Home School Moms: The Original Hipsters

I’ve had a bit of a revelation about my parents, all of our parents actually: Are you ready? They were cool before we even knew what cool was.

Actually, I’m not sure, but I think they might have invented cool.

All you have to do is flip through a few old photographs of your mom and dad when they were young and the truth comes bleeding off the page—they were the original hipsters and we but humble clones.

Scan0002

{My mom being all hip and awesome without even trying}

You know how they say the older you get the smarter your parents get? They aren’t kidding. My parents are practically a couple of geniuses at this point in my life and I’m starting to wish I had occasionally listened to them at some point prior to yesterday.

My mom for instance, was so hip and cool and ahead of her time that my mind is actually blown when I stop and think about it.

She raised us in the country close to nature and let us grow up free-range. She had a garden. And home schooled. And surrounded us with books. And cooked from scratch…all back when people were telling her she was crazy instead of writing blog posts about this being some kind of ideal.

Scan0001{My mom and two oldest brothers}

And my dad totally had a ‘stache from like 1970 to 1997 before moustaches had overrun the whole entire world and were “tastefully” {cough} plastered on everything. He loved photography and had a black room set up in the house to develop his own film. No Instagram filters needed.

He published his own work from home like some kind of indie artist before “indie artist” was even a thing, owned his own bookstore for a while, and sold and collected vintage beer cans for a while too {and is probably not pleased at all right now that I’m putting any of this on the internet because he’s way too cool for that}. Also, he still has way better taste in music than me—which is annoying.

So you know what I was doing while my hip parents were gardening and developing their own photography?

I was rolling my eyes.

Because my parents were just soooooo weird and annoying and I wanted to go to a “real” school and eat Happy Meals and live closer to civilization instead of being tortured by these crazy people who obviously.didn’t.know.anything.

And you know what everyone my age is now doing? Everything my parents did back when they obviously didn’t know anything.

I stand corrected.

My parents are awesome. They know everything.

At least my kids will recognize right away that I am the embodiment of wisdom and awesomeness and won’t roll their eyes for 28 years like I did. What a relief.

Telegrams Rock -(Stop)-

I have this very cool friend, Ashley, that just gets me. She’s the kind of girl who peeks into your soul and takes a piece of your heart with her. Okay, that was a little bit dramatic but you know what I’m sayin’. She gets my stupid sense of humor and my love for random weirdness and there are just very, very few people in the world I have more fun with.

Ashley and I write each other hand-written letters all the time because we are awesome like that. Ashley taps hers out on an old vintage typewriter (named Watson, because it only makes sense to name your typewriter?) and I write mine on my very-special-occasion fancy pants stationery used only for the people I love best of all. Every letter from Ashley is a riot. I have thought about starting a place on this blog just to share her letters because they are just too funny and wonderful to keep all to myself.

ANYWAY

The other day I went to the mailbox and found a big yellow envelope with Telegram written across the top of it. I first squealed then ran to the house to open it up. When I opened it I found an old-fashioned looking note that read:

DEAR KARI  -(STOP)-  EPIC ADVENTURE AHEAD  -(STOP)-  POSSIBLE JAIL TIME  -(STOP)-  MOVING TO LAND OF VERY LARGE COWS  -(STOP)-  TEXAS  -(STOP)-  THEY FRY FOLKS DOWN THERE  -(STOP)-  BOSTON IN AUG  -(STOP)-  HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING ILLEGAL IN AGES  -(STOP)-  CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU  -(STOP)-  AM SECRETLY TERRIFIED OF SAID VERY LARGE COWS  -(STOP)-  LOVE ASHLEY B  -(STOP)-

After reading this, I danced around the kitchen for a solid five minutes squealing about how this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I get excited about real mail–but a freaking telegram on vintage paper in a big yellow envelope? Well kids, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Check the website out at Telegramstop to join in on the awesomeness. Or just be friends with someone really awesome who knows how to make you dance around the kitchen for five minutes.

And Now I Can Fulfill My Destiny

I love being outside. I think perhaps I should have been a vagabond instead of a normal person. Oh well. I decided to make up an excuse for going outside and bought the cutest vintage bike you’ve ever seen. No really, EVER. Here she is:

She came in the mail this morning and I haven’t regained my senses yet. Here’s the husband putting her together in the kitchen. Nothing like having an aerospace Quality Manager put things together for you–if the helicopters fly then the bike should ride (we hope).

I decided to take her out for her maiden voyage, all along telling Husband what an avid bike rider I was all through my youth and pretty much laid it out that I was pro. Probably shouldn’t have done that. I almost died. I went like a 1/4 of a mile and my knee was aching and I was panting for air. Sooo, I guess I’m a little out of shape–fail.

Here she is in her new home–our living room. She can’t live outside because I’m fairly certain one of my various pot-infused neighbors will take her for a spin and then I would have to chase them down and we would fight to the death–not ideal if you ask me. So, I vote she lives in the living room. Husband says she has to live in the basement. Silly Husband. Does he really think I’m going to let him put my sweet little bike in that dark abyss? No, I win; she lives in the living room.

I have lots of plans for my little bike–camping trips, racing the nephews, national parks, days at the beach…just as soon as I get my 26 year old knee and lungs whipped back into shape–who knew I would get so old so young? That’s what living in the city does to you, I say. Get me outside!

I bought the basket separately from Peterboro Basket Company located in Peterborough, New Hampshire. They hand-make their baskets right here in the USA using all American products…love that, love supporting local business when I can.

So, what are your plans for the warm weather days?