My children were so very, very young – still babes in arms – when I saw the 1998 film Hideous Kinky. It was not a satisfying film in many ways; a bit navel-gazing, perhaps, and a subject matter I usually react to by rolling my eyes in the back of my head until they click: a young, flaky hippie mother (for realz? I’ve had enough “hippie” in my life, thanks) named Julia and her two young daughters drifting about Morocco apparently because life in England wasn’t fun enough or whatever – for Julia.  It was a relatively harmless film.  But still, as a newly-minted mother myself it was almost unbearable to watch a caregiver who was primarily self-absorbed, her children getting ill or lost and treated as afterthoughts in her aimless search for fulfillment. I remember – although danger never heats up too terribly for these two young girls – white-knuckling it through parts of what to another person might seem relatively innocuous. It’s not that danger lurks around every corner: it’s that our children rely on us for every safety and bit of care those early years and this has always made the hair on the back of my neck stand up a bit.

I remember a scene in the movie though, when Julia (as played by the always-awesome Kate Winslet) and her daughters are waking in the morning.  They’re in a barely-furnished room on a pallet on the floor and the woman and girls are in a state of undress, piled together with arms tangled on a bed.  They’re cuddling and talking and in no hurry to get up. The scene struck me viscerally; these three on their own together, sleeping and living as one, no rules or schedules or anything but the adventure ahead.  A simple life.

Now at the time I was still convinced we’d be doing things the mostly-normal way because to me the mostly-normal way was apparently a Moral Imperative, that is scheduling the kids’ nap and putting them in playschool then preschool then school and then soccer practice or whatever, with bedtimes and wake-up times and dentist appointments and Doing Everything Right and mostly doing what everyone else does. It was like a part of me wanted one life but didn’t believe it was possible and was doing the best to live the Normal life because the Normal life must be good, or else why would everyone do it?

So, actually as it turns out, I have the life I wanted back then. I have it now. No, I’m not in Morocco or anywhere fabulously exotic (to an American anyway). But everything Free and amazing and nurturing and loving and whole about that scene in the sun-dappled room, two sleepy children and their mother together, a trio that have the whole day together – I have this. I have this and sometimes I barely want to talk about it. I don’t want to say anything for worry someone will come in and try to stop it. Or maybe more accurately, that by saying I have it somehow I will curse it and come to an end, because no one deserves this kind of daily, marching happiness.

When I had young babies I used to dream of getting “a break”.  I got one now and then but not nearly enough. I used to make jokes about how hideous life with babes was; if I looked at old entries here in this journal I would find these jokes.  I try to forgive myself for what I said. Becasue I realize now that our culture is terribly isolating and shitty to new mothers and carers. Our society is terribly un-nurturing to children, whatever lip service is given to Family Values etc. I wasn’t the problem when I had young babies and my children certainly weren’t. At the time I looked forward to school so I could have Time To Myself and Get Things Done, you know those Important Things that are Real Life.  Now I know that it was my culture and to an extent my family who screwed up in teaching me about Real Life; it is my children I learned and am learning through. I don’t hold a lot of ill will toward those who let me down (although I can lay down with accuracy in how they did so).  I’ve found the truth for myself and I am daily incredibly grateful I began this discovery. It has brought me untold amounts of joy.

These days I don’t hardly ever, ever, ever need A Break. I write joyfully and sew joyfully and wash dishes joyfully and meet with friends joyfully and run around town with my children joyfully. I love taking care of their bodies and I love being the one they run to when they are hurt (so rare, and so quick they are to jump up and run off). I sometimes feel guilty I am not doing that Real Important Stuff like having a status-y career, which would make me Perfect in the eyes of the mainstream. I don’t miss the status-y career thing enough to be tempted, I don’t even miss the money enough to be tempted (ahh… it was good money though) but I feel guilty because many people seem to have lives they don’t want and I have one I want so much.  I have a life I want so much that sometimes I feel like a Weirdo for A. enjoying it and B. getting away with it. We all have our down days and I have them, yes.  Also I am only one small tragedy or illness from having myself challenged and from suffering.

But I have been so fortunate so far.

Since we are a one-car family and Ralph keeps needing the car, today we spent our day on the bikes running errands – taking our down comforter to the laundromat and paying rent and paying the garbage bill and meeting my mother for lunch. I love spending time with the children on our bikes; they have the best observances and I genuinely enjoy their company tremendously. For the first time in a long time, since we had to be on the bikes for so long, I found myself saying, “I hope it doesn’t rain.” But there was no small bit of peace in that as well, because I knew I had to run these errands and we had to be out in the weather; and if the weather treated us poorly we’d have no one to blame, only the situation to bear with as much good grace as we could.

And it didn’t rain.

Tomorrow I get to wake up with them crumpled against me. & then again, and again. & I drink up every drop.

This morning I was emailed by a friend to tell me I totes got mentioned on Craftzine’s blog today.* So that gave me a smile.

And on the sewing front I’ve got another coat finished for The Boy. Let me tell you, over and over again I sew the thing up and the kid grabs it and runs outside! I have to chase them to get a picture, and sometimes I don’t even get that far.  But in this case:

(He’s holding Felix Jr.)

This is a new version of his Oliver Twisted coat (thanks for the name inspiration Robin!) made from a wool/nylon, underlined in natural bull denim, and lined with a 100% silk twill.

This is the fourth time I’ve made this coat. Nels wore last year’s version to death. He wore it in the blistering hot, in the snow, on cool wet days and warm dry ones. He wore it so much that as his arms lengthened over the year (he grew five inches in one annum – save me!); the lining and sleeve hems merely pulled apart and the sleeve ran ragged. He wore it any time I said “get a coat” and any time he felt he needed one. The only coat he liked close to as much was a green twill version I made from the same pattern.

I think I currently enjoy making structured jackets more than just about any other sewn thing. I am always surprised by what I learn.  In this case, although I did a better job constructing this year’s version, (holy damn that collar application! Are you kidding me?) the truth is, I rather favor last year’s version of the coat. This is mostly due to the fact the fabric used last time – a 100% poly suiting from JoAnn’s on sale – had an amazing texture. Still, this version’s wool/nylon is very suitable, the slippery nature of this lining is superior to quilting cotton from last year, and I did do a better job with technique. So there’s that.

I am also a little bemused I made a nearly identical colorway to the previous coat. What can I say, I am  an Unoriginal Ass. I am in a difficult position as the vast majority of my fabric is either gifted to me or purchased online. Things I order aren’t always what I originally expected.

This morning Nels and Phoenix, after breakfast, ran outside to do some kind of garden work/spontaneous house construction. I looked outside and there was Nels hoeing away – in the coat.

You can read a million nauseating details of the garment’s construction at my Flickr tagset.

In other news, the playfully cool-then-warm weather and gentle sunshine has been perfect walking weather.  Walking with the children is amazing and humbling because they are more present, genuinely joyful, and charming conversationalists over anyone I’ve met. And in the view of Ralph and my all-time favorite tweet, every time I take the kids on our walks I have to laugh at how, well, sketch it can be around these parts.

(Not shown in this photo: heaving piles of concrete, “glass parade” – Phoenix’s term – and used condoms.)

* yes I say “totes”, and arse off directly if you have a problem with this.

Ruby Beach, today

My son’s been obsessed with sea life lately; twice in the last week he’s taken me to the Swansons boat launch in HQX to find a “fish skeleton” he saw there once with his father. Ralph later told me this incident was over a year ago. After yesterday’s most recent failed search Nels suggested we go to a “real beach” and find a starfish. So we decided to make that our mission today.

All four of us love roadtrips; the children always request we parents get up early and “snuffle them out to the car”. This means as they sleep we pack up the food and clothes and supplies and then slip our (still-sleeping) babies in blankets out to the warm car, with breakfast on the road. I literally do not know who likes this ritual more, the children or Ralph and I.

It’s been a year since our last trip to Ruby Beach but the weather is similar: warm and lovely with some soft rain. Once again we have the dog and once again we do our best not to get wet but get wet anyway. Ralph builds a massive driftwood bridge over a freshwater outlet that would otherwise not be crossable unless you’re able to wade knee-deep.

While Ralph and Phoenix build the bridge (with fake-shivery dog in tow) Nels and I search for our starfish; we nearly get beached on a few seastacks (I can’t tell if the tide is going out or coming in which compounds this issue). Nels seriously loves nothing more than to get “caught” along with me. He knows it’s dangerous but since I’m with him he’s happy to do it anyway.

My son and I find mussels and barnacles and limpets and kelp and a neon-orange sea snail – but no starfish. I remember toward the end of our searchings that he’d found last year’s starfish in the open water (likely dead or injured although it had been impossible to tell). We play and play and play, spending over two hours in the warmth and damp. The ocean is gentle and tender but ferocious and unrelenting. My son talks to me joyously and musically and almost non-stop, but listens to every rejoinder I make. Alone with my children I am often prone to silence, rather like my departed father (this is odd becasue with grownups I am quite talkative).

Phoenix is a stormy presence, alternatively cheerful and open and then snapping at Ralph or I. She wades through the warm water and stirs it with sticks; she tenderly shepherds the dog and in her ministrations calms his decrepit timidity.

Nels says: “I want to live here!”

Back at the car we get the kids into dry clothes* and feed them from the large basket of food Ralph had prepared. Driving home they both fall asleep, their sea-kissed faces flushed and happy. At home I knead dough and wash dishes; I launder our wet clothes and wash the dog and clip him and dry him and clean out the tub. Ralph spirits off to band practice, afterward bringing home bandmate and friend F. We drink red table wine and eat homemade pizza and smoke on the porch and F. and I talk circles around Ralph about our favorite movies and a variety of hodgepodge subjects and before we know it it’s 10:30 and another wonderful weekend draws to a close.

* We got wet and no other beachgoers did: seriously? Every. Single. Other. Beachcomber was all decked out in REI and North Face wicking-gear and driving newer Hondas, VWs, Subarus; most carried huge, expensive cameras (and only one other group had kids!). We four were trudging in our soaking-wet cotton and Ralph had split the ass out of his pants (for reals). And yes, people were giving us side-eye.