Cold Temps and Warm Memories

Sitting by the fire, snug as a bug in a rug, just as my dad predicted we'd be today back in the days we insulated this house. This Halloween day where The Cat in the Hat, Little Cat A, Little Cat N and Sally went all around town at above zero temps is a distant memory.

Lasagna just out. Kitchen's a mess. Piles of laundry. Gotta bring more fire wood inside. One kid's napping so I figured why not write? I can barely keep up. It's been -30 to -40F outside the past couple of days. The dog hates it. He always refuses to "go potty" outside the first time we have these temps each year. Yesterday I didn't realize he'd pooped on the floor in the other room until my toddler told me to "clean it up." And I didn't realize he'd peed in yet another room until we were eating dinner and the baby crawled into it and fussed. This type of excitement is normal these days. It's usually not the dog, but one of the kids who's causing the excitement.

For us humans, who can bundle up, it's kind of a treat to have the cold temps because the sunrise (about 11am) and sunset (about 2pm) are to die for, and in between the sky is as blue as my eyes. I tried to photograph this without much luck.

We recently went on a trip to MN to see my parents. It's easier for me to remember milestones that occur in my kids' lives by the trips we take. This time, my son who has for about a year said "Dawah" in place of "Yes," said "Des" and now says "Yes" consistently. This is a kid who makes up many of his own words. In fact, he named himself "Nano," not very much like his name, and everyone's finally accepted it and joined him in calling him by that name. When we returned from our trip, he decided to do the ring trapeze at his toddler gymnastics place. For the first time, without being asked, he was not afraid at all. I find it fascinating how one day a kid will change his mind and decide finally to do something differently. The baby stopped army crawling and now crawls on his knees (maybe because grandma has carpet and that would be tough to pull a body on). He took up standing and now even cruising a tiny bit.

I can't remember without a picture, so I'm always photographing, printing, and putting in books the things we do. For sure the "firsts" are recorded. Here's the first time our 9 month old baby stood up. It was no problem at all. He saw the water and was so excited to get into the bathtub that he stood, beaming. He is such a doll.

When the baby turned 10 months is about the time that he and the 32 month old began to interact. It dawned on me that life is about to get much easier when we were feeding them both the same snack, Cheerios, on the airplane. A lot of time has passed since I started writing this post. We've eaten dinner, played trains, cleaned the kitchen. Right now they are watching Curious George together while the big brother pretends to feed the little brother peas with a spoon. They're both highly entertained. I can't wait to see what they imagine once the baby is walking.

Home Sweet Home

My cousin from Minnesota instant messaged me, "Are you home?" I replied, "Yes." She said, "Great, you can come over any time; I'll be at home every day running my daycare!" "Oh, no," I said. "I am in Alaska!" By "home," she meant where I grew up . . . which was where I was going to be but I wasn't there yet. I was still 3,000 miles away from her house packing my bags for the flight.

I refer to Alaska as "home." I have spent the last six straight years there plus the two summers before it. It is the place I know best as an adult. It's where I spent most of my twenties. I know where to buy supplies to repair the house, where all of the playgrounds are, the trails. I know where to look for jobs, to take a knitting class, to eat. It's where almost all of my friends live. And it's the place with which I identify best. That said, I think my husband, who was born and raised there, is my glue to the place. Take him away from me, and the "home" would be gone.

It isn't until I arrive at my parents' home in Minnesota, where I spent the first 18 years of my life, and where I have spent almost all of my breaks and vacations since, that I really feel "at home." Granted, it is probably partly because my parents are still there and in the same roles they were all of my life. My dad never sits still. I don't think he will ever realize how much physical labor he's done outside and inside the homestead here in his lifetime. To care for 575 acres is all he knows. My mom does her part too. She cleans and organizes excessively and does almost all of the cooking and other in-house chores too. She of course does work outside too but inevitably a lot of outdoor work (eg. snow moving, haying, gardening, mowing, building) is done with machinery and tools and those go along with the garage and is primarily executed by my dad. My mom is creative too, and smart. They are both full of good ideas, and I can't wait to see their creativity come back to life in full-swing when they retire and have more time. When we visit them, my husband helps my dad, and I find myself more and more tending to indoor chores and children with my mom.

Back to the point. I must have been raised in amazingly comfortable home. When I hear, at my parents' house, the clock ticking in the living room or the forced air heat kick on, I feel at ease. If my husband or my kid asks for scissors or some string, a hat, whatever, 99% of the time I not only know where it may be in my parents' house but also what color it will be when I go to get it. Even the simple items are ingrained in my mind. I don't even know my own home in Alaska as well and we have 99% fewer items accumulated in it. The child's mind is incredibly impressionable.

It is for me (and probably to my parents as well) satisfying to go back in time. My toddler sleeps in the twin bed I slept in almost all of my life . . . in my red room with the two windows, the flannel snowman sheets and the stuffed and framed snowman picture hanging above the bed, the solid wood floors that my dad refinished when I was a toddler, the same night lights, same dressers. I read to him, before bed, the same books that my parents read to me and I memorized as a child. He plays with my old toys. He rides the tricycle that I rode at his age. It fills my heart with joy.

It brings to me hope when I see my husband take an interest and when I help too at my parents' place. He took the lead role in canning their venison this year, something my parents hadn't done for 25+ years even though they have all of the supplies to do it. He will help my dad to process the rest of it tonight. He boiled a turkey. My mom showed me how to make applesauce out of the apples from their trees for my kids. We got 10 inches of snow and my husband plowed and snow-blowed. We are eating tons of hard-boiled eggs from the free-range chickens. I showed my son how to make a snow-man, something we can't do in Alaska because the snow doesn't stick. My husband is learning about the tractors. He mulched the blueberry plants, which produce organic food customers and for a local CSA farmer to distribute. He's out deer hunting with my dad, a past-time I never shared with him, but that provides organic meat for us every year.

It doesn't seem like much, but it is. It's living off of the land. Eating healthy. Working hard. And taking good care of the things you worked hard to get. It's being thankful for simple things. I think I inherited the values. I think my kids will too.

I'd like to see us and our kids continue keeping the farm up after my parents can't any more. Although I can't say for sure that we would be a success, I think we have the right ambitions. My husband likes to work with machinery, to hunt, and to prepare food. He does thorough, quality work with integrity. I like to be outdoors, to do for hours the same task, to eat food that is grown without chemicals, to breathe clean air, to fall asleep to the sounds of the wilderness, and to live as stress-free as possible.

I am so thankful to be able to fly home to this.

Be thankful for what you have.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Day 2 of The Shift

Yesterday, Day 1 of "the shift" was telling. I am in a daze. I ache all over. I couldn't sleep until 3am. I think it was a minor flu, too. We missed play date this morning because I just could not get our act together; instead, the baby is napping and the toddler is watching PBS. Being responsible for everything for 14 hours is much different than doing it for 9 or 11. When I say "everything" I do have to admit that it could be MUCH worse. My job as a stay-at-home mom does not leave me responsible for money, which is probably the largest responsibility and stress of all when it comes to living in today's world. Still, being a stay at home single parent for long hours is exhausting, especially when there is a house to keep up, various other business to attend, school, and most importantly 2 kids who cannot eat the same foods, nap at the same time, play together, or sleep through the night . . . not even close. I realize that if I microwaved our food and had the T.V. on all of the time, life would probably be easier; it's just not my style although I'm not too proud to resort to it from time to time.

It is ironic that my husband started the 12 (in his case much longer) hour shift yesterday, because just a year ago I wrote in this diary that I would not be married to a shift worker. It's funny how perspective changes when new opportunities and potential for growth are up for grabs. I could not be more proud and supportive of what he is doing right now. To gain experience supervising 9 guys who are older than he is, the shift will likely be temporary as this is his 4th major role with the company already in less than 10 years. Still, I can feel the stress not only of being responsible for our home and kids but from him too. It's been about 2 months now that he's been working extremely hard. He came home happy at 7:30 last night, but I absorbed the stress rolling off of him. I'm sure that the last thing he wants to do when he comes home is take care of us after taking care of people all day. He wants to eat dinner, to shower, and to relax. Me too.

I found myself last night having desires I've never had before. I wanted to go outside, to exercise, to read, or to watch a funny or enlightening movie or TV show--past times one of my good friends has but that I've never shared with her. Her husband works the shift too. It may be the cause. Well, not that I've never had these interests before (you know I love the outdoors and a good movie), but I mean at 9 or 10pm at night a burning desire to escape. When I couldn't do these things because the kids wouldn't go to bed when asked, I was crushed and frustrated. Upon inspection, I realize that all of my desired escapes are alike. They are all known to help relax and to relieve stress. I must have been much more stressed yesterday than I had been in a long time. Good thing I recently acquired my energy back from the birth 9 months ago. I couldn't imagine doing this while being pregnant. I felt more weak last year at this time than ever before in my life. It is tough to feel generally ill of the time, to have a compromised immune system so that you're sick all of the time, be responsible for growing a life, and to want to sleep but be unable because you're in charge of a little kid. I'm glad that is over.

Anyway, last night I picked up a book and read until midnight. The last time I did this with something other than a textbook (and I only read textbooks in the morning) was probably a year ago when a book on contaminants in the home came out. I actually gave my textbook a try and because I was reading about "Energy and the Environment" by Ristenen it fueled my tension. I tried to documentary, but it was about biodiesel fuel . . . enfuriating. I looked at the bookshelf. I knew Elizabeth Gilbert would be good for a light and easy read. My mother-in-law left me her book "Committed," because I said I enjoyed her "Eat. Pray. Love." Since then, my mother and one of my friends has borrowed and read it, so the book is definitely been well-used and loved and last night it was loved by me. It was nice to read something by the fire without any interruptions. On Friday, if I'm over this little bug, we'll drop the kids off at the daycare of the Alaska Club and work off some more stress.

My kid is at my side whining pathetically. It's at times like these when I see the value of the close-knit extended family that the childless Elizabeth Gilbert disses.

I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting winter in my book.