Deep and rich understanding of network theory at both the micro and macro level -protocols, applications, topologies
Strong networking background with good breadth of knowledge across other IT domains (security, platform, storage)
CS and EE backgrounds (from strong research-oriented EE/CS programs) preferred, but open to any scientific or engineering background
Fresh Bucks is a healthy food incentive program funded in the West Sound in part by the National Institute of Food and Agriculture, U.S. Department of Agriculture.
For every $5 you spend in EBT, you’ll receive an additional $2 to spend on fresh produce. That’s $7 for shopping with every $5 swiped on your EBT card! Always check to make sure your local market is open by visiting their website or checking their Facebook page. Not all programs are offered year round, but operate when funds are available to do so.
Any EBT (SNAP/Basic Food/Food Stamps) cardholder with $5 or more in EBT dollars on their card is eligible to match those dollars at a participating farmers market. Fresh Bucks does not currently support TANF, WIC, cash benefits, or any other program besides SNAP/Basic Food.
Any EBT (SNAP/Basic Food/Food Stamps) cardholder with $5 or more in EBT dollars on their card may take their EBT card to the market information booth at a participating farmers market and swipe their card for the amount of EBT they wish to spend that day. For example, an EBT cardholder could swipe their EBT card for $5 EBT and receive $2 in matching Fresh Bucks ($10 gets you $4 in fresh bucks, $15 gets you $6, and so on).
Fresh Bucks can be spent at any participating farmers market, directly with a produce vendor. While EBT tokens can be used at any vendor selling EBT eligible items, Fresh Bucks currency can only be used on produce items (such as fruit, vegetables, herbs, mushrooms or plant starts). No change will be given for Fresh Bucks.
Fresh Bucks do expire on December 31st of each year. If you don’t use them by the end of the year, they have no value and are nonredeemable. The year you must use it in is listed on your Fresh Bucks currency.
Fresh Bucks in the West Sound is funded by USDA National Institute of Food and Agriculture (NIFA) through a USDA Food Insecurity and Nutrition Incentive (FINI) grant awarded to the WA Department of Health. Participating farmers market organizations contribute staff time and support to operating the program.
Tell somebody you know about Fresh Bucks — spreading the word is the best way to help grow this program and help those in need access quality food.
Send us an email to request outreach info or for further information about Fresh Bucks in your area.
Naomi's first barbie dresses were made from socks. Two slits in the sides for the arms and lop off the bottom and voila! a cap-sleeved, boatnecked barbie uniform of various colors and lengths! Sometimes the heel of the sock would actually match up with the butt of the doll, created a bustled look. This phase is long passed (she started to mine the good sock pile for dresses and the scissors became used in other ways), and I regret that I didn't get a picture.
This is one of Naomi's tinfoil creations. She's actually kind of over it now, and I had to beg her to make this one. At the peak of her tinfoil fervor each outfit had accessories: gloves, shoes, necklaces, rings, multiple "hair flowers". It really is impressive what she can do with tin. But "going out dancing", which is what the barbies did in their silver dresses, is no longer exciting enough for Naomi. Now they need to be brides.
Lately she's been all about baby wipes. They are white, which is perfect for her wedding obsession. Every barbie is marrying somebody. All her dolls ever do is marry each other, it seems.
Here's her latest: she juxtaposes the burka-like modesty of the veil and blusher with a slinky fitted strapless gown that showcases Rapunzel Barbie's impossibly long legs, and with a modern splash of color, she ties the look together with a neon orange sash.
I've been trying to write a post about Naomi's birthday since Monday. Happy birthday Naomi! My special big girl! You're five now and I couldn't be more awed by you! You think such funny things! This is the best I can come up with because everyone thinks it's National Scream At Mommy Week.
I wanted to to do it justice because my own 5th birthday is the first one I remember really clearly. I woke up before dawn to find presents in my bedroom. I got a leotard that was purple with horizontal red stripes that I wore for years afterward. I got a pair of off-white legwarmers, and I got yelled at when I ripped the tag off and made the knit run. Since then I have always been extremely careful ripping the tags off of anything. My mom took me by by bus to my aunts house (you know you're getting close to Aunt Reen's if you see railroad tracks!) and then we did something all day that I don't remember. We ended up at Friendly's eating ice cream and I got some Strawberry Shortcake figurines that I still have, that Naomi plays with now.
I wanted to write well about her birthday because it's that time when her awareness is dawning, when her impressions are lasting. In other words, everything I do becomes part of her personal narritive. It becomes her story. It is subject to her interpretations. Now, everything I do is fair game to be brought up in therapy five, ten years from now, and hashed out for an hourly fee. The thought of that warms me and cools me at the same time. I love that she's grown into her own person. But I fear what she'll think of my actions. The repercussions are ever-present. This is the big leagues of parenting: when it's not your own story that matters anymore. Her story matters just as much. My word against hers, etc etc.
If I was a perfect parent I suppose this wouldn't matter. But I have a feeling that tooth fairy episode might come back to haunt me.
I still haven't bought her birthday present (but I will nxt week, after I get the cage), which I've decided will be two lab rats because they are smart, sociable, cheap and easy to care for, and hard to kill. Really, you can feed then almost anything and they'll be fine. Not like hamsters, which will die if you look at them funny.
after bedtime, while i was across the room dozing off and putting the baby to bed, naomi decided it would be a good idea to reach under her pillow for the little box her tooth is in. in the dark. of course it got lost.
even though we made a big ritual of putting it under there, even though i explained fifty thousand times that if she loses it the tooth fairy won't come, she needs to be careful, it's a tiny tooth it could get lost don't lose it, kid, take care, show respect blah blah blah blah blah.
because she opened the box, lost the tooth, and in that tone that drives me absolutely batty because it sounds so fucking spoiled "mo-mmy, i lost my too-ooth." (which wakes up the baby). i hate that tone, because it's obvious she thinks i'm going to come over there and make the tiny tooth magically reappear and pat her on the head and put her back to bed and everything's going to be hunky-dory. as if i was just blowing hot air all day. as if i'm made of steel.
then, heedless of everyone around her, she starts with the operatics. again, i don't know how many times she's been told (and has seen for herself) that noise after bedtime is a surefire way to get me going. it's like she can't learn. it's like she puposely doesn't retain information, out of spite.
espcecially when she acts surprised and upset (and escalates the screaming) when i tell her the tooth fairy can't come now, because there is no tooth to retrieve. she acts traumatized, as if she wasn't warned all fucking day. (i would no longer judge impatience in a mother's voice. i know that the first 50 times she said whatever she's saying, she was probably perfectly calm.)
i want to tell her she ruined everything, it's all her fault. i want to tell her that having a tooth fall out didn't make her a big girl, not being able to follow this simple instruction means she's just a selfish baby who lost a tooth. like a ten year old who gets her period isn't a woman; she's just a ten year old kid with grown up hormones.
most of the things i want to say would go right over her head. i indulge in some mildly abusive things in big words she doesn't know. but there's no mistaking the tone.
after i calm down a bit, i try to walk her through her thought process, what did she think she was doing when she decided to take the box out again? at what point could she have made a differenct choice? she conveniently forgot any reasons she had. she just sobbed like i killed her kitty and called me mean and a bad mommy and i felt like utter shit. i felt like i should not be responsible for a four year old's mental health, because i clearly am not cut out for it.
i hate it when she acts stupid, and pretends she didn't understand me in order to do whatever she wants. i hate it when she doesn't take me seriously. i hate it when she doesn't listen. i hate it that she doesn't do this to other people; if it were her nana putting naomi to bed tonight, she would have taken the utmost care, she would have been awed enough to leave the fucking box under the fucking pillow.
i suck at this. everyone seems to be better at bringing good behavior out of her than me. letting go of the anger gives way to the self-loathing. it's better to hurt one's self than one's children. swallowing more feelings in order to calm her down, and get both of them to sleep, and maybe make up for some of the more awful things i said in anger and frustration. naomi and i fall asleep curled together. i hate myself.
i hate it that we lost her first tooth. i hate it that this rite of passage was marred by her fumble and my freakout. why couldn't she just listen to me? believe me? respect me? you open up a small box in the dark, you're going to lose the fucking tooth. you lost the tooth, you don't get squat. so be careful, be respectful. what's so hard to understand about that?
i found naomi's tooth this morning, nestled into the carpet near the bed. we put it back in the box, we're going to try again.
we talked about how her choices could have been made better, how i overreacted. she remembered every horrible thing i said. she understood more than i thought she could.
i said we all act on impulses sometimes. i said that she and i are so much alike. i sympathized with her for being so excited about her tooth that she had to try and look at it one more time. i forgave her for acting on the impulse and disobeying my instructions.
one of the most humbling things about parenting is when you realize how your parents got so crazy. and you understand. and you suddenly see yourself as what you were: a brat.
I thought she was too young for this, I hadn't even read up on it yet, I thought it would still be another few years before I had to figure out what kind of tooth fairy would be making nocturnal visitations (a stingy one? one in costume? would she deliver dollar bills? or crayons?). I thought kids didn't loose teeth until kindergarten.
But I guess I should have expected it, this is a kid who had more teeth at six months than many kids have at 18 months.
I look at her these days and I can only shake my head in mute wonder. Where did that baby go? She'll be five in less than a month, she plays elaborate games with dolls, she can read, yesterday she went to Old Navy and picked out a new dress for herself and her sister (matching, but different colors), a new backpack for herself (which she filled with her favorite toys and took to the park "to share with my friends"), all the while maintaining her big-girl poise.
And now, the nightmare teether of a baby (seriously. I never saw a kid teethe that bad. I guess that's what happens when you cut molars at eleven months), has turned into the brave, sweet, utterly together little girl who sits before me, proudly wiggling her precious loose tooth with her finger and reading a Snow White book.
this week, there have been four posts begun, none finished. So, before the whole week goes by with nary a word, some randomness for you.
1.I have no money. I also have no paper towels, or wipes, or swiffer pads. this will be the month that I play "1940's House". this is a whole new side to the cloth vs. sposie debate. Fortunately, I managed to buy detergent before my obligtions to the gas company emptied my bank account.
2.Naomi and Miriam get along so freakin well. I know how lucky I am. I know this isn't because of anything I did (or didn't do), or the magic of spacing (3 years 2 months), it's that their unique temperments happen to mesh really well. Miriam thinks the sun rises and sets with Naomi. Naomi loves to teach Miriam things and take care of her. I used to try to get Naomi to be more gentle with her, especially when she was a little baby, but there is no purer expression of joy than the look on Miriam's face when she's being manhandled by her sister. I know many pairs of siblings who can't be left alone together. Who never play together. I am so lucky.
3. speaking of my girls, I woke up this morning between two mostly naked little warm bodies, and oh my god, mommygasm. little hands, wispy hair, squishy butts, rounded bellies, silken skin. and they hadn't even opened their eyes yet.
4. Naomi's been collecting seeds (from the sidewalk, from the park, from the food she eats) and planting them in any available patch of dirt she can find. She's obsessed with plants. I want to get her a giant pot for outside the front door so she can grow all different things this summer.
5. She's also obsessed with getting a pet. She wants a "mouse", like her cousin had, oh, two years ago. the mouse was actually a little white lab rat. I don't know. I told her she had to be five before she got her own pet, so that buys me a few months figure out what I can deal with. Maybe some fish. Fish don't escape and get lost in the house and get disembowled by the cat.
6. I thought I had another one? I keep getting distracted by Radio Times. I had to switch over from XPN because of the fund drive. Really, folks, you do not have a membership level for every budget. You don't have one for mine. Not even the bargain basement one that doesn't come with any "free gifts". Yes, I love your station. Yes, I care about your budget, and I remember the time the summer storm knocked out your power and it was YOUR MEMBERS that allowed you to get new Special Equiptment which prevents lightning strikes from ever again interrupting the great music that commercial radio doesn't play. GET ON WITH IT. (But, if you have the means, you should absolutely pledge. It really is a great station. I would help if I could. Really. And not just because of the CD of the month club).
7. Three out of six items alludes to Naomi's penchant for nurturing things. She's happiest when she's taking care of something. Sometimes this worries me, like when she told me of her dream where she and all the other children were made out of glass and when the little boys would break it was the little girls who would fix them. I asked her if the little girls ever broke, and she paused, and shook her head. "the little girls have to fix the little boys!" yikes.
8. Do I have another one? I don't know. I want to get a bartending job. Fast cash made during hours my kids are asleep. Sounds good. I could work it.
Naomi, I am so sorry you inherited my sleeplessness. Because of my lousy genes, you will spend much of your life staring at a darkened celing when the world effortlessly slumbers.
This isn't all bad. Some nights this will come in handy: when a new book comes out and you just can't put it down, when some important thinking has to be done that daylight hours aren't suited for, when the ceaseless whirring of your internal chatter yeilds inspiration rather than worry. Someday you may people-watch the nighttime characters that populate 24 hour diners, you may experience the city shrink to a small town of die-hard Owls. This is lots of fun.
But most of the time, this tendancy toward insomnia will be all boredom and bad television and miserable mornings. You may someday know everything being sold via infomercial and have seen every episode of your favorite long-cancelled sitcom. You will have watched your bedroom clock count away the hours and minutes you have for resting until the searing alarm signals the start of a day spiced with the manic fog of acute sleep deprivation.
Respect you rhythms, sweetheart. Choose a life that allows you your night hours. They serve a mysterious purpose that's part of what makes you who you are.
I think we have many nights ahead of us like the one we had this week, where Miriam obliviously slept while we whirred away, for the most part harmoniously notsleeping together. We talked, we laughed, we sat alone, me with my notebook, you with your dolls.
When I fell asleep in my chair you patted my head and told me to go to bed. That was 3:30 AM. I had given up trying to figure out what you ate, what you did, what you experienced that made your motor run so long into the night, when according to my calculations you should have been ready for bed at 8:30. I know the uselessness of the thought that circles a truth so obscure. Spinning my wheels that way only leads to frustration.
So, I'm sitting on the toilet and Naomi says to me, "When I'm big, I want to dig for human bones and make them into skeletons".
Naomi was born with a taste for the macabre. She doesn't know this, but her favorite filmmaker is Tim Burton, the actor she will watch in anything is Johnny Depp (right now she's grooving on Edward Scissorhands). She was fascinated with the BodyWorlds exhibit when we took her last year. She had quite the love affair with the bookstore's toy skeleton, named, obviously, Mr. Bones.
As my mind raced among sociopathological possibilities I was surely inducing by inflicting such stress as divorce upon her tender psyche, I stalled and asked her a question "Like, for your job?"
"for a job!" Now she's excited. She wants to go get a job RIGHT NOW working with human remains. Great.
Is my daughter going to be a forensic pathologist? Or an archeologist? Or a reclusive bone collector? Time will tell.
But if you ask her what she wants to be when she grows up, she will now answer "I wanna be an arche-cologist! And dig for human bones!"
Naomi loves the mail. It sits in an unsorted pile by the door and the daily delivery of fresh envelopes sends her into vibrations of glee.
Because of her fondness for opening the mail and hoarding the envelopes for her own use, I sort out the junk mail and have a special pile just for her.
Inspired by Linus's letter to the great pumpkin, she's been writing letters to everyone in her life. Including the Great Pumpkin and Santa, of course. There are usually a few recognizable words withing the squiggles of indecipherable lines, she sounded out "dear" and decided that it should be spelled with a Y, as in "dyr".
And then she puts it into a business reply mail envelope, seals it, and together we write the recipent's name on the outside. We make a special trip to "the white mailbox at the bookstore" and she mails it.