Celebrate Children’s Art

A recent revelation on What My Kids' Art Says. There are times when art truly speaks to the viewer. This is one of those times....Photo has link to site...Can't type anymo..

when in texas…

i get to see how my son looks in the sun

The Penguins are Restless

I have a son. He’s awesome. (I also have a daughter, she’s awesome too, for future reference.) My point is, the other night when I was tucking my son into bed, we had our usual cuddle and nighttime chat, but this particular night he had trouble getting to sleep.

He’s 7. And as a 7 year old boy, his life is pretty much: school, karate, swimming, playing lots of Mario games, eating ice cream sandwiches, being hassled by his well-intentioned yet excruciatingly persistent 6 year old little sister, and a mother who insists on kissing him all the time to test his levels of cheek kissability. But somehow, this night he had troubling thoughts on his mind, things left undone, work to finish.

If you’ve ever wondered what might stress out a 7 year old boy – it’s penguins. As he tossed and turned, he said, “Mom, I just, I just can’t sleep.” I asked, “What’s the trouble?” In my head I was wondering what could be on this child’s mind to cause him not to sleep. I know he’s exhausted, I know he loves sleeping, what could be so pressing? I know he’s reached all the levels he wanted to on Lego Star Wars the Complete Saga for Wii. What else could there be? He rolled over and put his hands over his face and lamented out loud, “Penguins, mom. I gotta work on my penguins.”

So penguins. Those bastards. I hugged him and said, “Tell me about the penguins, sweetie.” “Mom, we’re working on drawing penguins in art class. My teacher said we’d be working on penguins for the week. And my penguins aren’t that good. She said, we all need to go home and work on our penguins.” In my head again, I’m thinking, c’mon, y’draw a bowling pin with black, white, and a beak. Relax little dude. But he couldn’t. Those penguins of perfection were pecking at his tired brain. And there was nothing to say to console him. (there’s actually nothing that will console an exhausted child at that hour.) But I tried.

“Ben,” I said, “If you want to draw penguins at home, of course we can. But I know that you’re penguins are great. I love how you draw.” Then he said, “Mom, all I can draw is stick figures, stupid stick figures.” Here’s the thing, his stick figures are awesome. I assured him, it’s all ok, it’s only one day, of one week, of a whole life. It’s drawing, it’s penguins, it’s only supposed to be what you put on the paper, all creativity is awesome. Don’t compare yourself. If it’s yours, it’s amazing.

Finally, more taken over by exhaustion than reconciling his turmoil, he rolled over and yawned. He fell asleep after a little bit.

Then I went to bed. I rolled over and slapped my forehead cause I hadn’t made some calls I should’ve. I also had a giant pile of laundry to fold right next to my bed. I closed my eyes…It’s all just penguins, and I don’t need to work on my penguins right now.

Guinea Hen

I fed it, and now it won't go away. Kinda like my husband.

wart home remedy that works

I am not a hippie. i love my chemical compounds as much as the next guy. but i cannot deny the workiness of this home remedy.

if your kid has a wart on their hand, get some fresh garlic, peel a clove, and slice off a tiny piece close to the size of the wart. apply the garlic, and secure it in place using a band-aid.   do this for 2 days and nights, using fresh garlic in the morning and evening. by about the 3rd day the wart will have blistered up into a blood blister. (gross, i know) (but, if you go to a doctor’s office and get it frozen, the same thing happens.)

after that, the blister scabs over, the whole thing falls off, and it’s like nothing ever happened.

signed, medicine woman

writing writing writing

writing.  it’s what i haven’t been doing for a while.  I have a TON of excuses, though.  When I ask myself why i haven’t been writing….I get all defensive with myself and end up having a split personality conversation.  Let’s see:  there’s getting settled in Texas, there’s laundry (mountains), there’s getting the kids around to activities, kids get sick and they need hugs and spongebob, I get sick and need hugs and spongebob, there’s going to the gym to get the weight off, reading books about getting the weight off, then there’s reading the recipes for the food for getting the weight off, dishes for eating the food, then complaining about the dishes…I got a million of these.  So very many reasons not to write.  Stephen Pressfield calls it Resistance.

Somedays I think of writing and my blog as, whooo hoooo!  One of these days I’ll be all Pioneer Woman.   I’ll be on 60 minutes talking about the evolution of my blog from a once a week thing to a giant thing with millions of hits and advertising money and children’s book spin-offs.   We’ve all done that, right?  Had the make-believe 60 minutes interview in our heads?  Anyway, or maybe someone famous will stumble on my blog and think, “holy shit, this bitch is funny.”  Then contracts will follow, with agents, and lots of swag.  Being a stay-at-home mom has certainly made my make-believe life pretty active.  Then other days, I’m like, oh yeah…i have a blog.

Parenting consumes the better part of your energy.  I’ve quoted Alice Munro before about this, she said she never chose to write short stories, it was just that while raising a family, she couldn’t put together a fully actualized novel…she wanted to.  Also, there’s a doctor, I think Brazelton, who says about parenting, “it’s not the quality time, or the sleeping time, or the eating time that’s tough, it’s the killing time.”  So, I think I’ve backed up my point pretty well with thoughts from:  writers, doctors, and myself.  Sometimes the creative energy can just get sucked out of me.

And now both my kids are at school today, for the first time since the cold and flu season started. I have time.  It’s not quality, it’s not sleeping, it’s not killing, it’s mine.

Anyway, what’s my point?  I have no idea.  I just wanted to type some words.

Just had my first warm glazed Shipley Do-Nut. It was an experience not unlike losing my virginity.

Comment from facebook friend:  ”So, it was over in 2 seconds?”

more about shopping in Texas: Grocery

I am still stunned and amazed at the size of the stores in Texas. And here’s what I love about the grocery situations: wine and beer and many many choices. Only one stop and you’re done. But there is one choice, one huge section of the store that has been freaking me out. The meat aisle. Or, as I’ve been referring to it lately, the morgue. See, it’s vast and there’s this one section of low open freezers that contain nothing but ribs. Racks and racks and rows and rows of them. Then there’s the ground beef in big tubes. It’s like ground Jimmy Dean sausage but bigger and beef, and there are piles of those, too.

Here’s the thing. I am not a vegetarian. I like juicy sloppy burgers, I like sausage with onions, I like bacon, and I’m certainly not saying that I didn’t try to braise some very disappointing short-ribs. But sometimes when I’m standing there, looking at the aisles of parts, and ground meat, I just can’t deny the Food.Inc-ness of it. The Forks Over Knives-ness of it. It’s the volume. And suddenly, it’s not just about me enjoying my little plate of cooked flesh and bones….It’s about many many plates of cooked flesh and…well, you get the idea.

So it’s the notably titanic nature of our local meat aisle that has given me pause. I’m not saying I’m going to go vegetarian, either. I’m not saying I wouldn’t eat a brisket that my husband had smoked all day. But I have started thinking about my meat sources.

When we were living in Massachusetts, we used to order grass-fed beef from a small farm in Vermont. It was high-quality, responsible, and delicious. It was part of a co-op and it just felt like, ok, if we’re gonna eat meat…this is about the best way we can do it, short of hunting or raising the animals ourselves.

So the other day when my son requested tacos, I stood in front of the ground meat section to make the call. I ambled over to the Angus Section and asked the butcher if they had any grass-fed. He did. In one teeny section there were 1lb packets. It was a little more expensive to buy, but somehow it made me feel better. I felt like, if I was going to make the choice, at least it was informed and hopefully better for us and the environment. (Note: there are smaller markets that carry organic, local, and whole-food items. They’re just a little further out.) Good peeps have shown me the way.

Now, there’s only one question left, what about the chicken nuggets?

merely mortal

shuffled into the women’s locker room at the gym today feeling rather shlumpy and tired.  i looked up and bam! right in my front view (and everyone’s) was this 6 ft tall carved from granite glamazon with the type of body normally reserved for comic book and fantasy novel covers. she had 4 inch crystal heels on, and a string bikini with someone fussing over the details. it was very strange…kinda like seeing a freakishly large pink flamingo on an arctic expedition, i would think.

Help Detroit become amazing….The Artist’s Village

Help Chazz Miller create and expand the artist's community in Detroit. The Artist's Village is a place where kids in Detroit can go to paint, write, play chess, create. Click on the pic to go to the site where my husband is working together with community members in Detroit to make good things happen.