Little House Style and also? Poetry.

The power went out today.  For about 45 minutes?  It wasn't out for very long, but it just happened to go out 4 minutes after I started browning hamburger for tonight's dinner.  My stove is electric.  So, you know, a problem presented itself.  However, because I am Laura Ingalls Wilder, I took my iron skillet and put it in my grill outside.  That grill sure did the trick.

I felt very....I don't know....resourceful is a bit too strong...quick thinking?  Brilliant?  Handsome, regal, majestic. Lovable, yes, yes. Cuddly...whatever, it just felt good. 

And it tasted good. 

Also, as I was looking for the post about simplicity that I linked to under Laura Ingalls, I found this little snippet hiding in my archives.  (My archives.  Psh.) 

I leave you with:

untitled

They walked together.
The hour was late.
He walked ahead,
to open the gate.
She wanted to thank him,
but didn't know how.
He was the farmer.
And she was the cow.

And still, I remember. As if It happened yesterday

(a repost)

On Friday, September 7th, 2001, I was on my way to an evening design class. The road I was on had a series of synchronized lights...the kind where you could get through all of them if you pushed it, just a little. The car in front of me was getting us through them...we were nearly at the end of the set, when the last one turned yellow. The gal in front of me stepped it up, and so did I. I reached down to grab something out of my back pack and looked up. She was hammering her breaks. I hammered, too. But it was too late. The roads were just a little wet, and I rear ended her.

I got out of the car in a panic. Was she okay? She was okay. I was a wreck. I was crying. I felt horrible. Her lovely car had one little schmick in her bumper. My neon was a crumpled up mess. I called my dad, who was also, conveniently, my insurance agent. He arrived. The police arrived. My husband arrived. I couldn't stop crying.

The poor sweet lady I ran into was so lovely and gracious. She reassured me that everything would be just fine. It was so bizarre. When all was said and done, my husband drove me to my class. My neon went to the shop. The nice lady drove herself home, with my insurance information. The police gave me a ticket, because insult and injury go hand in hand.

The next morning, I woke up very stiff. And emotional. I was about to grab a handful of Advil, when it occurred to me that something else was rather amiss. I took a test. It had two lines.

I did not take the Advil.

The rest of the weekend went by with me in a state of shock and a state of shock.

That next Tuesday, I said goodbye to my husband as he left for his daily college routine. I was getting ready for classes in the same way I always did...breakfast at the coffee table while watching Good Morning America. A plane hit the World Trade Center. Watching in disbelief, a second plane hit.

What is going on?

What is going on?

I watched until I had to leave to get to class. On the drive over, the radio spoke about the Pentagon. All the pieces were beginning to come together.

I parked my husband's truck in my parking lot, and began the 7 block trek to the Apparel, Textile, and Interior Design building. Something hot began to pinch my arm. A bee. I was being stung by a bee. It made me angry. I stepped out of character and squished it with my hand.

I ruined my car. We were having a baby. Something horrible was happening in our Country. I got stung by a bee.

I made it to class, and there were only 2 other people that showed up. Everyone was moving around really slowly. Televisions all around campus were tuned into live coverage.

I went to grab a coffee. Brought it back to the studio, and decided to work on my project. As I rendered the office space I had been working on, life felt very different. What am I doing? An Interior Designer? How do we change the world? What kind of world is this to be bringing a baby into? My arm hurts, stupid bee. What do we all do now?

once again

Another day of firsts. 
Homework pencils are sharpened.  Ready.



So were they.  

This was a big day for two big kids. 

They couldn't wait.

(I could wait.)

striking while the iron is plugged in

Or, I'm sorry Orla Kiely. 

I used to measure my level of crazy by how many times I painted my kitchen. 

(A lot of times.)

But I tired of painting my kitchen.  Also?  What I really want to do in my kitchen is make new counter tops.  Although, I don't know how to do that.  And?  New counter tops cost about 50 times more than a gallon + a pint of paint.  So. The painting.  It has to go somewhere. 

I'm noticing a trend in these recent blog posts.  Namely:  they're all paintings.  Which is a good gauge of my crazy.  Or at least the potential for my crazy.  Painting is the medicine for my brain that says, "shh, shh.  It's okay."  Please don't be alarmed.  I am (mostly) normal.

I've got a few avenues for selling some of these this fall.  If I get my act together afterwards...or before...who can tell?...I'll swing the doors of my lonely Etsy shop back open.  In case you are in need of some  hotel art for your walls.

possibilities

 for Shana...

 

 

....and just because it was done on the same day...

akt

I've been painting for just long enough that some of the people I know have accumulated small galleries of my stuff.  These are at one of my sister's house.  I'd forgotten how many she had.  :)  It's fun for me to see them in action. 

I am admittedly no Van Gogh. 

I refer to my style as Hotel Art. 

It's not Monet, but I don't mind looking at it on the wall. 

 

proteas

Attn: Julia Roberts R.D.H.

24" x 30" ~ $55

ocean circles

...for Steph...

circles of a different color...

j l l ?

I wasn't sure on the size...so I did one 24" x 36" and the other  18" x 36". 

(was thinking one or the other.)

((Big $75, little $60))

(((    :)    )))

busy brushes

 

summer

I was mixing batter for scones while my girl was up playing in her room while her brothers were chasing around the living room (two on legs and one in a walker) while my husband was out working in the garage.

And all was right in the world. 

Thankful for the little things. 

Know what?

My oldest boy is six and a half.  Which makes me lame and three quarters.  

Mothering boys does not come naturally to me.  I grew up with sisters.  Boys were always a great mystery.  All that energy.  Natural boy energy seemed like naughtiness before I had boys of my own.  Now I know better.  A boy without energy enough to climb the walls, tear them down and then build them back up should have his thyroid levels checked. 

Many times a day I am reminding my boys to talk in a quieter voice, simmer down, walk nicely, slow down, talk politely etc.  And many times a day I am reminding myself that I am raising boys.  Boys need to talk in a loud voice, simmer up, walk crazy, kick into high gear and talk about bodily functions.  They must do all of these things or they will explode.  We do a daily dance of reigning in and channeling energy.  Finding appropriate outlets for natural tendencies.

Yesterday was a day full of correction and redirection.  It started to show on my boy's face.  The 'I can't do anything fun' look.  So I skunked him in a game of marbles.  Then he beat me twice...and practiced some smack talk.  So I body slammed him.  Then I beat him in a foot race.  He smiled at me like I wasn't quite as lame as he thought.  Then to seal the deal I asked him, "Know what?"

"What?"

"Chicken butt."  I said.  And his eyes got wide.

"Know why?" I asked.

"Why?"  he grinned.

"Cow pie." I said. His eyes got wider.

"Know where?"

"Where?" he asked on pins and needles.

"In  your underwear."  I whispered.  And his eyes fell onto the floor.

And I am now the coolest person he knows.  For now. 

7.12.11

"Do you mind if I take a quick nap?"  I asked my husband, home from a morning of summer school, after lunch. 

"Not at all."

I snuck away to our bedroom and closed the door.  One minute later, the door opened.

"I can snuggle you, mom?" 

"Of course you can snuggle me.  I love to snuggle." 

Then a thought...soon it is this little one's naptime.  "Do you want to take a nap on Mommy's bed?"

He did.

So I quickly grabbed his blankie and snuggled him in next to me.  We closed our eyes.  He started to snicker.  I thought to myself.  If I'm going to get him to sleep, I'm going to need to keep my composure.  I peeked one eye open and reminded him to close his.  After a very short moment of silence, a car drove across my face and parked on my forehead.  More snickering from him. Nothing from me.  The car disappeared.  And then returned.  And then disappeared.  Then two legs flew up into the air and plopped back down.  The bed wiggled.  He giggled.  I kept as still as a statue. 

Two fingers walked up my arm and poked me in the nostril.  He could barely contain his laughter.  I opened my eyes and looked directly into his.  He's waiting for my response.  And in that moment I thought I can do one of two things:  I can dial up my tone and tell him firmly that it is time to sleep - and this day will be like any other OR  I can enter in to this silliness and make today a day to remember.

I raised my hand all the way above him, still locked in his gaze.  The corner of my mouth started a smile that gave my intentions away.  He tried in vain to escape the tickle monster.  For fifteen minutes we giggled together.  It was the most fun we've had  in awhile - and it almost didn't happen.

I'm glad it did.

Grandma Bernice

When I married my husband I inherited his Grandma Bernice.  She is one of my most favorite people in the whole world. 

She gave me this mug for my birthday, and I drink my morning coffee from it everyday.  It makes me so glad.  Who doesn't love Holly Hobbie?!  It says, "Start each day in a happy way."  So I do.

Yesterday was a VERY special day. 

Our mail lady delivered our mail to us seven hours early because she had a package for us that was marked "perishable" and it was a million degrees outside.  The package was from Grandma Bernice.  It contained donuts.  Donuts!!!  Old fashioned cake donuts. 

I don't have a picture to show of them, because we ate them all. 

And now, a little story about Grandma Bernice's donuts:

Yesterday, my two and a half year old brought me the donut he had taken several bites out of and said, "here, mom." 

I took it, thinking "Hmm.  Maybe he doesn't like donuts?  More for me!" then asked him, "Is this for me? Are you done?  Can mommy finish this donut?"  (Because it would be a shame to waste any!)

He said, "Sure, mom."

So I ate it.

And then he said, "Can I have a fresh donut, mom?"

He had dropped the one I ate on the ground. 

Classy.

Jude 2

Mercy :: Peace :: & Love

for Poppa and Nonna

recently, for a fundraiser

oh the humanity!

My son had a dentist appointment on Monday.  A funny thing happened.  And by funny, I mean crappy. 

A friend watched my other kids for me, so it was just me and my boy.  He isn't ready to "go back" alone to the chair, so I assumed my position in the corner of the exam room.  I love this dental office.  The hygienists are all wonderful, as are the assistants...and I normally really like our dentist.  HOWEVER!  Monday, when the dentist came in to drill out my boy's cavities, after greeting him he asked how I was feeling. 

I told him I was feeling just fine.  And thought, hmmm?  That's a goofy question to ask.  Usually people ask, "How are you?" but not, "How are you feeling?" right?  Not that it's a big deal to ask how someone is feeling...it just seemed out of  context.  But whatever.  I was feeling fine, and it was kind of him to ask. 

Then he asked if I wanted a chair.  Another kind inquiry.  I was totally fine to be standing.  Another chair sort of hogs up a lot of room in that little space, and I really didn't mind, so I said I would be just fine standing. 

"We like to take care of mamas," he explained.
And his assistant died a little death in her chair.  She was reading his mind. 

When everything was finished and the dentist prepared to take his leave he looked at me and said, "Enjoy the second half of baby!"  Which was when his assistant presented my son with the prize box with way too much enthusiasm and grandeur in a pay-no-attention-to-the-man-behind-the-curtain sort of way.

The next day I got an email survey from the dental office and was tempted to write "don't assume anyone wearing a tunic and not sucking in their stomach is pregnant" as a suggestion on how they could serve me better.

Then I ate a piece of cake.

slow down you move too fast

Hello.

It's been a little while.

I had a bit of a computer virus last week. The week before? I don't remember. I was forced to go a lot of days without this connection to the outside world. It was a lonely time, friends. A lonely time. My husband has been busy with school and baseball. And writing papers. So it's been me and the kids and the kids and me many a night in May. Good times.

Since then, my girl....my eeny tiny baby girl, turned nine.

Nine.

That is half way to eighteen.

Fifteen minutes ago she looked like this:

Look at those eyes. My goodness. I didn't know my capacity to love until I had her. And once she was born and looked at me with those eyes, my insides turned all squishy and I began to say things like, "honeysugarpumpkinbutternoodleumpkins." Love trumps grammar and proper words.

I became so very aware of time. And how quickly it passes. Do you know how many times I've written about that? I don't either. But it's a lot of times. Because it's all I think about.

I've had three more babies since she was born. Three boys. They're wonderful. You just have no idea. These boys and this girl. My heart is so full.

one moment in time

Imagine if you will:

The sound of a lone bagpipe.

Monotonous crescendos and decrescendos.

Add:

Two cymbals crashing together.

Again and again and again.

Along with:

The loud angry whistle of a {derailed} freight train.

As well as:

The horrible mews of a single cat being pulled in two opposite directions.

Can you hear it?

It is the soundtrack of my life.

After grocery shopping, after school, but before naps.