motherhood on the Last Frontier
So belated, in fact, it will leave you feeling nostalgic for leg warmers, asymmetrical haircuts, and those feather earrings. Even if you’re not a mom, watch.
I dedicate this to radical mama. Congratulations on the birth of Helena, her fourth baby girl.
I haven’t been around here much lately. The blog is running itself. Maybe it’s just parked somewhere, idling, keys dangling from the ignition while the radio booms bass for no listener. Maybe Hal-like, it’s plotting against me. I don’t know.
I guess I should announce formally that I’m taking some time off. We’re busy packing and cleaning—sold one house, moving to another, planning a few weeks of Westfalia homelessness in between.
Then there’s the strange migrating joint pain that the Naturopath believes is related to a disturbance in my 3rd Chakra and the Doc thinks I should see a rheumatologist about. The situation is complicated by the fact that the nearest rheumatolgist is 360 miles away.
There are two little girls who like to run in circles in their underpants and cackle. One asks me, “Mama, how did the ichthyosaurs lay their eggs? Did they crawl onto land?” The other asks me “Why?” about everything. I don’t have answers for either one of them.
There are other things too, but they’re ones about which I’m keeping my fingers crossed so hard that I can’t type anything about them here.
And there’s the fact that it’s May in Alaska, and the light, such a gift, fills the day completely that it’s impossible to get anything done.
As always there are not enough poems (even though I’ve been having some luck publishing individual ones recently). That’s always a problem, but I’m going to put all my words into the poetry basket for a little while, so the blog will just have to suffer.
For all of this the blog will have to suffer. Please leave me in your bloglines. I’ll be back soon.
Seven years. That’s how long we looked at the old bookcases. The previous owners made them partially out of decking. The top had pulled out of the ceiling, exposing a row of screws. We rationalized. We needed to put in laminate flooring first. We needed to make the cabin into a functional guesthouse (or rental). We needed to remodel the bathroom.
Now we’re moving and getting ready to sell the house. As of this afternoon, the new built-in bookcases are done. Our books are packed and taped up. We’ll never put them here.
Ironic? Folks tell me that’s what selling a house is all about. You fix the things that bugged you, and never get to enjoy them.
One
The pony is strapped to the roof. It’s big. It was free, a Hedstrom Bouncy Horse that TJ found on cragislist. The girls, buckled into their car seats, chant, “Pony! Pony!” We wonder if its bouncing as we drive
Two skateboarding boys stop, hold their boards on their hips and stare. A girl on her bike yells to a friend, “What the heck is on that car.” We are an attraction.
A Carlisle trucker, on his way into the gas station to get a Slim Jim, stops and cracks, “Got some extra horse power. Nyuk. Nyuk!” as TJ gasses up.
From in the car nothing seems different. There is no pony. We are in the car. It is just the car. We forget we are an attraction.
Further on, a friend pulling out of Gulliver’s Books notices us and flashes a double thumbs up and a big smile. I ask TJ, “Hey, what’s up with her?” He says, “I don’t know.” Then we remember we have a pony on the roof.
As we unload the girls in front of the restaurant, the leader of a pack of adolescent boys riding bicycles menacingly asks TJ, “Can I ride your pony?” They all laugh.
A woman pulls up, rolls down her window, and says, “When you’re ready for a full-sized pony, let me know.” She raises horses. She tells me our car was obscured by a snowbank and all she saw was the pony bouncing along, high above the road, alone.
In the restaurant, Coral points out the window and shouts “Pony!” Cedar tells the waitress, “We have a pony on the roof.”
On our way home, we pass that house on the Steese Expressway. The one just before the Chena Hot Springs Road exit. They have a big fire pit and a tall stack of pallets. Once a month they prop a big sign against a birch tree near the expressway. It says “Bonfire 7:00.” Once a month, there’s a huge fire and folks standing around with beers. Cedar comments, “They’re having a bond-fire.” Coral shouts, “Fire!” I think, “Why don’t we go sometime?” Tonight, the bonfire goers turn their heads, lower their beers, and watch us speed by.
“Did you wave to them,” TJ asks. “No,” I say. “They all looked at us.” We sit puzzled.
We have forgotten again.
Then we both say, “We have a pony on the roof.”
Two
Cedar, Coral, and I are on the Steese, going uphill after turning off the Johansen. We’re coming back from an afternoon party. It’s warm finally, fifty degrees, and slanting fingers of water grasp for the low side of the road.
I don’t notice the truck behind me until it’s about three feet from my rear bumper. It’s big, white, menacing in a Moby Dick sort of way. I don’t see any old harpoons or Ahab’s skeleton, but I feel its rage. There are four lights mounted on the grill. They look like teeth. They fill my rearview mirror.
I’m in the left lane. The right lane is crowded. I could duck in behind a Scooby-Dooish beater van, but I know the minute the van hits the hill, it will slow down.
Besides, I’m going 65. How fast can this truck want to go?
I decide I’ll move into the right lane when I can get ahead of Shaggy’s van. I step on the gas. I’m going 70. The white truck is still three feet from my bumper. I am uncomfortable and decide I’m not going to let this truck make me go 75.
In the mirror, I see the four lights turn on. They glare at me. I flop the mirror down, so I don’t have to look directly at the angry lights. Now I’m looking at the girls. They’re happy after eating cake at the party. They want to go home and ride the bouncy horse. The four lights reflect in the image of their faces.
I hold at 65.
I think about giving the finger when the truck passes me. I think about slamming on my brakes. I think about the hill and how short it really is. Will it be over one minute? Two minutes? I decide just to get out of the way.
Finally, Shaggy shows up in my passenger side mirror and I signal a lane change.
Even before I’m over all the way the white truck blasts past. It is so much bigger than my car I have to look up. A fortyish man with gray hair holds his fist over his empty passenger seat, his right middle finger extended. He holds it, looks at me, makes sure I see.
I see.
I wonder if this man is someone’s father. In my world, fortyish men don’t do things like this. I wonder what it is like in his world.
At about 80 miles per hour, he veers right onto the Chena Hot Springs exit.
I wish I still had a pony on the roof.
Pike’s Landing, 1850 Hoselton Rd., Fairbanks, Alaska, 479-6500
Even though it’s April and we’re still mired in snow, Mother’s Day is coming. The calendar will march on with or without spring. Holidays don’t care if they wake up in the morning to an unseasonable 5 degrees. It’s time to start planning, folks. If spring never comes, Mama is really going to need a treat on her special day.
Last year, due largely to bad planning on my own part, I had the worst Mother’s Day ever. I’m determined to have a good one this year. On the occasions when we’re feeling gluttonous before two p.m. on a Sunday, we usually hit the brunch over at the Pump House. Just in case I was missing out, I thought we should try brunch over at Pike’s Landing. That way I’d know which one to call for reservations for the biggest brunch day of the year. Last Sunday, we headed to Pike’s.
The service was good, and Pike’s has plenty of nice high chairs to go around. Of course, a brunch buffet is a great choice if you have little kids because there’s no wait time. Within minutes of entering the restaurant, your child is occupied with a plate of food. Best of all the little ones eat free, but Pike’s has major drawbacks.
Coral has entered the phase of potty training when she cries, “Potty! Potty!” in any public place just because she knows I’ll drop everything and take her. Actually using the potty once she gets into the bathroom is not high on her list of priorities. Instead, she’s happy to enjoy a few moments of diaperlessness before attempting to run a way with a bare butt and touch every surface in the bathroom. She also enjoys peeking under the stalls at her fellow potty goers. The bathroom at Pike’s was adequate for her purposes, and clean enough that I didn’t feel like I had to powerwash her when she was through.
But the lack of a changing table presented a major problem. The only flat surface in the bathroom useful for a diaper change is a narrow tiled ledge in front of a bank of mirrors. It’s the kind of ledge upon which one might place a giant can of Aqua Net, or if the lighting was worse, it was 1985, and one was hanging out with the cast of St. Elmo’s Fire, the ledge might be something off which one might snort a line of cocaine. It’s no place to change a baby. That said, the ledge is exactly where I put Coral when I had to change her diaper. If she was a floppy little newborn, I wouldn’t have known where to put her. If Pike’s really wants to vie for the big business of celebrating mothers at brunch, they need to install a changing table.
Although the buffet did include toddler-friendly chicken nuggets and “waffle stix” (as listed on the menu), the food at Pike’s was as disappointing as the changing table. The choice of “waffle stix” should have been a sign. No food that ends in a cutsie “X” should be served at an upscale brunch.
There was a variety of fresh fruit for the girls. Cedar enjoyed the watermelon, and Coral ate her body weight in strawberries. Despite the thrifty pleasure of bringing a “kids-eat-free” toddler to a buffet of expensive fruit, I was a little cranky after looking at the fruit options. Canned pineapple is fine for a snack at home, but at a Sunday brunch, the pineapple should be fresh.
Missing completely from the offerings was bacon. Bacon, so tasty, but so messy and unpleasant to cook. At home, it leaves the whole house stinking for hours, but at brunch it’s the crisp accompaniment to your eggs Benedict. Brunch without bacon just didn’t seem right.
The desserts, as they always are at brunch, were sized for kids. The chocolate mousse was tasty, and Cedar and Coral had fun eating out of the tiny glasses. I was happy to find creme brulee, but I was surprised when TJ stopped mid-bite and asked, “Is this creme brulee?” The one I had picked up tasted fine, but his must have come from a different batch. It was lumpy—more like tapioca brulee.
When it comes down to the battle of the brunch, there’s no comparison. Pike’s is a poser. Its buffet seems like the free continental breakfast at a hotel trying hard to be something other than what it is. The Pump House is the real thing—with a real stuffed grizzly and a real changing table. If you’re looking for us on Mother’s Day, you’ll find us at our old standby.
April Showers? No. Instead I found myself digging the car out from under five inches of snow this morning. This is what April looks like at our house.
There is an up side. April is tasty.
And you can share it with someone else.
We all know that reading to kids is good. It’s a fact that a print-rich environment is vital to developing literacy. Unfortunately, we all know that not all kids grow up in houses full of books.
The Fairbanks North Star Borough School District’s new superintendent, Dr. Nancy Wagner, has spearheaded an effort to fill the homes of Fairbanks children with books. Thanks to her concerted efforts, children in Fairbanks are now eligible to participate in Imagination Library. Children from 0-5 years of age enrolled in the program receive a new hardcover book in the mail each month. Enrollment is free.
Here’s the background on the Imagination Library:
In 1996, Dolly Parton launched an exciting new effort to benefit the children of her home county in east Tennessee. Dolly wanted to foster a love of reading among her county’s preschool children and their families. She wanted children to be excited about books and to feel the magic that books can create. Moreover, she could insure that every child would have books, regardless of their family’s income. So she decided to mail a brand new, age appropriate book each month to every child under 5 in Sevier County.
From Parton’s initial program, the Imagination Library grew into a nationwide program supported by local communities that’s devoted to sending children under five a new book each month. This month marks the first time children in Alaska will be eligible to participate, and Fairbanks is the first participating community in the state.
Here’s a list of the themes and concepts that help guide the selection committee. From what I can tell, by looking over the book list from 2007, and from what I’ve heard from folks who’ve seen many of the books, they’re very carefully selected and do not promote characters used to advertise to children. Some of the titles include: Owl’s Moon, Aesop’s Fables, Snowy Day, Good Night Gorilla, Tomie’s Little Book of Poems, ABC’s Look at Me, and Where’s Spot.
You can register your child online or you can pick up forms at day cares and preschools around town and mail them in. I strongly encourage you to let other parents with children under five know about the program. Take a couple extra copies of the enrollment forms and pass them on to other parents. The more parents this reaches, the more kids in Fairbanks will benefit. Getting the word out will help create strong readers in our community.
I also encourage you to contact Dr. Wagner personally and thank her for bringing this to Fairbanks. She’s brought educators and community members together to support the program and is the moving force behind the Fairbanks North Star Educational Foundation, a new nonprofit. Dr. Wagner’s email address is: superintendent@northstar.k12.ak.us.
Alaskan men, you had better stock up on guns and ammo and round up a posse. Mike Kelly, District 7’s Representative to our State Legislature, has made it clear that you are all responsible for “taking care of your women” Wild West style. Don’t count on the police to help out your mothers, wives, and daughters. The only folks you can rely on are Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson .
Here’s the story according to the News-Miner:
Kelly made his comments during a committee hearing Friday on a bill that would stiffen the penalty for third-time offenders of domestic violence. He said he was concerned that relying more on the law and an overworked police force to address the issue would allow men to shirk the responsibility of “taking care of their women.”
“It just seems to me that the message is clear here,” he said, “that the female — the other half of the population — is falling down because they’re doing stupid things marrying the beasts among us, or shacking up with them.
I can imagine Kelly’s dream Alaska. Unburdened by the evil of government, it’s a place where tribal bands of men defend the honor of “their women.” It’s a place where public schools have been dismantled and religious private schools predominate. Maybe a store would sell burqas printed with Alaska flags. Haven’t I recently heard of a place like this?
According to Kelly, not only are wives to blame for their husband’s abuse, but gays and lesbians don’t deserve equality. Kelly was a big supporter of last April’s advisory vote designed to strip benefits from same sex couples.
I do wonder, if men are supposed to protect women, and the police shouldn’t be burdened with assault, who’s supposed to protect a man who is being beaten? Superman? Batman? Spidey?
Representative Kelly should step out of the middle ages. According to the Alaska Department of Health and Social Services:
Alaska ranks among the top 5 states in the nation for per capita rates of domestic violence.
The rate of Alaskan women being killed by a partner is 1.5 times the national average.
Since 1976, Alaska has ranked in the top five states in the nation for the highest rate of reported rape per capita. In 1993, Alaska ranked 1st in the nation: highest per capita incidence of rape.
Alaska has 6 times the national average of reported child sexual assault.
Fairbanks Health Center surveyed 419 clients over a 3-week period and found that 24% reported physical abuse in the past 6 months while 39% reported some form of sexual abuse (1995).
Abuse is a societal problem. Alaska is sick with it. As a society, we must take measures to remedy it. The first measure the voters of District 7 should take is to oust Representative Kelly.
He hasn’t represented us for years. Last April, he called the advisory vote on same sex benefits a success even though voters in his own District rejected it.
A few years ago, he was instrumental in dismantling the Teacher’s Retirement System, which has made it more difficult for our educator-starved state to recruit and retain teachers. Ironically, last year Kelly was appointed to serve on a Legislative Education Funding Task Force. He graduated from a private religious school and his children attended private religious schools. What experience does he have with public education?
Let’s stop “shacking up” with Representative Kelly. He’s been abusing the voters in his district for years with his indifference to their opinions. It’s time for us to kick him to the curb. If we stop voting for him, we’ll finally be rid of one of the “beasts among us.”
Overheard this evening at the Westmark Hotel in downtown Fairbanks:
Happily stunned visitor from Outside: “I travel all over this country, and there is nowhere else you can watch an animal be trapped and skinned while you eat your dinner. You people should be proud of that. You’re the kind of people I want to spend time with!”
While I overheard this, I was wearing vegan shoes and eating roast beef. Who am I to judge?
Question: How many mamas does it take to pull one subarctic mama out of the big “ice bowl” in the Kids’ Park?
Answer: two.
But not until after they take pictures of you stuck in the “ice bowl” just like the toddler you went in to rescue. In my defense, prior to getting trapped, I did save Coral, who was lying helpless in the middle of the bowl crying.
Like any martyred heroine, I told my friends, “Save yourselves and go on without me,” but I think they realized that they would have had to take my kids home and feed them.
The Ice Park is still up and running. Get yourself over there immediately. Today, even though the spinning baskets had melted, all the slides and tunnels were open. Yes, the sculptures have been decimated, but you can’t ride on those anyway. Whatever you do, don’t get in the ice bowl. If your kid falls in, go get a rope.
Recent Comments