to the reader's heart. I wasn't always at ease with her writing style, with the way she structured her narrative, but I was gripped by her emotion. It seems like there are few mainstream voices that are both this religious and this accessible to the not-so-religious. Or maybe I'm just wildly unaware of other works of this genre. Anyway, little book big story; you should read it.

Day One

Rated G 

Well. Today is Day One of Summer 2018. My kid is bringing his A Game to Day One. This morning, we enjoyed waffles, we began a list of summer activity options titled "Summer 2018 Activity Options," and then we turned our attention to Legos because there are always Legos. So many Legos.

We perused my Pinterest Lego board (Omg, go to Pinterest and search Star Wars Lego ideas; all your desires are there.), and decided we would each build a cute little dachshund. Aproximately 7.2 seconds later, I had merely managed to locate several brown pieces. Buck had gone off-script and created the best Lego dog ever seen. Behold:

The foreground shows my tray with a modest collection of brown pieces, plus a Darth Maul figure. Buck's superior Lego dog is in the background. I should just have had Buck take the pictures because he would have done a better job than me.

After Legos we went to his cousins' house for a couple hours of fun. Then, we went to Fred Meyer where Buck helped an elderly woman put her items on the belt at the register, and I did NOT tell him to do so. After we got home, I told him there would be something called "Summer Chore" whereby Buck does a chore every day before he can have screen time, and that chore would likely most often be unloading the dishwasher. Following my statement, Buck turned to the task of unloading the dishwasher with grace and ease. So many adorable moments and its not even 4:30pm. And we still have a birthday party to go to tonight! What's up, Summer 2018?

Full disclosure, he did hurt one of his cousin's feelings and made her cry. He's not superhuman.

Summer Horizons

Rated PG for small swears

Well, the past week or so has been rather sad and shitty. You know, indiscriminate bad luck, personal sadness, general anxiety, and heart-wrenching headlines. It's all felt a bit relentless. I've tried my best to feel my feelings while accepting the natural ebb and flow of life's challenges. But jeez. So I've concluded its important to share several examples here.

Remember how I got a new car? Well, a very important thing happened: I took her to Costco for the first time. Before we left the parking lot, I took a picture of her with a full trunk (or boot if you wish you were British):

Isn't this delightful? My kid looks pretty delighted. So. Guess what happened right after this? If you guessed "you got rear ended," you'd be right! It all happened very slowly. I had pulled out and was looking in my rearview mirror and watched as a large, brown SUV slowly backed into my rear end. Bam! So, I got out and I looked at my car: no evident damage. The other car slowly pulled back into its spot. I noted the license plates: Canadian. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) A very small older man and his smaller wife (assuming) got out. And their English wasn't perfect and they were terribly nice and I kinda died of their adorableness. So, I practically hugged them and then sent them on their way. 

We got home and Buck says "MOM GOT REAR ENDED!" Thence began my husband's detailed examination of my car which resulted in discovering a tiny dent in my bumper. Followed were many observations made by my husband regarding the failure on my part to "get their information." Sheesh. Its just a bumper. That's what bumpers are for. Also, c'mon, let's just be grateful for a trunk full of food. Life is good. But, still, new car. 

Aside from the brand new bumper, I'd been steeling myself for the reality of flying across the country to a friend's memorial. Then Buck got sick so I made a last-minute decision not to go. It was a difficult decision; being absent from the memorial made me restless and sad. Grief is tricky, slippery business. We really aren't designed to grieve in isolation. Anticipating that memorial was its own kind of difficult; being absent from the gathering has made the grief more surreal. 

When Buck gets sick, I get rather anxious. When my nerves are worn down like they were last week, little things feel like big things and big things feel monstrous. Anxiety and grief make quite a maelstrom. So, it didn't take much for me to get good and rattled by certain headlines. I adored Anthony Bourdain. Obviously, with famous people, we won't ever know what their true story is; we don't have relationships with them. But they can occupy parts of our psyche, if you will, and play a role in our lives. Having that role tragically altered feels real and hard, no?  

Somehow, I found myself reading astrology horoscopes to try to make sense of this insanity and discombobulation and sadness. But even that was overwhelming. Just too much to consider. (Although, super interesting and maybe I should be an astrologer?) I just generally felt spooked, like what will happen next? I spent a lot of time on the treadmill, burning nervous energy and chasing endorphins, which felt really good. And it is always easy to look just beyond myself to see a strong tribe of love and friendship, both here in my village and in lands far away; I am fortunate. Ultimately, my spirits were buoyed over the weekend by driving around this beautiful valley in our big old truck, taking a break from social media, catching the Robert McCauley exhibit at the Museum of Northwest Art, and bbq-ing at my sister's house, watching the kiddos run around together. 

Now! I am happy to report that today is the last day of school! Woohoo! Definitely not shitty! Congratulations to Buck for completing the great and mighty 2nd Grade! I love summer with my kiddo. This place is in full bloom and splendor right now. I was driving the curves into town yesterday and the countryside seemed to flaunt itself in front of me like a choreographed show of beautiful ladies in magnificent gowns. Or like when a lady is beginning her ascent up the red-carpeted stairs and she does a partial spin so her enormous dress swirls and settles into place behind her. That's what all the trees and rhododendrons and fluffy, puffy grasses and bushes look like to me. Add some Puget Sound beaches and nearby mountains, and voila! Summer! Am I being Dramatic? Yes. I'm just very relieved that the open, fun days of summer are straight ahead.

P.S. This is where I make it very clear that I feel incredibly, fantastically grateful that I am in a position to hang out with my kid all summer. Being at home was a big ole decision I made a couple years ago. It meant going a certain direction with my life during Buck's early school years, and subsequently not going other directions. I won't be going this "at home" direction for many more years, as per my loose set of intentions/Master Plan, and the more I talk about this the more uncomfortable I get, so I'm just going to stop talking about this. The End.

p.p.s. Buck lost a tooth on Saturday. And the Tooth Fairy actually came that very night, so prompt, so attentive, so generous. What a high-quality Tooth Fairy. 

Learning

Rated G

This morning, Buck was finishing some math homework before school. He loves math but he really dislikes this particular homework which is related to a scary math test. So, there is considerable whining and bemoaning and wasting of time. At one point, he is shrieking about a simple problem so I glance over and just give him the answer because hurry up. And then he says:

"Mom! This is MY learning experience! Not yours!"

Jeez. Sorry. TGIF.

The Art of Negotiating

Rated PG for a few cuss words

I purchased a new car over Memorial Day weekend. I was a hardened, astute negotiator. I practically got that car for free. (wild exaggeration) Let me tell you how.

For many, many years I was a devoted Honda driver. My feelings about cars were that they should be cute or at least not-embarrassing, and that they should be fuel efficient. I've driven an old Accord, a Civic, a CR-V. Reliable as hell, all of them.

I am married to a man who loves German automobiles. I cannot emphasize his love enough. For the automobiles. When I married him, he was driving a 1980 Mercedes something something. It had 4 doors and was white. In fact, let me go way back here, because this is cute. On our first date (omg), I was quite curious to see what he was driving. I had known him for years, but I'd never really known what car he drove (partly because for several years he didn't really have a car because he was broke-ass broke. He'd say "starving artist," but anyway.). I thought he'd be driving a pick-up truck since he's a woodworker. Nope. An old Mercedes. This was kind of a head-scratcher. But then I found out that he used biodiesel in it, and just are you kidding me? That is beyond adorable. Anyway, I wasn't a fan of that car because it was incredibly uncomfortable and the passenger side door handle didn't work, which is the worst.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. We now have three oldish BMWs (one of which is an old, classic car), a 1957 Porsche, an enormous 1972 Chevy pickup (admittedly, not German) and zero Hondas.

[I am reminded of a mural I saw in a hostel in Rome back when I was backpacking through Europe in my twenties. It read: "Heaven is where the cops are British, the mechanics are German, the cooks are Spanish, the lovers are Italian, and it's all organized by the Swiss. Hell is where the cooks are British, the cops are German, the mechanics are Spanish, the lovers are Swiss, and its all organized by the Italians." Yay stereotypes! Moving on!]

A couple Saturdays ago my car broke down. Needed a new starter. Got towed to the mechanic. This is not the first time this car has needed a new something or other. Herein lies the major problem with high-performance automobiles: they are very expensive to repair. This is not a secret. But I blame my husband for this entire predicament because somewhere in there it was his idea to buy my car; surely I did not use my own will or agency when choosing that model; nor can I be responsible for the extreme enjoyment I experienced while driving that car, especially the speed part, especially the speed part when merging onto the freeway and being faster than everybody else; nor do I feel at all to blame for the somewhat hasty decision to buy that unit in particular, what with its high miles and rather fuzzy ownership history. I showed up to this marriage as a driver of reliable Japanese cars and my husband did various things to my brain and the next thing I knew I was driving a German car and paying exorbitant $$ to get it repaired too many times.

It was, admittedly, easy to go from reliable car to high-performance car. It is, however, difficult to go from fast car to not-fast car. It is not difficult to say goodbye to expensive, falling-apart car. But does one say goodbye to falling-apart car and then say hello to new fast car? Or does one say hello to new reliable car? Sigh. One says hello to new reliable car.

Which brings me to this past Saturday at the Honda dealership. Talk about a shit way to spend your Saturday. Not to disparage Honda. All things considered, the experience of buying from the dealership was not bad. But that is just unavoidably an uncomfortable experience. There are no happy faces in a dealership showroom. There are the salespeople who pace around, often jangling something in their pockets, eyes darting about in a state of predation. Then there are the shoppers, who look tired and jumpy and dubious and broke. It's akin to being in the doctor's waiting room. You look around at other weary souls, wondering what they're bargaining for, everybody in various states of I've-had-enough.

I'm not going to detail the experience here for you today, dear reader. It's too excruciating to relive in my head. Important in our (my) success were several strategies.

1) We brought extra kids with us. This wasn't our plan, but we ended up with some extra kids (high quality kids) and it worked out great. Wes and the 3 kids were an added pressure for the sales guy, IMHO. They're all bouncing around, touching everything, adding an unpredictable element.

2) I test-drove a couple cars, chatted with the sales guy and Wes and the three bouncing kids, and then we rather abruptly left. He was really thrown off by that. I was dying as we walked out because I was so uncomfortable and was worried that we were hurting his feelings (? why ?).
     a) I was so uncomfortable that I had to pretend I was somebody else in order to persevere. I pretended I was a fictitious version of myself, one that easily waltzes in and out of high-pressure deals with confidence and nerves of steel. I mean, all I was doing was exiting a building, but it was still so painful.
              i) I do the same thing in airports. Man, I hate airports. I pretend I'm a spy or assassin, and that dealing with the throngs of humans and stresses of air travel are just inane, quotidian annoyances of my super badass profession. And that I'm probably working undercover so I have to keep my cool. Also, meds are sometimes involved.

3) I came back a few hours later by myself. We had already decided where we wanted the final cost to be for finance/monthly payment purposes. We had already decided what we wanted for the trade-in on the German lemon. We already knew which model we wanted, and which bells and whistles were unimportant to us. I wrote all that down on a 3x5 card and kept that in my purse.
       a) It wasn't exactly part of the high strategy that I go back by myself but Wes did not want to leave the enormous pork shoulder he was smoking. Also, I wanted to do it by myself. (As I've mentioned before, Wes does like to use his words. I wanted all the words to be my words. Words.)

4) I wore high wedge shoes. Super tall.

5) I used super simple language. "We want to pay x amount for the car." "We want x amount for the trade-in." Hurry up and say the simple sentence, get it out of your mouth, and then it's theirs to deal with. Sweating occurs. My sweating. I doubt he was sweating. He does this stupid shit every day. All. The. Time. This is gross for me, but not for him. I had to remind myself of this over and over. I'd say "he's just fine" in my mind. That was my mantra.  Otherwise, the awkward part of me that wants to slouch, and accommodate his feelings, and be apologetic for wanting something at all, and use too many words, and ask instead of tell, will crawl forward. NO SLOUCHING!

6) I brought a nerdy magazine and my nerdy reading glasses. This was my coup de grace. I took out the magazine and placed it on his desk so he could see that I have other things to pay attention to. I put on my nerdy, quasi-unneccesary reading glasses to look smart and serious.
        a) Sales guys talk to you at their desk in the showroom and then they scurry off to the manager's office to see if they can possibly save your soul by getting Oz behind the Green Curtain to agree to your request. Then they scurry back and say "great news!" to lower your defenses and then they tell you that Oz will only take one of your children, not two. Win/Win. I heard this "great news!" thing used over and over in the showroom. (Here is where you nod knowingly.)
       b) While sales guy is gone, I relax with my magazine. ("Archaeology" magazine on this particular day. I am a devoted subscriber.) This gives me something to take my mind off the sweating. And when he comes back, he finds me leaning back, engrossed in the excavation of a Bronze Age site in England, and he is in the position of interrupting me because I'm doing something else.

7) I excuse myself to call my husband. I've already explained that my husband couldn't be with us, but naturally I need to call him to confirm the financial details. I leave the magazine and glasses on the desk so sales guy can see what I'm reading, and he can think: "she's no dummy". Or, "what a nerd." Whatever.
      a) I talk to my husband for a long time on the phone. this is not necessarily on purpose. Again, Wes uses a lot words. Also, he's never bought a car from a manufacturer's dealership before. Also, he's not actually there to be in the muck, so he feels like he's not holding the controls, which leads him to want to talk a lot about the faults in this system in general, and to be disappointed that we are not getting this brand new car for, like, $2000. But I do think it is helpful that we talked on the phone for a long time. Or, at least that is what I'm telling myself because I know how to do these things because I'm a high-powered negotiator with nerves of steel.
   
8) Same as #5. I counter his offer with short sentences. I try not to fiddle with my glasses. I survive the entire negotiation with my dignity in tact. I'm exhausted and starving.

In the end, I think we came to a very reasonable deal. Feel free to use any of my well-honed, expert tactics. I mean, the house always wins, at least a little bit. That's the reality with any retail. The point is to reduce that win as much as you can.  They did not take my firstborn child (only child). I got a ripping good APR. We got waaaaay below invoice price. I was far more comfortable in my own skin than the first time I bought from a dealership in my mid-twenties. My credit score is better than my husband's (the best part of the day). They took the damn BMW.

I've never bought a brand new car before. It is surreal. I am not relaxed yet when driving it. It feels rather like hurrying around with someone else's newborn. Like, "oh what a beautiful miracle; but so fragile, no? Am I hurting it? What does that sound mean? Maybe someone else should take care of it?" I'll get used to it. Plus, it has a WARRANTY. So fancy.

My Rating System

Hello.

I imagine the likelihood of me being related to you, fair reader, is very high. If you are my cousin or if you are a beloved auntie, or just a more couth person than myself, then most likely you don't employ as many four letter words (shall we say) as I've been known to use. I don't want to alienate my precious readership, but I also want to use my most authentic voice* (within reason), so I've been pondering how to keep us all comfortable. Here's what I've come up with:

I've decided to implement a Rating System. This way, if you would rather not read swear words or if you want to keep content away from, I dunno, kids or whatnot, then you'll maybe be informed about such potentialities via my Rating System. I will add a rating with each title. They will be similar to movie ratings. This is an experiment, done earnestly, and I hope it doesn't come off the wrong way. Like, I hope it doesn't seem gimmicky or condescending.

THANK YOU for being here! I hope you enjoy it.



*also, "authentic voice" is a bit of an eye-roller, but you see my point.

Single-Use Plastics are Bad

A couple posts ago I discussed my confused relationship with straws. It was a rather glib approach to a very serious problem. I can be glib. Today I share with you the hard work of my son, his teachers, and his classmates, to bring awareness to the dangers of straws and other single-use plastics that I was recently so casually glib about. 

My son is in 2nd grade. This year they worked on a big unit about the oceans and the creatures and corral reefs in them. They also learned about the plastic pollution in our oceans. As a class, they became very concerned about the impact of the garbage, and particularly plastics, in our oceans. They started picking up plastic on the playground. They started examining the plastics used in their lunches, and how they were disposed of. A couple of the students (girls, naturally) wanted to start a newspaper to inform the people of our town about our living oceans and their peril due to plastic garbage. 

One of the things the 2nd graders decided to do was to present a request at the Burlington City Council meeting for an ordinance to ban single-use plastic bags, as other cities have done. So, a couple of weeks ago, a number of the 2nd graders gathered their thoughts and took turns standing at the microphone and shared some scary and important data with the city council. It was the following: adorable, scientific, inspiring, informative, nerve-wracking, civic, impactful, well-executed, and more adorable. 

The plan was for my kid to speak first. I thought for sure we were treading into melt-down territory on the day of the meeting. But he was strong of spirit. He showed no fear in anticipation of public speaking. My mind was boggled. We arrived at city hall and Buck joined the rest of his classmates without hesitation. The teachers began the presentation with a display of a very long rope made out of single-use plastic grocery bags from eight families, which was the kids' idea. Then my kid walked up to the lectern, stood on a chair, and spoke words into the microphone. 

Here he is, in my crappy picture, at the lectern. I was so sweaty and nervous and excited that I did not take any good pictures. He is wearing a plaid shirt and striped tie, per his choice. He said: "Americans use 100 BILLION single-use carryout bags each year. It takes 12 million barrels of oil to produce that many bags. AND oil spills have damaged our planet as well." 

Seven other children stood on a chair at the lectern and spoke into the microphone. Here is what the taught us: 

1) Eight of our second grade families sent in plastic grocery bags that they had laying around the house. When we tied them together, they measured 513 feet long, which is one and a half lengths of our school.

2) If the bags from America's Target stores were tied together, they would circle the earth SEVEN times EACH YEAR....and that's just Target! Half of all plastic made every year is made to be used once, then thrown away. Plastic doesn't break down into anything useful to other living things. 

3) Every minute, enough plastic to fill a dump truck enters the ocean. Much of it is plastic bags. 8.8 MILLION TONS OF PLASTIC ENDS UP IN OUR OCEANS EVERY YEAR. We have seen around 52 percent of the world's wildlife disappear in the past 40 years, and if we continue to dump plastic into the world's oceans, this number will increase if things don't change. [that was Buck's best friend Lila who shared that. xo]

4) Items we use for only a few minutes, like plastic bags, water bottles, cups or straws, should NEVER end up in the belly of a whale. In April 2018, a whale was found dead with nearly 65 POUNDS of plastic trash crammed into its stomach. 700 marine species could become extinct due to plastic being eaten by fish, birds, and marine mammals.

5) Almost all of the plastic EVER MADE is still with us today. Plastic is FOREVER. We don't want to see our world become a ball of plastic bags!

6) Skagit County uses 37 million bags every year. 99 out of 100 plastic bags in Skagit County are NOT returned for recycling.

7) By the year 2050, when I am 40 years old, there will be more plastic in the ocean than fish by weight. This is OUR future, and we need your help to make this change! 

The mayor and councilmen (all men, btw, just btw) looked pretty reserved, but I suppose they have to play their cards close to their chests. Earlier in that week, we realized that Buck was under the impression that a law could be written and codified right then and there, and victory could be theirs (!). Thank goodness we got that ironed out ahead of time. We'll clearly need to do some follow-up to ensure the powers-that-be (all men, btw) continue to consider this matter. 

We took Buck and his friend Morgan to frozen yogurt afterwards because sugar is fun! They were so proud of themselves, which was really sweet (pun). I told them that they are only 8 years old but they have already done public speaking! Buck has really glommed onto that factoid. He shared it with his cousins as soon as he could. 

That night, as we were tucking Buck into bed, and reflecting on the bigness of the day, Buck started to get choked up. Realizing that there had been a pretty high high (and sugar) that evening, so a low was perhaps to be expected, I gently inquired as to his mood. This is what he said: 

"I am worried for our future."  

Dammmmmittttttt.  Wes and I stumbled around for some words of encouragement; we did a mediocre job of responding. I put something together about being stewards of the environment, and that he was doing all the right things to save our oceans, and that it's hard to consider the scary things when we're tired so he should wait til the morning. Ugh. 

So, there you go people. Our kids are crying into their pillows because of the 8.8 million tons of plastic that are ending up in our oceans every year. Super real. 

Books

I just finished this book:

   My highly astute friend Erin sent this book to me. "Go, Went, Gone" by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from German. It is a story about a recently-retired widower living in what was formerly East Berlin. He becomes intrigued by the plight of a group of African refugees. His journey to understand these men proves to be a metaphysical blossoming for him. He contemplates their individual flights from war and terror, and through them he faces the excruciating position of what to do when you literally have nowhere to go. It's a hard read, emotionally. There were a couple of literary tropes that I could have done without, but I did appreciate how the disjointed flow of his thoughts reflected his formal professorial approach to the very messy human situation. And it was certainly an education for a non-European to glimpse the complications created by so many borders, so many languages, so many laws. I definitely recommend.

Mother's Day

    As we know, Mother's Day occurred this past weekend. I carefully engineered things so that the entire weekend worked towards my honor. There was high levels of love, enjoyment, appreciation, rest, relaxation, food, gifts, chocolate cake, and sunshine. Voila!

   On Thursday night, we bought me a new wheel barrow. (I know, I know! So lucky.) On Friday nothing occurred, which is sometimes a good thing. On Saturday, I awoke fairly well-rested. We all made ourselves presentable and went to Christianson's Nursery which is a hallowed place for plant lovers, and is a generally well-tolerated place for people who belong to plant lovers because they have those little flatbed carts. Buck commandeered the little flatbed cart. I tried not to be stressed about this. Mostly, I let Wes and Buck be a team and I let myself ignore them because I was on a mission. I was NOT the only mother there on Mother's Day weekend, however, so I really had to self-advocate to get the plants I wanted. I moved fast, in a zone if you will, from section to section, greenhouse to greenhouse. Wes and Buck did a decent job of keeping up with me even though I was ignoring them. In the end, I found exactly what I wanted, plus a few other temptations. And equally fantastic and impressive, the boys maintained a good attitude and lots of patience, and nobody got hurt by the little flatbed cart.  It wasn't even Mother's Day yet and already things were incredibly groovy!

 
    I am no plant/gardening expert, by any stretch of the imagination. I try. The first few years of living here with an actual yard to start from scratch with, I was both super excited and totally overwhelmed. At this time of year, when I yearn to plant things, I'm usually postured firmly between enthusiasm and ignorance. For several Mother's Days, we've gone to the Master Gardener's big mega intensely overwhelming sale at the fair grounds. I would fall into a bit of a trance and fill my arms with various plant mysteries, and go home and need a nap. But this spring, my garden has felt less mysterious. I know exactly what I want to do, and where. I even know most of the names for this trunk full of plants you see. Viburnum, daphne, fuchsia, geranium, sweet peas, Hollandia broom, and a thing called a rhodohypoxis which sounds like a medieval disease but is really the absolutely cutest little thing you've ever seen. I think one reason I've been eager to learn about gardening is just to gather up all these new and amazing words. There are so many words. I am so jealous of the green thumbs out there that have all these delicious words in their brains. (Also, I think my new personal motto is 'there are so many words.')

     Saturday afternoon, Wes and I went on a hike and then out to an early dinner. It has been sunny in Skagit Valley so everyone else also went on the same hike that day.  Lots of humans. But I didn't let it get to me. We had a great time. When we were almost to the lookout, Wes pushed past me and ran the rest of the way so the people already there would think he was a super badass. Typical.

     When we got home that night, I made a flourless chocolate cake. I'd never made a flourless chocolate cake before, but I really like to eat them, so I had a lot of hope in that cake. The next day, we went to the opening day of the Edison Farmer's Market where I got to hold my friend's baby Eloise and lull her to sleep in my arms. It was a delightful Mother's Day nugget of an experience. I also really, really enjoyed handing that sleeping baby back to her daddy. Thank you and thank you. Later, Buck and I drove to my parents' house on Camano Island where we focussed on being very lazy. My mom and I talked about stuff and other stuff, and I made a ganache for the chocolate cake. My father was keeping a close eye on the cake. When we sat down to dinner, he slowly approached the table and gave me a very stern look while saying: "I don't see the main course." And then he sat down with an air of disappointment. Meaning, the cake ought to be the main course. This was hilarious and filled my heart so much that it still hurts to think of it.

   I am really only here today to tell you how damn good that cake was. It tasted far better than it looked. The texture and consistency was even and silky. I'd used dark chocolate, and the taste was so deep, so evil, so luxurious that we've had to lock the rest of the cake in the safe. The Cake That Exceeded My Expectations was really the triumph of this glorious weekend.

   Not to ignore the fact that being a mother to such an adorable, amazing, incredible kiddo isn't the triumph and the glory. Because yay motherhood! And, really, he does amaze me. Also, MY mom is not too shabby. She's the OG of motherhood, lemme tell you. She is 100% in charge. All roads lead to her, tho I imagine she would rather they didn't. I love her. But, again, that cake...

  Oh wait! I forgot! Man, this weekend was one for the books. Wes finished the cabinets in the laundry area. Praise the heavens. But I'll save those details for another post. Because really that freakin cake was the grand finale. Happy Mother's Day.

Straw

Straws are bad. I've learned this loud and clear. The consciousness around bad straws is very loud and very prevalent right now. My kid has been instructing me for the better part of the school year on the forever and evil impact of the nefarious, single-use straw. NPR has been instructing me via various show topics about the malevolent presence of straws in our oceans and in the bodies of our ocean animals. The quantification of the straw impact is so mind-boggling that I can't remember it correctly. It's all: the number of single-use straws used in a day could circle around the earth twice, and six billion mega tons of straws are dumped in the ocean ever year, and here's the youtube video of the scientists painfully extracting the straw from the tortoise, and enough single-use straws are used every week to build the Eiffel Tower in every back yard of America, and all the straws that you've used in your life would weigh as much as seven pods of killer whales, and the straw is plastic which never goes away but only breaks down into tiny micro straw plastic particles that stay in our oceans and our bodies and our children's children's bodies forever causing endocrine disruption and death and surliness and disease and that is actually really terrifying, especially the forever micro particles aspect.

But I have some questions. Because I thought I was throwing away my straws into the garbage and that garbage was going into the dump and the landfill far from the ocean. How did those straws leave the landfill and end up in the ocean? Are people all over the world throwing theirs straws, just their straws, into the nearby ocean? Do the straws jump out of the landfill and dive into streams and waterways and wend their way to the oceans?

I am very guilty of the straw problem. Just think about all the Diet Cokes I drank in high school. How many times did I drive through somewhere and order a large Diet Coke and suck it down and slouch around and stare at boys? I did that, like, every twenty minutes. Single-use straws were complicit every time. Just think about the entire carbon footprint of that very ritual: the driving; the Diet Coke; the garbage; the swimming, single-use plastic straw; the slouching. I can't undo that rot. Not a single aspect of that ritual was good for me or my planet. And there is no Planet B.

So, what happens to the straw manufacturers? Do the Koch Brothers make 85% of all straws? What's at play here with the supply-and-demand of the straw marketplace? Can the straw makers make straws out of bamboo pulp or corn plastic or something that disintegrates or evaporates? I realize that nothing, no matter on earth, ever goes away. So, can we work on having new straws made of good stuff that we can throw in the oceans? Or is the request here that we just eradicate all straw use? Aside from, like, medical uses. There will be medical straws. Or there will be re-usable straws? I realize there already are re-usable straws. We have some laying around somewhere. So people are going to start toting around their reusable bpa-free aluminum straws then. I'm just working this through.

Back when I was young and had deeper thoughts, I used to think about what would happen if one day all the plastic in the world just vanished. I used to think what would that look like if it all vanished in 1960, and then by comparison what would happen if it all vanished in 1970, or 1980, or 1990, etc.  I would imagine how empty our shelves would be, or how things would come crashing down, or airplanes would fall apart, or entire industries would face catastrophic despair... I have always been very preoccupied by "the olden days" and they certainly didn't have plastics in the olden days, so the olden days were better? A mind can spend a lot of time in this analysis.

Here's what I did. I've had this massive box of single-use straws for ages. We've been slowly making our way through them. I bought them before I knew I wasn't supposed to, for the record. Because, like I said, I thought my straws were going into the non-ocean garbage landfill, where they would not breakdown respectfully with the rest of the single-use plastic that we consume by the armfuls every day. (We're screwed.) So, recently I've started washing and re-using these single-use straws. They're the kinds with the bendy necks and they have the perky red stripe going down the side. I consume a fair amount of smoothies at home and I like to use a straw with them, so now I'm washing and re-using my straws. The washed straws have a special place in a drawer by the blender. The system has been working well.

The system works well when you THOROUGHLY wash the straw. Don't not-thoroughly wash the straw. The other day I made a smoothie. I grabbed a washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I smugly plopped that straw in my vanilla-protein-banana-rainbow-sparkle smoothie. I jubilantly sucked down my first taste of the smoothie. But something was very, very wrong. Something tasted rotten. I gagged. Pre-vomitted, really. But I knew what had happened. I hadn't washed the straw well enough. Old smoothie bits had turned to compost in my straw and I had sucked it down.

The only way I was going to survive the compost-in-the-straw incident was to move past it very quickly. I grabbed another washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I held it up to the light to see if any chunky bits of filth were lurking. (No.) And I plopped it in my smoothie and I sucked that smoothie down. It was delicious. I did throw that first filthy straw away, though. And throwing away a multi-used single-use straw was morally confusing, I admit. Because I'm not going to not use the straws I already have. Those straws already exist. They are already pre-garbage, like the majority of material we touch every day, and so I might as well use them. Slowly. Cleaning them thoroughly. Then I'll get my re-usable bamboo aluminum straw from REI or wherever. And thoroughly clean that one too.

Same But Different

My kid resembles me in so many ways. So often I am taken off guard when I glance at him and I see my self. A blonde boy me. So many similarities. I recognize some of his sensitivities as similar to my own. And his facial expressions. Also his huge brain, clearly from me. I like to say that Wes chose to mate with me because he wanted to "breed up." Wes likes to say that with the combination of his athleticism (snort) and my height (yes), we would make a world class athlete. That is not what seems to be playing out here, but who knows. Don't mention the orthodontia. That is my side, and therefore my fault, and I don't want to hear about it. Poor kid. I was aware early on that Buck might have buck teeth, and that har har wouldn't that be funny, or not. What are you gonna do.

One thing that is very much not like me: he's generally stoked to meet new people. When I was a kid, I developed muteness around strangers. I don't think we actually had many strangers in our lives, honestly. On a farm far from the madding crowd, we mostly knew everyone we saw routinely. This was kind of the opposite of my husband's childhood as a Navy brat, living around the world. Also, Wes talks a lot. To everyone. All the time. Buck is a lot like this. Probably not quite as much as Wes, but the kid likes to talk about stuff. He thinks out loud a lot. More than I need, to be honest. But at least I can rest assured that I generally know whats on his mind. That goes for both of them, really.

One thing that is very much like me: he likes lots of unstructured play time. He gets stressed and squirmy and worried if we have too much going on. Last week we were planning our weekend, which included a busy Sunday full of activities for Wes's birthday. Buck had to walk around with the plan in mind for a while, and then he said "So, mom, Sunday will be our busy day and then Saturday will be our play-it-by-ear-day, right?" Yes, essentially. The weak point in the plan is that he doesn't want to commit to anything, which means I have a hard time convincing him to invite someone to come play, which means he talks to me all day and I lose my marbles. We start to hear me say things like "I'm not going to talk for a little while" or "my brain needs a break from questions" or "GIVE ME SOME SPACE" or "momma needs a nap." Naps save lives.

So here is Buck, in the photo, waiting eagerly, if not somewhat wistfully, by the window for the babysitter to arrive on Saturday. Someone new to talk to!!! And he'd never even met this babysitter before! So excited all day about this! As a kid, I would not have been waiting eagerly by the window. I would have liked the idea in theory that we'd be having a babysitter, especially as I considered it several days in advance. But on the day of, I would have gotten nervous and then cranky and then mean, and I would have directed it all towards my long-suffering mother. And then when the babysitter arrived, I would have lurked in various corners, nervously pinching my lower lip, analyzing the situation, like a small mammal trying to decide when to leave the shelter of the shadows. I just came that way. I'm really not like that anymore, what with maturity and all. But not Buck! Buck was stoked to meet the new sitter. He stood front and center, all casual with one hand in his pocket like a cool guy, and offered a chill wave and "hey" to the newcomer. And then Wes and I left and it was, like, totally non-traumatic. And I am still totally perplexed and deeply grateful about this.

We went out to dinner and it was delicious. I wasn't even nervous. I didn't check my phone ten zillion times. Relaxed in the knowledge that big kid Buck was with the babysitter, talking nonstop, and enjoying himself. And then we went home and Buck was already asleep and I thought, maybe we should pay someone to come put him to sleep all the nights because, mercy, bedtime, ugh. Amirite?

Preparedness

After you've done all the laundry in the house and every bit of clothing is folded and in its proper place, do you ever think: dear God, if the plan is to take me from my Earth life soon, maybe today would be a good day because at least all of the laundry is done and the boys would have clean clothes for a while?

What is that? I have had that thought. My thoughts about that thought are basically equal parts 1) gloating, because I'm so giving and hard-working and living my maternal instincts (tho that feels complicated...but I don't want to write the book on it), and 2) concerned for my mental fitness. 

And that's not even taking into account my ill-defined, wishy-washy, work-in-progress, fly-by-night position on religion.

Nevertheless, I've thought that thought: If You're gonna take me, take me soon because all the laundry is done. The same rationale holds following a big trip to Costco.

Surely I'm not alone on this.