My mother

When the Hatlady was little she was a handful. Her nickname was the Vitamin Kid.

When she was around three years old she bit my grandmother in the butt. When my grandmother asked about it my mom replied “Neil did it.” Neil was an infant at the time.

When she was a little older she made an attempt to cut off Neil’s tongue. The idea was planted in her head by something she heard at church, she was sure she was helping him. Neil had to go to the doctor.

When she was in elementary school two boys unscrewed the salt shaker lid and she poured salt all over her mashed potatoes. The lunch lady told her to scrape off the salt. At recess she punched on of those boys in the gut. They never bothered her again.

I sometimes think she got it all out of her system when she was younger, she doesn’t bit or cut or punch people anymore. She dresses everyday as if she were going to meet the queen of Sweden, she is rapidly running out of shelf space for all her books, and she is turning into a grandmother. But every now and then I see her stand up to defend what’s right in her life; her methods may have changed, but deep down she’s still the Vitamin Kid.



(But SB, I don't think she would go bowling with you, unless you manage to convince her it was a viking game recently discovered or something like that.)

Magic from my childhood, a tribute to my teachers

The journey to B and L's happened almost daily in the summer. By bike or walking, never in the car. Even when my mom would come with me it was never in the car. The decision to bike or walk depended on a few factors.

1) How quickly I had to get THERE.
2) How quickly I had to get AWAY.
3) The cats.
4) The weather.

If It was a lazy day and the hot, sticky summer boredom had set in it was usually a rambly walk. Mooing at the cows as I passed The Farm, stopping to pet the horses by the Quonset hut. Never going too fast.

If I was angry at anyone in the house it was a stompy, steam-blowing walk. With just the right amount of time to loose the bad mood somewhere between the Quonset hut at The Farm and the turn onto B and L's driveway.

If it was a day to be DOING something it was a hair-flying, legs-pumping, quick-as-possible bike ride.

If it was a lazy day spent on the deck with the cats, and the cats wanted more and more and more and more attention, it was a race-down-the-driveway-without-a-backwards-glance, over the hill and... coast kind of bike ride.

However the journey happened it always took the same route. Over county road 3; past the park with the communal bonfire pit that used to be a dime store; down the dirt road and past The Farm (waving to Chip, Jay or Aunt Marge); over the hill that opens up the view to B and L's.

There must be magic at the top of that hill. The anticipation grows because at the top of the hill the property appears. The goats, the grain sheds, the gardens, the studio, the house, and, depending on the year, the cats, Bozo or Hattie and Floyd.

My eyes would scan the property looking for signs of life, maybe L walking over to Clarence's or B in the garden or studio. At the top of that hill your eyes play tricks with you, you can't trust them. They tell you 'yes, they're home,' and 'no, they're not' at the same time. Seeing a vehicle doesn't mean anything, I would need proof. Proof in human form. Proof that the portal HAD opened for me. Ready to take me to that day's Adventure.

Some days it was sitting in the studio watching B throw pots for hours. Watching her hands as they expertly molded a lump of clay into whatever shape she had in her mind, as they painted bugs, birds, and patterns onto finished pieces. When I was little she would let my sisters and I paint clay tiles and she would fire them in the kiln. They would come out with the same picture we had painted on them, but with a glossy sheen that made it seem like the magic was something we could take home with us.

Other days it would be helping L with house projects. Any project would do as long as he was willing to have a tag-along helper. I learned how to shingle a house, drive a back-hoe, and put in tile flooring, all before I was 16. I could spend days following L from house to garage to Clarence's and back again, learning whatever he would teach me, hoping that at some point we could stop in the house for soda and snacks.

B and L moved to Idaho a few years ago, but their property will always be magical for me, the place where childhood always lives, where anything is possible and inquisitiveness is practically required. I hold the feeling of that property with me, carrying it so that when I need to be a child again I have the magic inside, easily accessible. Easily sharable with the people in my life who need to have a little bit of childhood given back to them. Magic stemming from two of the most important people in my life. Magic that I can share and pass on to the next children who need a little magic in theirs.

Is my brain the only one that works around here?

Every year when the school year would end and summer would finally come the hatlady could be heard saying "Is my brain the only one that works around here?" She says it was like we would come home from the last day of school and shut off our common sense, shut off the practical side of our brains. I never wanted to hear myself say that or think that, because that would mean that I was becoming more like her, becoming the MOM.

I hear myself say it, in the same exasperated tone that she did. I hear myself think that as I end up doing whatever the task is. And what gets me about that phrase is that I'm not saying it to Goosey, I'm saying it to Mr. Not Hideous. When did this become the standard of our relationship?

I love him with everything I have, he is my partner in everything, but I wish my brain wasn't the only one that worked sometimes.

The five best things about the first day of school, nostalgia version

1. First day of school pictures. The Hatlady is a picture fanatic, she has an obsession with capturing things on film. She always has a hat and a camera on her. She can get pictures of anyone, especially if they usually don't let people take their pictures, she has a gift.

So every year she would make my sisters and I take a first day of school picture and a last day of school picture. You can tell how each of us feels by the look in our eyes, whether we're excited or don't want school to start again. It has become a tradition, and continued until box car child finished high school. If it weren't so hard to get us all together twice a year I would keep this tradition going.
me first day of first grade (not your typical first day of school photo, it would usually be all three of us together, but I couldn't find one of all of us.)

2. New school supplies. I love new pens, pencils, notebooks. I love the possibility they hold, the blank pages and new ink. It was so exciting going to school knowing that I had a backpack filled with possibility.

3. Friends. I grew up on a 13 acre farm out in the country and didn't see school friends often during the summer. I was always jealous of my 'town friends' that got to hang out during the summer. Late when I was going to the Arts High my friends were scattered across the state, so it made it even more difficult to see any of them during the summer.

4. Dance. Coming from farm country I didn't have many opportunities for dance classes during the summer, especially if I was looking for more than studio sparkle dance. Going to the Arts High meant being able to move again, being able to be around other dancers and, for my senior year, really finding my own voice and strength in dance. It really is like coming back to an old friend and feeling like you haven't changed at all and the relationship fits perfectly.

5. Having a clean slate. In a small town everyone knows everything about everyone else. Sometimes even before the people know it about themselves. Going to school in a small town and living far enough away to not be around all the time meant that I could escape that for the summer. I didn't get hooked into all the drama, I didn't have to. Coming back to school in the fall meant that I got to start out fresh. I didn't have the drama of the summer, and didn't know why so-and-so was made at her or him, or why everyone wasn't talking, or whatever. I didn't have to follow those rules, because they didn't apply to me, at least not yet.

Going to the Arts High meant coming back to an entire new grade of people, meant being able to stop being called 'Little Storysmith' or 'Storysmith's sister' and instead just be J. Don't get me wrong I love the Storysmith dearly, but being a junior in high school I didn't have the confidence or ability to be okay with that and still be myself. It meant that if people recognized me it was because they actually saw me, and not my older sister walking down the hallways.

Inspired by prompt #2 of Mama Kat's writer's workshop.

High-threshold relationships

I recently read a post on Facebook by my friend, Spiritual Mother, it was talking about high-threshold and low-threshold relationships. So I'm contemplating who is on my high-threshold list, and can feel my heart swelling just thinking of my relationships with those people.

Let me explain. High-threshold is not, like I first thought, high-maintenance. High-threshold is the relationship that you would do anything for, never let die, compromise the love you share, basically sticking out the relationship no matter what. High-threshold is that person you know you would never let go of, the person that you would do anything for.

Low-threshold is the relationship that you have not fully committed yourself to, one you would walk away from because of an issue or disagreement. Basically, a relationship without an agreement at a deeper level.

So, here is the beginning of my high-threshold list. I know it will continue to grow, change and transform as I do, but here is the list as of now. (In no particular order, except for number one and number two).

Mr. Not Hideous: because he is who he is and I can't imagine not having him around.

Goosey: the sweet girl who is part of me. She has shaped my life in so many ways, I can't even begin to explain.

Storysmith: My sister and best friend. It has taken us about 20 years to get here, I'm so glad we finally are.

Box Car Child: My other sister, and best friend. Always my accomplice in life. The absolute free spirit.

The Plaid Man: My brother-in-law, the first man I could truly trust. He opened me up in a way to be able to receive a relationship with Mr. NH. I can't thank him enough.

The Hatlady: How could my mother not make the list?

Spiritual Mother: The woman who made me have the conversation with Mr. NH about having a relationship. She is one of the most powerful women I know.

B and L: My second parents. Two people who have shaped me into who I am, and taught me so many things about life and living fearlessly while still questioning things to find my own beliefs.

Traveling Man: It took me a long time to get to here with my Dad. He traveled a lot when I was young and I assumed he didn't love me, getting rid of that story was one of the best things I have done in my entire life.

Girl Genius: My half sister. An amazing girl, I can't wait to see the woman she turns into and how she will change the world.

Triple A: This man is unconditional love in itself. I have never met a more caring, loving, generous human being.

My Communist: She has fostered my love for travel and nature, and is brilliant.

Dances for Dull Moments: My absolute favorite choreographer, and a complete artistic genius. She is fearless.

Die Cut Queen: Ultimate teacher, camp counselor, and empathetic to the core. The only person I've ever met who won't kill a mosquito.

Sister-friend: My longest lasting friendship, and the girl who ultimately gets me.


That's my list. I recommend you make one, and share it with your high-threshold friends.

Questions for the Nosy

This meme is from Erin at Blogging is for Dorks, check her out, she's great. She made up these questions, go see her answers here.


1. Describe the person nearest to you, or if no one is near you at this moment the person who was last nearest to you, duh.
Goosey, my 9 month old daughter. Currently she is eating apple-strawberry puffs in her favorite summer outfit of diaper. She is just starting to walk, which means we had to purchase what I like to call the 'baby cage.' Not her favorite thing, but works wonders for keeping her from pulling books off shelves, torturing the cats, or making lots of noise directly above Mr. Not Hideous' massage room. (I don't think his clients want to hear Goosey sounding like an elephant while they are trying to relax, but maybe they think it's cute...)

2. Who do you think you resemble most in your immediate family and why?
As far as looks, my sister Storysmith. We have been asked multiple times if we are twins, she is actually two years older than me. I loved that question when we were younger, she didn't.

3. Who do you think (what nation, group or individual) is the biggest threat to our nation's security?
I think Americans are. Well, to be fair the ones who go about ostracizing other counties/peoples because they don't know any better. I think the world would view the States much differently if we were to extend our hands/ears and come up with some solutions together.

4. What do you do at night before you go to sleep? Do you have any rituals, usual behaviors?
This time of year I get into as little close as possible so as not melt into a puddle while sleeping.

5. What's the most challenging thing about being a parent? OR If you don't have children, what do you think will be the most challenging thing about being being a parent?
For me the most challenging thing is to not be so darn Minnesotan. We Minnesotan's have a tendency to 'not make waves,' which means we go along with things just because everyone else is. Being my Minnesotan self has shown up in motherhood when I have been out visiting people or making plans to do things. I tend to let nap times slide or give myself permission to sneak out of the action to take care of Goosey. I know that I do this and it makes things worse in terms attitudes and emotional stability. Imagine the chaos I'll create for myself when I have more than one baby! Eeek!

6. What do you think is your most attractive feature?
My eyes. But I am genuinely pleased with all my physical features, truly I am.

7. Who is your favorite blog friend? Link them!
I'm rather new to blogging, so no blog friends as of yet. But I do really enjoy Josie over at Sleep is for the Weak

8. Max just got in trouble for hitting Olivia in the throat. She's now sitting in time out screaming 'I'm STUPID!' at the top of her lungs. Should I ignore her till her time out is over, or should I talk to her now and ruin the time out?
Oh my, I don't feel like I have any experience to back up my thoughts on this one. I never once was sent to time out as a child, I don't know how the Hatlady, my mother, managed it as a single mom, but it never happened. I have worked with children of all ages in many different settings, but never in the capacity to put one in time out.

I would say 'This is time out and you need to keep your voice down,' and then at the end of time out talk to her about what saying 'I'm stupid' really means about her and what permissions she gives other people about her when she says it.

But that would be in a perfect world, I think I'd end up telling her to be quiet during the time out and not to call herself stupid.

9. Who was the first person you kissed and where are they now?
I think the first boy I kissed was Dan. We were in 7th grade and had lockers next to each other. I thought he was funny. We were both short (well, I don't know about him, but I still am) and all his friends thought it was cute and wanted us to kiss all the time. He was my first boyfriend, I was rather embarrassed. 7th grade is hard enough without having your boyfriend's friends trying to make you kiss all the time.

I think he's married now, but I haven't seen him since 10th grade.

10.Ok, here's the final crapola questionado: What's the grossest thing you've ever done or has ever happened to you?
When I was younger I got carsick a lot. If I had any ice cream before an hour long car ride you could bet that I would need to have the window cracked for fresh air and cold water to drink. Coincidentally this is the same amount of time it takes to get from the Hatlady's house to Traveling Man's, my dad.

On one such trip home from spending the weekend at Traveling Man's house we were a quarter of a mile from reaching the Hatlady's. I told Traveling Man that I didn't feel well and that he should pull the car over, and do it now. He thought we could make it. Guess what, we didn't. I vomited. Now, in my brilliance I didn't just vomit on the car or on myself, but I took my straw hat off my head (yes, straw hat) and vomited in that.

The Hatlady, the sweet hat wearing lady that she is, couldn't bring herself to throw out that straw hat. So, she cleaned it and kept it around the house for years. Yes, I do mean years. I think that only in the last five years or so that hat has finally disappeared. Whether it disappeared to the garbage can or the local thrift store I don't know.