Sasquatch

On of my favorite pictures of me as a baby was taken during nap time when I'm about two years old.  I'm lying in a bunk, maybe on a sailboat or at my grandparent's lake house, with huge headphones on - the kind that are black vinyl and plug into the 8-track or record player.  I bet Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues or Fleetwood Mac was blaring, drowning out the adult noise in the background.  I believe I've needed loud music in my life since then, and have vowed to start our children out with a love of music.

I'm not sure if it is because we are no longer in our early twenties or that we have kids, but concerts are a lot different these days.  And when we told people we were headed to the Gorge for a three day music festival with our babes in tow, two nights of camping in our new tent, most thought we were crazy.  Then we had to remind ourselves that our kids are super adaptable because of all the places they go and have been: restaurants, doctor appointments, Washington D.C. Smithsonian museums, weddings, Texas, movie theaters, sail trips, skiing, etc. 

Maybe one bonus of not living by family is having highly adaptable children that can and do go everywhere and behave well with you because it is so hard to find people to watch them both at a moment's notice and time and time again.  

We bought tickets long before I knew I was pregnant, and the only change I made after the fact was the inclusion of a cot on our packing list.  Hey, this Mama doesn't sleep on the ground!  We caravanned with Luke's brother Matt and his soon-to-be-baby-mama, Shannon.  She's due six weeks after us and the way babies arrive, they might even be born on the same day.  

Shannon also has a daughter named Maddie who, as a Freshman in high school, is way more grounded, polite and generally on top of it all than I ever was.  So, way to go Shannon.  And, we're all pretty excited about this new family inclusion.

Just over 43,000 people came to the sold out show, and maybe 5,000 suckers (including us) shelled out extra money for something called Premier Camping.  

With this coveted arm band as entrance only into the site, the premiers received a total of ten yucky porta-potties, a drippy sink for washing hands and four showers with hours-long waits. All this aside, the Gorge looks like a Hollywood backdrop or mini-Grand Canyon with over ninety degree daytime heat and typical high desert forty-five degree nights.  A generator-run  RV with only speakers as its body provided sound for the after show techno dance party less than 1/8 mile away that lasted until six o'clock a.m.  I'm so glad our kids have never been able to sleep through silence.  They've always needed the rush of a fan, loud CDs like Winnie The Pooh's soundtrack or much better Gillian Welch or their current favorite The Shins and a night light, or in this case, rave-strobe lights.  The thousand or so "woooh hooo" -ers danced like me, only thirteen years ago.  And as I laid awake in our tent, watching our ladies snooze on through, I couldn't help but think, yeah, my life has changed a bit but at least Luke and I can still rock out.  We set our tent up to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Kings of Lean and Mos Def. Their lyrics traveled with the setting sun over to our s'more-crazed feast.  

There were so many people at the show that were five years old when Janes Addiction was first playing, loud through Longmeadow speakers and in the back of my friend's green Mustang! Walking around, we felt a bit old, and me, pregnant.  We nodded to the two other families we saw and laughed at the horror on some of the faces, "Wow, you're like really pregnant.  So when you pee, it is because something inside of you is peeing and you actually pee out its pee."  And the teenage astonishment of me turning down their offered smoke had me wondering, where is it o.k. for pregnant ladies to smoke and party?  

The Bob Dualie stroller was a lifesaver.   It provided shade, a place for the ladies to sit and a way for them to not be flip-flop or dirty bare-feet trampled as we meandered our way through the various stages for music.  As our Sherpa it held the night-night blankies and stuffed friends, as well as a change of clothes for nighttime chilly breezes.  Thirteen hours of concerting takes a lot of stuff, you know.  Parking it on the main stage lawn and reclining their seats gave them a great place to nap and sleep.  On my frequent bathroom runs or traverses to the gyro and noodle hut, I could always find my way back.  And, silly concerters thanked us for bringing the 'baby carriage' so they could find their friends after their incoming text had arrived: "we're at the main stage, sitting by the baby carriage.."  When the token outdoor concert beach ball flew through the crowd people made sure it made its way back to Betty, time and time again.  

The Avett Brothers were so incredible I would drive hours and hours to see them play again, and would highly encourage others to do the same.  The Airborne Toxic Event was full of fun, but it was the Murder City Devils that had me feeling like an old lady as I plugged my ears. Yeah, I like punk and I like screaming music but not when you can't hear the lyrics and what you can hear is all shock value.  ( Inch Nails was a huge shock - I really, really liked them and they sounded amazing, truely.  

Folks around us cheered at Betty dancing with her pig, Wilbur, and were thrilled when Lucy joined in with her tiny dog Ruffey for their 9 Inch Nail hour-and-a-half rock out.  And just before Janes Addiction took the stage, we placed both gals in their pajamas and tucked them in with their blankies.  As soon as the stroller shades went down, they were out.  Perry Ferrell sounded better than he had at the Halloween show at Hammerstein Ballroom in '97.  Maybe it was the sunset over the gorge or the feeling that it was just us as we sat in front of the stroller, but it rocked.  Luke and I loved the show, and couldn't believe the girls slept all the way even to their tent-sleeping-bag transfer nearly four hours later.  

As we walked back to our campsite, all you could see were their tiny Converse All-Star feet poking out.  And, of course, exiting the main gates people made the "mooo" sound as thousands of thousands of people tried to all fit on a tiny narrow walkway.  The high fives of, "rocker kids...nice...starting them young" were funny.  I wondered what I would have said a decade and a half ago, at all my concerts it I say some cool-looking parents and their babes?  And, I wonder what the girls we say about it, years to come.  

Wow, Time Flies

Ahh, I used to love to blog regularly.  And I still would, if only I could clone myself.  There's so much that hasn't appeared on this site that I wanted to put here as a record of our life.  So is life, I guess.  Now like the start of a Blog Neglecters Anonymous meeting:

Hello.  It's been four months since my last post.  

On Valentine's Day at Mt. Baker, I thought I was nursing a hangover from two PBRs - cold ones toasted the evening of my last poetry reading.  The reading was great, but the ill feelings were so bad, I thought I must be allergic to alcohol.  Yet as the prior post shows, we all had fun making turns that day, regardless.  What's that saying?  Oh, a bad day on the mountain is better than no day.

By the first week of March, I was still feeling hung over.  My jeans weren't fitting, I took really long naps and ate strange things like bowls of plain yogurt and drank lemon juice.  I even ran, to ward off the pounds.  The fertility drugs I had taken in our two previous previous pregnancies lead me to believe I must have some terminal illness and, certainly couldn't be pregnant like baby-mama-group buddy Natalia suggested on day.  

I'll remember the nine o'clock pink plus sign for the rest of my life; images of three children under five years old flashed before my eyes, myself in curlers (wait, I don't even wear those!), and piles of laundry on the couch hiding nautical charts and ski gear flashed before my eyes in a sweaty panic.  But wait, I tried to tell myself.  Hadn't I always wanted this?  Through dozens of past fertility pills I had dreamed of casually finding out I was pregnant, instead of making it so in a doctor's office.  The grass is always greener, I supposed.  

Instantly, my body remembered where it had been before.  None of my favorite fancy jeans would button, so I was sure I was further along than the 5 1/2 weeks our initial ultrasound showed.  My thyroid levels quickly bottomed out, and I threw up, on average, of ten times a day for three solid months.  It made me lose all personality, and break down in places like the grocery store when someone would ask how I was doing.  Betty's book-on-tape addiction grew to phenomenal heights, and she and Lucy would listen to book after book from the library while I traveled from couch to bathroom.  Even the mama-dolly in their doll house was positioned next to its tiny wooden potty.  

I lost thirteen pounds.  I even traveled to Florida for a wonderful three week vacation with the ladies for a Grandparent Beck visit.  The beach and rest was just what our midwife ordered, and the sunshine had us aglow with daily swims, lizard sightings and dolphin views.  But, man, did we miss daddy when we traveled back home.  I'm sure strangers still talk about the pregnant lady with two small kids who held a gallon Ziplock to her chin at all times through the terminal and on the airplane.  Or, hopefully, they talk of the big sister that fed her little sister on the plane, tucked her in to her seat and read her nap stories on our thirteen hour journey home.  

I'm 18 1/2 weeks now.  No more sickness, just insatiable hunger.  My body looks six months pregnant, but hey, I hear a basketball under your t-shirt is the new fashion accessory of the summer.  I can feel the avocado-sized human doing back flips at night; butterfly flutters abound. We have a midwife but, sadly, will have to deliver at the mainland's hospital as home birth on the islands is a scarce practice.  At least we got to have that magical experience with Lucy May. So, we have a pilot-pal who will fly us to Orcas to pick up our midwife & doula, then to the hospital when the time arrives.  Our due date is November 11, but I'm saying Halloween because no baby (unscheduled) arrives on their due date.   Plus, I love little goblins...

The sailboat is in the water, the flowers are growing in the island sunshine and our ladies are incredible.

Luke is the universe's best daddy and is quickly becoming a true man of the sea.

He rises with the sun before work and drifts on the swells and goes for what's in season.  For a while it was the incredibly delicious spot prawn (oh, man) and now it is the ugly Ling Cod.  He also fly fishes for bass in one of the island's lakes. He's building me a sweet garden shed and plans to put that old farmhouse sink we used to have in our rainy kitchen at our old victorian.  He finished the rad playhouse for the ladies, and makes his lovely pregnant starving wife hot fudge sundaes, grilled cheese and tomato or anything else the little womb-munchkin craves, whatever the time of day/night.  He even plays beauty shop with the girls.  Ahhh.

Betty is 4 1/2.  

We had a beach picnic the other day to celebrate her half birthday, and just might have to make it a tradition.  She ended her school year at Children's House Montessori Preschool in an amazing place, developmentally.  Stacks of paper show her pages of invented-spelling lists and letters, family portraits in colored pencil and abstract chicken-bird paintings.  She became quite a woodworker, and has glued, screwed and drilled a ferry boat, helicopter and working car.  She enjoys the 'volcano work' the best and loves to see the red frothy lava over-spill.  She has about fifteen words she can write perfectly, and even more words she can read aloud.  But that isn't what impresses us.  She peels and cuts carrots, makes toast with butter, helps her little sister get dressed, feeds out pets, brings me ice water, does magic tricks, tells silly jokes and puts on the best interpretive spur-of-the-moment dance shows with her pig, Wilbur.  She also spends a lot of time telling Lucy May how to be a big sister, how to fold cloth diapers and how to swaddle her baby dolls.  

Lucy is 2 1/4.  

We want to make her a t-shirt with a Nike swoosh that says, "I Do It" because it is her mantra, screamed at high decibels.   She's proud to be daytime (not sleep time) potty trained kiddo wearing big girl panties - did I mention she wears the same size undies as big sister?  What a cute little thick Hungarian Gypsy-bloodied baby.  She signs about twenty animals and even more foods and general things like window or driveway, all thanks to her sign language teacher, Betty.  She counts to ten, omitting 4-7, sings Itsy Bitsy Spider, does somersaults, swims like a maniac in goggles, draws faces in crayon and can put on her own shoes.  She's is such a sweet little lady, who loves her big sister dearly.  We think she'll be a vet, with her love of animals, especially chickens.  If only Mama hadn't been attackted by that Montana parrot and Betty wasn't allergic to eggs and Daddy loved other farm animals than just steak-producing cows, we might get an urban coup.  Oh well.  

Love at Sea & Love at Peaks

Love.  And, let me tell you, it was endless this weekend.  Oh, the weather and oooh, the ladies and ahhh, the guy I love.

& Wow-la-la Mt. Baker with its epic terrain, aqua glaciers, organic lodge food, and music like vintage Bowie cranking throughout.  We also smile at the missing scene of floor-length fur, apres ski.

I love walking out the door with my man and it was made easier with our first teenage babysitter, Kerry.  She's fun and competent and just as responsible as I'd want our girls to be at that age.  I had a poetry reading at the library and it was so great to look out into the sea of local folks and see Luke listening to my words about our life and our ladies.  We enjoyed some cocktails afterwards, just like real adults with other adults.  Joyous.

Upon dropping off our dog, Tilly, at the 'dog hotel' we heard a hilarious story about our scared-y dog who's frightened of everything, even puddles.  Apparently during her last visit she was annoyed by a sparrow that was seemingly dive-bombing her head.  Out of nowhere, she opened her mouth and swallowed it whole, coughing a few feathers up afterwards. So much for bird-dog behavior.  

We then packed up our ever shrinking VW for a weekend in Mt. Baker country and made the second ferry of the morning.  I'm really starting to love beginning each journey with a ferry boat ride.  Even Costco seems like an epic journey instead of a mundane errand and, besides, I've always been one for road trips.  I just love how the language of it is now so much a part of our girls' language, "we're going off island," "look at that tanker with all those big metal boxes from China," and "the Lopez ferry dock is really slow, huh Mama?"  I suppose it is our version of urban kids who ride the subway into routine.

Betty received skis and boots for her fourth birthday and has been itching to try them out. Since it is her third season, we figured it would be o.k. that the weather was supposed to be partly cloudy with a high of 23 degrees.  

I  have never been happier that the men in suits got it wrong with a gorgeous blue and hot sunny sky with no breeze at all and snow like fine raw sugar.  

Betty pretty much refused to practice her snow plow technique because, "why would I want slow down?"  She rocks fast.  

We hadn't really thought about having Lucy ski; we'd wanted to start Lucy at the same age Betty was which was 27 months.  Lucy, only 23 months, still in a diaper, addicted to her pacifier, and still signing more than she's talking.  But, Betty insisted Lucy use her skis.  After a potty break in Betty's old pink folding potty, of course.

Lucy skied for almost two hours.  She also rocked, slurring the words, "wee, skiing, snowww" from behind her slurppy pacifier each run.  We'd frequently check in with her daddy and big sister at the trail's edge whereupon Lucy would take the advantage of me in conversation and lean forward to continue down the hill.  The rope-pull things was a trick because she wanted to sit down - maybe she's ready for the lift, eh?  

Lucy also really appreciated Uncle Matt (or, Unc Ski-peey -  [Uncle Skippy] as she calls him, thanks to Betty) skiing with her, too.

The girls made it five hours slope-side and were thoroughly starving, tired, potty-in-need, sun-soaked, and thirsty when we entered the lodge at 3 PM.  Lucy was so sleepy-hungry that Betty had to feed her.  

Montana in September

Eleven reasons why Montana in September rocked:

1.  Lucy was as tall as Aunt Rose's sunflowers. 

2.  Tiller didn't chase cattle or run away, but she did, however, run like a maniac.

3.  Naked Piper all day and lovin' it, even when I was freezing.

4.  Eavesdropping on Betty and Meritt's conversation while they were chilling on the couch.

5.  It was a Filkin cousin parade.  Tame one minute, total mayhem the next.

6. ' Tana Grandma & Grandpa's windows got super-clean with enthusiasm.

7.  Trampoline O' The Beartooths is almost too much fun.

8.  Meritt taught Betty how to properly catch bugs for Rainbow the tiny chick.

9.  And, Rainbow is a well cared for chicken.

10. Lucy laughs a lot when she is around all those big girls.

11. Meat always tastes better in Montana. Thanks, everyone, for feeding us so well.

The outdoors In

This weekend we all wanted to get away, but didn't want to ride the ferry. So, we set up a tent in the living room and played camp out. We used candles and lanterns throughout the house, and played flashlight tag. However, when Lucy was 'it' she stared into the flashlight like a mosquito in August.
Hot dogs always taste better on an open fire and s'mores aren't quite the same broiled, but the girls giggled just the same. We watched a movie on our portable dvd player, then tucked each other in. The sound of our breaths made Luke and I realize we missed co-sleeping with our babes who routinely share a room with one another. All night long, I'd try to roll over, only to be pulled by Lucy's tiny hand. We held hands all night long. Cute, huh? What's even better, is that Luke and Betty did the same. We woke at the early hour of eight, broke down camp and made pancakes. It's fun to mix up the routine every once and a while.
Over pancakes, Betty talked about how our tiny island doesn't have squirrels and skunks. At the last word, our mouths dropped open. Luke and I looked at each other as if to say, "it's gone." And just like that, our four year old no longer called skunks "stunks."
It seems just as you swallow loving idiosyncrasies, they vanishes.
Almost as if to smooth over the loss, Lucy preformed her new trick - hand to her nose, yucky face and a squeal, "st-in-ky!"
I love that we live in a two bedroom home that forces us to have the girls share a room. It has brought about the greatest respectful friendship in them. Betty quietly 'reads' books in bed so as to not wake the little one, and tip-toes out in the morning so Lucy can sleep in. Over the monitor, we hear Betty signing "Twinkle, Twinkle" if Lucy wakes and, the unfortunate, "you are naughty, go to sleep right now or I won't share my necklaces with you." 

They log about an hour a day in the book nook together and play baby-mommy and even waitress in their kitchen. Lucy is learning not to pull hair just so she can say sorry to Betty and get a hug, and Betty is learning how to let Lucy help her do puzzles. They are in such a good place right now. All make-believe costumes and silly songs they create leave me happy I spend my days with them. I feel it rushing by.
And then I feel Luke's nasty beard. He's in the town's centennial beard growing contest. Since September, I haven't gotten a proper kiss. His face has turned into a complete Brill-o Pad. Hopefully he wins and it will all be worth it. I miss his smooth cheeks and soul patch. Lucy won't even snuggle in close. Betty, however, says, "Oh Daddy you look handsome." She's in the phase where she thinks it is unfair she can't marry her daddy.

Bubbles

It's a new year, and caffeine isn't always the answer.  When Betty got us out of bed a little too early not too long ago we made the best of it.  Sure, sleepless night-terror filled evenings can reek havoc on the psyche.  But sudsy bath time giggles can easily overturn a moldy mood.  I like to think we have a Glen Plake in the making with our tiny ski superstar, even off the slopes.

Sunshine, Somewhere

In the dreary drizzle defining the spongy Pacific Northwest I now dream of months earlier when skies were sapphire and so were my five ribbons at the San Juan County Fair.  The town turned upside down with balloons, hundreds of walk-on ferry tourists, pie of every color, and down-home music drifting atop the evergreens.  Locals began preparing seasons earlier and, skeptical, I wondered just how cool it could be.  As an avid parade watcher and festival tycoon I was marking my calendar and making sure we weren't planning any off-island escapades.  

I had it:  Fair Fever, and so did Lucy and Betty.  The Fair hoopla was infectious, and I entered Betty's hat in the Textile Guild, a photo of Betty, a stained t-shirt I revived in Trash to Treasure, and two poems about the fair.  Betty chose to enter a drawing of our family with Huck in the sky.  

Our best Whidbey Island pals are gone all summer, so we were delighted when their return coincided with opening night.  We forwent naps and giggled too much.  We went each day in the 90+ degree heat for basket weaving clinics, hot dogs, an opportunity to get lost in the house of mirrors with a sweaty and sketchy carnie and for the coolest livestock on the planet.
I think Luke and Erika were embarrassed and maybe a little envious as I ran to each booth to collect another, then another Blue Ribbon. And, they laughed when Lucy's quilt I entered with the Guild was verbally torn to shreds and minus a ribbon.