Got the Fever

no comprende

People who claim not to be 'crazy, religious people" don't let their 11 year old daughter die. I mean, that IS just plain crazy. They live in an upscale neighborhood and own a funky little coffee shop. Her parents most likely won't be charged because we have freedom to 'choose' our treatments in this state. Faith healing is acceptable. Can I accept this? When I had Snowflake, I was instantly brainwashed into the "Protect and Serve" faction when it came to my precious. This primitive and instinctual urge is so strong in me that I can't fathom anything else.

Served Cold

I went to the store about an hour ago and put away the stash. All of the produce bags come back in their new life as important and precious poop bags. I went outside and picked up half a bag of soggy, wet turds and upon closing them up for the dumpster to snack on I thought (as they glistened in the sun) 'yes, these would make a great gift for the right person.'

You're Four

In the Beginning

He's Fresh!




I'm thinking 'phone home'...

Using Your Words

I added the "f-ers!"

Stuck on the Moon

I wouldn't advise peeing...

Here's to You(and me, too)

I'd just like to congratulate my friend on working her ass off by losing some major weight the old fashioned way. One year ago today was her start date and she has lost close to 100 pounds! OMG! These are for you!

These pretty petals you see ALSO won "The Embodiment of Spirit" awardthis weekend and will be featured on the gallery brochure in color! Yay! Today I sent off work to two juried shows for late this summer. Wish me luck! XO

Morning Humor

This morning I was just out of the bath when the wee one exclaims,

"Heid, your boobs are drippy!"

"Gee, thanks."

No one is EVA gonna see me naked again.

Fork n' Hay

After all of the drama tonight. I get him in bed and can barely wait to watch Lost and SONOFABITCH it's high school basketball season. Can you hear me screaming across the continent as I pull my hair out?!

Hold It!

I splogged too soon. When I walked into the dogs room about a half an hour ago I could scarcely believe my eyes. A piss line went across one of the dog beds and up the bottom part of the wall.

"O my gosh! What is this? Who did this?" I exclaim.

"Well it wasn't me. It was one of the dogs," he says.

Somehow he's lost his charm and I don't find it quite as amusing.

"Jeepers, SF! You can't just go around peeing in the house! You know what will happen? The dogs will start to think it's okay for them to start peeing everywhere!"

"I'm sorry mom. I apowagize(yeah, that's how he says it)"

"Well, I'm really upset! That's just not cool!"

We go upstairs and I give him a quick bath and shampoo and he smells and looks heavenly. Like black currant absolute and patchouli. We get his monkey pajams on and I ask,

"Okay, so are we clear on peeing? Have you peed anywhere else in the house?" a part of me knowing I have to be cool.

"Well, I peed on the floor here and behind my caterpillar and once over my plasma car behind the couch" he says, batting his dreamy little bluebugs at me. Jesus, Mary and Joeseph. I make him show me exactly where and I clean it up, even though the evidence is gone in the dim light of the evening. I mean it could have been weeks ago for all I know.

"Can I have my Buzz Lightyear now? I'll pee in the toilet from now on. I promise, Stommy."

My hand reaches to where I have it and he says, "I knew it was in your pahhhcket" all fa-la-la-la-la singsongy. For some reason I'm hearing the theme from Damien the Omen.

It occurs to me that maybe this is payback for peeing on that guy's dorm room floor in the middle of the night twenty years ago. Karma...

A Real Pisser

The other night I was wrangling up the dawgs to take them outside. This winter, the snowbanks have been so high, I just saddle up the pugs and let the Chidler roam, being contained by said snowbanks. I took them out and in passing saw SF standing on the fainting couch in their room. Yes, the dogs have their own room.

He was looking a little devious, but I smiled anyway. I came back in, unstrapping the hounds and taking off the winter gear.

"Stommy(my nickname) one of the dogs peed!" he squeaks.

Muthafuckinrescuehoundsfromhell, I think as my internal ire skyrockets and steam comes out of my ears. I walk in and there is a spray line across the window sill and on either side of the 100+ year old barnwood panels.

"What the heck(believe me, I wanna say fuck)? What happened? Who did this?"

"Well, it wasn't me," he says, "it was Ginger."

I was in awe. "O, Ginger!(sonofabitch)"

"It wasn't me" he chimes again.


"Did you do this? I mean if you did, you should really tell the truth" I say.

"Stommy, I did do it and I apologize."

"Well, you shouldn't do that! But I want you to know that I'm really proud of you for telling me the truth. It's very brave to tell the truth when you know you've done something wrong," I say and give him a big hug.

Then we cleaned the piss up together. O joy! O love! Togetherness and a teachable moment over urine.

We Go From Here

This morning I was cringing at the thought of the usual drop off for SF. I could feel the anxiety rising as she came toward the car and asked how we were doing this morning.

"Oh fine" I said dryly.

"You know, I'm sorry I missed your call again. When it's a phone number I don't recognize, I don't answer it and by the time I check my messages it's too late to call" she said.

"I'm the same way" I said.

"You know I was going to call you this morning just for a mother to mother chat. We(the teachers) were talking about how SF is one of those kids you'll never forget, you'll remember him when you're 60. He is extremely bright and he's figuring things out that we don't want him to figure out yet" she continued.

I was relieved and shocked and comforted by her words.

"I know how you feel" she said, "just when you think you've turned a corner, you're right back where you started."

It felt like a brick had been lifted off my chest. My friend and I often discuss how our boys behave, but he's still at home so I don't have anyone to compare notes with.
He's just been a little squirrely. Normal boy behavior. I just take it so hard. His tea making priviledges were taken away because he can't control the sugar bowl. He dumped an entire bowl of Trader Joe's into his cup.

"At least it was good sugar" I remember one of his teachers quipping.

I know I 'm going to have my hands full for the next fifteen years. I will keep the lines of communication open, never assume things(this is a struggle as I tend to analyze everything) and be present and loving* to my little wunderkind.

*even when he's pushing my buttons or ignoring my suggestions or talking like "bwah-ba-bwah-ba-bwah"

Throwdown

Sometimes I could just slap myself for starting the whole 'notebook' of progress with SF's teachers. I brought it upon myself and now we are going to convene and come up with a plan to discourage negative behavior. I'm more than willing to cooperate. At times, I really hate going at this alone. It is hard in this silent house. Dogs asleep, boy asleep. The Chidler really can't advise me on talking points or what not to wear. I had great taste, now I'm just post-grunge on a daily basis. I wear pigtails and patchouli. I don't know how to do any of this. Fuck.

Saints and Ghosts

This afternoon I went digging through the attic in hopes of finding a vintage viewmaster and reels I thought I had. This is not an easy thing to do. Access is through a small door inside of SF's closet. Flashlight in hand, I removed a few things so I could get in there.

It's a small space not much taller than me nestled in the southern eave of the house. There is no rhyme or reason to the things I've kept. It's like a mumbo jumbo mind trip into what I am. My handbag collection was placed there before SF arrived and I haven't looked back. I have so many amazing bags I could cry. I didn't though. I decided to haul one of the horking boxes of vintage jewelry I stashed away when I cleaned up for the newcomer. Two feather beds, a Hudson's Bay blanket and a very old camera collection make up the majority of the dura mater without dissecting too much.

I find old letters from my cousin Thom and his ficticious short story about desperate housewives long before they existed. There is an old postcard from a dead boyfriend while he was institutionalized. It is a Rembrandt style looking painting of a man leading an ass with a woman and a baby riding sidesaddle. His last words were "Be good".

Then I find an envelope addressed to me from Dino circa 2002 with a photocopied article from a 1999 issue of Men's Journal featuring Tom Wolfe writing about the lack of orginality in "today's" art and design. It's all about people recycling and regurgitating what they find in what he calls "The Big Closet". I reread each of these items and put them back for another time.

I found a photo of my friend Bill. We were both new students when we started our sophomore year. It was signed on the back: "Heidi, The love of my life-you've been one of the best friends I've ever had. Beyond. Love, Bill Frederick". I had to laugh.

My hands were totally grimey from touching old metal and dusty paper. Much of this stuff came from my grandmother's house. She was Catholic. I found this little medal. I stuck it in my pocket and went downstairs to goog it. What an eerie story and oddly fascinating.

I've decided to keep her in my pocket instead of putting her back in the attic. I think she'd like that. In fact, I think she'd say "Bless you, my child."

Skyworms

Birthdayness

I found SF this kickass easel for his upcoming birthday. Not only that, I 'commissioned ' my uncle to make him a cool art caddy similar to an old wooden toolbox. On top of all this joy, he's also getting a set of 24 Stockmar beeswax block crayons in a wooden box and a set of Stockmar watercolors. I intend to set him up right in the living room. Don't let me forget the dropcloth. In the summer it'll be pleinair under the pergola...

do You?

I peel my celery...

Skin Deep

I was meandering around TJ Maxx with my mom yesterday when I came across these. I'm all for staying as young looking as I can for as long as possible without being sandblasted or chemically peeled(yet). I also think that there is something to "it's what's inside that counts."

Plus, I really like to try new and alternative treatments.

TJ's original price was $39.99 for 60 packets(2x a day = thirty day supply). In my current Dole Pineapple-like existence I would have to pass. O, but Dear Reader, I didn't have to when they were now marked down to $10 a box. My impulsive streak could afford this! I bought two boxes and went back for the third and only box left today.

Imagine my freaking surprise when I saw the retail price of $100 a box on the website! Yeah, so let me clarify this: $300 worth of trendy nutriceutical skincare for $30(that's cheaper than popular OTC brands like Olay). I'll giv'er a whirl! In 90 days I should look as smooth as a baby's ass, or feel like an ass. Stay tuned...

Spring Is Here

Stepping outside yesterday and today, I could really feel the change. Winter is doomed to a painful death of melting and the air, almost warm, is coming alive with the organic smells of a world in bloom.

At 32 degrees when the sun shines brightly, it is warm enough for a sweater and a scarf as you dash out to your car. It's almost time for street sweepers(mind sweepers would have been better) to come and wash away the debris of seasonal affective disorder.

Pretty soon, maybe even tomorrow, the crazy, short wearing winter bike rider will be shirtless. Shouting and shirtless. If I were him, I'd take the words of Taro Gomi and yell as I rode down the street, "Spring is here!"

How Now Brown Cow