Moonstone

Yesterday and today are one of those days when you can't tell quite where you're at. It could be the end of fall OR the beginning of Spring. Cold and dreary, the drizzle could turn to snow or is it going to thunder? The contacts in my eyes are long over due for their final farewell voyage down the drain. Yet, I can't seem to throw them away because they are my last green pair, but my eyes are blue. The ring on my finger reminds me of murky frogskin, the inside of an oyster, its mysterious nachre, the swamp or the sky. It was like the colors of these past two days. Mutability. Make up your mind already.

Another Day!

Another day, another park. Boredom is out of the question. Do you remember when you were so small the jungle gym was scarey and you were too short to reach the bars? It doesn't stop some kids from trying anyway. If you really want to be in the thick of it, come down to their level. Lay or sit on the ground at the bottom of the slide and see how epic life from their point of view truly is! To scale the stairs may as well be the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest! Don't be shy, I do it all the time! Lose your inhibitions without the booze. Refreshing!

He's the Howard Dean to my Xtina!

It's like the old Faberge Organics Farrah Faucett commercial from the 70's: "You tell a friend and they'll tell a friend and so on and so forth..." all the while the screen is splitting and her image multiplying. It's kind of like that.

Over on the Yummy WC, she's always "thinking about" something interesting. It's here I discovered the link she discovered that her friend discovered that another discovered and so on and so forth. According to this website, the adorable J, looks like Jason Biggs, compared with their celebrity database.

When I uploaded the photo of Snowflake and myself from this post, it turns out he's the Howard Dean to my Xtina(our top match)! Damn! It must be high resolution, because it picked up the fact that BOTH Xtina and I have teensie nose studs in common, and that's about all.

Snowflake? Yeah, I suppose there could be a little bit of a politician in there, but he hasn't reared his ugly head yet. In any case, you should definitely try it. You might look just like Farrah Faucett's long lost twin or Hulk Hogan(not that HH, but the HH in the hormone free chicken commercial, yes, it's THAT good). It's free and I'm sure you'll tell your friends and they'll tell their's and so on and so forth...

Snowflake The Evil

Ah, Snowflake that little big headed mischieveous trickster! When he was younger, he found a special way of embarrassing me. Last night we went for din-din with my parents to an upscale place. Our table dined on Filet(Big Pappy) and blackened Sea Bass(Nana) while Snowflake gorged on the maraschino cherries our server was plying him with long before his grilled cheese and FF's arrived. He really liked her.

I ate the usual rabbit food choices, avoiding the terrible vegetable marinara they have on the menu for vegetarians. It was a really happy night and we were celebrating the fact that my parents had listed and sold their house in less than a week. Snowflake was on his best behavior until he started his new attention getting ploy.

He began his high pitched grunting. Yes, the kind of grunting babies do only when shitting or lifting heavy weights at the gym. Oh, joy! Big Pappy thought he was in fact, pooping. I corrected him. You could see by the devilish little smile curling at the corners of Snowflake's mouth as his nose wrinkled up that he was playing his trump. Luckily he didn't carry on as he has in the past, sensing that something was askew in his surroundings. We finished peacefully and Snowflake the Evil never made another appearance. Is my bambino growing up?

Art In The Park

The Mission

Snowflake Ventures Forth

Approaching the Bridge

Conquering

Satisfaction in Circles

*Oh, Snowflake! How I love your giganticly big cartoonish size head and bulldog like cheeks. It's amazing you don't tip over.

Not Your Mother's Easter Bunny

Last Friday a 38 year old guy beat his 40 year old wife to death. Well, not exactly. My coworker just happened to be driving by the scene in a town not too far from here as it was unfolding while out on the job. Cops were swarming like bees, he said. Earlier in the day, this dickwad redneck 'suspect' called a funeral home to make arrangements for his wife's body to be picked up. They asked him what the cause of death was and he hung up. They called the police and the rest is history.

He refused to be arrested! He wouldn't leave his house. They tasered him twice and finally had to physically remove him from his home. This morning the nasty horrid details are leaking out and the news reported that they found the ceramic ears from an Easter Bunny candy dish rammed down her throat. Actually they broke right off as he used it to suffocate her. Freakishly sad. I'd say we have a Twin Peaks moment here.

Monday Night Excite!

Yesterday my mother looked at the new Toyota FJ Cruiser. Base price on the 4 x 4 is about $23,000. Add all of the things that make it killer cute and you're at $31,000 plus change. That's with no leather, amigo. Still, it's crazily adorable to me and I wanted to take a look. I can't say that it replaces the Honda Element in my heart because really, they have two completely different functions. With the Element it's about cargo space and being a complete slob as you can wash the whole thing out. I'm not sure if you'd want to do that with the FJ and space is as tight as a scared sphincter.

In any case, I decided to venture out last night and see what all the hubub was about. I put my dumpster out in the driveway as usual when I came home from work. I made din-din and at about 7:30 I put a very sleepy Snowflake in the car.

I must have been overwhelmed with the impending excitement of seeing the FJ as I flew out of the driveway and whacked the dumpster half way across the road. I was momentarily stunned. Across the street, my darling of a dry drunk neighbor who knows all about knocking things over(another story) and his family looked on. I got out and explained how I forgot it was there and blah, blah, blah. He probably thought I had a few 'tails.

After that entertaining thrill I cruised out to the dealership, waiting at the lights I think I saw a buddy leaving his job at the local college. Was that you? Anyway, I looked and I looked, no FJ. What the?! I saw a salesman walking into the building so I reversed the Slaab(no misspelling) and asked him what the deal was.

Apparently someone was so smitten with this VooDoo Blue FJ, he had followed the transporter into the dealership, bought it and drove it away in a matter of hours. What a waste of a trip, Snowflake was now passed out completely. I ended up taking a few photos of some cool neon signs in two very seedy parts of town. I did accomplish something.

Sunday Drive

Yesterday was such a scrumptious day. I thought I might start doing a weekly 'Sunday Drive' wherein I post the bounty of my day's travels. I love a road trip, even if it's only an hour away. You can always find new ways of getting to the same place. Revisiting familiar routes can reveal equally suprising subjects. Snowflake and I headed North to the cottage. We took the scenic route, hugging a mighty logging river of yore. The current has blasted the ice away in sunny, wide open spots. The first turnaround was extremely close to the river. I scampered down the rocks in my faithful Keens, slipping but catching myself quickly, avoiding a somersault into the chilly drink. I snapped a few pictures. I looked down at my feet and there lay two legs of a deer, centered in their own furry nest. I felt thankful that I didn't trounce right on through it, ruining my shoes by getting some CWD on them or falling face first and getting a good big snort of some Blasto up my schnoz. It was odd, there was no body, no head and then I looked into the river. There, perched perfectly on a rock about four feet from the shore, was the ribcage and spine, picked clean but still intact. A delightful din-din for a few Bald Eagles, buzzards or Timberwolves. I wanted to get closer, but visions of the icy bank giving way and falling to my death as Snowflake looked on in cozy amazement from the still running Saab stopped me. I could imagine him smiling and waving, mouthing "Hi Mamma" as I floated South unconscious. My coworker thinks this is where lazy assholes dump carcasses because they don't own their own land and have no where else to dispose of them. (Someone actually disposed of one by putting it in the donation bin at The Salvation Army. Now the parking lot is gated.) Interesting theory, since the head seemed to be missing and these legs appear to be from the front lower half. It's weird that it would have gotten perched 'just so' on that rock. There's an eerie sculptural elegance in the postioning and the natural elements surrounding it. Heading further north, actual live deer sprinted across the road. These deer are completely different from the brazen 'city' deer of my parents neighborhood. These deer run at the creak of a car door opening. I braked for Quail. Closer to the cottage I spied a Sugar Bush, all set for the Spring sap run. The old buckets are long gone. Progress finds a cheaper, more efficient solution. Seeing blue bags or PVC tubes attached to the maples takes away the charm of the season. Although there's something kind of Christo about it. Like, colostomy bags for every tree. Humankind is bleeding nature dry and just tossing it off of a cliff, as if no one will notice. There will be hell to pay, but not on this Sunday.

Remember the Alamo

I've always loved old neon signs, especially classic 1950's Motel art advertising. Las Vegas has turned the old icons into a decorative museum right down town. Designing neon is a lost art form itself and there's nothing else like classic Americana during the great Motor Age. I was partly inspired by the photostream of CubMommy's hubby. They live in one of the great midwestern meccas that still has some cool stuff to shoot. My goal is to capture any old dinosaur I see and share it here.

Baby Budda Bubble Boy

Smiling honest happiness. The kind of chubby cheeks you find on a face. Sunday found Snowflake at The Cottage where he rediscovered his forgotten cache of soapy suds from last summer and everything was new again. No, no, that's not a pregnant redneck gal with her blouse open exposing a large round mound for some air that may catch your eye behind Snowflake as he reaches, but rather Big Pappy's beer belly. I'm thinking I should start treating that belly as if it were it's own entity. Give it a little pet name or something.

Big Brother & Big Bottoms

I found it fascinating and a little creepy when I noticed a recurring visitor to my page is a company that specializes in listening in to blogs for market research for Fortune 500 companies. I'm not suprised, but it gives me the willies in a way. I think everyone(that's all five of us) should pick their most loathful or favorite item and blog about it, make it bizarre yet believable and then we'll comment in agreement. Screw them!

Yesterday I was bored out of my skullcap at work and found this(caution) on Blogger. Obviously there's some BAD Photoshopping going on, but it's ALSO freakishly scarey that these women have no idea they're being snapped. Offensive? Maybe. Creepy? Definitely!

Honestly, I was laughing because the writer is so damn polite and cute in his descriptions. Just compare him to his links. I especially liked his caption for the gardening lady who lives next door to one of his blokes. I think I'm gonna have to start calling my mother the Blonde Mature. I just like the way that sounds, NOT that she has the ass for it. Although he would indeed have a field day here in the Northwoods. The pants he prefers... isn't that a little Truth or Dare?

Please forward an email warning all of your well endowed bootilicious female friends, ample jiggle bottom family members and those you care about with cushiony love matts that they should definitely start watching their asses in public. And for the love of God, DO NOT bend over, EVER!

Rambling With My Pants On

On the way to work I was overcome with goosebumps the size of walnuts. I had to crank the radio to eleven and shimmy-jive on down the road. The rolling moors of Devon appeared in my head. It made me long for clotted cream and scones, maybe even a pint of Spingo with a onion pasty(note: these have absolutely nothing to with titties unless you're pulling a 9 1/2 Weeks, but even then, eeeeeuuuu!) Then I find out these guys are Canadian! Nonetheless...

I pictured the motley crew jamming across the landscape, cavorting along with them. That midget jester, he was my FAVE. I guess maybe I've always wanted to visit the Middle Ages, but only as a noblewoman, thanks. And only for a few stinky hours.

Eighth Grade. It was so long ago, but on occassion, I totally enjoy acting like I come from out of this world and leaving the real one far behind. Because I can dance, I can dance, everyone look at their hands. BTW, you know your friends don't dance and if they don't dance well, they're no friends of mine. While we're at it, you can act real rude and totally removed and I can act like an imbecile.

If I had a man, I would prefer to picture him WITHOUT pants because I'm really not thinking about his cute little hat when we're apart, well maybe, but only if I secretly covet it. Men without hats, men without pants, I love them all.

Country Denizens

Scottish Highland Cattle Lounging Around Home


Does he wonder about what happened to the folks who built this house? Nah, but I do.

I'm Just Wild About Snowflake

This morning I took Snowflake to his two year check up. It was the usual riggarmarole. The assistant who weighs him comments on how cute she is and I have to say thanks, he appreciates that. She apologizes and says they have another little girl with the same name. Whatever.

They ask me again if he's eating meat and I tell them for the eightieth time we're vegetarians. Does he still get a bottle? A fake nipple has never graced his lips as I remind them that he's heading down the trail of self weaning. Then she goes on to say that typical two year olds speak in two word sentences and asks me if he does. I started to laugh because he actually speaks in four to six word sentences. I had no idea but but she said his language is way far ahead of his age. That made me happy.

We went West out into the countryside on a little adventure in search of a cabinet showroom owned by Mennonites. Nana is looking for all the trappings for her new construction set to begin in July. Snowflake had a great time and the guy(he sounded exactly like Tom Hanks) was very cool about him being on top of the counter and in the sink acting like the monkey he is.

We had lunch at the Thorpedo, a cozy retro diner owned by the same family for over 40 years. It was high-noon and Snowflake decided to entertain the crowd with a little acapella karaoke. It's strange, because I don't remember singing this song to him recently. I think it's been over a year. All of a sudden he starts singing-

"Call Me Mello Yellow, That's Right! Call Me Mellow Yellow, That's Right!"

He wasn't exactly in tune and he didn't have that last part exactly right, but I was stunned! I looked on beaming that golden glow towards him. People were enamored of him. One lady pleaded for me not to cut his hair. You would have thought he was the Baby Elvis or something. I was thinking what a cool six word sentence.

All I can say is I'm just wild about Snowflake and he's just wild about me.

Art Forms

I took some of my drawings to class. I decided on the big colorful yet sinister devil head with forked tongue swirling out of his mouth. It was met with a bevy of flabbergasted astoundment. They liked it, they did. And then I showed them a
drawing of a greasy looking character starring in "A Woman's Life", Your Typical Slimey Bastard, Rated "R" for Right On! Then there was my modernist drawing of Mr.Clean.

Her consensus was that I should be going for cultural things. Like Chinese, Mexican or Native American. I should find a legend or tale that is now in the public domain and reinterpret it. She mentioned "Little Black Sambo" and I was thinking Whhaaaa?! Then I read the tale and I thought hmmm, cool but I really don't know if that is me and isn't Little Black Sambo considered politically incorrect?

Looking at these drawings I just don't see it. Maybe my use of color in some way? I cannot draw things realistically so I'm just wondering how I would draw some folk tale. I had a pop art story about a naughty baby in mind, maybe my audience is completely different. In any case I'm going to try her suggestion.

I'm thinking I could have alot of fun with Japan, the northwest Haida, like Emily Carr-ish, Native American. I am drawn to Haida art and even made a sculptural rug featuring a Haida style whale when I spent a stint in Portland at the Corinthian Rig Company. It would be so strange to write a book about some aspect of Native America and dedicate it to Snowflake. I would have never guessed that might be something I'd do. She suggested I send out samples to a certain 'zine in Duluth that is strictly GRRRL. She also said my elephant drawing would make for a great submission postcard.

I guess I feel pretty good about the experience considering I've never shown this stuff to anyone until tonight. What the hell. Why not? Try something new. I'm excited by all of this. All of these drawings are a little old so I'm anxious to do something fresh. I had a bannana split for the very first time tonight. It was an experience. Tasty, but now I feel like yaking.

My secret likes lately have been Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supremes (no meat, +guac) and my ever growing addiction to The Amazing Race. I think the Godfather and I should do it(enter the race). He speaks three languages plus english for the love of Jefferson Davis! Secretly I've been thinking about children. My mom said I should ask the Godfather for a turkey baster donation and I told her nah, we'd just do it. Yeah, right Paulie.

I'm kind of selfish too. By selfish I mean that I don't want to have to share myself with someone else and Snowflake. He deserves all of me, all the time. I am in perfect harmony with that. I have more intelligent conversations with him than most people I know. I don't understand women who have children and then abandon them for perpetual habitual nights out or any excuse they can come up with for an escape from baby.

Fuck radical feminism. I'm sick of all the chips on everyone's shoulders. Some argue feminism is the cause for the breakdown of society. Do you forget that you get only one chance to raise the person of someone's dreams? Call me old fashioned, but you can't have it all, something's got to give and it's usually the children. For me, it feels un-natural to be away from Snowflake, period.

Above all, I am a Mother. It was what I was meant to be not just physically, but spiritually. Biologically possible across the human spectrum, in practice, a rare art form mastered by few. I aspire to make dreams come true.

Of Pictures and Pugs

Tonight I have my second illustration class. We're supposed to bring our favorite children's book and a sample of our own art work. So I'm thinking I'll bring 'Frida' of course or 'The Spider and the Fly' because of their out of this world illustrations. As for myself, I'm not sure what to bring. I'm looking and I found this:

Gingklo is so elegant-
Little black satin pug on a curvey, creamy s-shaped sofa
Wearing a string of sparkling jewels.
The slumbering sleepy sausage dog
Is my Moon Joy.

Canine Nirvana

When The Chidler Dreams,


It's This He Sees And Here He Pees

You Know You Want It

You know the feeling if you have one, your computer is just not a computer, it's a MAC. We never call them computers! While we talk lovingly and longingly about our dear friends, others condemn their's to mere machines. Call me a snob and I graciously take the title when it comes to my MAC.

If there's a problem, it's never, "My fucking computer crashed, stupid piece of shit!". When you own a MAC you'd never curse it out and if there's a problem, it's almost as if you're taking your beloved puppino to the vet, all of sudden there is rise for true concern and deep worry sets in as you start meditating good vibes to your baby Apple.

When you see a 'puter in a movie, it's never a Dell, dude, but rather the sleekest, newest, sexiest MAC. You never hear people say, "Wow, did you see the new IBM tower? They're making it in BLACK! It's fucking tits!" Nope. I bet everyone can remember when they saw the new flat panel iMac for the first time and said, "WTF?! That is soooooo coooooool!"

When you own a PC you have to have a special room or armoire to keep it in because it's so damn fugly. With a MAC anyplace, anywhere is just fine.

If you own an iPod you have had a taste of the Apple. It will just make you want more, especially if you're a creative type, experimenting with Photoshop, Illustrator or ProTools. You can stand back and guffaw and put the MAC down. Remember, apples float and deep down, we know you want to toss that sinkable PC off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Why deny yourself? In the beginning and the end, it all comes down to temptation.

Eating Flowers

Snowflake Enjoys A Flower from his Cake


Pensive Cake Boy Pondering Life at the Age of Two

Let Them Eat (KICK ASS) Cake!

Snowflake's favorite book is the Spanish language storybook called "Frida", a short biographical sketch of Frida Kahlo's childhood. The drawings were the inspiration for the cake.

Just Call Me Martha

Sheesh! I didn't think I'd get everything done in time for Snowflake to show up for his second birthday party on Saturday, but I DID! I channeled my idol, Ms.Martha and was able to complete the task with S-T-Y-L-E!

Toilet Humorror

Snowflake was such a patient shopper today I had to take him to a Playland to burn off some pent up cart riding angst. Too large for his size, this Playland was a little scarey, but not as scarey as my mother's bathroom experience. Snowflake and I were playing and I didn't even notice she was gone. I saw her walking back towards the entrance.

"Oh my gosh, Heid,"she says coming in through the glass door, white as a pasty fish belly on the shore of Lake Michigan, but almost brimming over with a kind of laughing disbelief that can only be described as possible post traumatic stress.

"What the hell happened?" I say smiling yet concerned.

"Well, I walked into the bathroom and there's this little old lady about 75 or so, standing there wearing a mint green skirt facing me. 'Oh, hello' she says smiling in a sweet gentle voice, 'I ruined my stockings' holding her crumpled pantyhose up in her hands. Oh, that's too bad, I tell her, feeling sorry for her. Then she turned around and there was a huge shit streak from the top of her waist to the bottom of the hem, right down the middle of her skirt."

"Oh My God! Oh wow!" I say breaking out in laughter, "What the HELL?!" I can't believe it.

"Obviously she didn't know she had it on her skirt! I think she works here," she rambles.

"No way! Oh My God! What did you do?" I say. Yes, we all know shit happens, but not literallylike this. All I kept thinking was "Oh, hello" and then whoa, shit!, SMACK!

"I just got the hell out of there," she laughs nervously, "I felt sorry for her but then she turned around and I was just like Oh My Gosh! I have to get out of here now!"

"Yeah, and where the hell and just how did she take those pantyhose off? What the hell?!" I say again.

"I don't know, Heid. I don't even want to think about it. Let's just get out of here," she says.

For once I agree with her, thinking to myself just one more reason to avoid public bathrooms unless absolutely necessary.

Matter Over Mind

Note to Self: Do not buy Easter candy one month before said holiday with the intention of actually having enough left to fill three babies' teensie tinesy baskets.

What were you thinking? Yum! That's what I was thinking. Besides, two of them barely have teeth. I love chocolate. It does have that certain lovey dovey effect on me. I think I've had enough miniature Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs. Although they taste de-lish! in their respective white and milk chocolate robes, I'm thinking they look more and more like squashed nut sack patties everyday. And no matter how much I think about sex and my lack thereof, they become less and less appetizing the more I contemplate the way they look naked.

My Afternoon Fling

I was skeptical. I had seen him a few times and I always looked the other way when his intense beckoning blue eyes attempted to look right through me. He was so retro and hip I could have screamed. He's fricking stacked too. I was thinking I would totally like some manhandling. He was smiling his usual omnipotent and somewhat mysteriously sexy smile. I don't know what exactly came over me. Deep down I had a feeling it just wouldn't work, it couldn't. Passionate, over the top promises are usually too good to be true. Regardless, I fell under his magical spell and I took him home.

As soon as we got to my place I ripped him wide open. I took care of any manhandling. It was wildly exciting. The harder I worked the more intense it became. God! It reminded me of the song "Sea of Sin" by depeche mode: It gets better and better/ As it gets wetter and wetter. I was totally in awe of his incredible prowess. I couldn't stop, we did it everywhere. On the car, in the kitchen, in The Chidler's room, braced up against EVERY FRICKING door on the lower level, plus in two spots upstairs! I completely used him up.

When I was finished there was literally nothing left of him. I was invigorated. It had been so long ago since the first time I saw him, doubting him. But now I knew the power of Mr. Clean and his Magic Eraser. When I think of him now, maybe it was his box that lured me in, all swirley and cosmic like a long forgotten twentysomething acid trip, seducing me to "just try it". Like drugs, these can be pretty mind blowing in their power. I highly recommend them, just start s-l-o-w-l-y and work your way up, you'll see just how crazed and frantic you can get. Mr. Clean, you're my kind of bitch and I love you.

Kiss Him, He's Irish (a wee bit)

Snowflake posing as "The Edge" in the baby remake of Pride (In The Name of Love)

What It All Comes Down To

This weekend it occured to me as I played in the park with my beautiful boy, that I have never truly smiled until he came into my life. Sure, I've smiled when I was happy. These were genuine smiles, but they were nothing compared to this, this feeling of a smile. It's something that I cannot fully describe, but feel deep within myself.

When I look into his eyes I feel a warmth radiate from my very core, a harmonious vibration of being at one with the world. I look at him and I know the meaning of my existence. A simple truth that solves the confusion of everyday life in the real world. I smiled and I cried because it made me so happy to have him, knowing that it all comes down to this. The here and now, nothing else matters.Thanks, Metallica.

In that instant, looking into his eyes, I contemplated the future- Snowflake growing up and becoming a young man, having children of his own and growing old, dying. I am going to die some day. I may not get to see all that I want to see. It scares me knowing that some people never have these realizations. To them, life is about making enough money, having a good time no matter what, becoming something for someone else, just to feel worthy, but NOT happy.

I'm filled with so much love and adoration for my son. I am so thankful and I feel so fortunate and blessed by the universe to be his mother. Whether or not I'm there to witness all the pleasures and pains of his life, I know that that the eyes of the man will always be the blue eyes of my little boy. This I will carry in my heart forever.

Life Is Good

In Season

Friday one of our subcontractors came in. He's from a little town just north of our burgeoning metropolis. A sweet little town, home to my granny and ironically, lots of methheads.

"Hey, does Barb still have Barb's Place, her bar?" I ask.

"Yeah, she sure does" Little Dick says in his sandpaper and whiskey voice.(Yes, his nickname from HS is seriously LD, he went to HS with my coworker).

"Is that a lesbian bar? The two times I stopped there a few years ago there were some really burly gals there. I know Barb isn't gay, but man there were alot of flannel wearing, mullet sporting women out there, " I add.

"Nah, it's no lesbo bar. Those are the kind of chicks we pick up and take to the shack during deer season. You take a fat chick from New Wood up there and you don't want anyone to know," he rasps.

"You've got to be kidding me," I laugh.

"No, I'm not. Seriously, those are some real cornfed bitches."

Sleeping Dragons & Good Days

Today was a productive day. Add some very temperate weather and I'd even call it excellent. Pity I didn't leave the casa. I did get the weekly chores done. I dug in and shop-vac-ed the entire house. I LOVE my shop-vac. The house is completely hardwood except for the kitchen, so it does a stellar job of removing unwanted dust bunnies and all the tiny things you can't see. I use a drywall filter on it so it holds the micro particles well. Step two is Swiffering to pick up any thing that got blown by. Step three is my beloved FloorMate. Damn, how I love that little whore!

I was able to open the windows and let fresh Spring air permeate the house. I dusted and rearranged some of the furniture as well. By 3pm Snowflake was on overload and grabbed the back of my pants as I got up from the sofa and fell flat on his head. Poor fella! He was ready for his descent into naptime. This allowed me to fold all of the laundry, put it away AND take a leisurely bath, do-my-do and write as I type here and now. Bless that little radical!

I feel so spritely and spunky I put on my Keen sandals. Gee mom, I feel so fresh!

I was lounging in the tub and I started thinking of movies I really like. It seems like whenever I fill out a 'profile' I'm never prepared and always forget what I'm especially fond of. What I really like or I should say who I really like is Helen Mirren. When my brothers and I were little we watched Excalibur(ca.1981) over and over. We were allowed to watch some R rated movies at an early age. This is why we became so twisty bread.

Evil Morgana's Charm of Making became our mantra and we used to run around saying, "oos vas bethud, o tel diend-ay" or something like that. She was so stunning and the film is simply magical. Beautiful scenery and costumes...bewitching.

I thought about how classy and talented she is. Then it hit me, how in the hell could I have forgotten about The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover? This isn't a movie for everyone, but I LOVE it. The sets are abstract yet decadent. The music incredible. The costumes all by Jean Paul Gautier breathtaking! The feasting! It's kind of Avant-Garde but the plot is actually very timeless.

And that's all the time we have for this moment as the little Cupie has awoken in a manner similar to a fire breathing dragon. Go figure.

Chocolate Confessions

I confess, I am 37 years old and I still wear pig tails on occasion. It's interesting to note that when I wear them , I usually get a "Miss" instead of a "ma'am". I'll take it, hun! Breakfast with my baby is a fun time of day. Lately, I've been lying to him though. He doesn't know that YES, in fact there are two huge gallons of Tropicana OJ in the fridge. If he could, he would live strictly on a diet of orange juice and chocolate. I've had to cut him off so that he drinks more chocolate Silk and actually eats something. Maybe I am sending him mixed messages. This morning I made him a cherry toaster strudel. It's breakfast junk food to me, but I was in a hurry. Sorry, Snowflake! After he scarffed it down he wanted another. Instead, I bribed him with a mini bar of Hershey's Dark Chocolate with Blueberries, Cranberries and Almonds(antioxidants!) while I took Charles out for his morning constitution.
Speaking of chocolate and constitutionals, yesterday I began the process of cleaning up all of his "dead soldiers" that emerged from their wintery graves. It was like being at the Arlington National Cemetary of Poopsicles. Turds everywhere, some mangled beyond recognition, others perfectly preserved as if they were shat two seconds ago. I crossed my heart, tied my hair back, took a deep breath and began the work with the utmost most care. Damn, the crude tools wreaking havoc on my surgical skills! The work was devastingly gruesome, but crucial. With most of them deposited in a mass grave in the dumpster, I went inside and treated myself to a glass of wine for a job well done. In rememberance, I ate a piece of chocolate.

Dumping & Screwing

You're a modern mamma and you like cool things for your sweet bambino. You like quality and good design. Objects that can be handed down to the next generation, if there is one. And hell, even if there's not, it would make a good conversation piece or decorator item. You come across the Wolfgang Sirch Franz Wheelbarrow and it seems to you it is perfect, or as perfect as you can get to what you imagine making your two year old little boy's Christmas dreams come true.

Made of beautiful birch plywood by a company that has a family tradition streching back over 400 years, you can imagine him enjoying it. When you look for something similar to compare it to, there is nothing. You decide to order it. It comes and it looks good although you really did expect more quality. The finish is rough. It seems flimsy. It has a funky little lever that actually dumps the contents. You realize it's more than you hoped for as the little one takes to it like second nature. Immediately he's pushing it all over the house with a huge grin and enjoying it.

Unfortunately, two days later the screw in the lever/dumping mechanism falls out and you are unable to fix it. This tiny screw that holds this together appears stripped. You know that this poor undersized, overworked screw would never be able to handle the rigors of everyday little boy adventures. You're extremely disappointed by the performance of this high-end toy. Still, you have faith and contact the company you purchased it from.

They send a replacement and this time, the wheelbarrow is missing two of it's hubcaps. Just then, your inquisitive boy leans on the end, the lever which happens to be unlocked causes the dumping action and bashes his lip into the tip of the wheelbarrow. This time you call the distributor and you can tell by her tone that she is familiar with your case and she refers you back to the store that sold it to you.

You call them and they say how sorry they are and how the distributor has never gotten a return or even one complaint on this product. You must be cursed with Polish luck for getting two of the worst ones(only ones) ever made that seemed to slip by Quality Control in Switzerland. Yeah right, you're thinking.

You're thinking that this is not a TOY. This is an overpriced status object for snobby adults that don't WANT their children to play with the expensive toys they buy them. You can just imagine,

"Don't put your toys in there, Tommy! You'll scratch it! Let's just put it in the corner over here with your giant Steiff bear in it and we can look at it" gasping, eyes wide open like a Campbell kid's.

Looking at your cutie-pie's throbbing, fat and bloody lip you decide enough is enough bullshit and tell her you want to return it. You exchange emails and when she receives it, she raves about how her little boy just took too it. Duh, you already tod her that would happen. You just can't wait until that screw falls out. The only thing you're happy about is getting your money back and that the screw didn't fall out just over a month from now. Because then, that little screw would have really screwed you.


wolfgang sirch, franz, wheelbarrow, review, over rated, toys

GoGurt Gone Wild!

I can remember sitting in a burger joint with my friend approximately four years ago. I ordered a cheese quesadilla. It came to the table and I dug in.

"What the fuck?! I think I taste bacon!" I gasp as if it were cyanide, opening up the tortilla to reveal a uniform infestation of bacon bits throughout my din-din. I began to freak out. I was swearing and blabbering loudly.

"Heid, there are kids behind you," my friend shushes me.

"I don't give a flying fuck! What the hell?! I'm a frickin' vegetarian and this is supposed to be a CHEESE QUESADILLA!" I gripe way too loudly, rising from my seat to hunt down the bitchy teen waitress who snuck one by me as I shoot a dirty look to the happy and shocked family.

My, my, my how we grow and change! I cringe at the thought of my behavior. What would have the pure little Snowflake thought of my rancid actions? He's such a sweet loving little boy. I sometimes wonder if this true little Cupidian wonder actually came from me. Tonight we took The Chidler to the park for a walk and we saw the 6:15 hooking up to some tanker cars. He loved it and it was a perfect dusky twilight evening.

After din-din we were getting jammies on and he mentioned the 'twain'. I affirmed that yes, we saw the train tonight and a conductor guy walking the tracks with his flashlight. I asked him what he thought about that. He waited a moment and then said,

"Pretty neat."

I am truly amazed at his comprehension and candor. I love having a conversation with my little sweet pea. When I look at him I feel overwhelmed with love.

Imagine how overwhelmed I was when I saw this-
No sushi lovers, this is not a big ol' mass of sea urchin nut sack, otherwise known as Uni smeared across Snowflake's face, but rather the result of a half a stick of frozen GoGurt, Gone Wild. Thank God he spared poor Sponge Bob(our 13" MegaTron) from his wrath. I grabbed the camera and told him to hold it right there, laughing and smiling. Probably not the best for instilling a teachable moment. Snowflake is the yin to my yang. He balances me and I learn to appreciate the moment rather than freaking out on it. Woopdeedoo, a little yogurt never hurt anyone. Give it a try. Play with your food a little more. Snowflake highly recommends it and I couldn't agree more.



Afterthought: Yes, I would definitely be having a little freak out if this were a poopie diaper. Thank heaven for small miracles and for little boys.

Last Minute Madness!

Call me crazy, but I just love, love, LOVE to buy cool things for Snowflake. Come! Accompany me in my shopping madness! I really thought I was finished with buying birthday presents but then I found this. The Nido Play Cave is so bizzare and cute I thought, what the hell. Then I phoned my frugal(I must have been looking for a NO) Miami connection for a second opinion and he said,

"Wow, that's alot. What kind of lasting play value would he get out of that?"

"I think it's cute and it would be cool little hideout in the living room."

"Is this for you or the baby?" he says. Ummm, good point. I DID remind him that if something happens to me all of this shit, I mean stuff, is going to be sitting in his living room. Ummm, good point!

I decided against it. It's a good thing I didn't order it last night in the fervor of not being able to see my blog and taking my frustations out by impulsive shopping. One of my old writing teachers always talked about distance from events and passionate feelings. See if you still feel the same way the next day before mailing off that letter or in this case, buying an expensive plaything. It is cute though, isn't it?

I did buy him a Trioli Chair by Eero Aarnio for Magis. It's a very cool little chair that a toddler can use three ways. You can see a girl playing on it here. Plus, his Bilibo should be here today, too. If anything, Snowflake will grow up with an excitement and appreciation for good design and a sense of humor.

I haven't been this excited since I discovered the dual purpose of the Oral-B! The biggest suprise is that we are finally getting a new puppy. I hope The Chidler doesn't try to hump the little cutie. I am keeping everything crossed that it will all arrive before next Saturday. I want to have a big bow around the puppy's neck and suprise him by putting everything in the living room while he's hanging out at Nan's.

That's not all I have in the works, either. I found a Cake Goddess who is creating a Frida Kahlo birthday cake for him. It should be a very interesting birthday, indeed. Someday I'm sure I'll hear Snowflake singing to me Mamma, you're crazy...

Crazy for design, that is.

eero aarnio, puppy, trioli

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

Old Windmill Now A Spa



World Fishing Hall of Fame AND Muski Capital of the WORLD!



Concrete Sheriff 15'




Hombre



Let's Call Him An Elf




There Goes Thanksgiving



Wild White Turkeys Couldn't Drag Me Away



Almost Roadkill


Working hard or hardly working? Today I went way far into the great white north with Nana and Snowflake in search of the elusive Gluten Free Goods. We found them, but along the way we witnessed Northwoods Adventures Galore. A man spent his entire life creating these pioneers out of concrete. Everyone stayed in the Pathfinder while I ventured into three feet of snow to get a few photos. I went here when I was little and I remember these poor creatures being in such better shape. A part of me would like to restore them.

A windmill and a muski stare longingly at eachother from across the highway. This would have been the perfect place for me to makeout with Pee Wee Herman when I was going through that phase. This is also where they hold some international lumberjack competitions. They saw logs and climb poles among other things. When my best friend and I were 18 or so, we were official judges for an international competition they had right in our little metropolis sponsored by Miller Beer. How in the hell did that happen?! I'm thinking maybe he REALLY did enjoy it more than he let on. Some of these guys were smokin', others were burly crusty woodsmen with beerbellies to match.

On the way back, the only station we could get was all American Indian, all the time. It was serious pow wow music and Snowflake dug it. Ol' Snow is part Chippewa I'm told. Maybe that's why he's always had such good rhythm(we just won't mention how he's getting into wailing lately). Some wild turkeys were a wanderin'. Beautiful! I've never seen a white one. They can be heinously mean and if you hit one they can do serious damage to your coche.

The day was splendid. I always enjoy a little roadtrip, even if it's in your own backyard. You never know what you'll see or find. Always take a camera!