family

Getting winter off your feet.

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thWhen I was a kid we got one pair of sneakers each year – always in the springtime, and always a size too big so we could grow into them. Invariably they were either red or blue, because black was considered a “boy” color and white sneakers would get dirty too quickly.

While researching this month’s post for Retail Me Not, I learned just how big a fashion statement sneakers can be. To paraphrase the poet, April may be the coolest month when judged solely (pun intended) on the stylin’ sneaks of today – especially since they’re among the best deals of the month.

I also learned about the existence of vegan sneakers. And here I thought vegan condoms were startling.

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I want to vanish.

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thI sort of already have: DF dropped me at the Anchorage airport at 10 p.m. Tuesday and I hit Tarpon Springs, Fla., at 3:30 p.m. Wednesday. For the next five days I’ll be visiting my dad and my sister.

Timing-wise, not great: When I made the reservation a couple of months ago I’d planned it as a barely-any-work vacation. But recently an unexpected magazine assignment came in and an established deadline got moved up a week.

So the time I thought I’d spend hanging with family, doing a bit of sightseeing, and taking long walks and longer baths has turned into a “how to balance interviews with vacation.”

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I’m through explaining.

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thRecently I followed a link at Grumpy Rumblings of the (Formerly) Untenured to a website called Thought Catalog. The article in question is called “18 things women shouldn’t have to justify.”

Things like “putting themselves first,” “how little or how much they’re eating” and “not having baby fever.”

I particularly loved the “amount of makeup worn on any given day.” The writer, Brianna Wiest, says we can go au naturale or “work it like you’re in a drag show…Your face. Your rules.”

I’ve been known to put on a little makeup when I’m having photos taken, but mostly it just seems like more trouble than it’s worth. And again: Nobody tells guys that they ought to wear a concealer or that a good mascara would make their eyes look larger.

Now I’ll see Brianna her 18, and raise her six of my own. Among other things I’m through explaining are:

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The (sorta) poor relation.

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thSeveral times during this visit I’ve tried to pay for things but my daughter wouldn’t hear of it. At one point she noted that she now makes considerably more than I do, thanks to my recent economic downturn. 

She wasn’t snide or condescending, but rather expressing a “so glad I can help you for a change” vibe. When I thanked them today for buying me lunch out Abby’s response was, “Thank you for cooking and cleaning.”

Having my daughter pay for groceries or meals out while I’ve been here feels weird. Sure, it’s a cheap price for a maid and cook, and I know she really can afford it due to her own awesome budgeting and frugal-hacking skills.

Oh, and her salary, which is now larger than mine.

For years I’ve been the one who helped, even when I could barely afford to do so. Now I’m the one who gets helped.

Then again, that was my choice.

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A keener disappointment.

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th-1Those of you who read my daughter’s anguished non-post already know: There won’t be a baby this time, either.

Abby had been cramping and spotting since Dec. 20, and was fairly pessimistic about her chances. After three previous miscarriages, she knew her body better than anyone. The Dec. 31 ultrasound showed that the pregnancy stopped developing between five and six weeks in.

I didn’t really believe that they’d find a heartbeat. But I’d hoped, which means the disappointment is that much keener.

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Still in Phoenix, and staying for a while.

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thIf things had gone according to plan I’d be getting on a plane this evening and returning to Anchorage. But one thing I’ve learned in all my years is that plans are really just God’s laugh track.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook and/or my daughter’s website know that she’s had three miscarriages in a row. In the middle of the night Saturday she started to spot and cramp. She and Tim went to the emergency room and I stayed here: sniffling, setting up the Roomba, doing dishes and then mopping most of the living area. If I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, I figured I might as well do something useful.

The ER doctor said it wasn’t clear whether she was miscarrying again. “Too soon to tell” wasn’t of much use, but it allowed for hope.

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My shoulder says I need a day off.

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thMaybe two days, even. A recurring pain in my shoulder and arm was exacerbated due to, well, stubbornness: I was determined to make candy to give away for Christmas.

One batch of sea-salt caramels and one batch of Scotch brittle later and I am hurtin’ for certain. I underestimated the impact that constant stirring (followed by cutting, rolling and wrapping) would have on my already-sore body parts.

Thus for the next few days I might put up nothing but the weekly giveaway plus a multi-blogger promotion that’s to be announced Monday. It’s not because I don’t have anything to say, but rather that I’m concerned about these aches.

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Lighting the tree on Alaska time.

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SnowyChristmas_EN-AU2022031457It was zero degrees when I left the house at 4:30 p.m. yesterday, but I was determined to get my nephews to the city tree-lighting ceremony downtown. Make sure they wear snowpants and wool socks and hats and that they have both mittens in their pockets, I pleaded with their mom.

That’s because at a long-ago tree-lighting I neglected to put on a hat or, apparently, to pull my coat hood up far enough. Or maybe it was just so cold that year (below zero, can’t remember how far) and my coat was so insufficient that my body had to make an executive decision: The torso is essential; the ears we can live without.

The burning throb of frostbitten earlobes kept me tossing and turning all night. Since then I’ve been more careful (usually) about dressing when I know I’ll be standing around in the cold. I also bought a better coat, essentially a small building made of goose down, for really cold trips like the Talkeetna Bachelors Auction and Wilderness Woman Competition.

I needn’t have worried about the boys, though. The first thing they did at Town Square Park was head straight for a snow pile.

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When is a toy not a toy?

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9 frugal mood enhancers.Last week DF and I had the chance to watch his granddaughter for a couple of hours. The baby, whom I’ll call “Rose,” recently had  her first birthday.

Her dad brought along a couple of stuffed animals but no other playthings. That was fine, since I’d prepared for her visit by pulling together a few things.

Technically, none of them were “toys.” Here’s what awaited her:

  • A clear plastic jug that once held eight pounds of popcorn
  • A small dough scraper
  • Some metal measuring spoons
  • Two canning-jar rings
  • A large kitchen spatula

For the first 15 minutes or so Rose sat on the couch like a very small queen with a very large diaper butt. She stared all around her, checking out the scene and fingering the textures of the afghans beneath and behind her.

When I gave her the plastic jug with the kitchen items, the fun really began.

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10 uses for those ubiquitous canvas bags.

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thIf you’ve ever run a race, donated to a charity, attended a convention or been a supporter of public television, you’ve probably got at least one tote bag in your life. Maybe multiple bags. Obviously they’re good as reusable grocery sacks, but that’s not their only use.

My friend Linda B. uses them to sort recyclables. Bags hanging from a railing hold newspaper, mixed paper, tin cans, aluminum, plastic bottles and glass. (And yes, I know they’re not “tin” cans. I also call it “tinfoil,” because I’m old.)

Linda keeps hats, gloves and scarves in a tote bag. In the winter the bag lives in the back of her car and in the summer it goes into the entry closet. Sounds neat and tidy to me – and here’s hoping she never gets stranded somewhere and needs to suit up.

How else to use these bags?

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