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I don’t know how we crammed all of the people—our best estimate is 50—into our house but we managed.
They all drove up here despite a temperature of 30 below zero.
It was loud, especially downstairs where the children blasted the boom box and held a ping pong tournament.
Only one dog fight erupted, and it took place in the bedroom so no one saw, thankfully. (On Sunday, I told Alec that I wasn’t sure we could continue to live with two dogs bent on killing each other.)
I kept losing my beer, or maybe I kept drinking it down without realizing it. Later, after the party, I lay in bed awake thinking of all of the alcohol consumed—enough to fill a few trash bags. I hoped everyone made it home OK.
My friend, Judy, took the pictures below.
Nanne and Gimbel.
Tuesday, Kenny and his daughter Zowie.
Thorston, Chris, Mountain Heather, who lives down the road, and me.
Dave sandwiched between two Jamies.
Danny and his Baby Grandma.
Tom and Tuesday.
Gene and one of his girls.
Tom and Chris, who hosted us at their cabin on the Salcha River on July 4.
John and Alec.
Todd, Tom, Gene and co.
Marmian, a friend and former co-worker, Lisa, my friend and former room-mate, and Jennifer, my friend.
Paul in the middle. I’m afraid I don’t know the other men’s names.
Jade and Cameron, whose family is our neighbor at Summit Lake.
Jade, my neighbor Erin, Andrea, my former landlord, and baby Kiera.
Lucky had pilfered a Riesen candy off of my nightstand—can you describe something made of plastic as a night stand?—and was walking around sucking on it, still in the wrapper and all.
When I saw, I took it away from her, opened it, cut a little piece off and gave the tiny piece to her as an appeasement for taking away the whole candy.
What came was the tantrum of all tantrums, crying, mouth open wide, boogers pouring out of her nose, chocolate from the little bit of candy, which she paused to nibble in between breaths, all over her face and hair and hands and legs, which were bare because I had changed her diaper and she was too wild to put back on her overalls.
She followed me to the bathroom where I dispose of poopie diapers—we have a Diaper Genie—and when I shut off the light and closed the door, I heard a little crunch. Her fingers got crushed in the door jam.
That’s when she stopped crying, just when she had a real reason to cry. No, stopped isn’t the right word. She calmed to a whimper and I held her, walking circles the length of the house like I used to the nights when she was a few months old and inconsolable.
She paused sometimes to rub my hair and kiss me back, my little mimic. (She also picks her nose almost obsessively, which brings me great shame. My little mimic.)
I should be the one getting consoled because my nose is raw and I feel something pooling in my ears.
I mustered the energy to meet the boiler guy this morning at the rental property but I canceled the rest of my day.
The boiler cleaning went well. My tenant played a Miles Davis album and told me about his trip to Maui. The boiler man, Mark, said the boiler is old but chugging along nicely. The bill was $280, which is good. In past years, I’ve been handed a bill of $500 or more.
Adult relations on Murphy Dome have been tense, owing I think to the darkness and cold, and the result has been less blogging on my part because it’s made me sad and because I couldn’t bear to admit it because I want my relationship to be known as a good one because I gave up a lot to come up here and make this family and if it’s not going well than maybe that means I made a huge mistake, proving I am incapable of good judgment.
But now I just feel like relationships have their ups and downs and the thing to do is to ride it out or take steps to make things better.
The good thing is that most of the tension is over stupid stuff, such as what kind of chicken food to buy or unfounded accusations of sabotaged coffee.
With me and Alec, it’s usually silly things that get between us. Or at least the things seem sort of silly when the dust settles.
He took me out for Mexican food last night and I almost said, “Let’s call a truce,” but the dinner went so well that I felt like a truce had happened by itself.
Today, I brought him lunch after the boiler appointment and he’s just been in the shower, cleaning the chocolate out of Jade’s hair, a favor to me because the responsibility for cleaning the baby is usually mine. (Although it got on my nerves earlier when he asked me if I had anything going for dinner because judging from the kitchen, I thought the answer was pretty obvious: No.)
I’ll end this post by reporting that we are having a party on Saturday and it should be interesting because I am not feeling the best and a lot of people are invited and won’t they expect food and a clean house and a cheerful hostess? Not to mention the temperature is supposed to be a frigid 30 below. Who will want to stand out by a bonfire when it’s that cold? Not me.
A strong storm, says the weather service, is dropping eight inches of snow today on top of four inches that fell yesterday.
I hope the roads are OK and I make it home tonight at about 11pm after covering an assembly meeting.
The meeting should be a snoozer, according to the agenda. The most interesting thing is a million bucks the municipality wants to spend on new Plexiglas at the major hockey arena.
Jade, by the way, is less tolerant of snow and cold than she was last winter. She refuses to walk in the snow. She whines because she’s cold. By the time I’m done bundling her up, which takes forever, she’s spitting mad. I hope she toughens up or this will be a long six months. At least I can ski now.
1) I spent last weekend in Las Vegas.
2) I have a new mandate at work. I’ll be covering the area’s largest municipal government.
3) My company finally ponied up health insurance. I see a dentist on Thursday.
4) My 2-year-old has swine flu symptoms.
5) The sun will be scarce where I live during the next four months.
6) I’ll get through it by skiing as often as possible.
7) Also, I bought a harness so that I can try out the rock wall at the gym.
8 ) I’ll let you know how that goes.
9) I usually hate my hair but I triple loathe it lately.
10) Lately, I’ve been wearing bright orange shoes.
Why does it feel like childless people lead more interesting lives?
All of my favorite bloggers have no children. They go to the gym, drag shows, plays and sleazy bars. Their experiences sound fun and fascinating.
Me? I go to play group, do my job and on the rare night that I’m in town one evening and grab a drink with friends, I leave early to go to the grocery store. Wild and crazy, huh?
Don’t get me wrong. I have zero regret about my kid. And she’s not that hard to raise. She sleeps until 9am sometimes. She eats her vegetables. She loves books. When she gets into trouble and I tell her to go to her room, she goes to her room and closes the door.
Still, motherhood has made me boring. I mean, I’m going to Las Vegas next weekend. Guess what I plan to dress up as? Santa Claus. My friend who is also going is planning to be a naughty kitty.
I need to think of a better costume. Maybe I should go as a roller derby chick. I could skate around the Las Vegas strip in my roller blades.
I spent Monday with the liberal/moderate candidate for mayor and today I hang with the conservative. She told me to bring a warm coat because the heat is not great in her car.
I’m an undecided voter so I relish the chance to spend a day with each candidate as I decide who to vote for. I guess this is one of the fringe benefits of being a journalist.
The race is between a well-connected Democrat and a home school mom who is a staunch conservative. Both serve on the Borough Assembly.
The Democrat has a long history in our town; a deliberative, thoughtful personality; the better resume; and a lot more financial support.
The conservative—some have called her a populist—has a lot of spunk and an outspoken, energetic following. She also seems more like the average Fairbanksan whereas some would consider the Democrat an elite.
Two of us are covering the race for the local paper. Somehow I’ve managed to claim the stories that are my favorite aspects of politics: the money, the endorsements, the personalities.
Jade turned two and somehow the partying went on for a week.
It started with a birthday party with her friends at the hot springs.
Then I made cupcakes for her day care, where they sang happy birthday. Then there was the dinner at a Mexican restaurant when the waiters gathered around our table and belted out happy birthday.
Various gifts came Jade’s way all weekend, including a toddler exercise bike.
By the time her grandpa came to Murphy Dome for dinner and to wish her a happy birthday, we were tired of singing and just handed her the present, a faux bear skin rug.
Now I have to potty train the kid.
I hope she doesn’t think all birthdays go on for a week.
I finally made it to the used book store and stocked my shelves with five titles that I hope will sustain me through a long Alaska winter.
Here’s the list: “Teacher Man,” by Frank McCourt; “Truth & Beauty” by Ann Patchett; “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert; “the Snapper” by Roddy Doyle; and “Almost There” by Nuala O’Faolain.
I hate how predictable these titles are. They scream, Yes, I am a 37-year-old middle class white woman with a college degree. Barf.
I started “the Snapper” and I love it so far, mainly for being not politically correct. The lead character is a pregnant woman who goes to bars and gets drunk. None of the other characters bat an eye about it. The story focuses on a big family living in Ireland.
I think I have all of Roddy Doyle’s books. He’s one of my favorite writers. “the Snapper” is almost all dialogue. Doyle is a master at writing dialogue and can totally get away with that.
A blast of warm air in Alaska brought near record high temperatures over the weekend. The thermometer in Fairbanks flirted with 60 degrees. This time last year, people were skiing.
Consequently, many walks were had on Murphy Dome, and the Bottle Washing Fairy is so inspired she is tentatively planning extended stays in the far north next year.
That said, it sounds like winter is being had elsewhere in the U.S. I’d like to share this story from the Christian Science Monitor.
For the record, I’m no global warming nay-sayer. I fear what could happen to the world if we keep pumping CO2 into the atmosphere. But I also think it’s important to consider the facts.
I’m hiding out in the garage. I have a houseful asleep upstairs. I should be too but I got home from work at 11 p.m. I covered a meeting on deadline. I’m always too jazzed to go to bed after writing on deadline late at night.
I’m in Alec’s man room, surrounded by safety glasses and shiny metal things. There’s a radio tuned into jazz music. I just heard someone upstairs get up and go pee.
By writing “houseful” earlier, I mean Alec, Lucky and the Bottle Washing Fairy, who came to be with us whilst celebrating her 70th birthday.
We had a moonlit walk on Saturday and on Sunday a turkey dinner with homemade bread.
Tomorrow is the municipal election. I still don’t know who I like for borough mayor and whether I can swallow the school bond measure.
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