White Trash Gets Classy and other spontaneous events of the day.

IMG_3698Bowling isn’t the slumming event that it used to be in my college days – back when you could only display three letters of your name in the computer, thereby drawing out Viv, my sassy, gum chewing, bad ass alter ego. I’ve never been to such a high tech bowling alley as ACME Bowl. We took the kids there Saturday for some good, airconditioned fun, and we had a blast. The scoring is completely computerized, and every time Ruthie’s turn came up the gutter bumpers automatically popped up from in the floor! The hardest part was trying to keep Ruthie and Thomas both from chasing the ball down the lane – something we were not always successful at. Oops!

IMG_3709We also went to Target to buy me a yoga mat, and came out with a new bicycle for Ruthie. We’ve talked about getting her one for awhile, and yesterday just seemed like a good day. She’s so stuck in a rut with her boring three wheeled life that she kept calling it her new tricycle. Poor kid doesn’t even know how cool she is.

We walked to the park and she rode most of the way by herself. As I walked behind her, I couldn’t help noticing the muscles in her calves flexing and her long legs stretching to reach the pedals and the fact that she’s even OLD enough to ride a bicycle. She starts preschool tomorrow, and so far I’ve been in denial. I’m so screwed.

I Still Have What it Takes

A couple weeks ago Bryan and I saw Bruce Cockburn play at the Moore Theater in Downtown Seattle. I praise the good Lord in heaven that our seats were assigned, because whenever we see a show that only offers general admission tickets, the Earth must stop spinning if Bryan cannot spend an entire day waiting on the sidewalk outside the venue doors.

When U2 came around last year, I was only four weeks postpartum with Thomas. I actually refused to go with Bryan because I knew he would camp out all day to try and get inside the U2 Circle of Love, and I just wasn’t having it. I had a BABY to breastfeed for crying out loud, and I was still… recovering, if you know what I mean.

We actually bought tickets for separate shows and each brought a friend so I could sit in the nosebleed section, trying to stay awake and keep my boobs from leaking.

As irritated as I am by this behavior, his tireless obsession usually pays off. Like the time we waited outside Portland’s Rose Garden all day even though I was in my first trimester with Ruthie and eating nothing but saltine crackers. We got wristbands for that show and I was so close to The Boss his sweat was hitting me.

We also get the best seats EVER at movie theaters because we get there a half hour early. I feel like such a nerd. I complain the entire time we’re sitting there. I complain the entire ride to the theater. I complain as we leave dinner earlier than I want to. But when people can’t find seats five minutes before the movie starts, I’m not complaining.

It’s a ritual. Our dates would not be the same without it.

So I was grateful for assigned seats at Bruce Cockburn because it meant we could just drive there and sit down before the show started like regular people. And when we happened to get there early, we walked down to Starbuck’s at Pike Place Market to fuel us for the evening.

As we were leaving Starbuck’s, a tourist family stopped and asked me where a good place was to eat. I gave them a few suggestions, swayed them off a few of their ideas, and off they went.

I cannot tell you what a good mood that put me in! I’M STILL A CITY GIRL!

For years I lived on Queen Anne and walked UNDERNEATH THE SPACE NEEDLE to Belltown for work everyday, It was a dream life. Even when Bryan and I were married we lived in a tiny apartment a block from the Seattle Center. I got asked for directions by tourists all the time, BECAUSE IT WAS OBVIOUS I WAS A CITY GIRL.

I do miss those days. Back when I was naïve to Seattle housing costs, I swore an oath to myself that I would raise my children in the city, but when it came time to buy we couldn’t make it happen.

I love my house. We bought it because it’s in the middle of an urban center, even though that urban center is in the suburbs. But we get most of what we wanted out of urban living, which is walkable access to almost everything we need. What I miss most about the city is the funk. The most popular breakfast spot here dons white lacey doilies over their light fixtures, white lacey curtains, and mauve décor.

Not funky. Not hip.

But it’s getting there. We have The Red House, and The Met, and rumor has it a Trader Joe’s is moving in soon. But the likelihood of seeing any tourists down here is pretty slim, so I won’t be getting asked for directions.

By the way, seeing Bruce Cockburn live is the exact opposite experience of seeing Pierce Pettis live. You already know how Pierce rambles, but Bruce is so quiet during his shows it’s almost like you’re sitting in on a recording session. He’s very introverted.

However, this allows for some very odd and entertaining banter by the audience. I’ve seen Bruce play twice, now, and I’ve never experienced a more eccentric audience. People take his silence between songs as an opportunity to shout things at him, like song requests, or phone numbers, or pleas to never stop playing.

But nobody asked him for directions.

Welcome to the House of Barbeque.

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This weekend we had another BBQ and Marshmallow roast with friends. In attendance were six adults and seven children under the age of six.

You may see that as chaos, but I had a blast.

One of the gals who came is my doctor/workout partner/friend. Her little boy, who is the same age as Ruthie, apparently named our home the House of Barbeque after this spectacular event.

Hey, it works for me.

God bless my doctor/workout partner/friend, though, because she reminded me how blessed my life is, with a husband who provides for me to stay home, who builds me fires and grills me a steak, who writes poetry, and who makes me laugh.

Lately I’ve been complaining about stupid things like my laptop because it’s too heavy, and I want a new one, and blah blah blah. But after spending the evening with her, and being reminded about the important things, I realized I was being a prima donna biatch about the laptop.

I love perspective, even when it kicks me in the ass.

So I heretofore declare this residence officially as The House of Barbeque, and herein we shall love God, love one another, and have ass loads of fun.

Anyone care to join us?

Are We There Yet?

Entertained by empty water bottles

Just got back last night from our annual camping trip to Orcas Island in the San Juans. Getting there involves two hours of driving, an hour ferry ride, and what turned out to be a four hour wait for the ferry because the first one we tried for was full.

It started off pleasantly enough when Ruthie realized we were taking a ferry to our destination, and she started hollering, “WHERE’S OUR LIFE JACKETS? WHERE’S OUR LIFE JACKETS?”

Thank you, Dora. So much.

But we missed the first ferry and it was a three hour wait until the next one, which turned into a four hour wait because it was late, and you’d think with waits like that there would be something to do to pass the time – but there is really. nothing. to do. (stupid, state-run ferry). Well, there were some rugged, death defying paths down a steep embankment to the beach, but I was wearing my pretty sandals instead of my functional sandals, so there was no way I was getting down there without breaking my neck or getting the worst ‘rug burn’ on my ass that is humanly possible.

So we wandered around for a couple hours until Bryan finally decided it was worth it to pull Ruthie’s tricycle out of the car. And after dragging her around the hot pavement for an hour we decided that tricycles SUCK because you can’t get any leverage with the pedals directly on the front wheel.

Then after awhile we all smooshed into the front seat of the car to keep everyone contained without having to do any actually running, and I decided it was a good idea to hand out fruit leathers, which resulted in very sticky fingers in a very crowded and enclosed space.

Sticky hands on a son who uses your boobs as handles to pull himself up – the aftermath can be disturbing to the random passerby.

So when you add an extra three hours to your travel time that happens to extend over the dinner hour, and your husband missed his nap time, and your three year old is being extremely high maintenance with the running into traffic thing … it makes for a long day.

But we survived, albeit with a little time shaved off the end of my life.

On the way home we were hoping to catch the 1:30 ferry from Orcas Island, but it was filled up long before we even left our camp site because all the morning ferries were full and spilling over. BAH. We then had to wait for the 4:20 ferry, which was delayed on Shaw Island for an extra forty-five minutes due to a “passenger situation.”

At least on the return trip we were waiting with friends who also had toddlers, so they spent four hours filling empty water bottles with gravel, eating grass, and generally nitpicking each other – but at lease they left us out of it.

Oh, did I mention that there were NINE preschoolers and toddlers in our group? And that NONE of them had a nap because we were sitting in the dead grass waiting for the ferry all afternoon? Well, none of them except for Thomas.

It was fun to be with friends, and the group thing helped relieve the stress, and Ruthie ONLY ran away from us twice that afternoon. That’s a record for her.

Summer Fun

Last Spring we bought a new patio set and fire pit for our deck. We opted to go with the ‘converstation’ style set, rather than a typical dining table and chairs because we wanted an outdoor living room feel. I have never regretting our decision, and the more we use the deck space, the more in love with it I become.

Again this evening we talked about walking to the park, but in the end decided to stay in our own yard. The kids played in the sandbox, Bryan read a book, and I did a little theraputic weeding, and it was divine.

More and more our yard is feeling like an oasis, and my vision for the space continues to grow. Just last Sunday I read an article in the Seattle Times’ Pacific Northwest Magazine about a garden makeover for small spaces, which happened to also be for a family with small children. I fell in love with the idea of a small brick path meandering through my yard for the kids to ride their bikes, and a playhouse built on stilts over our current play area, and a beautiful mosaic at the base of our front steps to welcome friends and strangers. Fun ideas to plan for and save money for.

Last year was such a bust for entertaining because Thomas was new and I was a mess of depressed hormones. It killed me to not be entertaining, as throwing parties is one of my most favorite things to do. But I kept reminding myself it was just a season, and soon our doors would be open again, and they are. Yipee! Here is a collage of photos from some of our fun times so far this summer. If you’re not in these photos yet, I hope you can join us soon!

Bartering Gone Crazy!

Thanks to a link I followed from Maryam’s website, I just spent an hour reading about One Red Paperclip. In one year and fifteen trades, Kyle MacDonald bartered his way up from a red paperclip to a house.

That’s damn crazy.

I think my favorite part of the whole story is when he said on Canandian television that he’d never do a trade in Yahk, B.C., but then someone made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, only it had to be traded – you guessed it – IN YAHK. Poor Kyle. What to do? Fortunately, he found himself a loophole:

[…]You see, Jeff Cooper sent me some photos of Yahk and I’d discovered a technicality. There was a sign from Yahk that read: YAHK – UNINCORPORATED I figured that since Yahk wasn’t incorporated as a city or town or village or hamlet pretty much opened up a giant grey area as to where Yahk actually begins and ends. I could theoretically say that I’m in Yahk right now, and so can you. Yahk is everywhere and nowhere at once, so I was free to go there because it doesn’t really exist. Admittedly, an easy way out, but nevertheless, a loophole. I thought about my loophole proudly. It’s not everyday you discover a loophole. There was a way to go to Yahk after all.[…]

Anyhow, I know a few Craig’s List addicts who might be inspired to attempt something like this, right?

Congratulations, Kyle!

Eleven Days and Counting

This last week I looked at the calendar and almost had a heart attack: we’re going camping in less than two weeks and I have done NOTHING to prepare myself, either mentally or practically. I said to Bryan, “This isn’t to say we won’t have fun, but I’m really overwhelmed at the prospect of GETTING us there.”

It will be okay. I think I’m just out of sorts because I usually spend several weeks obsessing over every detail. But it’s not like we’re even into roughing it – we are definitely advocates of car camping. You know the old saying of taking everything but the kitchen sink? Well, we actually take that, too.

And I’m not kidding.

Last summer Bryan got a bee in his bonnet to take our hammock, which is WAY bigger than the kitchen sink. We all mocked him for it, the whole lot of us. But then again, we all took naps in it, too.

One of the ways I’m looking forward to this summer, is it will be the first year we’ve gone when I haven’t been pregnant (and puking) or had a baby on my boob. The kids are older and more independent, and will have fun running around.

It may actually FEEL like a vacation this year.

My Mug Gets Around

Danelle.

She’s cool, she’s funny, and she has pink hair – which I guess draws many “my husband would freak” comments from people, but I’m actaully wondering where she GOT the pink dye and would she be willing to do my hair because Bryan has been bugging me for years to go pink.

No joke.

But he also thinks it’s sexy that I used to smoke.

Danelle wielded her camera at a birthday party I attended a couple weeks ago and I FINALLY got face time on her blog. Danelle and I don’t cross paths much, but if we did I think we’d be fast friends (or maybe not. maybe she’ll leave mean comments on this post, but I can still dream, dammit).

In the meantime we stalk each others’ blogs.

Wherein I Bask in the Blessing that is my Life

Thomas

The way Thomas quietly soaks in the kiddy pool, hunched over his protruding belly, reminds me of the wrinkly old men on The Sopranos who sit in their steam rooms wrapped in a white towel. He has the belly, he has the bald head and the bow-legged hobble. He just needs a cigar to top it off.

A major heat wave has driven us outside for most of the day and evening, which has caused me to realize how much I love our yard. It’s like a park. In fact, yesterday I suggested we go to the park after dinner, but when After Dinner came I didn’t feel like leaving because our own yard was so much fun.

But this evening we brought a picnic dinner to our local farmer’s market, and after buying cherries and zucchini, we sat in the grass and partook – everyone except Ruthie, of course, because she no longer consumes meals during meal time. Though I don’t blame her for the apparent loss of appetite because there was another little girl who sat inches from our plates and just stared at us. Watching. Listening. It was unnerving and I kinda wanted to say ‘back off, bitch!’ but her mom was right behind her. Which brings up another point: what kind of mother ALLOWS her daughter to encroach so un-American-like on another human being?

We then let the kiddos splash around in the fountain, and when Thomas was done splashing he simply soaked like an old man in a hot tub. Ruthie, however, ran circles around the fountain at least eight times, which was fine with me because I knew she’d be tired enough to sleep when we got home.

It seems official: summer is upon us. I feel a constant film of perspiration coating my body. My cleavage and… other areas… are uncomfortably hot. And my kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in days because it’s just too damn hot to be in here.

But I’ve managed to keep my house ten degrees cooler than the outside, and my basement feels like it’s air conditioned. And all my flowers are blooming – the daisies, the lavender, the dahlias, the astilbe and hydrangea and roses – and we roast marshmallows in our fire pit, and my husband’s commute home today was ten steps up from his office to the kitchen, and my life couldn’t be any more perfect than it is right now.

Grace Sneaks In … again.

I fear this may be one of those posts where the random passer by will yawn and move on to the next blog. To them it will the boring what-I-did-last-summer type essays. But this post isn’t for the random passer by – it’s for me. Part of why I write is to remember, and the next time I become frustrated with Bryan, or dissatisfied with the way something happens (or doesn’t happen), I want to remember this weekend.

On Friday night we had dinner with a few friends, then after they left and the kids were in bed we went downstairs to watch some t.v. As usual, Bryan fell asleep after thirty seconds. But an hour later he woke up with a second wind and we stayed up until 2am watching episodes of Entourage on HBO’s On Demand.

If you know Bryan, you know he’s more of an up-at-5am guy than a bed-at-2am guy. In fact, currently his head is thrown back on the couch and his mouth is gaping open, snoring. This is the second time he’s attempted to watch the same episode of Deadwood on HBO and fell asleep. At 9:30pm.

But Friday night, and again on Saturday night, we flirted, I giggled, we made out, we… well, you know. But it was FUN, and light-hearted, and SPONTANEOUS. And on Sunday night we got a babysitter and had Mai Tai’s in a hilarious tiki bar in Bellevue where we talked. And we listened to each other. And we trusted, just a little bit.

Despite any successes or failures in our household projects this weekend (we had both), it was one of the best weekends I’ve ever had, and I was reminded of the poem Bryan wrote me during one of his first weeks traveling to Palo Alto. The way we loved each other this weekend was another way I’ve seen Grace Sneak In to our relationship.

Grace sneaks in
——————–

Every hour, on the hour
I think of you and
All that we are building together
In the midst of
Screaming children
The barking dog
Spilling milk
And I think to myself
These dents are adding up in
The way that hugging you
Tightly in our kitchen
(amidst those stressful moments)
Adds up to a something that
Is bigger than both you and I
Like those times when,
Seemingly undone,
We hug,
Only to find
Ruthie climbing to join us
In a third way

This is how Grace sneaks in

I used to read Secret Agent Josephine back when she was pregnant, and somehow I lost track of her blog until now, when she has a four month old baby! I read back on several of her entries to try and catch up with her, and discovered that she’s been making monthly movies of her little Baby Bug!

I was so inspired because ever since I discovered Windows Movie Maker (which comes with Windows XP) I’ve wanted to compile video footage of my kids for the grandparents – video scrapbooking, if you will. It was fun to see some examples of this in action.

My first attempt at movie making was a little too ambitious for Movie Maker, so I ended up having Bryan help me create The Year of Melodic Shouting using the robust Adobe Premiere program. But for simple video scrapbooking, I look forward to the standard Movie Maker program.

Getting Linky

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Tonight Bryan and I had tickets to see Over the Rhine at Neumo’s on Capital Hill. This band is probably responsible for our marriage, because as soon as Bryan heard that I even KNEW about them, he was in love.

They opened with Latter Days, which makes me cry whenever I hear it, so of course I had that big lump in my throat to keep swallowing down. Then, because they REALLY wanted to make me fall apart, they followed it up with I Want You to Be My Love (which I have written about before on this blog).

We had a great time, and had the added benefit of getting home early because this time around they actually opened the evening.

I spent some time updating my sidebar to reflect what I’m currently reading. I thought I would sneak in The DaVinci Code before I get to the next reading for my book club since the movie is or about to be released. I’m also curious about all the hype in the church world and the flack I hear Tom Hanks is getting for being a part of the movie project. Nothing burns me more than Christians objecting to art they know nothing about because they haven’t even seen/read/heard it. So I’m reading it before I offer any opinions, if I even have any.

And as usual I have a non-fiction I’m working through as well. The Cry of the Soul has been a great book for clarifying some of the things that trigger my anger. I’m not very far into it because the first 70 pages have already given me way too much to chew on. I’m a little overwhelmed. But good things are coming of it, and I can already see changes in the way I interact with Ruthie because of it. More later.

Kite Festival

Zugs and Rygels at the McBee

This morning we woke to a beautiful blue sky and warmer temperatures than yesterday. The population in Cannon Beach swelled with the coming of Saturday, and all the little ice cream shops and saltwater taffy shops were finally open.

Friends drove down for the day, as it was the annual kite festival in Cannon Beach – the reason we came here in the first place. The wind was so strong today that one of the lines on Bryan’s stunt kite broke, and sand was plastered to my son’s face via fresh sunscreen. It was just too windy to do anything, and the kids were miserable, so we moved the party to the grassy yard outside our motel door. We shared good conversation and dinner, then they were off into the night for the long drive back to Seattle.

I finished my book yesterday – after just a week! Amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t watch t.v. I will reserve any specific comments for our book club, but I will say that I appreciated how the author described the aimless wandering, the overwhelming nature of everyday things, and the depressive state of mind as she struggled through the grief of losing her brother. She was able to beautifully put words to nothings, to voids, to the numbness of experiencing loss. I think the next time someone asks me what it’s like to lose someone (not that anyone ever HAS asked me that) I will hand them a copy of this book.