Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I took a break
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Paul Potts Did It Again!
Paul Potts singing Con Te Partiro (famously known as "Time to Say Goodbye", originally sung by Andrea Bocelli) on last night's semi-finals of Britains Got Talent. God it's beautiful. I'm sure he'll build on his vocal strength, but his tenor range is just....well, I've gone through every adjective I can think of and none seems fitting. The video speaks for itself.
GO PAUL POTTS!!! I doubt he has any idea that he's managed to reach across the pond with his talent. He's so wonderfully modest and sweet. I think that's half the draw. Enjoy!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
I LOVE this man!
Phone Salesman Amazes Crowd - Watch more free videos
He's singing "Nessun Dorma!" from the 1926 Italian opera, Turandot, originally begun by Giacomo Puccini and completed, upon his death, by Franco Alfano. Let me just say....not bad at all for a phone salesman. Hell, not bad at all period! I won't lie, I cried a little and definitely got goosebumps. I. LOVE. OPERA.
*standing ovation*
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Thank you Diane!
As I've said before, her work is evocative, original and inspiring. With just one click of the mouse you come face to face with this beautifully simplistic yet unspoken message: Life is only complicated if you resist. As humans we have the choice to interpret what we cannot control as chaos... or we can learn to let go. I don't think you'll find a more genuine (and gentle) reminder of this often emotional if not impossible truth than in Diane's collection.
I feel honored that she's allowed me to enjoy her images on my site and will begin working on ensuring she's not shortchanged for her generosity.
Update: I'm experiencing technical difficulties. It's quite possible that I'll need to remove the images completely. I'm not sure yet. If that's the case, it would have nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that computers don't always let you do things exactly how you'd like. I'm still a huge fan though, that's a given.
Updated Update: I think we've conquered technology! Well, that or at the very least we've come to a resolution that accepts my gross inability to coax electronics into behaving properly. Regardless, please take the time to visit Diane and peruse her archives. It's like a vacation for your soul (fills in those places chicken soup couldn't touch)!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I've decided
Friday, May 18, 2007
Hey Chris!
Thanks baby... I love you!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
An Elephant Never Forgets
Vibrations
I can recall feeling alternately isolated in my mistakes and wholly culpable in place of and as a warning to others at various points throughout my life. There isn't one solid instance or aspect I could point a finger at in total judgment. And since I think every child deserves an explanation when their parents part ways and begin living in opposite directions, Chrissy, I would like to give my thoughts on how I helped in creating your father and my divorce.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Not so easy
I agree. I really do!
I guess I'm realizing that your childhoods don't resemble mine in the least. They're even further removed from your dad's though. To the degree I was given free range of my neighborhood growing up, your dad had twice that and then some. It was typical for us to hop on our bikes and be gone the entire day or get dropped off at the community pool only to be picked up 8 hours later. To be honest, I can't see us doing that with you. We are starting to let you boys tour the neighborhood but I have to confess that I fear things like vehicle/bike accidents, abductions and your getting lost more than I probably should. Daddy bringing home those long-range walkie talkies worked wonders at calming my jittery nerves. Still, I have a moment of panic when I call you on them and don't get an immediate response. My point is....I'm trying!I'm not sure what kind of world we're living in right now. I can't tell if there are more bad people today than ever before in history or if we just have more access to their lives. Our world is definitely hooked on the drama associated with bad things happening to good people. I just don't want that to be the defining symbol of your childhoods: lives reigned in due to inclement people. It's a tough compromise for me and I'm not always sure what's acceptable for the moment and what might be tempting fate in one direction or another with my choices.
So I warn you to stay away from people I get bad vibes from and generally encourage you to be mindful of your surroundings. But I know you're kids. If you were fully capable of being 100% mindful at your ages, humans would join the majority of other mammals and send their offspring out into the world to fend for themselves well before current legal standards. Parenting has proven to be the thinnest line I've ever walked between serenity and insanity. Every choice has the power to either encourage your independence or steal it away. And with no crystal ball telling me for certain which will end up where, I'm stuck making judgment calls.
It's tough relying on my own personal judgment when every adult in my young life has at one time or another insisted I lacked the variety considered "good" by their standards. I've felt stuck; do I believe them or do I believe in myself? The answer to that varies depending on the kind of day I'm having. I want to be cautious and keep you safe while at the same time allowing you to experience an acceptable amount of real life struggles to better prepare you for society. You need to hurt yourselves in moderate ways to make you less inclined to hurt yourselves in major ways. A little pain is a better educator than mere dialogue alone. The trick is in keeping it at an acceptable level. With this task I have my good days and I have my bad days. As a parent, it's never easy watching your child hurt. It's even harder knowing that pain in their lives is imminent and it's the smaller ones that help get them ready for the big ones.
Letting you go feels more like snatching a band-aid from a sensitive wound each time we take the necessary steps apart. I have to remind myself that it's a little pain that will keep us all from the fate of something much larger.
In that regard, I hope I'm right.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Mother's Day in Pictures
Mr. Lizard by Me
Just Talking by Chrissy
Natural Springs Waterfall by Chrissy
Jack - Faux Rock Climbing by Chrissy
Trevor - Faux Rock Climbing by Chrissy
All the boys at Dripping Springs by Chrissy
Group Fossil hunting by Tony
Green Country by Me
Ft. Gibson Lake view by Chrissy
No children, lizards, other wildlife or fossils were harmed in the filming of this post, though my dogs were definitely barking by Sunday.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
JackJackJackJackJack.....
Monday, May 7, 2007
Family Time
We take walks together, skip rocks, fish, feed the squirrels & birds, play board games when it's cold, raining or after dark and in general relearn how to keep in touch with each other. This past weekend we introduced horseshoes into the mix and I basically got my butt handed to me by Jack. But that's okay. We have two more lake trips planned this month and I'm sure one of them will afford me the opportunity for revenge. As un-motherly as that may sound, I know each kid loves the challenge. And heck, why not make the most of it while whoopin' up on me is still somewhat of a challenge?
Saturday night was calm with just a hint of a breeze. Having met another family of friends there, we all headed down to the beach at dusk for some light fishing and general companionship. We built a fire next to the water and sat around talking, laughing and understandably not catching any fish at all. But we had fun! Oodles of it in fact. You boys roasted marshmallows, made s'mores and got muddy as you romped along the shore disturbing more than your share of wildlife. In turn you each sought time out to come sit on my lap and watch the lights from across the lake reflect in ripples back to us. It was time that meant the world to me.
When Chrissy joins us we seem to automatically divide into "girl time" and "boy time" coming together mainly at night to watch a movie on my laptop or play some games. I really enjoy the time alone I get with each child, but having this time with Chrissy is even more special since I don't get to see her as often as we'd both like. Since her father and I divorced and he won custody, time has become something sacred and cherished for us. Our time together isn't nearly enough or as much as we would like for it to be. But we have become experts at using the time we're given to it's fullest. In a way, our separation has gifted us with incredible focus and a depth of communication typically lost on other full-time parent/child relationships. We don't have the burden of illusion when it comes to the reality of time. I say "burden" because I see too many other families who take their day-to-day cohabitation for granted always believing the heavy talks can wait another day when they can't and they shouldn't.
In that regard, our lake trips have become sacred. The placid environment provides a near perfect backdrop for our heartfelt dialogue. The serenity brings us both added comfort and enables open-minded discussions that flow as smoothly as the lake itself. We can be fun or serious...or even anonymous as we sit in the dark surrounded by nature.
On the weekends she doesn't accompany us I've noticed the boys are taking advantage of this openness; encouraged by our tranquil settings. Slowly each one is starting to find reasons to spend time with me away from brother and dad. In these moments I'm discovering much more than would be possible amidst the hurried lives we lead back home. And with each trip I become more grateful for the opportunity afforded us through such a simple outing.
The one that nearly got away
Since the concert had just begun at that point we practically beat the nurse down in our effort to tune in. Watching and listening proved to be an excellent focal point for me as I worked through my contractions. Since then I've decided to request an epidural before every concert I attend. In fact, I'll order a 6-pack and share. It was that good. Once my water broke we were assured I wouldn't be sent home for the night and finally relaxed into the idea that my room was going to be our home for the next three days. Over the ensuing handful of hours I could be heard, lovingly yet firmly, asking Tony to please remove himself from the area between me and James Hatfield. And bless his heart he did.
Again my labor was brief and at 10:56pm we welcomed Jack into our lives weighing in at a svelte 7lbs 5oz.
Nifty scab on his forehead brought to you by his daredevil nature & his bike.
Friday, May 4, 2007
What A Difference Five Years Makes
I'd love to say it was easy, fun or even tolerable. But sweetie, Trevor...Mommy loves you almost more than air. And well, I just can't lie. You were huge. I was huge. Together we were downright frightening! See, this is why nobody is allowed to give me crap about the tiny cuteness that was my first pregnancy. I paid people! Man oh man I paid.
For awhile it was fun (in a perverted way I suppose) to watch how big I was getting. I think we all thought I'd stop growing eventually. Either that or I'd split open like a forgotten can of biscuits resting innocently beneath the passenger's seat of your 1991 Geo Metro in the middle of July. Or the can of Dr. Pepper the kids left "for later" in the third seat of your 2003 Kia Sedona the day you couldn't find any shady parking at the zoo in late August. Yeah, it was like both of those only with my uterus.
Still. Even then I was blessed with a child that caused me to grow in a direction I never knew existed. My heart expands and my life evolves in new, exciting ways every day. I tease him about that picture and we laugh together just as we ached together then. If the pregnancy was hard on my body, the birth was hard on his. So we each paid our dues and as much as I endured I would've taken his pains as well if I could have. Getting him into this world was not easy. Lucky for me, they at least provided drugs.
I only labored with him for 4 hours but the "in your face" elation that brought dissipated over the 4 additional hours I struggled to push him out. I worried about his heart rate many times as it dropped and slowly rebounded again and again. At one point we thought I'd require a c-section but that idea was soon abandoned when the doctor realized he was stuck and shoving him back in was just as difficult as getting him out. Since he was further out than in, that was the way he had to come. I think the term is shoulder dysplasia and it can occur more often with larger babies. Basically his head was out, but his shoulders wouldn't budge. It took 4 hours of pushing, one particularly aggressive nurse pushing painfully on my belly and one nervous doctor playing twist-n-snip with my no-no special place to finally get him here. I ended up with two separate cuts while he looked like he'd gone 3 rounds with Mike Tyson.
But once he was out and he took that first breath I remember so clearly how our eyes flew open and his dad and I both said in near-unison... "JESUS HE'S HUGE!". And he was. The breath that first inflated his lungs caused his chest to expand to an impressive 15 inches. If he'd been green instead of pink I might've thought I'd given birth to The Hulk. Newborn hats and shirts were too snug for his pudgy body and I had to send his dad home to bring back some of his 3 month clothes just so he'd have something to wear. He was so cute and cuddly like the bald teddy bear I'd always wanted. Though to be fair, he looked more like a squishy bowling ball than anything the way he collapsed into the typical lanky fetal position. On him it only served to make him look completely capable of rolling away should we take our hands off of him on a slanted surface. Minus his head lacerations, black eyes, cut cheek and bruised shoulder...he was perfect.
That was eleven years ago this October 1st at 4:14pm. He doesn't look like he was born at 9lbs 9oz at only 19 inches long. I was actually sad when I noticed his baby fat leaving. And now as he steadily approaches my height with no end in sight I'm left in awe of his transformation. From cute, cuddly cherub to tall, toned Trevor!
Thursday, May 3, 2007
So Glad She's Here
I went to that final appointment, just two days before my official due date, and was given the grim news. You know the type: "you're so young and this is your first child you probably won't go into labor for several more days and since you're so young your labor will be long and painful and being so young it will be terrible". I could be paraphrasing a bit on that but I assure you if I am, it's only slightly. I was told it would be horrible, it would be long...there would be much crying and gnashing of teeth. I'm not exactly sure at what point Satan's minions were supposed to rise from the bowels of hell to begin their meticulous ravaging of my body (I was busy looking at the stain on the carpet and totally believing someone's water had broken even though the office was a family practice), but I still went straight home and started my long list of old wives' tales hoping to get things started. None of the blood and guts scared me. More than anything I wanted to prove that doctor wrong. My body wasn't too young to do what it was supposed to do and what's more, neither was I.
I mowed the yard, I went jogging, I even stimulated my nipples (sorry kids, but it's true...not only do I have nipples but I've actually touched them....I'll put more money in that special therapy account now)...but no labor. I was completely exhausted, had allowed myself to get a slight "farmer's tan" while mowing, had a irksome blister on my heel and two nipples that must've thought the world revolved around them. All that and no labor. I flat-out refused to do castor oil. I figured my body would stop taking it easy on me and completely revolt if I forced such an abomination through it's system. For now it had been on my side and I just couldn't take advantage of that in the 11th hour.
So my best friend at the time came over to visit, check on my progress (or lack thereof) and basically keep me company while my then husband was at work. I played the part of the perfect hostess. I made lively conversation, tried to feed her dinner and got up several times to get tea and change over some laundry. It took her awhile to notice that I kept leaving the room every 6 minutes or so. In fact, I didn't notice it at all until she pointed it out. She said it was like I grew antsy or uncomfortable regularly and had to get up and do something...anything. I laughed it off and promptly got up to check on who knows what. Upon rounding the corner going from the living room into the dining room though I realized that not only was I in fact uncomfortable, but my back hurt and I had been leaning on our deep freeze every time I entered the room. And that's exactly where my friend found me after she decided to follow me and figure out what was important enough to grab my attention at such regular intervals.
Apparently the mowing, jogging, nipple combination was just the thing. I finally relented and admitted that if it looked like labor, acted like labor and felt like labor...it must be labor.
My friend wanted to be a doctor so for her educational benefit as well as the fact that she was my friend, I'd already told her she could be there for the labor and birth. So home she went to get things done so she'd be free when I finally called her from the hospital. That was around 8:00pm that night. By 10:30pm, as I was laying in bed trying to find a comfortable position, my water broke. I woke my husband, got dressed and even put a thick layer of bath towels on the seat of the car (per hubby's request) for the less than three block drive to the hospital. We agreed not to call my friend until I was admitted since I'd been told all about how young I was and how that factored into my assumed inability to tell if I was in labor and apparently, as experience would prove true, whether or not I had peed on myself.
We rang the bell for late admittance and waited until an exceedingly cranky older nurse answered the door glaring at us like we were kids pulling a prank. Only instead of finding a flaming bag of poo the way she did when the other kids rang the bell, she found a very pregnant teenager with a leaking problem. The nerve. Her facial expression announced to everyone that glanced her way that she did and always would much prefer the poo. To say we didn't get along that night would be a huge understatement.
The only thing she accomplished in the hour-and-a-half of my confinement to the ER was taking and losing my pants. Oh, and pissing me off. She accomplished that in spades. She could, in fact, not have been more condescending if she'd stumbled upon a half-off Condescension Sale at Wal-mart while shopping with a gift card. She practically oozed judgment.
Nurse Satan: Why are you here?
Me: I've been having contractions since about six o'clock and my water broke around ten thirty.
Nurse Satan: Are you sure it's not urine?
Me: You mean that I'm peeing myself after every contraction and I just don't feel it?
Nurse Satan: Yes, at your age it's not uncommon to not know the difference.
Me: *eyes narrow to slits as fiery hot laser beams launch from them and melt the back of her head* It doesn't smell like urine.
Nurse Satan: Like I said, at your age you may not be able to tell.
Me: The entire top sheet is soaked in it. It has no smell or color. It's not urine.
Nurse Satan: The only way to tell for sure it to perform a litmus test.
Me: And if it's amniotic fluid can I finally get admitted?
Nurse Satan: I seriously doubt it is, but yes, that's the protocal.
Me: Then for the love of all that's holy can we do that?
Nurse Satan: Well, it's all the way on the 4th floor.
Me: .......
Me: We'll wait.
Nurse Satan: *breathes huge put-upon sigh*
Me: It's not like I can leave without my pants anyway.
Nurse Satan: *stalks off toward what we hope is the 4th floor while mumbling angrily*
half an hour later she returns
Me: My contractions are started to get really uncomfortable.
Nurse Satan: They're nothing right now, wait until you're really in labor.
Nevermind the complete lack of compassion, my official punishment had only just begun. Every nurse who tended me from that moment on made it their duty to ensure I knew I was a sinner who deserved every second of pain as punishment for my fornicating ways. A few even put that feeling into words (and later actions) and told me that maybe I should've thought about "it" before I decided to have sex. It, I assume, is the pain of childbirth or maybe the entire experience of my labor, their lack of compassion and their choice in how to treat me. As if normally they were perfectly reasonable people who didn't place their religious dogma before their oaths as nurses or what was best for their patient. Each checked my vital signs regularly and made sure I was hydrated via I.V., but they all refused to give me pain medication. They were teaching me a lesson.
I learned many lessons that night though not the one I think they intended. I learned that you can feel your pelvis separate and not die. I learned that pain can be so intense it causes temporary blindness. I learned that ultimately in life you are alone so you better not only like who you are but trust in who you are as well. I learned that religion isn't about compassion. I learned that I am stronger than anyone, including myself, gives me credit for. I learned exactly what it means to love someone completely. I learned humility in the face of nature.
Confined to my bed, I mostly laid there alone attempting to sleep between contractions. The end, as I've read about since, was a blur of abstract activity that meant little to me. I simply followed directions and responded to instruction without hearing a single voice. My sight as well as my hearing were turned inward. I could hear my own heartbeat but had to struggle to hear someone at my ear. To listen externally felt unnatural, like something I was just learning. I often had my eyes closed and would be asked to open them and look at someone. This is natural. My instincts had gotten me through my labor and ultimately to this point so I kept listening and worked like hell to get my daughter into this world.
She arrived at 7:03am on her due date, July 30th 1991, weighing 6 lbs 12 oz. and sporting the cutest baby mohawk. She was then and still is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I mean it when I say I'd do it all over again.
My Passage
Marked
I thought I'd be free of that once I'd left my teen years behind and certainly once women my own age began having children. But it's always there, that mark. People I don't even know regularly feel the need to remind me that I don't look old enough to have a *insert relevant age of my daughter here*. Responding to them is never as simple as it should be either. It's not that I feel ashamed of what I've been through so much as I sense that those I am responding to think I should or do. Once I respond with "I had her young" and they are freed from their assumptions that I must be of "normal age" and have simply been blessed with near perfect genes, I can see the shift in their eyes. Instantly they are taking in every aspect of who I am from how I'm dressed to where we're located to what line of work I've managed to scrape together for myself what with that grave mistake and subsequent mark and all. It never goes away.
Reading Jessica's site has been like applying aloe to a sunburn. It soothes and takes away some of the sting.
I am not ashamed of my life. And now I feel as though I can stop giving two crappers whether anyone else notices or sees that truth. It's not my job to change global assumptions of young mothers anymore than it's my job to change local assumptions and perceptions of this young mother. What matters and is the only thing that matters, is raising my children so that they're ready for life. What matters is that they feel listened to and part of something. What matters is that they each feel loved for who they are.
There is nothing like my experience as a young mother that highlights that need more. The world is full of people more than willing to label and judge others based on the history of their own assumptions. So my job, the only job that truly matters to me, is making sure my kids are wholly loved. And while I'm not perfect I know even that is important for them to understand so that they're not forced to feel the weight of society's stare both at being raised by a marked mother and being simply human.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Evolution of Hope
I have now been a Mom for over half of my life. In ways it seems like I’ve barely started and in others I feel like I’ve been mothering since I was old enough to realize I didn’t have one. I’ve taken care of my emotional and psychological needs since I was a toddler and had various adults come into and out of my life to attempt the rest. None lasted. Many barely tried. I spent the better part of my younger years feeling invisible and acting out in ways that ensured someone would take notice even if they did so in depressingly negative ways. I needed to be seen and to feel like it mattered or might one day matter that I was even born. As melodramatic as that may sound, when you’re repeatedly abandoned, abused and traded out for fresher stock it’s fairly normal to at least wonder “Why am I here?” It’s also fairly normal to fear how you’ll handle being placed into the very role that’s failed you over and over again.
For me, I always had a pretty clear-cut idea of what a good Mom should be like. I never experienced that from a child’s perspective. But when I was in need or had a friend that was in need, I’d conjure up my idea and just like that, I knew what needed to be said or done. Whenever physically possible, I began mothering children two or three times my own age when I was just three. I have vivid memories of quietly tucking the other girls into their beds at the children’s home and whispering songs to them when they were scared or sad. I kissed boo-boos, applied bandages and even helped clean up when someone wet the bed. I took turns with the other seven girls that shared my room doing dishes, laundry and general cleaning for a house of twenty before I even knew how to read. I had my first Holiday celebrations when I was 7, right after I got adopted. I experienced my first birthday party when I turned 8. I have only one picture of myself before I was adopted and it’s a black & white published in the newsletter printed by the children’s home which they sent out monthly hoping to solicit donations.
The complete lack of a history was always a sore point for me; not having any pictures or personal possessions. Clothes, toys, books; nothing was ever really mine. It had all belonged to someone else who’d outgrown it and I was fully expected to pass it along when it was no longer deemed appropriate for my age. We weren’t allowed to form emotional or sentimental bonds to anyone or anything while at the home. If you did, you got it taken away whether that meant relocating a friend to another house, giving a toy to another child or even being forced to pack up a stray dog or cat and help take it out into the countryside to abandon it. I guess they thought our transition into real two-parent homes would go smoother if we left with no strings attached, no baggage. But we had our baggage alright. Oodles of it. Some I’m sure would never overcome theirs.
I struggled even after I got rescued from that place and was accepted into a home with two parents, a common last name and things to call my own. It was so amazing to have things and to realize there were special days, several times each year, when it was traditional to give even more things. The sheer volume of gifts, toys, candy, clothes and trinkets left me dumbstruck. I wanted them all. What child wouldn’t? But that was as far as it went. I felt thoroughly sponsored, but not quite loved. I blamed myself for many years because I feared it was my fault for not knowing how real families loved and for not being grateful enough for what I was given. I wanted the complete package. I wanted to be taken care of physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. It’s not that I wanted all of those things predetermined and rigidly adhered to or even that I believed they should all be met on a daily basis and without flaw. I just wanted to know it was in my loved ones’ repertoire; that it was doable.
It wasn’t doable after all. And what I was left with was another pair of adults fully capable and willing to provide food, shelter, clothes and cool toys, but who completely avoided anything below the surface. Their guidance stopped at appearances and I was left once again and forever this time doing my best to soothe my emotions, untangle the lifetime of mixed signals and in general talk myself off the ledge every time the pain of isolation became more than I could take.
I had so many dark times both emotionally and psychologically. I was too young to have the answers to so many things that pained me. It was frustrating, frightening and lonely. I often felt engulfed in perpetual shadows, unable to move in the direction of light because I lacked the tools to get me there. Life and my place in it confused me.
This picture by Diane Varner, titled The Marvel Remains, feels like that phase of my life. It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. Fearsome. Isolating. Abandoned. Hopeful. Inspiring. Affirming. Appreciated. Serene.
This month we celebrate Mother’s Day. I’m going to dedicate the entire month to that topic; covering what it means to me, how I managed to find my expression of it, how I reconciled never having one of my own and the impact each of my wonderful kids has had on the evolution of my mothering.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Still Smiling
It was nice seeing the pride in both of you and celebrating your accomplishments as a family. A wacky family, but a family nonetheless. Yeah I looked like a total dork doing the cha-cha slide during your morning assembly. And maybe high-fiving all of your classmates raised some of the adults' eyebrows. It was fun sitting down for second breakfast with you two too. I felt like a politician shaking hands, saying "Hi, great seeing you.....what's your name...Wow nice hair....love the shoes...give me five...be sure and tip your waitress". Sure that was maybe a little different than most kids are used to putting up with. I mean, I didn't see any other parents doing the wave with their kids for just no darn good reason. Come to think on it, they seemed to be trying really hard not to see us either...like The Crazy is contagious.
Which reminds me, Jack I might have told your lunch lady that she could write on your forehead with a sharpie. In my defense it's only to remind you to bring more lunch money. So like don't be shocked when she pins you down and uses giant block letters and one of those stinky permanent markers to write "LUNCH" on your noggin. I'm your mother and just like signing your permission slips to go on fun and cool field trips, I can also sign other somewhat "imaginary" permission slips that only serve to give me a chuckle. I don't feel it's right that I simply show up at your school and act all motherly. I think you'll agree (maybe muuuuch later in life) that it was in your best interest that I ensure my presence at your school could be felt for days, maybe even weeks to come. Even after the marker wears off I know for a fact that neither of you will ever look at me the same way again.
And when your teachers ask for parents to volunteer in your class you can bet I'll raise my hand. Heck I might raise them both and do that "Heeeeeey....Hoooooo...Heeeeeeey...Hooooo" thing you love so much.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tooning Out
Oh well. I started making cartoons using a simple Paint program and pulled various graphic ideas for the people depicted from the inspiration collected while browsing emoticons and some were copied from the emoticons themselves. I alter them to resemble the people I know, including you kids. In my Paint program I don't have a lot of neato features so the images will not be perfect. I seek to make them readable and really just to share them with you guys.
I've found it to be a wonderful stress reliever and since I've always been the type of person to attempt to make things humorous when they could be anything but, the idea just works for me. It's satisfies my creative side a bit too. Hopefully I can make this a weekly thing. We'll see.
And yes, this is a cartoon likeness of our actual house AND my actual family. The events have not been changed nor the faces blurred because I just don't think it's my job to protect the guilty and the innocent need to face the truth that is our family. :-)
The moral of this toon is: DishwashING liquid is not the same as DishwashER liquid.
Write that down.
Things I don't know...
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Thinking
Monday, April 23, 2007
30 facts about your Mother
2. I am slowly greying.
3. I love books.
4. I am a Cancer.
5. I am a loan officer right now.
6. I love to laugh & make others laugh.
7. I am not a morning person.
8. I was afraid of the dark well into adulthood.
9. I like flossing my teeth.
10. I used to think 30 was "old".
11. I often day-dream about living lavishly.
12. I'm addicted to caffeine.
13. I sometimes wake myself up with my own snoring.
14. I'm afraid of water any higher than my neck.
15. I like the smell of the top of your head.
16. I stole candy from a store when I was younger & still feel guilty.
17. I don't care for my siblings & never really talk to them.
18. I fear that you three will end up that way & it bothers me.
19. I was 16 the first time I got drunk.
20. I once invented a boyfriend just to fit in.
21. I was raised Baptist, married into Presbyterian and then began studying Catholicism, Mormonism, Jehovah's Witness, Buddhism, Scientology etc. before realizing I'm pagan & mostly spiritual in my beliefs.
22. I swear I once saw a UFO. No I wasn't drinking.
23. I was in love with Elvis Presley as a child until I found out he had been dead for years.
24. I think clowns are creepy.
25. I don't like feet & could be borderline phobic.
26. I think I'm a good parent.
27. I have never been outside of the Oklahoma, Texas, Kansas, Missouri section of the US.
28. I worry that I'll be too afraid to travel once I actually have the money.
29. I once shaved both of my arms because the hair embarrassed me. It was itchy.
30. I secretly fear that I'm not nearly as good a parent as I think I am.
In light of the big things...
In my zen state of mind, I found two other quotes I wanted to give to you.
"No" is a complete sentence.
If you know your own worth what need you care about the acceptance or rejection of others.
A lot can be prevented if you simply learn to say "No" when you need to and learn to appreciate yourself as a beautiful fallible human. Do me a favor and take time today to think of at least one thing you like about yourself. Treat yourself as you would your best friend and admire who you are and how far you've come. Also, practice saying "No" to someone else's request for your time in favor of doing something that is important to you. Just make sure this person isn't your parent or boss and you're not saying "No" to putting your laundry away or finishing your daily work in order to garner more time for playing Taipai or classifying your boogers as they correlate to the US governments terror scale. Be reasonably generous...it can make a difference.
I had a little hand in helping to create you so if you factor in the hours of labor, the sleepness nights and the sheer volume of worry and grief I've taken on in your honor over the years...surely it's the least you can do.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
So Fragile
I know this is her picture so I feel more of a responsibility to not screw her over basically. I don't know her from Adam, don't get me wrong. I simply respect her vision, her art. Her name is Diane Varner and she is one of my links at the left; one of my "Escapes" (does anyone else say that word "ess-cop-ay" like on Finding Nemo"? No? Oh well). Her work reminds me about the fragility of life through the detail she's able to capture in her close-ups as well as her landscapes. I feel as though one stray breath could change everything and that feeling isn't inherently good or bad...it just is.
I think I enjoy photography so much because regardless of how many people are taking pictures of the same location, you'll never end up with two identical shots. And even if the same person goes back to the same place day after day...they will never get the same shot.
Just as it feels like people never change and the world seems hell-bent on repeating it's past mistakes over and over again, I see these photos and believe in the power of evolution.