(glimpse)

Whoops, You Missed It

2009-09-19T19:28:00.003-06:00

This blog is old. Visit my new one, instead!!!!

And Her Head Popped Off

(please.)

(and, thank you.)

p.s.

straggle much?

2009-05-03T19:37:00.002-06:00

Hey you stragglers! I went this-a-way:

http://www.glimpse.terrifischer.com

Toldja!

2009-03-22T14:40:00.002-06:00

Did I not just say that I would predictably obsess over blogging the moment I decided to become bored with it?

As expected, I've done just that. Created a whole new blog, actually.

I'm still messing with it, but I think I will just jump in and start blogging there. So, without further ado... Prepare your bookmarks...

http://www.glimpse.terrifischer.com

Plague Vampires Apathy

2009-03-18T10:01:00.005-06:00

Wow, I guess it's been a while. Here are my excuses.

1. The Plague. It has chosen all four children as victims, and has turned our house into the House of Puke. Not actually fun.

2. Vampires. For a week and a half, I regressed to adolescence and did nothing (aside from cleaning up puke, of course) but read all four books in the Twilight Series, which, although they are pitifully easy reads, are still 500+ pages apiece. The fourth, Breaking Dawn, kept me company during my all-nighter with a continuously vomiting Shortcake Monday night.

3. Apathy. As per usual, I am just so over blogging right now. Predictably, just as I decide to put energy into anything else, I am sure to become bored with that, and return to blogging. Or not...

A very dark film shot of Belle putting her shoes on in the morning. I was saving this neg. scan for such a ...bleh... post. I don't even feel like resizing it. So there.

IF-Intricate

2009-03-10T10:55:00.000-06:00

So, my next purchase, apparently, must be a moleskine. All the cool kids are doing it. Until that arrives, I'm sketching in a pretty recycl-ish paper journal, which, years ago, I was writing my dreams down in every morning. That was trippy to re-read! These I did while nursing/holding a spoiled, sleeping 15-month-old.

While scanning these in, Belle said "ooh! pretty! You are the best spiral drawer I've ever seen." Which reminded me of this quote by Amy Krouse Rosenthal:

Here's what's great about having kids. You can be really bad at something, but because they can't do that thing at all and perhaps have never even seen anybody do it, they think you are good at it.

Hippie Nappies

2009-03-09T17:07:00.000-06:00

I've got other thoughts waiting to be blogged, other photos waiting to be shared, but this must be done first. I've got to tell you about the cloth diapers, which we just started using a week or two (or three?) ago. Better late than never?

We love our cloth diapers. They're so soft! They're so cute!
They're so easy to use! They're so comfortable!

They're so... not filling up landfills!

And I Didn't Even Know It

2009-03-03T14:10:00.000-06:00

My vision
Assaulted
By 90-degree angles

Aims for the tall pines
Beyond these suburban clones
To the chaos of Nature’s order just at the end of the block
Because it is truth
Because I know it like a sister
An airplane trip away

My line of sight
Tries for the trees
It clings desperately
But fails

The 90-degree angles
Jump like gremlins
And assault my vision
Pointed rooftops and vinyl siding
Sheds and bricks and fences
Swingsets sandboxes and identical decks

Like noise
Like clanging
Like the TV

So, I know nothing about poetry. But this came out of me as I was sitting at the window the other day, hating all of the houses that stood in the way of my view. I'm not searching for validation, just sharing. I remember once I shared a poem online when I was 17 (wow, there was internet back then?), and someone offered me critique. Thinking back, I now know it was exellent critique, and I wish I would have taken it. At the time, though, it absolutely broke my heart (as did everything else at 17 years old), and I stopped writing poems altogether.

The Present

2009-03-01T12:03:00.009-06:00

I have better quotes from more reputable sources for this topic, but it is only appropriate to post this one. Not only do my children bring me much enlightenment, but sometimes, their DVDs do as well. This one's for you, dad!

Quit, don't quit? Noodles, don't noodles? You are too concerned about what was and what will be. There is a saying: yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the "present."

-Oogway, Kung Fu Panda

~~Rarely~~ ~~Occasionally~~ Frequently, I get caught up in frustration with my mundane stay-at-home life. Oh, don't pity me. I spend an absurd amount of time enjoying coffee with friends, playing with my kids, or doing frivolous things like doodling, blogging, facebooking, driving-to-the-diaper-store-to-touch-cloth-diapers. I've got a charmed life, indeed.

But often, when faced with the reality of doing the laundry, dishes, etc. for 6 messy people, I get a bit spacey--like Joaquin on Letterman (what was that about?!). I walk in circles, mumbling things like "pathetic, pointless, worthless, don't wanna..." Or, as a less crazy-person alternative, I function like normal, but my mind is still circling and mumbly. I was having such a normal-person breakdown the other day, when Shortcake, sitting at the table and eating noodles, reached her hand out to me.

Shortcake does this often. She reaches out her hand and says "Daaaah?" It is her way of saying "dance," and it usually means she wants to take me somwhere--to the refrigerator, to the piano, to the center of the living room to dance. She grabs my finger with her chubby little soft ones, and pulls me along. Yeah, it is absolutely precious.

Anyway, she did this during my little "woe is me" moment. I gave her my hand, but she didn't want to go anywhere. She just held on tight and smiled. I think she just sensed my restlessness, and wanted to bring me to where she was: just here and now. It was exactly what I needed--to take a deep breath and come back to the moment.

I gave her a kiss, noticed the beautiful light that rested on her curly head, and said, "Thank you, little girl."

Illustration Friday Instinct

2009-02-26T15:32:00.005-06:00

So, yeah. This is so utterly, completely, horrifyingly mortifying--which is why I'm doing it, and doing it quickly before my rational side takes over. I found this site, Illustration Friday, that just seemed like a fun exercise in creativity. And a great way to humiliate myself, which is always fun.

The prompt last Friday was "Instinct," and this is what I was inspired to doodle. It is, obviously, ink, so (God help me!) no corrections--which is always fine for the doodling I do that ends up in a shoebox or garbage bin... But to post a rough sketch/doodle just for the fun of it? In imperfect ink? With a hand that turned out too small? For no reason whatsoever?

(woo hoo!)

Distracted

2009-02-21T22:15:00.002-06:00

It's not that I don't love you, dear blog, nor that I have any less to say. I'm just...

...distracted.

O.K. Here's The Situation...

2009-02-17T21:52:00.003-06:00

So to you other kids all across the land
There's no need to argue
Parents just don't understand

-DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince

One of Belle's bestest friends. Need I say more?

Rich

2009-02-10T22:14:00.000-06:00

If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches.
~Rainer Maria Rilke

I'm no economist. Actually, I'm positive I either slept or doodled my way through my Economics 101 in college. (Why in the world did I take that class?) So this national money talk is beyond me.

And I must confess, despite my fervent support of President Obama and his intentions, my morbid curiosity: I'm keenly interested to see what will happen when we do indeed experience the lowest low of our New Great Depression. Maybe we really will just fall apart. Honestly, it intrigues me--the concept of total breakdown, complete chaos, and then, (perhaps?) a renewed perspective. Hey, Hercules can hunt. I can gather. We've got a few tents.

Perspective. Riches. Etc. Reminded me of the above Rilke quote.

And the photo, a negative scan of Dimples enjoying a big ol' lollipop from the cute little candy store in our cute little town. This one was shot with the old Mamiya 330 TLR. Fun to use, but even more fun to receive curious stares while using.

Play

2009-02-07T21:00:00.000-06:00

These kids are constantly teaching me the simplest of truths, just by being. Have I mentioned that already?

Shortcake has been really enjoying music lately, as babies generally do. She dances with fervor to any audible rhythm (and inaudible sometimes, apparently), bangs on the ivories with wild abandon, and performs impromptu "la, la, laaaa" concerts often. It is obviously fun for her, but it is quite serious as well. She does not do any of it to entertain; it is not for us. It comes from a place of necessity. She dances because she must. Playing nonsense on the piano, inhaling and exhaling through the harmonica, singing along... these are not choices. She does them because something inside her moves her to do them. She must.

Not because some creativity book or blog or speaker prompted her to. Not because the baby next door made music. Not because she imagined a life of fame and fortune, a successful harmonica-teaching business, or critical acclaim for her boodie-shaking. (Although her boodie-shaking does indeed rival Beyonce's.)

Play. Serious play, because you must. Yeah, I remember.

Man is most nearly himself when he achieves the seriousness of a child at play. (Heraclitus)

It is a happy talent to know how to play. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Growing

2009-02-05T12:17:00.004-06:00

Dimples has got a wiggly tooth. And he's so very proud of it.

I know what you're thinking. You're not thinking about his tooth, are you?

You're thinking about his hair.

But...

I love his hair long! It's Winter, after all, and he could use the extra warmth on his neck! So, yeah, maybe he has developed a goofy head-jerk habit to keep it out of his eyes. And yeah, maybe it is longer than mine. But he's so cute! And, the lady who usually does his hair is out on medical leave for 4 weeks. So, I've got an excuse--whether or not Hercules thinks it is valid.

Speaking of Hercules' (DH) feelings about Dimples' (and Mowgli's) hair...

I received the following email from Dimples' kindergarten teacher last week. Remember that Hercules is the principal at the kids' school, and keep in mind his selfish desire for a Dimples haircut.

Subject: Concern

Hey Terri- Do not be mad at me, but I am writing to you to let you know that I believe (Dimples') hair is getting in the way of his academics. Maybe a haircut would not be a bad thing to do before your son has a neck injury. If you have any questions please call me.

...to which I replied (sarcastically, of course):

I appreciate your concern for my son's well being. I trust your judgement thoroughly, and am confident that your email was not at all connected with the wishes of my husband, who also happens to be the principal of the school, in case you were unaware. I am positive, actually, that it was spurred by your own sentiments for the health of your student, my son. What a kind and considerate person you are! I am blessed to know you, as my children are blesssed to have you in their academic lives.

With highest regard and utter gratitude for your beautiful expression of selfless concern,

Mrs. Fischer

Can you believe the abuse of power my husband has resorted to? Shame.

Cute Crust

2009-02-04T23:20:00.001-06:00

This is how Mowgli leaves his crusts after eating a sandwich. Always. It melts my heart!

Look!

2009-02-02T10:17:00.006-06:00

Look, look, look, look, look!

-Richard Halliday

Sometimes (or maybe it is more like often or always), I have these epiphanies that at first, seem earth-shatteringly proufound, until I realize they are simply common sense. This weekend, another one of them took up residence in my airy fairy head.

I'm not certain I can explain it, though. It came when I saw this on my kitchen table:

Belle had lined them up without reason, and was giggling at how cute the little ones looked next to the big ones. Now, I'm not a still-life kind of chick, neither in photography nor in drawing or painting. And this weekend, I realized why. This (above), painted, would be borrrrrrrring. Painting, to me, is exciting because you can make it all up. Perspective, color, and all reality, for that matter, can be messed with in a painting, made to mimic my own trippy imagination.

But a photograph says, Look. I saw this, for real! It really was this beautiful or magical or horrible or simple or awe-inspiring, if only for 1/125 of a second. A line of grapes, the inside of an apple core, a moment of joy, a moment of stillness.

Like I said, this is no deep thought, and I realize that. You know what a camera does, and so do I. I suppose sometimes you have to forget something basic to re-learn it in depth.

(fruity)

And Then The Writer...

2009-01-27T22:08:00.005-06:00

There is a massive plastic purge on the calendar for this house in the Spring. Massive. We have far too much plastic stuff, and I hate it all.

Except for the Playmobils. We all love Playmobil. Playmobil rocks. You understand.

This weekend, the kids were inspired to set up playmobil scenes to be photographed. This first one is, of course, a family portrait. From left to right: Hercules, me, Belle, Shortcake, Dimples, and Mowgli. I've just now noticed that both parents are holding megaphones. Are the kids trying to tell us something? Hmmmm...

There were many, many scenes created. I will spare you the entire slideshow. This is the final scene from the story The Pirate's Heart. Belle wrote an adorable story about two pirate crews in search of treasure. In the end, after much sailing and fighting, they find that there is only a plastic heart inside the chest. One of the burly pirates has an epiphany: "I think it means love! And together they discovered the treasure of friends." (Stop laughing! It's cute!)

Interestingly, the story and scene-making came to an abrupt halt early on. I came into the kitchen to witness overturned pirate ships, scattered papers, and screaming children. They were fighting over the plot--obviously they had not yet discovered the treasure of friends, either! I tried this joke, and it did not work.

After they all stomped out of the room, I picked up the scribbled manuscript. I have edited the spelling because, although the errors are cute, I'm afraid you might question the fine education that my children receive at the fine institute of learning at which their virtuous father is the fine principal. Ahem. The manuscript read:

Once upon a time, on an island lost (you might have heard of it, it is called Lost Island!) the two teams of pirates fought and fought for one thing and one thing only... the treasure! And each team of four, they sailed and sailed for many months, but no treasure. AND THEN THE WRITER GOT MAD!

Survey... SAYS!

2009-01-26T07:11:00.003-06:00

"...but sometimes I do feel frustrated by the general lameness of my life."

-one of my survey participants

Besides completely cracking me up, the above statement, I think, hit the nail on the head. I recently asked some moms to take a survey regarding their thoughts on "Motherhood and Creativity." I'm gathering this insight for the projects I happen to find myself obsessed with.

The paradox fascinates me: Motherhood, perhaps the most creative human act, can make it seem virtually impossible to be creative at all. So far, the survey tells me that I am not alone in feeling this contradiction. But, of course, I knew that already.

There is more for me to share, and I will eventually, but I couldn't hold that quote in any longer. Happy Monday... I hope it's not LAME.

Individual

2009-01-24T18:59:00.003-06:00

"Remember always that you have not only the right to be an individual; you have an obligation to be one."

-Eleanor Roosevelt

If It's Not Fun...

2009-01-19T13:04:00.007-06:00

If it's not fun you're doing it wrong.

(George Di Carlo)

This little gem was captured by my webcam. I was trying to get a shot of my new haircut for my facebook, and the kids wanted to join in on the vanity session.

I am so very in love with this shot--I think I will get it printed as a 16x20--pixels, poor quality and all. Really. It just makes me happy. Perspective, laughter, etcetera, reminds me of a story from this weekend.

Hercules was off driving in a snowstorm (thrill-seeker!), and the kids and I were at home, having a little change-of-plans evening. Because of this change-of-plans thing, we were essentially without much food. Dimples asked for something sweet, and I decided to scrounge up the ingredients for a pan of brownies. Mowgli, as usual, insisted on helping, and I gave him the cocoa, oil, and melted butter to mix, while I double-checked the recipe and prepared everything else.

"Momma, I'm done," he said, so many times that I began to ignore him. "Mm-hmm..." I repeated, so many times that he began to ignore me. "MOMMA! I'M DONE!" He shouted, at last, and as I turned to him, I saw the bowl above his head. Then I saw the bowl teeter. Then I saw the bowl tumble, covering Mowgli's head, body, the counter, the floor, and a library book with the chocolatey goo (no, not yummy, no sugar yet).

I was not thrilled. I yelled. I checked to be sure it was not scalding his skin (melted butter--good mom); picked up the library book and threw it in the sink (who knows why?); and left him crying, covered in chocolate for a moment. A second, maybe. Then I saw him, his guilty eyes peeking through his chocolate-drenched hair at me...

And cracked up. I completely fell apart laughing. So did he. We laughed and laughed, just staring at each other, dripping bitter chocolate. The other kids joined in, and we all had a moment of ridiculous clarity, there in the kitchen.

After I cleaned up, we made another batch, and had brownies for dinner, with a side of grapes and string cheese.

12:25

2009-01-17T12:25:00.000-06:00

A glimpse of yesterday at 12:25 pm

I peel each individual grape with my teeth, and chop it into quarters. Shorcake sits on my lap and, between bites and giggles, says "Yeah. Yeah." like Rainman.

Mowgli, smiling, licks his upper lip, ingesting a mixture of mac 'n cheese sauce and boogers.

Dimples kicks off into a fit because I suggest grapes instead of candy.

Belle and That Neighbor Kid emerge smacking bubble gum and sporting sparkly bindis. I not-so-subtly direct them to the corner of sweet kitchen light and grab my camera. During our impromptu photo shoot, TNK starts a new bubble and accidentally spits her entire wad of gum at Belle's face. The girls collapse into giggles. Belle pees her pants.

(Now go take my survey: http://www.polldaddy.com/s/E2CE2B42C4DEB66A/)
(please)

And... Out

2009-01-14T22:12:00.006-06:00

“It is winter proper; the cold weather, such as it is, has come to stay.

I bloom indoors like a forced forsythia; I come in to come out.”
--Annie Dillard

Winter proper indeed. School is already cancelled for tomorrow, as we anticipate obnioxiously cold weather. So, even more hunkering down for us.

But this blog is inspired by Ms. Dillard's "come in to come out." (Perfect transition, no?) That's right, I'm coming out. Out of two closets, actually.

No, I'm not pregnant with number five. Yes, I'm still heterosexual. But this is even more scandalous: I'm knitting and writing.

You are not impressed. I know. But for me, this is a big confession. Knitting and crocheting even, like a granny in a rocking chair (or in my Nani's case, a great-granny in a pool on a floatie), and obsessively so--did you miss that in my last post? And newly part of an online knitting community. Quelle horreur! (but, uh, Nani, could you join and "friend" me, please?)

(a bonnet I crocheted for Shortcake. The poor girl is doomed--she's the only one who can't verbally refuse a hat made by mommy! ...yeah, those are tears in her eyes.)

And writing. Yeah, I'm always writing, but this writing seems to have a life of its own. It sprung up out of a personal photography project exploring motherhood and creativity, and just won't stop, I think, until I get it all down. And not, maybe, until it is published. And, maybe, not even until I am booked solid with international book signings and gallery shows and Oprah appearances and such.

Now if these kids would just give me a moment to start...

Introvert

2009-01-06T09:22:00.003-06:00

I've gone all... Introvert. Writer-me--and more specifically, Blogger-me--finds this extremely entertaining. Cheerleader-me, on the other hand, is horrified.

Me-me is just fine, thank you very much.

It is not a depressive introversion, but just a nice, cozy one. Perhaps it is a necessary effect of the onslaught of perpetual sickness in this, my house-of-many-children. It could be that I am simply in sync with the natural rhythm of the seasons. Nature Herself is hunkerin' down nowadays.

For whatever reason, I am perfectly happy to cozy up (with my two at-home kids) in my nursing corner of the sofa with my stack of library books (including, but no limited to: Rumi, Rilke, Jung, and knitting patterns), basket of yarn and knitting needles, and a notebook and a pen.

Yeah! That's all I need! This yarn, a few books, and a notebook. That's all I need! And my french press! Yarn, needles, books, a notebook, a pen, coffee beans, a grinder, and my french press! That's all I need!

And a camera! Yarn, needles, books, a notebook, a pen, Eight O'Clock hazelnut whole beans, a grinder, my french press, water, a teapot, a Mamiya 330 TLR, a roll or two of Tri-x, and a light meter.

That's all I need.

(not that I would refuse an invitation to coffee or anything. ahem.)

New

2008-12-31T19:03:00.004-06:00

The merry year is born

Like the bright berry from the naked thorn.

~Hartley Coleridge

Cheers to newness, freshness, rebirth.

Cheers to 2009!

You Know Dasher and Dancer

2008-12-30T21:29:00.003-06:00

I packed up my favorite Christmas tree ornaments today--a vintage gift from Hercules' mom a few years ago. I love these things. I could keep them up all year. I found it strange that, although I am completely incapable of cleaning the house, I had to arrange each reindeer in order of their appearance in the song. It is like some strain of OCD gone wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

Tap Dancing Lessons

2008-12-29T15:04:00.003-06:00

I've been absent from the blogsphere, in part, due to a very sick little boy. The poor little thing is recovering, thankfully.

On a whim today, we did a search for tap dancing lessons online today. Forget the $100/month! We found this on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jBXJDgkVCI

It's 25 minutes, and the kids loved it.

"How Much Fun It Is Today"

2008-12-19T22:19:00.004-06:00

"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,

Jingles all that way.

How much fun it is today..."

(Mowgli's version, to be sung wholeheartedly)

And some snaps from our third snow day in three weeks. We had so much fun!

Exploring

2008-12-16T14:37:00.002-06:00

]

I'm not lost. I'm exploring.

Jana Stanfield

Cute, Sweet, Happy. Damnit.

2008-12-10T13:45:00.000-06:00

I've got a new blog site in the works (again), and some beautiful newborn photos to share. But first, I'm inclined to do some good old-fashioned mommy bloggin'. Small pix and all.

This is generally the way of it: the mundane starts to overwhelm me. I become immersed in self-pitying, self-indulgent thoughts. Woe is me. I am the cover girl for Wasted Potential Weekly. My life is a pathetic string of whining and poopy diapers and boogers and laundry and stubborn smooshed peaches on the floor. Which is a pathetic suffix to the morning that was an endless desperate search for homework/library books/matching socks/mittens/snowpants/hats/boots/shoes/lunchboxes/underwear/backpacks/permission slips/etcetera.

And then, just in time, they pull something ridiculously cute:
and sweet:
and I can't help but feel

happy. damnit.

Life Is Like...

2008-12-04T22:22:00.003-06:00

...A game of Candyland.

I've actually said this to them. Poor kids. I just thought, while we're at it, let's have another photo of Mowgli's ~~blank~~ contemplative stare.

Those Things

2008-12-03T20:35:00.000-06:00

I found this roll of film (a grainy high-speed film in my old TLR) from January-ish just sitting in my darkroom, hidden behind a few bottles. I can't believe how much he's grown since then! This body language, that blank stare--he's still got it, just an older version of it.

I can say with near certainty that what followed this photo was a philosophical: "Momma, you know...

I like those things

that I like."

Right on, little boy.

Fluttering

2008-11-30T15:55:00.004-06:00

There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Useful

2008-11-26T13:22:00.002-06:00

So, I've got a bachelor of science degree in nursing. I graduated with honors, having excelled in classes like microbiology (bear with me), pathophysiology, and pharmacology.

What do you suppose, then, was the most useful bit of information gleaned from my college days? An understanding of the Krebs Cycle? The ability to differentiate labaratory indicators of metabolic acidosis versus respiratory alkalosis? Or, perhaps, the ever-wise "Beer before liquor--never been sicker; liquor before beer--in the clear?"

I've recently come to realize, actually, that it was this: Kraft macaroni and cheese tastes best when made with real butter. Thanks, of course, to my dorm roommate.

I am completely content with this revelation, which is either very disturbing, or very Zen.

The Power of "Shhh"

2008-11-25T08:16:00.003-06:00

Hush-a-bye don't you cry,

Go to sleep-y, little baby.

When you wake you shall have

All the pretty little horses.

Blacks and bays, dapple grays,

Coach and six white horses.

Hush-a-bye don't you cry,

Go to sleep-y, little baby.

A wonderful newborn session this weekend (not the one pictured) got me thinking about the power of "Sh." I was in awe of this first-time mother and her efffective use of the mighty "Shhh." She was good.

I didn't actually get it--the power of "shhh"--until my third child. I sang a lot of lullabies with Belle and Dimples, and though I do love singing, it is not the easiest thing to do at 3 AM. With Mowgli, I discovered "Sh-sh-sh-sh-shhhhhh." Magic. And now, when I try to sing Shortcake a lullaby, she starts dancing and singing along, which is really cute, unless it's 3 AM, of course. So, it is "Shhh" for her as well.

I love to watch parents calm their babies. It is so intimate, and often, it is when my favorite photos are taken.

sibs

2008-11-20T23:00:00.000-06:00

I am not an only child, but I sometimes wish I was.
My family is six people, which is sometimes too many.
Not always, just sometimes.

Lauren Child, Utterly Me, Clarice Bean
Yes, it's only 3/4 of the brood, but I love this photo of "the big kids." It says so much about them--so, I'll stop there.

Simple Pleasures

2008-11-18T19:47:00.003-06:00

Today, Shortcake and I had the day to ourselves. She re-introduced me to a few of life's simple pleasures:

Walking barefoot on cardboard
Pressing both palms to a cold window pane
Whispering nonsense
Dancing to the music of the dishwasher, the negative scanner, the squeaky rocking chair, a Dr. Suess book
Taking all of the paper napkins out of the package, stuffing them into a bowl, pulling them out again, and ripping them to shreds!!!

It was a good day.

Naked Tree

2008-11-18T06:00:00.001-06:00

I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

In searching for a quote to compliment this photo, I came across Emerson's, above. To be honest, I was heartbroken. He hated quotes? I love quotes! I love him! I love his quotes! I suppose I will just have to stop crushing on him. He is dead, after all.

Tell me what you know...

I love naked trees. Whether dead or seasonally skeletal, they enchant me. I love the moment each Autumn--and, for me, it is a moment--when I notice that the trees are naked today. All the saturated leaves, so obnoxiously glorious in their deaths, are suddenly erased by one blustery afternoon. And the trees just stand there--changed, yet ever the same. Dignified. Unabashed. Naked.

Party Girl

2008-11-14T20:29:00.004-06:00

Do you know what... I am just far too emotional to write anything better than blubbering nonsense.

She is one today.

I adore her far, far beyond words. See? There I go, getting choked up. So, nevermind, I'm not even going to try.

We've been calling her "Birthday Girl" all day. Tonight, when Mowgli came to kiss her goodnight, he accidentally said, "Goodnight, Party Girl." Hence, the title. That's all I've got. That, and a link to Her Blog Debut.

So Boring

2008-11-12T22:27:00.003-06:00

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful

So unloved and for someone so fine

I can feel so boring for someone so interesting

So ignorant for someone of sound mind

Alanis Morissette

Although I prefer the Under Rug Swept Alanis to anything since, I was singing this song all day today, because this is precisely how I felt. But then the identifying-with-Alanis thing was cut short when I remembered that she and Uncle Joey were an item. Ew!

The Next Place

2008-11-11T12:00:00.001-06:00

The Next Place, a book by Warren Hanson, jumped out at me in the library the other day. Actually, Mowgli knocked it off of the shelf while pulling another book out, but it is so much more intriguing to make it sound supernatural, isn't it? I checked it out, just thrilled to find a book for children that conveys a peaceful, beautiful afterlife, without being steeped in dogma, cheezy images, and/or damnation. I had absolutely no reason to read it to the kids, which negated my idea that it was miraculously predestined to fall into my hands on that exact day.

Until...

Death came to visit. That's right, the Grim Reaper himself came for Rayna the fish that night. "All drains lead to the ocean," for some reason, was not at all comforting to Belle. She howled and grieved the passing of her little aquatic friend, unable to come to terms with the concept of death. It happened on the same day that Barack Obama's grandmother died. Feeling connected to him, of course, as the daughter of an Obama supporter, she then continued to grieve Tutu's death. "Why does everything have to die?" she lamented, consumed by the pain of her loss.

It did not help, then, when the next day, she asked about a picture of an urn (thanks, Poppy!), and I told her the truth. Strike three. She was in another round of morbid hysterics when I remembered the library book. Unexpectedly, she sat quietly as I read it to her. Simple, lyrical, and full of peaceful cosmic images, the booked soothed her, and filled in for me when I had no words. The Next Place will be added to my Amazon wish list--just in case next time, it's not a fish.

Artiste

2008-11-09T22:03:00.004-06:00

Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one’s own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist.
~Rainer Maria Rilke

This post is for the (Beautiful!) mother of my newest client, due to arrive any day. I am waiting, a little less patiently than she, for my negatives from this session to arrive. Until then, and (quick!) before the baby comes, here's a teaser from the digital camera.

Speaking of Transition

2008-11-06T15:09:00.009-06:00

There are, of course, loads of things I have to say. Things that I find uplifting and inspiring and motivating. I am not, for now, going to say those things, for I know they would fall on the deaf ears (blind eyes? You are, after all, reading) of those of you suffering from post-traumatic election loss syndrome. And I get it--I was there four years ago. And although we all know that this is not a football game, I fear you might only see my actions as those of a gloating fan whose team won the superbowl by a touchdown in overtime. Woo-Hoo! (Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, that just escaped. I'm finished now.)

SO. I'll save it for January. Perhaps, by then, you might be able to accurately see my joy as patriotism (a sentiment, I'll admit, that is brand new for me).

And here it is, your blog transition to things non-political.

Feet. Feet are not political. These are Dimples' feet. I just loved the lines I saw here.

And a funny Dimples story, one we will be retelling at least once a month until he is 25 or so:

Last Spring, when my sister was visiting, she was nursing her baby discretely under a "hooter hider." Dimples, curious to know what she was hiding (as I am not nearly as modest of a baby nurser), snuck up behind her. Juju suddenly heard a beavis/butthead-style chuckle. "Huhhh. I saw your boob." She whipped her head around to see Dimples trying to conceal a goofy grin. He quickly added, "Don't tell my mom."

Yes!

2008-11-05T22:37:00.006-06:00

YES!!!!

...we can!

(Another dusty negative scan, but I simply could not help myself. And although I love you Republican readers dearly, I'm simply too inspired to be apologetic today.)

What Sign?

2008-11-03T22:00:00.005-06:00

I am ~~disappointed in~~ impressed with myself for maintaining this facade of ~~moral cowardice~~ political neutrality by refraining from posting about ~~my latest crush~~ the presidential candidate for whom I will vote tomorrow morning. Initially, I decided not to post any political writing ~~for fear of the embarrassing things my dad would write in the comments~~ in respect for past and potential clients' political views, should they differ from my ~~highly enlightened and intelligent~~ beliefs.

So, I will simply post some ~~contrived~~ innocent snapshots of Shortcake ~~placed in front of my Obama sign~~ walking and chalking in the front yard today.

Oh, isn't she sweet, those chubby little toddling legs...

And, look at that, here she goes, toward the front sidewalk... La, dee, dah...

Whoops, how distracting that blue sign is in the background...

Oh, silly me, all out of focus, this one...

And, on a completely unrelated topic, GO VOTE!!!! ~~(unless, of course, you're voting for the other guy.)~~ :)

BOO!

2008-10-31T08:00:00.001-06:00

I'll tell you what's scary. A little girl growing up. That's what's scary. Last year, Belle was an angelic white snow princess for Halloween. This year, she was a "goth bride." *gulp*

Here to save the day, it appears, is Mowgli, or "regular Batman..."

...as opposed to, of course, "The Dark Knight Batman" (Dimples), who ran away from my camera for an individual shot because he was embarassed by how unbelievably cool he looked. Here are all the trick-or-treaters, including cousin "Venus."

It was freezing cold (which is why Shortcake opted out), and we asked Venus to convince Apollo to make it warm and sunny. It didn't work. The boys stayed warm, though, by running from door to door. They ran the entire time, and stopped only to shout "trick or treat!" and "thank you!" Or, in Mowgli's case, to fall. Or to run back to the door to shout "thank you!" because he had forgotten. Or to run back through the lawn to the front door down the front walk to the sidewalk because he didn't mean to run through the lawn.

The Zen of My Today

2008-10-30T08:45:00.003-06:00

Once upon a life of perpetual laundry

neverending dishes

and infinite toys

Where the futility of sweeping cheerios off the floor

or changing a diaper

Threaten, on the worst days, to be my undoing

And on the best days, are the ebb and flow

reminders to be grateful

for clothing

food

abundance

and my fertile fertile ovaries

Came both the common cold and Halloween

And suddenly

relentless cries of "Can I have another piece of candy"

met four bottomless boogery noses

Happily ever after, etcetera, etcetera, indeed

Self-Reliance

2008-10-28T22:07:00.001-06:00

A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, from Self-Reliance

It is thick, heavy reading, but I have lately been looking through Emerson's writings, some really ridiculously fabulous stuff. Maybe it's because he gives me the justification I need to be fickle, crazy, misunderstood:

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.

Apple Shortcake

2008-10-26T13:30:00.006-06:00

If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle.

Vincent van Gogh

Shortcake... OK so she's neither smiling nor cooing here, and although she's looking up, it has nothing to do with the sun. Actually, she's hoarding an apple that she picked at the apple orchard, and she's watching Belle to make sure she doesn't take it away from her.

What's Not to Like?

2008-10-24T21:27:00.002-06:00

He used to say that.

My grandpa, my "Papa," died nearly seven years ago, and those of us who loved him are still trying to believe it, much less deal with it. And, oh, if you knew him, you might understand our persistent denial. He was a man whose every smile was a genuine namaste. And he smiled constantly--if not with his mouth, with his eyes. It is, perhaps, an injustice to write about him without filling the entire internet with his praises. He was that awesome. And, despite what the other grandchildren might tell you, believe me, I was his favorite.

A short while before he died, he began painting, and created a handful of beautiful art pieces. I was happy to learn that my grandmother decided to give each of their children one of his paintings. It was sad, though, to know I would never display one in my own home. Then, to my surprise, my grandmother gave me his art supplies: the easel, boxes of oil and acrylic paints, powder for mixing custom paints, brushes, sketch pads, charcoal, pencils, pens, and more.

I was overwhelmed by my grandma's generosity, and honored that she saw the artist in me that was begging for this tangible piece of his own inner artist. At first, I felt unworthy of it all, so I packed it away carefully. Two years ago, I took it all out, let myself be intrigued by the ink and pens, and even tested out a few lines of ink. It was a powerful experience... too powerful, and I put it all away again.

Recently, I found the boxes again. I unloaded it all, examined every little piece (and there are a lot of little pieces!), and began organizing and laying out the supplies. I could feel him, I could smell him. Some ink bottles were unused, and others nearly empty. I ran my fingers over pens and brushes that bore the stains of use, pencils that were rounded at the tip.

And a brush with blue paint...
Light blue paint still dried on its bristles.

I cried then, perhaps tears I had waited to cry for a long time. I mourned the paintings he had left to paint, the visions that he had yet to bring to light. He was not finished! But I also cried tears of gratitude, that I had my hands on the pens through which he had let inspiration flow, that I could share this with him even after his death. I felt a closeness with him, a secret bond that only he and I could share. I felt a responsibility, to use the tools well; to use them with purpose, with joy, with openness. I felt inspired, revitalized by a lingering presence, the indestructable spirit that is infused in all of life, that he is somehow still a part of.

I've begun drawing again. I am using his pencils, his pens, his ink. I have never used ink before this, and I can hardly believe the satisfaction it brings me. I relish the scratch and snag of the nib on the paper, the flow of the dark fluid. I sometimes imagine him using the same pen, feeling the same satisfaction. It seems symbolic to me, and the privelege and responsibility is colossal--allowing this part of him to continue...

Through me.

New Life

2008-10-23T20:29:00.003-06:00

The profound miracle of childbirth never ceases to astound me. I've brought four of my own children to life and helped deliver countless others. Still, I am no closer to wrapping my mind around the wonder of new life. It is simply mind-boggling, every bit of it. The power of the life force that brings the child to being... The fresh little person, full of potential, utterly helpless and completely wonderful... And the mother, somehow able to survive, recover, and function after everything... I can't help but wonder at the creative potential that we, as mothers, harbor within us. Is it always there, in our depths, waiting to be tapped?

My neighbor and dear friend, with her newest daughter:

All 5 pounds, 10 ounces of her:
And the big sister, well, just because she's so darn adorable:

Ah, Capella

2008-10-20T19:11:00.002-06:00

Have you noticed a shimmering star, twinkling red, white, and blue to the northeast? Belle, Shortcake, and I did tonight. It's Capella. Notice it tonight, it's pretty! :)

Hypergraphia and a Yellow Leaf

2008-10-18T21:32:00.004-06:00

Hypergraphia. The compulsion to write.

More appropriately, perhaps: Hyperblogia. I've got that--I'm self-diagnosing, and, presently, self-treating. More frequently than not, I have a ridiculously overwhelming urge to write. My daily activities include the continuous background noise (the voices in my head, if you will!) of the blog or essay or inspirational book or poem or children's book or novel that I am currently composing. I don't really have the time, though, to sit around with pen and paper (or laptop) and purge, at least not completely. Neither do I have the discipline to bring any of those things to fruition. So the words and ideas back up like a bad sewer line in my head.

That's that. No resolution to speak of. And, on a somewhat similar note...

The other day, I was unbuckling Shortcake from her carseat outside the library, when I noticed a bright yellow leaf at my feet, alone on the black pavement. The rain was intensifying the yellow and deepening the black and altogether making it impossible for me to stop staring at it. I wanted to walk into the library, interrupt story time, and tell everyone to go out into the street and look at the yellow leaf. Knowing I couldn't both maintain the facade of sanity and start babbling about a yellow leaf in the road, I shut myself up. It was hard, but I did it.

The second picture book at storytime, however, was about a bear who followed a yellow leaf. A yellow leaf was on each page! Other mothers, perhaps, were concentrating on the story, or watching that their 3-year-olds sat still. I, on the other hand, was an internal wreck, desperately fighting the urge to share my own pathetic little yellow leaf story. My saving grace was the knowledge that I could come home and blog about it.

Although, I suppose, that doesn't actually seem any more sane than wildly shouting in the library, does it?

Illusion

2008-10-15T15:14:00.006-06:00

The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

Albert Einstein

She is 9 years old; writing and dancing to songs about love, existing on the cusp of pre-adolescence, creating her own little version of a social self completely independent of mine...

Just when it's finally OK to stop worrying about her, I have to start worrying about her.

I watched her today, and it seemed as if she literally grew right then and there, before my eyes. She was 9, she was 16, she was 3 months old.

I am at Children's Hospital, working my second evening shift back from maternity leave. Desperately, I am missing my new baby, soaking my nursing pads every time my infant patient cries or eats or poops. It is New Year's Eve 1999, and I have to work overtime, past midnight, just to be sure the Y2K whatever-it-is doesn't suddenly attack and leave the hospital without functioning ventilators and IV pumps and monitors and medicine cabinets. I am staring at an oxygen saturation monitor, hypnotized by the little blue line making hills and valleys with each heartbeat. I am thinking about the "New Millenium" and what it holds for me. Suddenly there are four children chasing each other in circles around me. The oldest is nine, and bears a striking resemblance to the baby I'm missing.

Perhaps this has all just been a momentary fantasy? Just thoughts, random outrageous thoughts, about what life might be like in the distant future of 2008? Surely my baby girl is at home sleeping in her crib, and I am still under the hypnosis of the hospital monitor, waiting for the big bad Y2K? It sometimes seems impossible that all this time has passed, that any of this is real.

Then I pull my crazy self together and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Dimples' lunch.

Naturally

2008-10-13T21:18:00.003-06:00

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

William Wordsworth

This is a film image of Belle, on an impromptu break from our photo shoot--because she saw a frog.

Vote Smart

2008-10-09T19:25:00.004-06:00

I will attempt to be politically neutral on my blog from now until the Wednesday following the first Monday in November. Unless, of course, I just happen to post a photo that just happens to have the political sign in my front yard in the background.

Politically neutral: www.vote-smart.org. The least you can do is find out the information yourself (as opposed to reading obnoxiously adolescent and ridiculously ignorant emails over and over again), right?

See, I didn't even post a link to "that one."

Wow. Dusty.

2008-10-06T20:37:00.004-06:00

Alright, I can't stand it anymore. Because of my relative ineptness with the whole transferring-to-a-new-computer thing, I am still without photo editing software. I'm functioning well enough, as most of my photographs are on film, but I haven't, as you are aware, been blogging. And I miss it. So, on a whim, I am just showing you this negative scan that I had resized just before The Crash (no, not our economy's, my computer's). A very very dusty negative. But geez, he's cute. Isn't he?

While You Wait

2008-09-29T20:57:00.001-06:00

Here, something else to do online besides wait for me to start blogging again:

How fun is this sketch exchange thingy??? Maybe you'll get mine!

Long Time No Blog

2008-09-26T09:25:00.002-06:00

I am here, I am alive. Take heart, you legions of dedicated readers, I will return to blogging soon. I've been experiencing an unintentional hiatus from the internet. But that's over now... So I'll be back.

(p)Ride

2008-08-30T12:45:00.000-06:00

Dimples learned to ride a bike, sans-training wheels, recently. We were "Up North," and he just hopped on this old Schwinn, the same one that his dad and aunts and uncles and older cousins learned on, and rode. There was no drama, no pressure, no worry. He just did it, and that was that.
His determination was unbelievable. I literally could not believe how long he rode around and around and around the yard. I thought his quads would fall right off! We were so proud, that it almost seemed inappropriate. I mean, he hadn't discovered the cure for cancer or scaled Mount Everest or invented the time machine. But the actual mastered skill had nothing to do with it. It was his self-pride that somehow I felt too, the knowledge that he had chosen to push aside his fear and pull a Nike.

But it's not like ...he doesn't need me ...'n stuff. Just because he can ride a bike, and is going to Kindergarten in 2.5 days, and...

I think I'd better have another baby.

Stupid Little Life

2008-08-27T18:00:00.000-06:00

...there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.

~from the film American Beauty

This stupid little picture was taken on the shore of Lake Michigan, during a walk with my family. It was a gorgeous day, a gorgeous moment, and I was feeling all smug and fabulous and wonderful and deep and spiritual. But I was disappointed when I saw the photo. It wasn't at all the overwhelmingly beautiful thing I expected it to be. It's just sort of ...ho-hum. Which is why I think it is perfect for this quote: all the drama of the build-up, then at the end, my stupid little life, that I find fabulous and wonderful and spiritual all the same.

FYI

2008-08-26T13:40:00.003-06:00

No photo today. Tomorrow, I promise. For today, just two completely unrelated FYIs:

1. Belle was in the doctor's office yesterday with symptoms of what I thought was a recurrence of the Rheumatic Fever incident of two years ago. She was afraid, but brave, especially after I bribed her (whoops!) with a brand new DS game for the blood draw. Luckily everything is fine, and I am happily wearing the dunce cap. Or, the neurotic mother cap, which does not fit me well at all. She is feeling OK today, and I think we are returning to normal around here--or at least, as close to normal as we ever were.

2. I've got a project waiting backstage, about to burst into the spotlight of my crazy mind. I can feel it coming, the mania... And I will be needing models. Moms, to be specific. Please send me an email if you're a ~~willing victim~~ consenting volunteer. Some of you, my dear friends, will be ~~victims~~ models whether or not you consent, fyi. But I'd really love to have all sorts of volunteers, please? Don't make me beg.

Spirited

2008-08-22T08:53:00.000-06:00

I tend to have a particular affinity for ~~rotten~~ spirited kids. I always have. And as if four of my own weren't enough, I've got one very ~~rotten~~ spirited kid just next door. Or in my backyard, or at my back door, or in my house. Doesn't she look like ~~trouble~~ fun?

Little Wonder

2008-08-19T22:01:00.003-06:00

Our lives are made in these small hours

These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate

Time falls away, but these small hours

These small hours still remain

~Rob Thomas

"Just..."

2008-08-13T12:43:00.002-06:00

"Just... Go."

~Mowgli, 3 years old
We had such a wonderful month-long visit with my retired-to-Arizona parents, a.k.a. NeeNee & Poppy. Yesterday, they migrated back to land of eternal sun.

While they were here, NeeNee accidentally broke Mowgli's sunglasses, but quickly bought him a replacement pair. She decided to tell him the truth and present him with his brand new pair at the same time. He was devastated at the loss of his precious shades, and not at all thrilled about the new ones. I think NeeNee was expecting either an all-out temper tantrum or a "That's OK, NeeNee. Thanks for the new sunglasses." Instead, she got a stoic:

"Just... Go."

And I get it. With my parents gone, I could either throw a temper tantrum or gush with gratitude for the wonderful visit. Instead, I'm going to go with:

Just... Go.

Epiphany

2008-08-09T15:39:00.007-06:00

I think that most of us actually go through identical stages of development: this epiphany at this stage; that revelation at that stage. So where I may have just completed the "Material things don't fulfill me" stage, our three-year-old just had the "If I put my hand under my armpit I can make cool boldily functions sounds" epiphany. And I realize that someone ahead of me thinks of my new insight the same way I think of my son's: "Oh, yes, I remember when I had that one, isn't that quaint."

~Amy Krouse Rosenthal

I love this quote. But, I've actually noticed that many, if not most, of my epiphanies are inspired by my own kids. A recent epiphany of mine, however quaint, came to me while I observed them catching frogs the other night.

I am not the squeamish, get-that-slimy-amphibian-away-from-me type, but I don't know that I've ever understood frog hunting... in my adulthood at least. As I watched them fully immerse themselves in the pursuit of all things green and hopping, I found myself wondering why? What is the draw? Are my children hunters by nature? Does the desire to chase point to a violent streak in all of them? Is it about the competition? Can they not enjoy the natural world as it is? Am I not stimulating their educational needs?

Mowgli, full sqat in the tall grass. Dimples ankle-deep in the creek. Belle leading a net-toting group upstream. Shortcake crawling after an ant. And... cue epiphany.

I saw how they honor their compulsions. They just do as they feel led, without logic or reason. I saw how inspired, how free, how fulfilled they are--the simplicity of being without the interference of thinking. I felt inspired, grateful for the example of my beautiful children. I decided to allow myself to do the same, a little more often.

But then, I saw my dad, knee-deep in the boggy weeds, folding his 6' 5" frame over the creek, and stretching to catch a frog with a big pink net. And I changed my mind.

Fly By the Seat of Your Pants

2008-08-03T16:38:00.005-06:00

I'm going to write a book someday with the same title as this blog. First, though, I need to learn how to do it.

I learn something every day from my kids. Life is teaching me, too. Little by little. I just deleted this entire post, and now am rewriting it. That's flying by the seat of my pants, right? My computer crashed today, or so we thought, and I didn't freak out. I thought, OK, most of my photo files are backed up, and I can buy a new laptop now. I can use someone else's to check my emails. That, surely, is flying by the seat of my pants. ***So please note that if this happens again, I will be checking and returning emails, but perhaps a little more slowly than ususal*** Today I found out that this company (http://www.domeclimber.com/) just screwed me out of $309 of play equipment that I promised my kids. I took a deep breath, and noticed that there is plenty of play around here, regardless. And although losing $309 stings, we will survive. Fly. Seat. Pants.

I made this photo with the Holga and Tri-X film last week when we took the kids fishing. Belle was the fishing champion of the bridge, but Dimples gave up after less than five minutes. There was no drama, though. He still had fun, and spent most of his time like this, watching the little fish swim around.

I like what my kids teach me. Ditch the fishing pole. Hang far over the edge. Watch.

Crawler

2008-07-28T19:37:00.002-06:00

Look out, world. She's on the move.

Alive Awake Alert Enthusiastic

2008-07-26T15:01:00.004-06:00

"I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic!"

My daughter came home from summer school music class a couple weeks ago singing this ~~horribly annoying~~ inspiring song. You, too, can replay this gem over and over and over and over again in your head, or better yet, for the enjoyment of your friends and family: simply put the lyrics to the tune of "If you're happy and you know it."

I'll admit... When I first heard her sing it, I thought it was a beautiful, enlightened thing. When I can genuinely say "I'm alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic" at any given moment, well, then, I will have it all figured out. I have even been stopping every now and then and testing myself. I take a deep breath, play the stupid song in my head, and feel refreshed, truly alive, fully present.

But sometimes, this is how it plays: "I'm ~~alive~~ dead, ~~awake~~ asleep, ~~alert~~ apathetic, ~~enthusiastic~~ and I don't give a sh*t!"

And that's fun, too.

Granny

2008-07-22T15:14:00.003-06:00

My parents are here, visiting from Arizona. We are having lots of fun, but get this: My mom had the nerve to show up in the land of deep-fried cheese curds wearing a size 4, and sporting some killer biceps. I would either be happy for, proud of, or angry at her... if I weren't scared of her. Check her out!

TearsBoogersTylenol

2008-07-20T10:05:00.004-06:00

We've got an overabundance of the above liquids around here, thanks to the two sharp little teeth that recently burst into Shortcake's mouth. I shared this photo on the other blog that I was working on, but I want it here, too. What other blog? Oh, nevermind. Just a brainchild of my fickle blog exploring. FYI, I think I'll be sticking with this one as a personal/business melting pot--until, of course, I change my mind. So, excuse my dust as I experiment.

My hard drive is pregnant with images to share... I hope to "deliver" them all before they are forgotten!

html geek-in-training

2008-07-14T21:20:00.000-06:00

ooh, look what I figurd out how to do.

Lucky 13

2008-07-14T20:53:00.007-06:00

My new nephew... How can I have already forgotten how teeny tiny they are? I get to get my hands (and my lenses) on him again this weekend. Yay!

And, as if you are surprised, I may be staying with blogger after all. Oh, the excitement.

Toldja

2008-07-06T13:40:00.001-06:00

www.terrifischer.com

kick-ass, no? There is some editing to be done, and photos to add, but I was just too darn excited to wait. yippeeeeee! :)

The new blog to follow... eventually.

attractive

2008-07-03T08:35:00.003-06:00

we have this strange, adolescent compulsion to take goofy pictures of each other.

and for the grand finale... fyi, new kick-ass website/blog in the works...

Usually I'm holding the handle...

2008-06-24T20:51:00.003-06:00

Every morning, he grinds the beans, presses the coffee, and adds and stirs the creamer and sugar for me. gAWd, I'm lucky.

Blackmail

2008-06-12T09:45:00.003-06:00

Tomorrow, the last day of school, is also the day that the much-anticipated class lists are released. Uptight parents may wish to employ blackmail to further freak out on the principal for the unfairness of your child's placement. Well, here it is.

Photos of the principal's wife, all four of the principal's children, and the principal's neighbor and her daughter... AT THE ZOO! On a regularly scheduled (but very warm and sunny) SCHOOL DAY! Oh, the shame.

Shameful, indeed ( I'm sorry, Jodi, but you're the one who chose to make that face!):

Rotten

2008-06-05T13:36:00.003-06:00

There is far too much screaming and crying and whining here for my liking today. I wander somewhere between lunatic and sane. la, la, la... la, dee, dah...

So, to ignore that fine line, I'm looking at cute, happy photos of my kids.

cute. happy.

Is it any wonder that I spoil her rotten? Poor thing is doomed.

popsicle season

2008-06-01T14:03:00.003-06:00

i think this year i might keep a record of how many times i hear the following: "can you open this?" i'm sure by now i've got about 100 popsicle openings under my belt.

yes, that is black finger nail polish.

When They Grow Up

2008-05-23T20:20:00.004-06:00

I asked each of the kidlings tonight, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Their replies:

Belle: a scientist. an explorer. something to do with nature. someone who travels around the world. ...or, a chef.

Dimples: a mountain climber. a tall mountain climber.

Mowgli: (after a very long silence) ...BIG! (uproarious laughter at self) and a tiger. and a lion. and a cheetah. and a butterfly.

Shortcake: da da da da da da da da da da da.

Happy long weekend everyone! Here's where we'll all be for some of it, despite the $4.09/gallon issue (*cringe*).

flickr

2008-05-22T08:33:00.003-06:00

As you can see, I've added a flickr badge on the right. I've had the flickr account for a while, just to show some fellow moms snippets of the book I did last year for a teacher. I randomly decided the other day to hang out there again. Who knows if I'll actually keep up with it, or what the point is, really. But there you have it. One more reason for me to putz around online.

I've also been reading up on creating my own wordpress blog, more in a photoblog style, one big photo per post... So, that may or may not happen, fyi. If I do that, I will be merging my biz blog and this one, as I've abandoned the other one altogether.

:)

Dimples Said...

2008-05-18T19:35:00.005-06:00

There seems to be no end to the cute things these kids say. I can barely keep up.

Mrs. W: "'Dimples,' don't forget it's a gym day tomorrow!"
D.: "OK. I won't wear my tuxedo."

D: "Momma, I LOVE 'Shortcake.'" He says this several times a day (using her real name, of course), without fail; and each time seems to be more heartbreakingly sincere than the last.

D: "Momma, is it good or bad to have dimples?"
I then proceeded to eat him up. Starting with the dimple on his right cheek.

My Funny Little Honey

2008-05-15T13:52:00.003-06:00

I wrote this silly little poem for her when she was three:

My funny little honey

has sparkles in her eyes

she wears pretend wings

but

sometimes, she flies

It sort of snuck up on me, this whole growing up thing. I cheered when she took her first steps, cried when she went to Kindergarten, and feared her teenage years. But nobody warned me about this.

I had a hard time with this when I first noticed it, this gradual change in her attitude, her interests, her cares, her drama. I spent time and energy fretting about whether or not it had to do with adding another little sibling, wondering what I could do, what I should say... Why was she so ungrateful for all I've done for her? Did she really think I was a complete idiot? What happened to my adoring little baby? Did she need more attention? Less? Why was she not motivated to sit and read a good book like other 8-yr-old girls I know? Why didn't she want to sign up for an Irish dance class like she did last year? Was I raising an undisciplined, unmotivated, bossy, whiny kid?

Whining (oh! Is that where she got it from?) about it to a friend one day, I rattled off my frustrations with having an 8-year-old girl. It was a common topic of discussion a few months ago among our circle of friends, all mothers of 7-to-8-year old girls. "Oh, I don't know," this friend said over the phone. "I rather like older kids." A simple statement, maybe even a dismissive one. But after I hung up the phone, it stayed with me.

"Older kids..." A completely logical concept, I suppose, growing up is, but I had completely missed it. She was simply growing up. And the funniest part to me was, I rather like older kids, too.

Suddenly, now, I can see her clearly. I see a fine reader, who would rather be writing or acting out a story, however, than reading. A strong leader, learning to fine-tune her directing skills. An expressive dancer in front of her mirror in her room (for literally, hours) who doesn't want the structure of a dance class, but does want to continue to play on organized sports teams. For now. A little artist, who has now won 1st place in her class in the school art show 3 years in a row. I see an independent little girl enthusiastically discovering the beauty, the knowledge, and the spirit that is abundant all around her.

This is not the cute little rite of passage that is, for example, Kindergarten graduation, a first lost tooth, riding a bike. This is the slow but steady blossoming of individuality: a person experiencing life, accumulating childhood memories, being, and every day becoming more and more, herself. Knowing this, I realize that I am free to just be along with her, free to see her for who she is, and who she is becoming, not who I thought she was or who she might become.

And as she would say, "That's sweeeeeeet."

It Could've Been Anyone

2008-05-07T10:38:00.003-06:00

Perhaps you happened to be driving around in a certain out-of-the way Wisconsin town the other day. You might have stopped at a stop sign. By chance, you might have glanced at another vehicle that stopped at this same intersection. Maybe this vehicle was a geriatric-blue minivan with a cracked windshield and a dent in the side door from, say, a collision with an icy snowbank at the base of a driveway, for example.

If the driver of this minivan happened to be sporting a 'do of snarly piggy-tail buns; and, say, wearing a too-tight tee shirt that looked like it came from a rummage sale, and you thought, perhaps, that maybe she was wearing it because she was inappropriately excited to buy an American Eagle brand tee shirt with a guitar-playing chick on it for 50 cents this weekend; and if she was passionately singing along with a too-loud Nirvana song; and if she stopped singing, and otherwise paying attention, to make a toothy smile into the rearview mirror so as to more efficiently pick the apple skin out of her front teeth...

...it wasn't me.

I am so much cooler than that.

Mowgli-isms

2008-05-05T08:50:00.005-06:00

A belated follow-up to the belated Mowgli birthday post. This kid is a funny one. One would think that 3-year old antics wouldn't be surprising the 3rd time around, but here I am, surprised. And trying really hard not to laugh. Randomly:

me (to M., just now!): I'm writing about you!
Mowgli: No! Because I'm not cute!

um, yeah, actually, he is.
me: M., you've got such a cute little butt. (he insists on running around in just underwear... I'm sorry, I just can't resist!)
Mowgli (angrily): I don't have a cute butt! I have a big butt!

He clucks his tongue. Often. After a request, when he's done something naughty, when he's proud of himself, or just to make the sound. It is usually followed by a vamped-up smile. Here's one from a road trip this weekend:
He replaces the word "the" with "that," or, more accurately, "yat." ie, "I hafta go to yat bafroom."

He says, "It will take a long (Yong)!" about everything: driving, eating... anything he has to wait for, but he never adds "time." Impatient face: (How can I resist?)

He dances and sings for Shortcake when she's crabby: "Be happy allll yaaaaaat tiiiiiiiime!!!"

He hates having to tag along to pick up & drop off the older 2 kids. Hates. He prefers to do so in his underwear. One day, he was so vehemently against the 2nd pick-up of the day, that I decided to pull the ol' "OK, we're leaving without you!" trick. I put the other kids in the car, warned him for the umpteenth time, and started the ignition. I shouted good-bye, rather dramatically, out the window. I reversed into the driveway. I waited. I began to close the garage door. I had an internal breakdown, and pushed the button again. As the door slowly rose, I thought, Oh, the poor little sweet thing! He's surely terrified right now! (I saw his bare little feet and legs standing in the doorway) I've made him believe that I'm abandoning him! Is he sobbing? What a terrible mother...

And there he was, in his underwear, bent down slightly to see under the rising garage door, smiling broadly and calmly, waving goodbye.

I'd Nearly Forgotten

2008-04-29T14:31:00.005-06:00

Somehow, I'd nearly forgotten:

~The click-clack of onesies in the dryer.

~The sweet smell of breastmilk breath.

~The calm, patient stare of a baby waiting for me to look. And then the smile.

~The entertaining side effects of extreme sleep deprivation.

~The smell and the feel of her palm on my nose.

~Teething.

~Just how soft, just how smooth, just how sweet...

Human Buttprint

2008-04-26T10:31:00.000-06:00

I am not all about shoulds. I don't even like buying birthday gifts "because I have to." Doing something out of obligation or guilt or fear is extremely difficult for me, and is not a frequent occurence in my happy little world.

So it's important for me to speak gently to that volatile little side of myself. Self, I say, it's Earth Day! I should do something... (no. not should.) ahem. What I mean is, this day is a nice reminder to be fully present, fully aware of our situation here as the children of Mother Earth... (Yeah. I'm a sucker for that kind of stuff.)

I'm quite happy to hop on the Green bandwagon. Sure, much of it is either a marketing ploy "greenwashing," or simply people doing essentially pointless, but public, "eco-friendly" things to make themselves feel better about their overall eco-destructive lives. But still, cynicism aside, I suppose doing something is better than doing nothing. It really is ridiculous how ugly a human footprint we each will leave.

Because a good majority of my day is spent changing diapers, diapers naturally became the focus of my recent environmental guilt--I mean, erm, awareness. I did initially try to use cloth diapers with Belle, and gave up on that quickly. I absolutely could not justify all the laundry/stench/mess they created. That was that. Three disposable-diapered children later, I have without a doubt contributed my share to this statistic (from gDiapers.com): 50 million disposable diapers enter the landfill every day, where they sit for up to 500 years.

yuk. Talk about leaving a footprint. Or, hardy-har-har, a buttprint!

Then I came across the idea of a hybrid diaper: reusable covers/liners with flushable, tossable, or compostable inserts that break down in 50-100 days. A little less yuk. So, I'm going to try this gDiaper thing out. Baby steps: they have a cheap starter kit. We'll see how it goes.

And every now and then, when I remember, I bring my own bright green bags to the grocery store, and feel terribly eco-chic. Better yet, when things actually start growing in this frozen tundra, I'll skip the grocery store and go to the local farmer's market again.

Well, Whoopety-Freakin'-Doo for me, right? OK, if it makes you feel better:

-I refuse to give up my almost-daily CAN of Diet Coke. (but I do at least recycle it.)
-We own and drive two gas-guzzler vehicles.
-We make an outrageous amount of trash and do a riduculous amount of laundry.
-I currently have some negatives under a 20-minute rinse to wash their hazardous waste down the drain.
-I have never purchased one of those swirly light bulbs.
-There are several non-swirly light bulbs turned on in our house right now, not even in use.

...Hmmm. I should do something about that.

Worrisome, Troublin', Baggage-Free, Modern Day...

2008-04-22T20:05:00.004-06:00

I had an Earth Day post I was writing, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Yes, I know it will be the day after Earth Day tomorrow. We will call it fashionably late, as usual.

I'm interrupting your regularly (ha!) scheduled blog because I just saw on my iTunes Store that the free single of the week is Melody Gardot, "Worrisome Heart." I'm mildly angry about this, because just last week I purchased the same single for my iPod. I heard her on an NPR program a few weeks ago, and although I'm generally apathetic about jazz music, I loved her stuff.

Anyway, go get it. It's free.

Shoo!

Junk in Your Trunk

2008-04-21T09:21:00.004-06:00

This is my first attempt at posting a YouTube. But I'm hoping it will be well worth it...

When Auntie JuJu was visiting, we had a few friendly discussions about Shortcake's well-endowed bottom. JuJu took the junk-in-trunk SNL sketch to a new level one day, dancing with Shortcake and saying/rapping "You got junk in your trunk, you got junk in your trunk, you got junk, junk, junk, in your trunk trunk, trunk...." Shortcake giggled incessantly, and so did the rest of us. See?

Belle caught this on her camera. There is no sound, so you'll just have to "sing" along. Please note that this is (and those legs are) in real time.

He Said...

2008-04-14T13:15:00.003-06:00

me (to Dimples, for discussion's sake): Would you rather be a cow or a bird?

D: A bird.

me: Why?

D: (scoff) Because I wouldn't want someone milking me all the time.

me: (laugh) Tell me about it.

D: And I wouldn't hafta walk that much.

me: What do you mean?

D: 'Cuz I could fly!

Happy Birthday, Mowgli, Illustrated by Mowgli

2008-04-09T20:47:00.006-06:00

A casualty of my recent blog abandonment: Mowgli's birthday post.

"Monkey"

So, here it is, fashionably late.

Mowgli. This Kid. This... Kid! Seldom a day goes by that I do not utter that phrase, simply because he leaves me at a loss for words. He is unnervingly charming, ridiculously independent, and outrageously stubborn. Most of my dealings with him involve trying to contain either my joy at his pure sweetness or my amusement at his utter rottenness. This... Kid.

His labor story is quite short, but I've managed to drag it out. I enjoyed being pregnant with Mowgli, for the most part. Oh, sure, the first trimester was hell, as first trimesters generally are, but whatever species-survival mechanism is functioning in my brain has made me essentially forget that. I vaguely remember violent Quizno's puke, a lust for naps, and growing nice and fat. Just before 39 weeks gestation, my OB wanted to induce me because he was leaving to speak at a conference in CA, I was 3cm dilated, and had a history of delivering at or before 39 weeks. My two kids were dreadfully sick with a GI bug, which became my excuse to say no, but really I just didn't want Pitocin. Stubborn. Yeah, he gets that from me, I suppose.

"Leopard"

Happily, Mowgli stayed put, the kids got better, and my OB returned from his trip. Cue Labor. My due date was March 22nd, and my sister and brother-in-law had flown in from AZ, expecting to see a week-old baby. Jules made a spicy chicken pasta dish for me, and we tried to reason with little Mowgli to "come out and play!" I went to bed angry around 10:30, knowing I would now be overdue. At that thought, he kicked a fierce kick, and I felt a pop. Being the labor nurse that had told countless women that sorry, you've just peed your pants, you're not in labor, go back home, you'll know when your water breaks, you idiot; it was only fair that I would be stuck wondering if I had just peed my pants or if my water had just broken. Damn Karma.

Determined to not have to have a fern test (the examination of a drop of is-it-just-pee-or-amniotic-fluid under a microscope; amniotic fluid looks like a bunch of ferns), I waited. Also, I showered. I was potentially going to have a group of my friends and co-workers gathered at my nether-regions. I had to at least shower.

Around 11 PM, I began to feel some mild contractions, so I called my mom to come to stay with the big kids, and I called the OB floor to reserve rm 477, my "lucky" room. Nothing ever went wrong for me in that room. I thought I was jumping the gun, but "just in case..."

"Sun" (or is it spider?)

I don't remember much else that hour except the sudden intensification of contractions. I remember the look on my brother-in-law's face when he witnessed my pain. I remember my mom practically shoving us out the door--she knew. I remember Hercules' shoulder during the contraction that had me racing out of the house.

We walked into the ER at midnight. For some insane reason, I wanted to follow protocol. I could have easily used my key that opened all of the locked doors in the hospital, but I waited in the ER, in an obnoxious position in the wheelchair for an endless 5 minutes or so.

I remember my buddy Janet, when she came to take me to the OB floor, looking at me. I think we both realized, in that look, how far my labor had progressed. I remember being unable to get my pants off and get into bed. I remember all the following happening in a matter of seconds: a co-worker starting my IV, my screaming from the power that had suddenly overtaken my body, holding my own IV in because it wasn't taped in, Janet calmly asking through the intercom if the doctor was on his way, my co-worker who had anbandoned my IV getting clamps and blankets and a nasal aspirator for the baby that was not waiting, tape thrown on my IV, more screaming, pushing without meaning to, Janet obviously (and rather calmly) detangling umbilical cord (x2)and baby head...

...and a beautiful baby boy crying on my chest. 12:17 am. He was 17 minutes late.

Laughter. Relief. Surprise. Laughter.

"I was so wrong!" I had wanted/expected a girl, but was suddenly, irreversibly, helplessly enchanted with this little boy.

An hour or so later, after we were both cleaned up and moved to another room, I remember taking him out of his little crib and being awash with emotion. "Oh, I like you." I said. I suddenly knew that this was how it would always be. He would always do his own thing, unapologetically, and I would be helplessly charmed, unable to do one damn thing about it.

So far, I was right. And I'm glad.

(Recent Mowgli-isms & pics to follow.)

SoiBoi 'N Jules

2008-04-05T15:52:00.003-06:00

silhouette of juju with shortcake
my little sister's a mommy!!!!!
and a film shot. what a gorgeous kid!
slowly but surely i'll get thru the pix of you az visitors...

Poppy

2008-04-02T18:57:00.001-06:00

If I never take another photo again, this one will have been worth it all...

(we miss you all already!!!)

Still Here...

2008-03-04T15:05:00.003-06:00

...just busy elsewhere.

some recent snapshots:

having lots of fun, getting chubby,breaking arms, and whatnot... (sorry, you'll just have to tilt your head)

(the end.)

What!?!?!?

2008-01-28T16:34:00.000-06:00

Check it out. http://www.nkotb.com/

The 30-year-old woman/mother of four/college educated professional/grown up in me thinks, No, no, no! This is beyond wrong! A comeback? That is shamefully bordering on criminal! You poor, pathetic, desperate, old, obsolete has-beens!!!

The 12-year-old in me, gleefully jumping for joy around the Big-Bopper-magazine-poster-wallpapered room in my memory thinks, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Bored

2008-01-27T19:34:00.000-06:00

Me: You know, Self, you should really get blogging. You have so many thoughts, ideas, photographs, and such to share.

Myself: (whining) But I'm borrrrred of blogging!

Me: (rolling eyes) *sigh* You are so fickle!

Myself: (throwing arms up, then down, ragdoll-style, then hanging them dramatically from slumped shoulders, furrowing brow, and curling up top lip) UGH!

*Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, *

*SLAM!*

(bored)

They said...

2008-01-10T16:07:00.000-06:00

Me (after Mowgli pooped on the potty again): "You rock!!!"

Mowgli (furious): "I'm NOT a ROCK!"

Me (after Belle--BDE's new blog name--asked for a slim fast snack bar): "Those are for old, fat people."

Belle (aghast): "You're not OLD!"

Spoiled

2008-01-03T21:16:00.000-06:00

Hi, Mom. What's up?

Oh, not much, just hangin' out.

So, like, I'm way cute 'n all, right?

Right...

And you love me a lot. And you give me everything I want.

Mm-Hmm... (Little Miss Unintentionally-Attachment-Parent-ed)

And, like, you're like, the best mom ever.

So I've been told...

And you're like, totally hip with the new baby trends, and like to have a cool lookin' kid in your way-cool Peanut Shell sling, right?

Yup. You're wearing Baby Legs and Robeez, are you not?

Yeah, there's just, like, one more thing. These way cute ruffly-butt rock 'n roll rhinestone onesies I saw the other day on glamajama.com.

Wow, those ARE way cute! But Daddy says no more frivolous spending until the middle of the month.

But, MOM! I'll be, like, nine weeks old by then!

Shortcake, the answer is no.

WHAAAAT? What did you say? What is this... "no?"

Oh, you're so cute.

Well, maybe if you don't tell Daddy...

Yay! And these hair clippies look interesting, too...

Funny Faces

2007-12-23T14:01:00.000-06:00

...from today's memory card purge. Merry Christmas (etc.), everyone!

and this one in color, too, 'cuz she's pretty in pink!

Coupla...

2007-12-19T11:43:00.000-06:00

...pix.

Please do not mistake my blogging shortage as a shortage of activity here in Extraordinary world. On the contrary, we have an abundance of chaotic, joyful, bustling life happening. Just no blogging.

And, because it is mildly difficult to both nurse and blog at the same time (although possible; I'm doing it right now), I'm a little behind.

And, because it is even more difficult to both photograph and cuddle a baby, and then look at and edit those photographs, I don't have as many pictures to share as I'd like (hundreds aren't as many as I'd like to have).

But here are a few.

Just a snapshot, flash 'n all. A sort of self portrait; "Shortcake" in the sling, which is where she spends much of her time. A bit of a difficult angle to snap photos at. I have a majorly pathetic problem with putting her down. Also you can see her much-loved hemangioma here, or Strawberry mark (a much prettier way of putting it). Hence, her new bloggie name, "Shortcake."

Big brother, Dimples. *sigh* We are all so enchanted with this girl.

I'd forgotten how soft the bottom of newborn feet are.

*sigh* again. It really is ridiculous.

Curly Q

2007-12-02T15:51:00.000-06:00

What her hair does after a bath:

How can I not be addicted to bathing her?