douche bags with free drinks

We went to two parties this afternoon.  The first was very nice, good friends, Portillo's catering - yes.  cannot go wrong.  and a marvelous ice-cream cake from Coldstone covered in chocolate ganache that I'm dreaming about now.  Chris, who couldn't sleep last night because of the amazing poop machine, was tired and dreading the second party, which (his dread) was draining to me.  I felt uncomfortable at this party, but the piece de resistance was, after several relatives tried to egg me on about how if you told the bartender (who did nothing about the no soap in the ladies room problem) "Obama sucks," she would give you a free drink.  After the first explanation of this, I smiled and said I didn't want to talk about it to the following attempts.  As we were trying to leave (because Gracie had out-pooped the number (6) of diapers I stuffed into my purse) my youngest uncle hugged me goodbye, then wouldn't let go as he brought up Obama.  I said I didn't want to talk about it and he kept me in a hold and played the pro-abortion card.  I mean, he had his arm around my head and was loudly exclaiming "abortion!" I escaped, furious.  I remained calm and left the party without telling anybody what a dick they are.  All I can say is that when their guy was in office, no matter what he did wrong, Americans are supposed to have respect for the office of the president.  Great job, douche bags with free drinks.  

Last night we went to the wake of my uncle's father.  (different uncle, different family)  I enjoy spending time with my Dad's side of the family.  The girls and I stayed just a little too long at the after party and Gracie liquipooped on my leg, down her pants and socks.  Again, I ran out of diapers.  My uncle was so accommodating and sweet; he gave me one of his dad's old Depends and said we should give her a bath, just like his dad.  

Pa told me it was the 4 year anniversary of Gram's death.  I didn't even know that.  I've never been to her grave.  I wonder if that makes him think I don't care.  I guess I don't want to see his headstone there; they just set his in when they buried her.  I think about her every day.  I wouldn't look at her open casket.  I was a pall bearer.  I just don't want to visit her grave.  It's not like she's there.  I visit Pa about once a month.  

My Dad's side are democrats.

Before the wake, I took the girls to an art opening, and before that, we had some friends over.  I researched fossils on this great website.  But kids don't care about that.  They just want to make the pudding.  Especially when they are acting all crazy because their friends are over.  We should have people over every week so the kids don't act so crazy.  

Charlotte lost another tooth on the way to the wake.  She showed everyone.  Today she told everyone she went to a party called "the wake."  At "the wake," the family next to ours was a big Italian party, pouring out of their assigned room.  They had cannolis.  Not only is their family appealing to me because I grew up in a town where you weren't cool if you weren't Italian, but ... what I wouldn't do for a good cannoli.  I thought about asking for one, but I didn't think that would be appropriate.  

I heart Nippon

I was distracted by three things today.  We received a package from my friend in Japan.  I cried as I looked at the pictures she sent.  I miss her and I miss Japan and I still dream about visiting.  Literally.  Like the waitressing nightmares I used to have- I can't get where I need to go;  I'm in Japan but I can't find Natsumi.  I learned so much about being a good mom from her.  We were next door neighbors.  Isn't she beautiful?

Secondly, my current next door neighbor, who I also love, came by and told me about a long term art sub job at her school.  I could sub and keep my current job, turn the sub job into a real job, and triple my income.  This felt tempting because I had just been stressing about money.  This would also kill homeschooling and ever seeing my kids.  ...so, I guess there's nothing to talk about.  Take a number, Sallie Mae.  

Thirdly, as I finish up Hard Times in Paradise, I find myself more interested in the son going off to Harvard than staying behind on the ranch.  For all my talk, do I really want to live off the land?  I believe I do, but there's sort of a sickening, imminent break up feeling that I sense.   Nonsense, right?  Because I never left the suburbs.  In my head, I did.  Or maybe it's more of an aging feeling.  ...the idea that the girls will grow up and have opportunities for excitement, get to be that thrilling age of possibilities, and we will get left behind, maybe a little youth-jealous, stuck with the consequences of choices made long ago.  I think that when they leave, I want to go off and do something new, too.

In Bumblebee news, the girls went to their first American History club.  Success.  No schoolish activities at home before lunch, though I did dishes, laundry, and self-flogged for not painting.  

Naturally, Gracie threw up last night.

This will make us feel better.

Eleanor learned fractions today

Survived, enjoyed even, my new batch of students today. 32 enrolled for a max 18 class. 16 showed up. Nice size. I have an assistant for that class, a generation my senior and far more accomplished. Co-teaching, I told the students. I feel embarrassed by the notion he'd be my assistant. I enjoy the company. 

It took me an hour to get the girls to sleep tonight. Now, at 10:14, the last thing I feel up to is painting. I wish I had something delicious. Last night, I got everything out to sand, then I heard a high pitched, small moaning "ow...ow" Gracie's arms were so sore from her shots and she felt so crummy from the flu. No sanding.

The girls joined me at the gym this morning. I like to watch them sprinting around, laughing with the other kids in the gymnasium. At home, Eleanor plowed through 20 pages in her math book. She learned fractions today. Charlotte had a tantrum about not wanting to do her workbook, so she went to her room and later did a single page of math and turned every digit into characters she called the bow-tie family. That was great too.

After that I wanted to sleep. I sat on floor and prepared to sand loudly while the kids were up. I realized the boards have to be hand sanded anyway. The girls came in to help and their imaginations were ignited by the possibilities of construction. Chairs, birdhouses. Good idea.

about to sand

Gracie and Charlotte got 4 shots each today. I made the girls do 2 pages each in their math and reading workbooks. I still have the schedule blocks in my mind. If nothing else, they are there for me when I am too bewildered to think. The girls handed in their girl scout cookie order: 80 boxes.

Work was good. I made them draw their self portrait the whole time and they did pretty well. I brought my lunch tied in a red scarf (because I couldn't find the right shape tupperware) two hard eggs, several sprouted crackers, a tiny jar of mulberry jam, and an orange. and a small knife. in case I ran into the big bad wolf on my way there.

In telling my new students about exhibits that would fulfill their assignment for the semester, I told them that I would be in one and that should be good because I haven't started the series yet. Of course they raise their eyebrows - what does her work look like, this one who advises us? If they think I suck, they won't listen to me anymore. So now I have to work every night. Or totally lose face on yet another level. These are the fears that lead me to make nothing. I told them on purpose to motivate myself.

Must. sand. plywood. in pajamas. and not wake up the baby who just threw up AGAIN. with the electric sander.

it's better on toast

It was hard to wait so long, but it finally came out! Very exciting!

Gracie has been sick the last few days, throwing up on the floor, in Charlotte's bed, in my bed. The funniest bit was when she added diarrhea to the line up. Chris unknowingly pulled her up into bed with us and squealed for help. I opened the diaper and it splattered everywhere. That was early in the morning. When I was going to bed last night, I happened to hear her go again and stepped into their room -what a smell! We cleaned her up and pulled her into bed with us, where she threw up, which means I won't nurse her, long at least, which means she cries herself to sleep. I woke up at 10. It's Sunday.


I still haven't finished my syllabi. Perfectionism is the greatest deterrent to getting things done. I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow. I want a uniform. I tried to buy a black smock jacket, but Chris said it just looks like a coat. A cheap polyester coat. It is. I have to return it anyway to make up for spending too much on margaritas last night with Tania. We were going to our other cousin's party, but it was too far and too late. So we went to Fridays. We walked in and the music was too loud, it was too bright, and a waiter in a stupid hat walked by dancing and bobbing his head. It was a Saturday Night Live skit -cringe. They wouldn't serve us because Tania forgot her license and then they didn't have the appetizer we ordered, so we walked out. I can't stand corporate restaurant managers on their false power trips.  So we went to a great Mexican place.  

Yesterday I spent most of the day reading Hard Times in Paradise.  Couldn't put it down.  Academic couple takes three young kids to live off the land.  Unprepared, misadventures ensue, kids homeschooled , end up at Harvard.  

Garden planning time.  I'm looking at Seed Savers Exchange and Bakers Creek.

spaghetti sauce

OHMYGOD! I made something delicious.  

1.  dice four onions

2. douse in almost half a cup olive oil

3.  cook till mush - almost an hour

4.  throw in one pound frozen ground beef, scraping away and flipping 

5.  while the beef browns, add

maybe 1/4 cup brown sugar

several shakes of ume vinegar

a small fistful of thyme because you can't find oregano even though you know you had like a pound

maybe 2 tsp of cocao powder

two sparing shakes of nutmeg

maybe a tsp of cayenne

6.  puree one head of garlic with a little crushed tomato

7. add one 6 lb 6oz can of crushed tomatoes and the garlic pureee to the pot.

It's awesome.  I'm gonna let simmer for several hours more.  

I was such a crank this morning until I scrubbed every dish and surface of the kitchen.  Then I felt joy.  Charlotte dried.  

inauguration lapbook

This morning we went on a fantastic field trip where we pretended to be runaway slaves on the Underground Railroad. Actors dressed in period clothing and we were conducted between freedom stations, where we learned about slavery and the Underground Railroad. At one point, Charlotte was so scared she cried a little. Eleanor started acting silly after the first hour. I was really proud of them for participating in question and answers and for remaining so quiet. Charlotte really empathized with the slaves. She and I began planning a lapbook on the topic.

Our other big activity today was listening/watching inauguration footage. They got a little tired of it, but when I tried to get Eleanor to do the UGRR for our first lapbook, she insisted on doing presidents. We are all excited about the Obamas in the White House. So we ventured out once more to get brightly colored file folders and cardstock. By bedtime we had made 43 tiny, red matchbook folders with a different presidential portrait glued to each one, all glued to a big folder. Eleanor really enjoyed the activity and all three girls did gluing and cutting and arranging by number. There were marvelous math opportunities in multiplying how many sheets we'd need to use and sorting presidents by number. Tomorrow everybody will get labeled. Eleanor also cut out a giant Obama and is determined to include his family heavily in her book. It's cool that they can relate to his daughters.

As someone who has always been drawn strongly to subcultures, I felt a new tug toward the mainstream as I watched inaugural footage with the kids. I'm afraid to admit it (because I hate being made fun of by right wing relatives for being so naive) but I really believe in this guy and it feels good to believe. I'm tired of cynicism. I believe in his integrity and it makes me want to participate instead of sidestepping. For Obama, I would wear a suit, curl my hair, and use my best manners. ...He makes playing the game seem worth it, which is new for me.

new school schedule

Here's how I'm feelin:


Gracie is teaching the girls how to draw.

I go back to work in one week, so procrastinator's adrenaline is kicking in and I'm gearing up.  Bumblebee Elementary is trying something new this semester.  

Block 1

We are going to leave the house everyday at 8:30 so we don't lolly around all morning.  We'll go to the gym, where we all get exercise, or on assorted field trips.  

Block 2

Upon arriving home, we will do our first block of "schooling" which we have dubbed, "Secret Codes."  These are a little math, Spanish, and piano practice each day.  Piano will have to wait till I can get a keyboard... and Eleanor wants to learn electric guitar instead, but I think learning to think in music is important so I'm calling it a priority.  

Block 3

Lunch, then reading for the girls, a nap for Gracie, and dishes for me.  

Block 4

Special Projects 

input: read, listen, or watch topic of day/week from history, literature, science, social studies output: art-making, book-making, oral narration, written paragraph, and/or lapbook

(this is my favorite!  there is so much to learn!)

Block 5

Go to Grama's where maybe you'll do workbooks before dinner and give Grama a quiet break before running around the house like banshees, with all the TVs going.

Block 6

Shower routine as soon as we get home (this is easy to laze out on.)  And story.  And bed.  

Then I have an hour or two to do laundry and either paint, lesson plan, or futz around online.

Tonight I choose futz.

Eleanor has exhausted me lately with her wild ways.  I am hoping the predictability of more structure will help calm her.  I don't know where she gets it. ..

working artist statement

I' ll always remember the moment excavators became my favorite thing.  It was night; everything was still.  A powerful spotlight shown on snow falling gently toward an army of dozens of excavators, assembled for the job that would become the local outlet mall.  After feeling seethingly toward this symbol of suburban sprawl, so prevalent where I live, my heart saw the poetry in this shape, repeated here so beautifully, lit so romantically.  I began to photograph the animal-like excavators and their habitat, where subdivisions meet monoculture cropland.  It's hard to be nostalgic about either half of this landscape's history, but there is still a choking feeling I get with each new housing development.  This work is my observation of the need for community planning, more so now than ever, as the population grows and peak oil looms.  

Gracie and I went to Home Depot last night and picked up some cabinet birch plywood for the paintings and borrowed a sander from Uncle Bob.  Gracie says, "Bob."  Ray and Nicole were at Chris and Bob's and we played cards.  Ray and I played war for a long time and I had such a good time laughing with him.  My mom took the big girls to see Hotel for Dogs, out to dinner, and for a sleepover.  They said they had an "amazing" time.  This afternoon, I took the girls to a Girl Scout field trip and tried waiting  there, but the familiar, painful brand of distracted boredom I'd forgotten from school set in and I had to escape.  I wasn't sure if that was socially acceptable or not, but I had to get out of that little room before I choked.

I've been drinking

I am watching No Reservations and drinking beer, which takes me away without leaving - after a day of wanting to bang my head into the wall and maybe once actually doing so.  Maybe it's my crush on the host, or the allure of travel, or the sexiness of the food.  I love that show.  

I had the weirdest dream last night that ended with Rick Bayless and Bobby Flay and another TV chef in BJ and Andi's kitchen, all cooking, and I was mad at Tania and BJ because they were gone for five hours after BJ told me I had to stay there because there was a shooting around the corner, and just walked in with coffee and said, "what?" then Rick Bayless asked me why I was smiling, because he was there cooking, of course, and he said, try this, it's blah blah (dramatic Rick Bayless speak) blah blah, and put a forkful in my mouth and it was just macaroni and cheese out of the box.

Chris threw out my kombucha mushroom I've had for 9 months.  He was cleaning the fridge out and thought it was something so rotten it was unrecognizable.  I was mad for exactly one minute.

Last week we all got the flu at once after Eleanor had it.  Charlotte and I took turns at the toilet all evening and at one point my sweet girl rubbed  my back, as I had been doing for her.   She is going to lose her first front tooth any minute now, and will lose the last of her baby face.  

hot chocolate

Gracie winks now. She will creep up to you, wink, and run away laughing.

procrastinating dishes, drinking warmed raw milk with single origin bitter chocolate, too much cayenne, a hint of cinnamon, and a little of my new raw honey. feeling very Winnie the Pooh about this honey.

Finished a giant pot of split pea soup today, inspired by a ham bone Aunt Chris brought over the other night for dinner. Even though Eleanor was sick, I had to take them out to the first co-op pickup this afternoon. I have been very excited about this underground meat club. It's like raves for thirty somethings. I got raw milk and raw honey and some grass fed meats and eggs. I have some yogurt in the oven already and I can say that a shredded wheat biscuit with the milk and honey is divine.

Foolishly, I tried to squeeze in a quick trip to the grocery store on the way home, for children's tylenol and more split peas because the soup had too much meat. We got halfway through produce and ran out the in doors so Eleanor could throw up on the sidewalk. I called Sue and she very kindly picked up what we needed.

I also happened to receive some books in the mail today including Nourishing Traditions which is not answering every single question I'm coming up with, but so far very interesting.

We are reading Clarice Bean, which we utterly love. Several chapters read by me is no longer enough, so now after I leave them for the night, Eleanor reads them another. Gracie has been sleeping with Charlotte and seems very pleased about the arrangement. She has the most fantastic teethy happy smile that she always flashes around Charlotte.

puking from the top bunk

I was too depressed to write anything lately. Or maybe just didn't have anything to say. Right, Christmas. Busy, nice, etc.

Eleanor threw up five times last night. The third time she puked in her sleep, on herself. the fourth time she stuck her chin over the edge of the bunk and threw up off the side, onto Charlotte's pillow.

I went to the gym yesterday and it felt great. prescription for depression. I was practically dancing on the elliptical machine to...Phish. I thought about how absurd it is that I try to play down my interests that Chris doesn't share. I confess. I love Phish. I told him I would have made a great wife for a hippie.

We saw My Morning Jacket at the Chicago Theatre last week. Pretty awesome. I felt distracted by the irritating audience members, so I tried to get a beer to relax, but they wouldn't sell to me. Apparently my license has been expired for fifteen months.

On New Years Eve, Chris and I played guitar hero and it was really fun. Why you would want to practice getting good on a fake guitar, I don't know, but I can't the idea out of my head that I am going to get us a bass and a guitar. I don't care anymore if that's poser. That's the fear that has kept me from trying till 31 in the first place.

I think maybe I am an art poser. Through grade school and HS I really liked theatre and I was good at playing an instrument and singing and also making an ass of myself in public. In visual art, I prefer the process to the product, ephemeral art to archival. I like the openings, experiences more than I care about the objects. usually. I am a minimalist. I don't want to collect art. I'm a pragmatist too, so I don't want to go through the expense to create something without a good reason. It's not black and white, but I think I may have missed my calling by a few degrees. I don't know. who cares.

Chris is reading this awful book that he actually bought by a self-indulgent, self-proclaimed buffoon, tucker max. He is reading me these bits that he is laughing out loud about, and after passing through feelings of, who gives a shit, then, what an ass, I arrived at wait a minute, I pulled some of this shit in college and you didn't think it was funny at all. I actually arrived at jealousy that this guy was having more fun than me now. Surely, within the hour, I will circle back to who gives a shit.

Eleanor is throwing up again.