it’s friday i’m in love

It’s 12:30 AM and my daughter is taking a bath on her own. My son is sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of basmati rice topped with roasted chicken. After a few bites he stands up and does his “zombie walk”, husss husss through his teeth, his hands out before him in claws – and stalks to the counter where I have the CSA donut peaches resting to further sugar up. He takes one and says, “Yum!” quietly under his breath – to himself – and bites in, his posture set in determined pleasure.

Ralph and I spent much of the day cooking and cleaning, carefully preserving and preparing the share harvest from the farm (which starts to swell this time of the summer) and washing dishes and making dinner ahead for tomorrow as it promises to be a busy day (we made a double-batch in case anyone joins us).

Needless to say the children have been enthralled with their new computers. By “enthralled” I mean they came to bed at 4:30 AM, happy and loving and snuggly, and the minute they got up they went back to them.  While they were so engaged – after we’d invited them out and they declined – Ralph and I went on a date to the Salvadorian restaurant for the most economical and delicious fare in town (horchata!). Afterwards we got groceries and enjoyed the sunshine together. I wore the thinnest tiniest cotton dress ever because it was just too hot for me. Windows down, sunroof cocked.  Back home I cut a little of my cotton linen blend for the kids’ nightshirts, but it was so warm it was hard to work. Instead I got on the bike with my daughter balancing produce boxes and we ran errands together.

Later children ran in and out and music swelled through the house, windows open but blinds down and a fan set up in the kitchen (our only defense given the Pacific Northwesterners’ typical lack of air conditioning); I visited a friend briefly and caught up with exciting developments in her life then brought her oldest child over on the back of the bike (as well as a lovely jar of homecanned raspberry preserves, my favorite kind of jam!). Family friends stopped by after a dinner date and we shared green tea and mircrobrew while our children peacefully played on the laptops and the kittens got up to their bullshit.


It was a good day and I think we’re going to have another one tomorrow. Just call it a hunch.

Archives. Five years ago. I break up with a friend.

spaceship earth, circa 1983

In part in response to my previous post, a friend sent me “The Bitter Homeschooler’s Wishlist” from  I must admit I laughed a bit (although in general I do not consider it a part of my mission to spread snark) which was then replaced by fervent noddings at numbers 21, 22, and 23. In reading this I also felt quite grateful to be surrounded by friends and family who are generally supportive and don’t say too many silly things regarding my kids’ exemption from school.

Oh and:

From the archives: I grew up in a bus.  I used to call myself “So Cal hippie trash” before I decided I should not use the word “trash” to refer to anyone, my own roots notwithstanding.  My parents smoked pot and sort of parented all groovy (which means: assily), but they fed us and loved us pretty good.  So here I am, rockin’ the raspberry beret and breaking the hearts of my brother and some other boy we met at Yosemite Park.

El Autobús Mágico

It’s hard to see, but beneath the white wave-like motif on this bewheemoth drift the words “Inner Space”; this must be before my mom added planets as well.  Yes, that is a real wooden door with stained glass (my mom handcrafted that too).  Click on the photo if you’d like to read a bit more about our exodus from sunny CA to rainy WA.

ETA: Ralph told me this post made me sound like a hippie who was kind of proud of being a hippie.  I pulled out my cloth menstrual pad and slapped him across the face. And then I went and ate some bark, or something.