Peace

Peace. It does not mean to be in a place

where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work

It means to be in the midst of those things

and still be calm in your heart.

-Unknown

"Peace"

Mixed Media

Original available here for $10

5"x4" on scrap cardboard

Prints available on request.

(Printed image may be slightly cropped for printing purposes.)

My original paintings are available in my online gallery.

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

  I welcome commissions.

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What...no Orange?

Kids come up with all kinds of excuses to get out of doing what we ask them to do. Here's the latest from my little guy.


Me: "Come over, please. There are people that want to say, "hello." (I was at a party across the street.)

Little guy: "But Orange is the New Black."

Me: "Pause it."


And he did come over and hang out for a bit. Yay! Wonder if he'll notice when I use the same OITNB excuse all this week as I dive into some binge watching, myself....

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Birthday Bouquet

So today's my birthday. It's true!


Dave: "I thought about buying you flowers for your birthday...but then I didn't. Does thinking about it count?"

Me: "Totally. And, anyway, I'd much rather go out to eat than have flowers any day."


They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but that's absolutely goes for me, too. I think I hear some veggie enchiladas calling my name!


Here's to the start of another trip around the sun!!!

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Love in our House

What love is...


Me: "I just came in to tell you I love you." And I gave him a hug.

My big guy: "I love you, too, mom."


Me: "I just came in to tell you I love you." And I gave him a hug.

My little guy: "Making me a sandwich would mean you love me."


Well, reciprocal love is clearly hunger dependent.

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I've Got a New Job

Yup, I've got a new job.

And considering how imperative my boss made it sound, it must be terribly important.  Here's how the hiring went down.


Little guy:  "Come hang out with me while I work."  He was in the back yard working on building our new chicken coop.

Me:  "You're sawing.  I don't want to be in a cloud of saw dust."

Little guy:  "OK, then.  Hang out with me while I'm putting in screws."

Me:  "OK."

Little guy:  "And there's a job I need you to do.  I really, really need you to do this.  You're my mosquito swatter."

Me:  "How about if I just spray you with poison?"  (Yup, mom of the year, I am.)

Little guy:  "They don't care about poison.  You have to be my mosquito swatter!"


So how about that?  I'm a Mosquito Swatter.  I think I need a badge.

...and a monogrammed swatter.

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Wakey, Wakey!

Apparently there's a right way and a wrong way to wake up my kid when there's something he and I need to do over the weekend.

Here's what I do (AKA "The Wrong Way"):  I walk in, tap his shoulder, tell him it's time to wake up, pull the covers down a bit.

Here's what he does:  Ignore, ignore, pull the covers back up, zzzzzzz.


Later that day I am told what I should do to wake him up:

"Do something repetitive and loud until I get up and make sure you're a distance away so that when I thrash around kicking and hitting to make the noise stop I don't hurt you."


Well, now, that was a very helpful suggestion.

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Not so Smart After All

My kid is smart.  Smarter than the word "smart" it turns out.

The other day I was closing the back door of my car and I managed to clip my left hip bone in the process.  Hard.  I still have a mark.

Anyway, here's how the ride in the car went.


Little guy:  "What just happened mom?  You had a funny look on your face."

Me:  "I hit myself on my hip bone when I was closing the door."

Little guy:  "Not smart, mom."

Me:  "No kidding."


A few minutes later.


Me:  "Dang, that really smarts!"

Little guy:  "What are you talking about?"

Me:  "My hip bone."

Little guy:  "'Smarts' is the stupidest word ever for that.  You should say it 'stupids'."


Kid has a point.

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Officially "Vintage"

Spent a lovely day celebrating birthdays with my mom today.  We ate good grub and then we went shopping at a vintage store.  I went through rack after rack finding tons of amazing things that were way too high maintenance for little old me (i.e. required dry cleaning and/or ironing), but happily, I did find a few must-haves.  At one point we were chatting it up with one of the owners and she mentioned that they're getting stuff from the 80s and earlier because they are a "vintage" store, after all.

Um...80s, eh?  So the clothes I wore in high school are now considered "vintage"?  What?  And then I looked at my mom and thought, "No, clothes from when she was in high school are 'vintage'.  That's how it's always been."  But I kept my pursed "vintage" mouth shut and figured that, hey, I've got some stuff in my closet that's officially worth something.

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When I was a Fish

I've got a kid in college now.  Does he talk about it?  Nope.  Do I have any idea what his grades are?  Ya...nope.  Mums the word on all that stuff. 

I suppose that's why a memory popped up for me.  When I was a freshman in college I tanked grade-wise.  I'd somehow managed to float through high school with very little effort and still ended up in the top ten percent, so actually needing to study in college took me by surprise.  Left me with an, "Oh....."

So I got to studying and managed to get myself all Dean's List worthy by Christmas.  So what did this totally broke college kid give her parents as gifts?  Little notepads made out of quartered "A" college papers.  The perfect little notepad for taking down a message by the phone.

And, by golly, as I recall, my parents used those sweet little notepads for a number of years. 

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Egg on Your Face

Found myself pondering that expression this morning...as I had egg on my face.

My favorite breakfast these days is two poached eggs and a heapin' gob-o-veggies.  Yum.  And this morning as I was eating said breakfast, some runny yolk ran right down my chin.  (Maybe that's why they call them runny!)

Anyway, the saying means you've made a mistake, that you're left feeling foolish or some such thing.  Well, it didn't feel like a mistake, really.  I didn't feel foolish.  I just felt a little slimy, something a quick swipe of my napkin solved.

So my new interpretation of that saying is, "You're clearly eating a fabulous breakfast!"

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Texting...Leaf Blower Style

When it comes to texting, I'm like that nutty guy with the leaf blower.  There's that one leaf that just won't comply and go where the dude wants it to.  Does he just lean over and pick up the errant leaf?  Nope.  No way.  He blows it this way and that and this way again.  I get it.  He wants to use the tool he's got available, right?

When it comes to texting I'm so like that nutty leaf blower guy.  You know there's that really cool little microphone feature there so you can just say what you want to have in your text.  I use it all the time.  And it's far from perfect.  I wanted to tell someone to get bean and cheese burritos, and even though I said it as clearly as I could muster, it kept on coming up, "being burritos".  Did I just take a second and manually type in "bean and"?  Nope.  No way.  I tried recording it over and over and over again.  I had the tool available and I wanted to use it.

Me?  I get that nutty leaf blower guy.  Yup.


P.S.  Yes, I did eventually manually type in "bean and".  But I didn't like it.

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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

Talking to Strangers can be Quite Delicious

It's what our parents all warned us about, but I find it rather delightful.  And, guess what, sometimes it has the nicest consequences.

A month or so ago I was standing in line to check out my groceries.  I could overhear a conversation at the next register.  The cashier was asking the customer how his day was going so far and the customer had a lovely story about volunteering at a school park doing landscaping.  And then he mentioned my school.

So I'm standing there thinking, "I should go tell him I work there and tell him how thankful I was for his kindness."  But then I lost my gumption as I passed him and kept walking out to my car.  Full of regret.  Kicking myself in the shin.

As I put my bags in my car I figured I'd look around to see if I could possibly have a second chance at it.  But no, no sign of him at all.  I hung my head, took my cart to the cart return, turned around, and there he was.  So I went up to that young fella, told him I'd overheard him (stalker, crazy lady that I am), told him my connection, and proceeded to thank him every so much.

And guess what...he was doing the volunteer work as part of his employer's mission to help the community.  And then he gave me a card with a code on it and said when I put the code in, something wonderful would show up in the mail.  And today it did!  I'm three nutritious bars richer, and I feel super warm in my heart.

So go talk to a stranger.  Turns out it can be quite delicious.

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Patience with a Point

Know how you get your fifteen-year-old son to very patiently go with you to the shoe store while you try on oodle gobs of ballet flats only to end up choosing canvas flats with a leopard print instead?

Well, turns out if you've just taken him to a different store and bought him a really cool Swiss Army knife with tons of different tools he'll prove himself to be a very patient teen.

Your welcome.

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The Forgiveness of Curls

I get a little twitchy about my hair every six months or so.  Boredom, disgust, disappointment, you name it.  But I'm too cheap and admittedly lazy to actually make an appointment and take care of it.  This time I decided to take matters in to my own hands.  Literally.  On pure impulse I grabbed a chunk of hair and "did it just like the professionals"... -ish.  Then I grabbed another chunk, and another, and another, until I'd made it all the way around.  And, by golly, it worked!  Mind you, I have very wavy hair and it is, by nature, forgiving of haircut mistakes, but it worked!

And every time I go into the hallway bathroom at our house I swear the shears on the shelf wink and beckon me to use them again.  And sometimes I do!

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Spring Break...uh, who's excited?

The kid and I were hanging out in the kitchen when we got home today.


Me:  "Yay, SPRING BREAK!!!"

Little guy:  "I'm definitely more excited than you are, mom."

Me:  "How do you figure?"

Little guy:  "I just know that all the students in town are more excited than their teachers about spring break."


Yeah, I'll let him think that.

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Fall Asleep Anywhere, Anytime, in Any Position

I have many memories of my maternal grandfather, and one of them is that he could sleep anywhere.  Anytime.  In any position.

Literally.

I very clearly remember him standing in a room, leaning against the wall while someone played music on the piano, and he was snoring.  Softly, but snoring nonetheless.

Well, yesterday I released my inner grandpa.  We were at a rocket launch waiting, waiting, waiting for the clouds to clear so we could launch.  It was crazy windy and a bit cold, so my little guy, one of his teammates, and I got in my dad's minivan.  They sat in the bench seat to watch a movie and I sat in one of those canvas chairs folks bring to soccer games and such.  (My dad's van is fairly emptied out to allow room for his wheelchair.)

Anyway, there I sat, eyes getting heavy, and before I knew it, I was seriously asleep.  I didn't know until I jolted awake.


Me:  "Did I snore?"

Little guy:  "No, mom.  You kind of slurped."


Hmmmmmmm...I don't remember my grandpa ever sleep slurping.

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My Food is Safe

You know how with a lot of families parents go to great amounts of trouble making special meals for their picky children?  Well, our family's not like that at all.  Nope.  Dave and the boys are easy and they'll all eat pretty much the same thing.  I'm the one who's the problem child. 

I'm always eliminating certain things from my diet, deciding I'll only eat this type of thing, and it always has to be prepared in a very particular way.  Oh, and it's a moving target.  They never know what is on my "yes" or "no" list on which day.

But, there's a big perk to this, I tell ya.  My food is totally safe.  Safe from midnight snackers and such, that is.  No one ever eats my leftover veggie sandwich that's covered in jalepeños.  No one is the slightest bit tempted by my odd flavors of yogurt.  And no one ever, ever, ever even considers taking a nibble out of my bags of chia, hemp, or acai berries. 

Being weird definitely has its perks.

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Could this be #9 and counting?

So my little guy finally went to the bonologist today after telling me he needed to see a doctor about his foot...for a week now. 


Little guy:  "I think my foot is broken.  It really hurts, mom.  I need to see the doctor."

Me:  "Put some ice on it."

Little guy:  "The cold hurts."


Little guy:  "Mom, it's feeling worse every day, not better.  I need to see the doctor."

Me:  "Let's just wrap it up in an ace bandage.  Better?"

Little guy:  "Not really."


Little guy:  "I can't walk."

Me:  "Do you think we need to make an appointment with the bonologist?"

Little guy:  "Sigh...."


Anyway, he did go to the doctor this morning.  And while they didn't find anything conclusive on the x-rays, his diagnosis was a bone bruise or fracture and he's been fitted with a lovely and large boot that he has to wear for three weeks.  I know, I know, worst mom of the year here.

And I should know better by now, I really, really should.  After all, he's already broken eight bones.  The dude knows when he's broken.

But it's all fine.  I love my kid, he loves me...and now my inner crafty chick has a few weeks to figure out how to make that heavy boot fit in with all the casts and splints on the "injury" mobile I created for him a few years back.

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I Got Zapped!

Static electricity drives me a little nuts.  It's not my friend.


It makes my skirts get up all in my business.

It makes me accidentally shock my wee little students.

And it makes it nearly impossible to walk through Costco with a cart without a zap every ten steps or so.


It's a problem.


So the last time I was at the gym I started feeling the slight raise of the hairs on my arms as I walked briskly on a treadmill.  And then I felt the hair on my scalp shift just a bit.  And then my husband came up behind me and touched my thigh...and ZAP!!!!!!

I almost wiped out...at 3.6 miles per hour.


Nope.  Not a fan of static electricity.

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