Painting, Alaska-Style

Yes, even painting the house means a different way of doing things in Alaska. Since our summers are short, so very, very short, most Alaskans try to cram every outdoor renovation and/or remodel into the June-August months, knowing, as we do, that every day past August 30 could mean the difference between success or despondent failure.

Which, ahem, brings us to our house, on August 30, 2010. That we started painting, this morning with the fabulous assistance (okay, total supervision of) Bill Harrison, aka Mr. Pedouin of the Biking Family fame. There is a special place in heaven for men like Bill who will hitch a ride from their cozy cabin in Fairbanks to spend a week or more hand-painting a behemoth of a 1970's split-level like our house, and knowing full-well that icy rain or bitter cold could make this whole project a miserable one, indeed.

We've been waiting for the perfect time to do this; three years, in fact. The paint chip had been taped to the inside of a kitchen cabinet for that long, as I agonized over the process. At least we're doing it, now.

The color is "Dark Sage" and it looks just dandy with the brown trim we started with and of course lost in the garage, so Bill had to pull up a board and have me take it to the hardware store to have them match it. Yep, he's finding out just how un-handy we Kirklands are...

The photo above is from the tail end of the day. Bill, frustrated a the width of the ugly T-111 siding grooves, was just about done with the day, the paint, and the house. In the interest of the company we had coming over for dinner, however, he kindly decided to roll over the zebra stripes for my benefit. I didn't even ask.

What a guy. I just hopes he sticks around when Yukon tells him that he wants a second coat.

A New Discovery

I'm wearing an apron. This is a new phase of my housewife-dom, of which my friend snorted with laughter and said "If you're a housewife I'm doomed." I'm not sure what she meant, but I don't think it was good.

Anyway, I've discovered a lot of things over the past four days, things I didn't previously have time for. Things like dust covering the ceiling fan over our bed. No wonder we pop Benadryl like TicTacs. Things like a frozen package of waffles from 2008 (I'm not kidding). Things like my sense of peaceful tranquility that I even have time to discover those aforementioned Things.

I've also discovered useful tips. For those who have only recently become acquainted with me, you might not know I am an out-of-the-closet collector of old cookbooks describing the best in home arts, preferably between the early 1900's and 1960's. They are a hoot, as if anyone would have time to devote to sewing slipcovers for the davenport today. Anyhow, I love to browse thrift and antique stores looking for these gems, and found on last weekend.

It is from 1978, but that's okay. Lots of funny things in it, like the pictures of housewives looking like Carol Brady. I did find a tip for removing baked-on grime from pots and pans, though, and I tried it. The tip? Put a few drops of automatic diswashing liquid in the pan and fill with water. No kidding, it works like a charm and the dang skillet looks better than it ever has, which is quite something, indeed.

Update on Back To School

This is what a day might look like for a mommy such as me who is now faced with an ENTIRE day to herself:

Deliver child to school and make it home in a record 15 minutes. Ahem.

Reheat coffee and drink, making note of the silence in and around the house.

Write an article, start to finish, without interruptions to wipe noses or other anatomical parts, fix the Lego police helicopter, or butter the toast.

Go to Costco without a small child draped in, across, underneath, or on top of the shopping cart. High five the receipt-checker at the door, because he knew why I was smiling so much.

Eat lunch on my deck with a favorite book, listening to NPR. Wish I had a glass of wine to go with the lunch.

Take the dog for a walk around the neighborhood, purposely NOT running because now I have time for a leisurely stroll instead of a mad dash because I have to be somewhere to pick up somebody.

Talk to my husband without hearing "MommmmmYYYY!" or "I WANNNNNT you NOW!" in the background.

I don't like it at all.

On the Road Towards Higher Learning: The First Day of School

I had philosphized the first day of Kindergarten blog post for a long time. I was going to emote, extoll and embellish my feelings of both joy and sorrow at depositing my second and final child into the wonderful world of Kindergarten. It would be bittersweet, sincere, and meaningful as my little boy left my arms and entered those of the Anchorage School District.

Not.

It was sort of a non-event, this first day of school, if you leave out the falling asleep at 10 p.m. and up and 6:30 a.m. part, due to a teensy bit of excitement on the student's part. But going to school? Eh, no problem.

I guess I expected something different, having sent one child to school still clinging to my leg like a bug some 10 years ago. Bear? His grand entrance consisted of both Yukon and I (dutifully carrying the camera) escorting him to Rilke Schule, a German immersion charter school we've been anticipating since it opened three years ago. Calm and eyeing his new classmates with the practiced eye of one who knows what he likes and likes what he sees, Bear was more than willing to sit at the "Grune" table with three other girls (how do teachers always know that girls really dig him?) and start right into his morning work, coloring a tugboat in great detail.

When Yukon and I lingered, chatting with Frau Judith and dropping school supplies into their respective bins, he casually mentioned over his shoulder, "You can go, now."

Oh. Right. Kindergarten isn't for parents.

Yukon returned after lunch to witness the presentation of the "Schuletuten", a paper cone filled with school supplies and treats and given to all German children when they begin school for the first time. It is very exciting and a rite of passage for the kids. You can see Bear with Frau Judith, his German teacher, in the last photo. She is wonderful and will be a good fit, for sure.

Tuesday being Alaska Travelgram Day, I could not attend the assembly, but shuttled home ASAP after a short phone conversation post-show. "Mommy!" my little-big-man shouted over the cell phone. "I LOVED my first day of Kindergarten!"

Oh, you have simply no idea how grateful I was to hear those words.

The Last Frontier

As the many people who arrived on Wednesday for former Senator Ted Stevens' funeral found out, there is no easy way to get to Alaska. Flights here, there, and everywhere, all of them long, are required for access to the 49th State. Conversely, the same is true for Alaskans trying to go South for important occasions.

My sweet aunt passed away yesterday due to complications from Alzheimer's disease. Expected yet ultimately surprising in its swift arrival, her death placed our family in the realm of so many other Alaskans who need to get Outside (anyplace other than here) within a certain span of time.

Schedules seem to take on a completely different meaning up here; our lives are defined by flight times of airlines that frequently end almost constant service to the Lower 48 mid-August. That my aunt would pass away on the day Alaska Airlines suspended summerime schedules was a reminder that we do, indeed live thousands of miles away from our families. I am reminded of this every three months as I wearily climb aboard a red-eye flight to Salt Lake City to visit my son.

I talked to a mother yesterday whose husband had just accompanied their freshman son to Washington State University. Airfares were too expensive for both parents to settle he and his gear into his dorm and attend all the parent orientation sessions; plus, their other kids were beginning school back in Anchorage and the thought of trying to navigate such a schedule was, understandably, frightfully overwhelming.

While talking to my parents, my uncle, and even the mortuary in Santa Rosa, California, people were more than understanding my inability to fly down in time for my aunt's service on Tuesday morning. "After all," the owner of the Parent-Sorensen Mortuary told me, "Alaska is not an easy place to get out of."

In this age of email, companion fares, and Skype, I know I am in better communication shape than the sourdoughs who would go months without any mail, not knowing if family members were alive, dead, or somewhere in between. I cannot imagine the sorrow of reading via an outdated letter the death of a loved one. I forget, sometimes, where we are. I love it. But sometimes the miles on the map seem not-to-scale.

From the Wolf Den: Taking It

So, knowing how to start explaining a situation we've been in before is more difficult tonight. Difficult, because we've been down this road many, many times in two years. Difficult, because of the nature of the situation. Difficult, because we all are wearying in every humanly way of riding highs that always, always seem to end in deep lows.

The details are complex and not the point of this story tonight, and I don't want to go there, but those close to me know something is up. Yukon is unaware of the latest situation; he is in the middle of the Yakama Nation's Camp Chaparral for wounded Native American Veterans and totally off the grid. I have thought about calling him, but then, he cannot do anything from where he is. It is strange, though, to be back in a situation where I do not have a partner to lean on.

At any rate, the whole point of this post is to talk about how we, the parents of children with severe emotional and/or behavioral disabilities, Take It. Because we have to.
Yes, yes, there are support groups and online chats and reams of printed material outlining the strategies for taking care of the caregiver. But when the end of the day comes, and we've done our venting and written our rants and shared our triumphs, we still ultimately, simply Take It.

The world goes on whether or not our children have hurt someone else, or themselves, whether we have not slept in two days or whether our non-disabled children are needy, too. The newspaper still falls on our front porches with a thump and the coffeemakers still grind out strong brew whether or not our kids have a good day or a bad one. We still drive our other kids to school and cub scouts and Sunday School, switching between the regular schedules of Life and the confusing system that is therapy, medication, and treatment reviews. Rock on. We'll do our best to rock along with you. Because we Take It.

One day, one hour; hell, even one minute at a time. Some days it's the best we can do.

Saying Goodbye to Part of Alaska's Soul

Bear and I stood on a damp and drizzly street corner tonight, waiting for our chance to say goodbye to the essence of Alaska. I didn't always agree with former Senator Ted Stevens, but as an Alaskan I, and everyone who lives here, owes a heck of a lot to him.

Alaska was created by people like him, for people like us.

Vice President Joe Biden's motorcade preceded the hearse, and Bear was quite awed at the sight of flashing lights and sirens and important people.

He asked, "Should I put my hand over my heart?"

I told him that would be nice.

Grace can be amazing at times like these.