In the Midst of Chaos Lies Creativity

"In the midst of chaos lies creativity."

-Anonymous

I kind of love that.

Through October 20th I will be donating 50% of my original art sales to the Citizens' Climate Lobby (CCL), Texas 21 Chapter. More information may be found here. Let's make the climate great again!

"In the Midst of Chaos Lies Creativity"

All works are copyrighted and all rights are reserved by the artist.

My original paintings are available in my online gallery.

Prints of many of my paintings are available in my Etsy shop. 

Let me know if you're interested in prints of my paintings.

  I welcome commissions.

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Little Blue

If this painting looks familiar, there's a really good reason why.

When the rains caused flooding in Texas recently, a sweet little guy lost everything in his room when the water took over his house. One of those things was one of my paintings. So this is my redo. Little Blue is back and ready to sing!

Click here to view my gallery.  Most of my paintings are for sale and I welcome commissions.

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Fliptastic

Yup, that's my little guy. What with doing karate and being on the high school wrestling team, that kid is freakishly fliptastic. Now, mind you, by "fliptastic" I don't mean that he's doing flips all about the house. Nope, the kid finds every opportunity to attempt to flip anyone smaller than he is in the house...which leaves only me. I, however, am not fliptastic. And by "not fliptastic" I mean that when he tries to flip me I pull his leg hairs, I tell him that I'll never make him sandwiches again, I scream and shout.

And while I'm quite sure that the flipping attempts will continue to occur, I'm also quite sure that I'll continue to foil said attempts.

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"Nice Pins"

I'm really far away from being hip.  Really, really, really far.  And while I do my best to stay on top of slang (I'm only about three years behind right now), my kids...and now a stranger...have taught me that I'm pretty much clueless.

The other day I was out walking my dog up the biggest, steepest hill in our neighborhood.  It is big.  And it is steep.  And I LOVE it!  I was about half way up when I passed a large truck with a number of men circulating around it.  They looked as though they'd just finished doing construction or landscaping or some such thing and were getting ready to leave.


Me:  "Hello."

Guy #1:  "Beautiful dog."

Me:  "Thanks!"

Guy #2:  "This hill is a good workout, eh."

Me:  "Yup, and I love it!"

Guy #3 with a British accent:  "Nice pins!"


And I said nothing.  Now, in my defense, by this time I was about ten feet past them and maybe, maybe he thought I didn't hear him.  Maybe.  But really I had no idea what "nice pins" meant and I surely didn't want to say "thank you" if he'd been all icky and inappropriate, right?

By the time I topped that hill I had my iPhone out and was googling the slang definition for "nice pins" and it turned out the dude was being nice, after all.  You likely know, but in case you don't, "nice pins" means "nice legs".  How he figured I had nice legs when I was wearing my super baggy longish short overalls that were totally smeared with paint, I don't know.  But it was lovely of him to make the assumption based on what little he could see.

So, wherever you are, British accent guy, thank you!

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Feelin' Sassy

I got my hair cut short today.  First time in about eight years...maybe more.  And I'm lovin' it!  I had only one extremely brief flutter of the heart when I saw the heap (and I do mean heap, this girl had big Texas hair, after all) of blond locks on the floor.  But then I was feeling fine-n-sassy.

I stopped by two of my favorite lady friends' homes on the way to my house to make sure my feelings of sassiness were warranted.  And, yes, they were warranted.


As I pulled into the driveway I wondered:

-Would my kids still recognize me?
-Will my husband still love me?
-Will I look just as sassy in my own mirror.

Yup, yup, yup!  My new -do is kid tested and husband and mirror approved.


Now if I can just manage to stop pushing my now nonexistent hair off of my shoulders I wouldn't look like so much of a doofus.

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It Means Love

My boys are both alike and different in so many ways.  But one way they are absolutely, positively alike is one particular way that they acknowledge me.  And I'm not a fan.  While on the surface it seems good.  They aren't being mean.  They aren't saying bad words.  They aren't even being defiant.  But every time they do it it gets my hackles up.

"Uh-huh."  Yes, I know it sounds benign, as they say it all the time in completely non-offending ways.  But there's that certain tone, that certain slowness to the utterance, that certain something that always, 100% means they're nicely telling me, "Yes, mom...you're so stupid."

But really, I should be celebrating this.  My boys are being kind to me.  They're taking great care to not actually call me "stupid".  I think they deserve to have a new value put on that "uh-huh" of theirs.  "Uh-huh" now officially means "Mom, I love you so much!!!"

And now they'll wonder why I respond with a big toothy grin and a celebratory clutch of my heart.

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The Gift of Giving

I've come to the conclusion that giving away my art gives me one of the best feelings in the whole wide world. Now don't get me wrong, selling my art is pretty awesome.  But the feeling I get when I give a piece of art away is definitely a notch or two higher than that.  I think I'm definitely going to have to give away my art on an even more regular basis.  What can I say...it's a guilty pleasure.

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Cat-astrophe

I'm thoroughly convinced that my kid likes torturing me.  Here's how I know.

I'll be at work teaching my awesome students and my phone alerts me that I have a text.  When I finally get around to checking it, it's usually a photo of our pets being seriously adorable.  And there's nothing quite so adorably distracting as a sweet dog or cat totally waiting to be snuggled.

But today I think I realized that my kid is torturing the pets, too.  Not that the pets are hurt in any way.  And not that they even have a clue that something is terribly, terribly wrong.  But today's mom torture photo text was a photo of our kitten and our old cat on my little guy's disgusting unmade bed.  Mess can be seen on the bed, on the floor near the bed, and even out into the hallway.  And the reason I know this must be torture to the cats, too, (though they choose to remain on that bed for some reason) is that the kitten has his eyes closed and the old cat has one eye closed and the other just barely open.  Please scroll down a bit to check out just what I mean. 

The can't even look at their surroundings!

I think maybe, just maybe, that tonight is a good night to make the kid clean his room.

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 The Evidence

Monkeying Around

"What's that sound?" I thought to myself first thing this morning.  And by "first thing this morning" I mean 8:30 AM...it is spring break after all.

It didn't sound dangerous.  I covered my head with my blanket.  That totally didn't work.  So I got up.


And what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a kitten who'd set off the Roomba again...with his rear!

And the kitten was in hiding, scared out of his wits.
While the Roomba zoomed around missing all the bits.


The kitten is awesome...the Roomba not so much.

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My big kid. He's so funny!

My big guy came into the kitchen to get a snack.


Me:  "I wish you guys were on a curling team and you needed to practice all that sweeping all over my house."

Big guy: "If I was on curling team, I'd use a vacuum."


Oh, he's so awesome.  A tad sluggish with housework, but seriously, oh, so awesome!

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Forgetful? Crazy? Nope.

I have the feeling my family thinks I've entered "crazy old lady" status.  At least "forgetful old lady".  The thing is I seem to have a habit of asking for the same info over and over.  Things like, "Do you have wrestling practice tomorrow?" "Is karate happening tonight?" "Who did you say is coming over?"  And it's actually not that I don't remember, really it's not.  And I seriously doubt I'm crazy.  I'm simply distracted by all the stuff I'm up to...drawing, painting, and writing...oh, my!

In the car today I was told, "You need to not ask something unless you're absolutely, positively sure that you've never asked it before."  Um, if I had any inkling that I'd asked it before I wouldn't have asked it again.

So I'm self diagnosing myself as having "distracted old lady" status.  My family will be so relieved that I'm not crazy or forgetful.

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Avalanche...Liquid Style

You know how when you're drinking out of a cup and it's filled with a bunch of small ice cubes and you tip...tip...tip it till the last bit of water starts running toward your mouth and then suddenly ALL of the ice smacks you in the face?

Well, when you're a hot tea addict like I am, something kind of sort of like that happens.  At least to me it does.  You know how when the bottom third of your tea has cooled because you've been busy doing other stuff and you go back to it because you want to drink the last of it and the teabag is still in there because you're milking it for all it's worth and you tip the mug back and the tea starts going toward your mouth and then the teabag flops right by your mouth and then all the tea floods around it and it sloshes around the sides of the teabag and spills over your cheeks and down your shirt soaking it and your bra?

No?  I do.  Me neither.

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Booting the Ball

Sometimes things come right back and get ya.

That's what happened to me this morning.  About a week or so ago Dave and I had to keep telling, and telling, and telling our little guy to "STOP BOUNCING THAT BOUNCY BALL IN THE HOUSE!!!" about a thousand times.  The kid is solidly unable to stop once he starts.  And this has put bouncy balls in the "Most Annoying Toy Ever" category at our house.

Anyway, Dave and the kid were wrestling on our bed over who would keep the ball.  Dave got it, subtly passed it to me, and lacking anywhere else to put it, I casually dropped it into one of the cowgirl boots that reside by my bed.  And then I forgot all about it.

Until this morning...when I grabbed those boots, took them to the living room, reached in each of them to make sure my supports were in the right spot (Hey, I have old lady feet and those feet want their creature comforts!), and my finger hit something entirely unexpected.  I yanked my hand outa there lickety split, clearly avoiding retouching the biggest cockroach that ever lived, and tipped my boot, thus sending the ball bouncing once again.

And then I hid it in a better spot.


P.S. The picture below is not a reflection of how I felt...it's how the ball felt!  I'm just playing with some different emotions in my art.  Me?  I'm happy, happy.  That ball is hidden great!

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Dietary Documentation

Sometimes I'm paranoid.  It's true.  Like when my kid came home with an English homework assignment the other day.  My first clue that I had something to worry about?  It had nothing to do with grammar, punctuation, or anything Englishy.

Here's what it was.  He had to fill out a chart saying what he ate, who had made it, where it was bought, and if it was processed.

My paranoia?  Well, frankly, the filled-in chart might just be grounds for a CPS call.  While my child eats a lot, I can't exactly say he eats "well".  I tell ya, you can force broccoli on a seven-year-old, but teenagers are much more savvy in their methods of resistance.  Anyway, this chart went back to school all full of processed foods not made by mom.    So, yes, not only does he eat processed foods, I don't even cook it for him.

I will tell you this...since then I've been shoving apples and, yes, broccoli at him every chance I get.  OK, I need a redo on that chart!

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Lemonade Love

My yard without a lemonade stand looks nekkid!  I think this is the first time in about ten years that there's not a lemonade stand in front of my house during the Austin City Limits Festival.  Apparently being almost fifteen is too old.  And being eighteen is WAY too old.

But...when it all started, and the little guy was four and the big guy was eight, they'd hold up signs and enthusiastically shout to passers by.

"Ice cold lemonade!!!!"

My little guy would run down a house or two and try to talk folks walking down the street into making a purchase from his big brother.  My big guy would hold down the fort managing the money and distributing the bev's.

It's funny when a tradition finally goes by the way-side.  Funny, nostalgic, and totally appropriate.  Those little salesmen will be missed this year, I'm sure.  Feeling super glad that I still have one of their signs from the first lemonade stand ever.

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In Need of a Bravery Boost

I discovered last night that evening dog walks are not for the faint of heart.  Now, don't worry about me...I've got my trusty seventy-five pounds of awesome pooch with me.  I'm good.  However, said seventy-five pounds of awesome pooch only has 5' 1.5", one-hundred-two pounds of me with her.  This is the only explanation I have for her being such an utter and complete wuss.

Bless her heart.  (I have to say that...I'm from the south, after all.)

You see, last night someone remotely unlocked their car at the exact moment we were passing by.

"BWEEP, BWEEP!!!!"

Hazel levitated and somehow managed to jump sideways, directly into me, before the car had even finished it's noise.  After much reassurance she was good to go...for a while...until we passed a bush that first began swaying, then began rustling, then began shaking outright, and then the tiniest little bird flew out of it.  But Hazel never knew about the bird because she'd already pulled too far away.  In her mind there was a grizzly monster with fanged teeth and a most foul smell coming after her with only thoughts of doggie digestion on its mind.

 Hmmmm...maybe I need to get some of my bigger-than-me guys around her to start walking her.  I'm sure that'll boost her bravery, right?

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Does this haircut make my butt look fat?

Our big puppy, Hazel, is perfect in every way.  Well, except for the fact that she sheds.  Oh, and that she has a list of phobias about a mile wide.  The phobias?  Don't bug us a bit.  They rather crack us up.  Seriously...afraid of moving leaves, Hazel?  The shedding?  Can't stand it.  We find mini-Hazels all about the house...masses of black hair in the corners, under the tables, rolling across the floor like tumble weeds...not attractive.

Anyway, It was time to give our Hazel a hair cut.  (Did I mention she's clippers phobic?)  I started with her back.  It's the easiest and makes me feel good because I can get a lot done quickly.  Then I moved to her legs.  She's not a fan.  I'm not a fan.  We did not have a good time.  Next chest.  Then neck.  Then the holy grail of awfulness...her head.

And then I declared that I was done.  Finished.  The rest would be for Dave to do.  When?  I dunno.  Ever?  I did not care.  I was done.

I released Hazel to go in the room where everyone else was hanging out.  She looked like a mythical faun...my sweet girl in puffy Russian-esque fur pants.


Dave:  "Wow...Does this haircut make my butt look fat?"


Totally...but don't tell Hazel.  She's cruising around the house shedding half as much as she did the day before, blissfully clueless.

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Like Father, Like Son

So the big guy cracked me up.  Like I said yesterday, he brought home a sweet little kitten from the pound.  The little fella is awesome, we're in love, it's all good.

But the whole "get a pet and surprise the family with it" thing?  Well, I can't exactly hold it against my big guy...it's a family trait after all.  A paternal one, that is.  Both of our dogs arrived at the house as surprises, Dave grinning ear-to-ear holding two of the sweetest little puppies ever.


Big guy:  "I pulled a dad."  Grinning ear-to-ear.

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Will Hug for Food...later

My little guy just walked in the door...shirt off, dripping sweat, and scented in that "active teenage boy" kind of way.


Little guy:  "I'm starving.  Will you make me some food?"

Me:  "What's in it for me?"

Little guy:  "A hug."

Me:  "That's it?  After you shower, of course."

Little guy:  "Two hugs."

Me:  "Before or after you shower?"

Little guy:  "Before."

Me:  "Deal's going sour, dude."


And, yeah, I made him some grub...totally gonna cash in my hug raincheck once I catch the scent of Old Spice.  Cracks me up that the scent of clean kid is the same scent I remember from hugging my grandpa as a kiddo.

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Love Notes

Most days I have the pleasure of reading love notes to students that their parents have sweetly placed in their lunchboxes.

"Have a great day!"

"I love you so much!"

"You are wonderful!"

And the kids LOVE it!

I can't help thinking of when my kids were younger and they utterly and completely rejected my lunchbox love notes, and, quite frankly, insisted that I stop.

Of course it was when they were in middle school.  Ya, so I was late to the lunch love note writing party...perhaps now that they're in high school and college I need to give it another go.

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