Pudding Painting.

Well, the weather has sacked in. We had forty mile per hour winds these past two nights and buckets of rain all day. We're supposed to have rain for the next ten days with a couple possibilities of snow. I could almost believe that I saw snowflakes coming down outside once or twice, but the Yahoo! weatherman maintained that it was 43 degrees and merely cloudy. Maybe I need to find a new weatherman.

So what's a mom to do with an antsy child on a day like today? Pudding paint.

It's inexpensive, edible fingerpaint. Just take a box of vanilla or banana cream pudding, mix according to directions, divide into five bowls, and add the food coloring of your choice. Art time becomes snack time or vice versa. The funny thing about Boogaloo is that she paints with her spoon and eats with her fingers. Of course, pudding doesn't dry very quickly, especially if it's heaped on the paper, so the odds of getting to keep the resultant masterpiece are pretty small, but you can always do what we did and take pictures.

This is Boogaloo's masterpiece. I think it could fit in very well among the modern masters. It looks like one of those paintings that people stare at in museums and say, "Come on, a kid could do something like that." Well, that's exactly right, and here's the proof. After I took this picture, she proceeded to smear it all together and turn the whole thing green. Maybe the key to art is knowing when to stop. :)

Experts say that the child feels validated if mom and dad play along, so I played along too. Okay, okay, I have more fun than she does, and I take my painting very seriously. This is my dabbling in modern art. I used to be one of those people who looked at paintings like this and said, "There's no point to it." But put it in pudding, and . . . there's still no point to it. But it's fun! Maybe it's hard to take those artists seriously because we think they take their work too seriously. If they would just admit that they're just having fun . . . oh well, that's a discussion for another day.

This is an exercise in line and color. This is throwing my food at a paper. I like this one better.

I think I'm going to make it my facebook profile picture.

Whoops.

I just realized that my last post was on November 2nd, and I didn't mention a word about the election. Not entirely surprising. The end of last Tuesday was like a breath of fresh air. I was so tired of the election season. It seemed like every other ad on the radio was a political ad, and five out of seven pieces of mail were political flyers. About half of the ads I encountered were positive and respectful, but the other half were more than enough to sour someone on the political process. I didn't even realize that I hadn't seen any results for our senatorial race until two days later. (My candidate lost, but my party made huge gains, so I guess it's going to be an interesting political season as well.)

So here is how our state fared in the election: we defeated the income tax and kept alcohol sales in the hands of the state. The right of the state to withold bail was extended from murder charges to other violent offenses, and the state has found a new way to calculate its bond debt. Certain taxes on groceries were rescinded, and other taxes and fees were increased. So everything sort of rounds itself out. Patti Murray beat Dino Rossi by barely 3% of the vote, and Kitsap County keeps all its same representatives on the federal and state levels. (Washington Secretary of State: Election Results. http://vote.wa.gov/Elections/WEI/?ElectionID=37) I had hoped for better things, especially on the pro-life front, but it seems to me that we're getting closer. We just need to keep praying and doing, and God will get our state on the bandwagon.

Love to you all.
Good night.

The Joy of Christmas Catalogues

(Warning: some product placement may follow!)

It's that time of year again, the time of year when both companies that we love and companies we have never heard fill our mailboxes with glossy pictures of things we simply can't celebrate the holidays without. I love looking at holiday catalogues. I like looking at the pretty things, the novel things, the useful things, and the absurd things that nobody in their right mind really needs but that look neat anyway.

I especially love the way the products are set up in this semi-glorious light which implies that by buying this product, I'll be satisfying a deep psychological need, protecting the environment, feeding starving children, and reaching Nirvana all at once. I look at those pictures, and I get a "queer ache," as Anne Shirley called it, right in the middle of my chest. And all the while my brain is saying, "It's just a pillow sham. Granted, it's pretty and made of organic cotton, but you have absolutely no use for pillow shams. In fact, you hate pillow shams. Turn the page."

It's only the second of November, and we've already gotten three holiday catalogues, not counting the weekly circular from the Navy Exchange. The first two were from companies that we use regularly, but the one that came today was from a place I've never heard of -- Garnet Hill. Apparantly they sell decorating knick-knacks, linens, and specialty clothing.

It came just in time. Today is a duty day. I've been feeling blue, and there is no better way to kick a blue feeling than to pour a bubble bath, grab a novel for back up, and spend a half an hour flipping through a holiday catalogue. I mowed the lawn, washed the baking dishes, went to Bible study, got Boogaloo to eat both lunch and dinner, and dealt with two nasty messes (Today, Boogaloo learned about painting with poop. Tomorrow, she is going to learn that this makes Mommy unhappy.). I felt like I deserved a little indulgence. So I ran the bathtub full of hot water, poured in a little "Twilight Woods" from Bath & Body Works, grabbed an L.M. Montgomery novel, and "prepared myself to be happy," as Elizabeth Bennet would say.


Or not. Sakes alive! Have I been out of touch? When did cotton t-shirts (granted, organic cotton) become $40 items? I know some people can afford to pay that much for their clothes, but aren't there reasonable limits on the prices of basic items?$238 merino wool sweaters. $90 sneakers. $68 bedsheets -- flat or fitted. Granted, some of the stuff was cashmere (sigh, cashmere), but some of the stuff was flannel! And when I pay $50 dollars for a 250 thread ct. sheet, I expect to get both of them with pillow cases and the monogramming thrown in. I don't care how well it goes with the gorgeous octagon quilt. I'm sorry. I can do better at Walmart.

It was truly a wonderful catalogue. I found something to "ache" over on every page, and if you can afford to pay that much, do check them out at http://www.garnethill.com/. They have cocoa cup bedspread patterns and Christmas tree sheets and handmade afghans in cool natural colors (I could have made that last myself if I had the pattern). They have cable knit sweaters and cashmere tunics, ruffle-edged wool trench coats and Christmas longjohns for kids. But my gosh, who pays that kind of money for those kind of things?

Needless to say, I didn't find my bubblebath as relaxing as I thought I would. With seeds of regret, discontentment, and inferiority germinating in my soul, I put my catalogue down and picked up "Anne of Windy Poplars," and within about ten minutes all was right with the world again. But I still feel a little stung. The feeling harkens back to high school when I got caught wearing someone else's handmedowns. I didn't mind handmedowns in general, but they did seem to imply (at least to my adolescent mind) that I operated on a different tier than the people who could buy stylish things new. I envied them. Oh, how I envied them.

If only the styles now weren't so gorgeous! Belted sweaters. Pencil skirts. Long, elegant trousers. Sweater dresses. Flowy, cape-like cardigans. Capes! Actual capes! Exactly what I've always pictured sophisticated, practical fashion to be. Then that if only leads to other if onlies. If only I could afford this to go with that. If only eco-friendly were also budget-friendly. If only I could be professionally lit and standing dramatically outside a log cabin on the tundra while my perfectly highlighted hair blows in a soft but not too cold wind that doesn't make my nose red. (I wonder how much make up it takes to keep a red nose from showing. If they shot on location, those models must have been cold.)

Yeah. Okay. Then the fact that the life I'm living is mine and whatever I happen to be wearing, that life isn't going to be professionally lit, arranged, and retouched settles onto my brain, and I come back to reality. Life is good, and it's even picturesque at times, but those pictures are live and organic, unlike the picture of the woman wearing a knit-lace dress and holding a sled dog on a rope leash or the picture of the woman cross-country skiing in a silk-trimmed cashmere cardigan, fine-wale corduroy trousers, and cascading bauble necklace. I mean, don't we all don cashmere and baubles when we want to participate in rigorous outdoor aerobic activity? Sheesh.

So I've learned a lesson today. Coveting can be hazardous to my peace of mind. That's probably why God told us not to do it. And really, do not worry about what you will eat off of, what you will sleep on, and what you will wear. Is not food more important than platewear and sleep more important than sheets? And isn't Christmas about something totally other than reindeer flannel and snowman pajamas anyway? Plus the Exchange has sweater dresses for $15 next week, so I can have my cake and eat it too. But I think I'm going to throw that catalogue away. Why put myself in the way of more temptation?

Tada!

Oh, by the way, I finished my first quilt! It is all stitched, stuffed, and quilted. I even did some of the quilting and all of the binding by hand because my sewing machine broke. So now I have two more to do, and unless I figure out what I did to my sewing machine this time, I'll have to do them by hand. Oh well, sometimes I think it's better that way.

The quilting is in the shape of a spiderweb, which I thought was rather clever given the material in the quilt. I'm sure it was much easier than actually quilting a pattern into it. I get to do that with the next one. Does anyone have a good idea for a quilting pattern to go with cartoon ducks that wear capes to fly?

Beginning to regret it.

Seth has duty tonight, and I'm beginning to regret all the anxiety I cultivated over his impending separation from the Navy. I had forgotten how lonely one gets, how stressful it can be, when one's husband works 36 hours at a stretch, comes home to catch a good night's sleep, works another 12 hours, comes home to sleep, and then disappears for 36 hours again.

For those relatives who haven't heard the explanation yet, duty means standing the night watch on board Seth's submarine. Every position aboard the sub must be manned by at least one person at all times just in case something goes wrong. Seth watches over the nuclear reactor which is a very technical piece of equipment. Even when a reactor isn't on, it has the potential to go wrong. Nothing ever happens, but many things could (what, I don't know, and I don't want to know. Those are Navy secrets, and I'm sure being in on the loop wouldn't help my peace of mind.).


The number duty days that a person has in a week depends on the number of people in a division or department. Some stations have five-day watch rotations; others have ten-day rotations. On carriers, they might go as many as 13 days between duty days. We've done three days or four. Once every three nights, instead of coming home after a twelve hour day, my husband stays on the boat and works at least six hours in addition to the full day he has already put in. He packs some leftovers with him when he leaves in the morning and makes sure he has his Kindle(tm) and his laptop. He stashes a blanket and a pillow in his bunk. He stands at least six hours of watch between the time when the other guys go home and the time they come back again in the morning. And then he goes back to work. I see him again when he comes home the following night. I'm not used to this.

For the past three months, Seth has been on "off-crew." (To all Navy wives who do not have off-crew, I bow my head and beg that they would please put up with my whining.) All Trident class submarines have two crews: blue and gold. Having two crews keeps the boat in constant circulation. "Off-crew" means that Seth's crew (gold crew) has been engaged in training exercises while the other crew (blue crew) has been handling the boat. The guys generally regard training periods as a waste of time, but training has the advantage of normal work weeks. They leave home at a reasonable hour. They come home at a reasonable hour. Sometimes they come home before noon. There are no duty days while we are on off-crew. I guess I got spoiled.

This past weekend, Seth had duty on Friday. According to custom, he should then have Saturday and Sunday off as in any normal work week. That's one of the perks of Friday duty. Weekends are still weekends. But Seth's chief is anticipating the birth of a child soon, so he wants to get as much maintenance done before said baby comes as possible. I appreciate his motivation. Seth would feel the same way. However that means that instead of coming home on Saturday, Seth worked another twelve hour day. Just before dinner, he called me and confessed that he'd forgotten his keys on the boat and he did not want to go back. I put Boogaloo in the car and drove down and picked him up. He nearly fell asleep over dinner.

Then we dropped him off the next morning at 6 because the Chief wanted to get a few more hours of work done. Boogaloo thought we were dropping him off for a deployment, and she was hysterical the whole way home. He didn't make it to church like we'd hoped, but he did stop at the store and get lunch. We drifted in and out of football all afternoon, and this morning, after a few hours of extra sleep, he went back to work for Monday duty. Over the past four days (102 hours), I have seen, held, spoken to, and slept next to my husband perhaps 24 hours total. Over the past week, he has worked seven days and three nights. It's been a hard week. Schedules like that weigh on our health, our happiness, and our home maintenance, and they don't do much for our sex life either.

As the command would be quick to point out, even those 24 hours are more than I would have gotten if the boat was gone. However, as the command also acknowledges, sometimes these maintenance periods can be worse. There's no period of adjustment or time to build up emotional competence. There are just nights without my husband and the emotional whiplash of uncertain schedules. I know some women who look forward to duty days. They say they get more done in a duty day than in the rest of the week combined. I really can't identify. I also know women who look forward to deployments. They say they have "a good Navy marriage." As soon as they get sick of their husbands, the Navy takes them away for a few months. Nope, not me.

When we first moved to B-town and were assigned to the boat, an experienced Navy wife told me, "Oh, don't worry about duty days. You might actually want a night to yourself." That was nearly five years ago, and I can safely say that the night hasn't come yet. Maybe I'm not as independent as my friends, but I miss him even when he's only gone 36 hours. I start listening for him to drive in around four in the afternoon, and I don't stop listening until six when he would reasonably be home. That feeling that I get when I've made myself remember that he won't be home tonight is one of the lowest in the world, at least in my experience. It's not a feeling that I'm going to miss when Seth is out of the Navy.