Goat Trails of Northern California

there are probably three people i always enjoy hiking with. one is [emls]. we've developed a thing, it's nice. i love hiking, but you can't go with the wrong person. that's counterproductive. so Erin, and someone else, I'm sure (placeholder for?) and oh man, even though he's only been walking a third of his life, the kid is definitely one of them. This is in spite of the fact that he makes me carry him halfway.

We went on a new trail today, one that is supposed to have berries. NICE. I love finding food in the wild, and he loves berries. (He can almost say "blackberries". This is for reals.) Se we're trying out this new trail which was great if somewhat hard to find, and even in the car, he's gasping "WOW!" at the scenery. It was gorgeous. and QUIET. (He put his finger over his mouth, whispered "quiet"). But he quit walking a little early. It was a narrow trail, and kind of steep. So, cool. I started carrying him, and after a little ways I'm a little winded, a little sweaty, but I'm thinking we've covered a lot of ground! We've found a little berry patch (6 tiny berries), we're rolling. So we got to marker 5 high five! yeah! we must be close cause god i am sweaty and panting.

Not so fast, apparently there are SEVENTEEN trail markers. We had only just begun. But he is great! He is funny and sweet and he sees things I don't. And he is interested in the stuff I tell him, so we've got a good thing going. I did plead a little for him to walk, and then I used my mommy skills. See those boys running? do you want to run like the big boys? and then I ran backwards to get him to chase me, which he did, laughing all the way. and it was wonderful.

i probably carried him uphill a half mile. or maybe twice that. he's so damn sweet; it's fine.


moral: make sure there is food - and water- for afterwards (check!) and a clean diaper, if you use them (check!) and have a strong core and some serious baby lifting arms (check, check). and finally, ALWAYS GET A TRAIL MAP.

post about interracial dating when you already have a mixed son

[placeholder]

Italian treats on Bastille Day

I made a frittata. it's just not a week without a big egg pie in the fridge. this one contains Eatwell's best: stir fry greens, the sweetest little summer squash, loads of basil, and green beans from the backyard. i shredded a little cheddar (mine) and jack (baby's) cheese, then remembered that dear Nigel had sent the first tomato of the season too. the first tomato of the season is usually a little firm, a little less juicy and running-down-the-chin than i prefer for a raw tomato, so i chopped it and baked it into the pie. YUMM!

it should be a nice break from the chard and Parmesan versions I've been stirring up all spring.

when, oh when, will we buy meat again?

Happy Revolution, France. In honor of you, i worked a short day, lunched outside, and drank a glass of sparkling wine (don't worry too much that it was prosecco). Vive la Revolucion indeed.

Bears made from recycled clothing

Good Ideas sent you a link to a blog:

Blog: Junk Mail Gems
Post: Bears made from recycled clothing

What a great idea! But there's no need to ship off my old clothes and wait for someone else to manufacture them, I'll use the piles of stained or otherwise not pass-on-able clothes to make keepsake animals. Easier than a quilt? For me, I'm thinking YES.

good and bad and sweet for today

Start with good
No strangers yelled at me!
I talked with THREE members of my family and tentatively planned a getaway.
When my attorney's on vacation, she's not charging me fees (I hope)
Rishi's shoes came home!

In the bad
I'm scared about health care
It's been a while and I could use some sex

Let's close the day with a cute kid story.
We have a library book called More More More Said the Baby. I thought it would be fun because the peanut can sign "more"...though now he's starting to say, too..."moh".

One of the characters in this lovely book is Little Pumpkin. She's my favorite because she's in a mixed race home (how could i not love her brown skin and white granny?)...but Rishi is concerned more with her footwear.

Through the course of events in the book, Little Pumpkin loses one shoe

and then another.

When Rishi first realized this, he commented "oh no!" and pointed at her shoes on the ground. (This is for a pivotal plot point. But you'll need to get to the library or Pegasus to find out exactly what happens...) Oh no, Little Pumpkin, your cute green sneakers are amiss! We chuckled about it-- oh no! (so cute)...and kept going. But Rishi had just set me up for the real punchline: The next time through, we opened to Little Pumpkin's page and Rishi stopped, pointed at the shoes on her feet, and said, with implicit foreboding, "oh no!".

This kid is a comedic genius.
(smiley Rishi from July 2010)

i should be much more alert now

this baby woke up 2 hours late and instead of waking him up and starting the day (or starting mine before his), i luxuriated in bed too. but now he's not napping and he's in that purgatory of not going out to do fun stuff and not sleeping either. though actually, he doesn't seem to be bothered...

i didn't drink my coffee because i was working out. but then i didn't finish the workout because he was restless. so i'm un-exercised and un-caffeinated. now that i put it that way, this is an easy problem to solve! back to the reheat button.

later!

about assumptions

I'm starting this blog to bring a voice to the weirdness that is being a  privileged white girl (woman) raising a mixed race kid in a moderately troubled traditionally african american neighborhood in one of the chocolate cities of the USA, Oakland, right by a boho white folks' city...which is, to be fair, in fact increasingly latino and otherwise mixed because well hello it's california in 2010.

So it's not surprising when I walk into the County Services building for a "Parenting Orientation" (um, 19 months late?) and I'm the only white person in the room.

It's also not surprising when, as an only child with a deep, deep loneliness, I look for ways to separate myself from the other people in the room. This is my shit, this is not about culture or race or anything. This just needs therapy.

BUT there seem to be class differences. certainly. maybe? what class am i, really? i identify upper middle white suburban protestant...but are those my people? No. i'm on the verge of being unemployed, have just paid off about $25K in irresponsible dinners out, cute boots and art shows I never could afford, and am investigating food stamps. Oh, and i'm a single mom who shops at Groce Out.

So maybe there aren't class differences after all. maybe i just think I'm supposed to be UMC, and so i feel double guilt- one for thinking I'm better than these working class-ers, and one because I'm not actually affluent like I think I'm supposed to be.

Anyway. Back to Room 260. The woman in the patent leather 3" heels, cheap suit, too much cleavage and huge pearl jewelry is a volunteer. ?? She starts telling 13 strangers about "how you were raised" and "what your kids are like" and i became unhinged. in my WASP way, of course- by slumping in my chair and thinking about the thumbprint peach I was going to eat as soon as this session was over. and trying to meditate. oh California, I also love you.

In her too-familiar way, she told us about what a great parent she was. But it took me a minute to understand where she was going when she started talking about "Tiger"....thankfully, by the time she got to "Janet" and "OJ", I had picked up the tune. But there's no way you can walk in off the street and understand a thing about our 13 situations. except that we're all freaked out and we don't know the way. So tell us creative ways to solve our problems? (yes, please!?) Nope, she told us about her Family Bill of Rights. Tell the single people, fighting with people outside the room somewhere, about your ideal 2 parent, 2 child family with resources for a $300 baseball bat and $150/hr batting lessons. Top it off, for the one in the corner who's fighting to keep her last name and her son's the same with "My kids know what it means to be a Jackson...", and finish with the love and respect your kids have for you and your husband? Try again, Oakland.