Guest Post by my friend Peedles

Since this is usually LV's forum, I thought I should use my "special guest blogger" status to tell everyone a few things about LV that they might not know....like for instance....

** I recently remembered (sometimes it happens that way) that LV and I used to be in a band called "The Stupid Napkin People". We never performed publicly - mostly due to long-distance chatroom practices which involved little music but lots wine. Im certain music somewhere was played at the same time and I am equally certain that neither LV nor I had anything to do with it. I'd tell you where the name for the band came from but that would require trying to revive braincells long gone but Im sure it was hilarious at the time. Heck, take my word for it ...its STILL hilarious subconsiously. Hey ..we had "fly boys"...or perhaps there were real flies involved...face it '98 and '99 were a blur (kinda like last Tuesday). Scarily... SNP posters still exist and occasionally you can find them on EBay.

** LV was the first person ever to call me Peedles. Ive never asked why. When someone you love and respect gives you a nickname, you just gratefully accept it with pride. (Though Frank Zappa's kids, Dweezil and Moon Unit, should have been exempt from that rule.) I feel a need to point out that LV is also the ONLY person that calls me Peedles. (Wouldn't a great kids book be "Peedles walks the Poodles through the Puddles? Quick...someone call Doubleday!)

** For awhile...everytime LV wanted to get out of hanging out with her Mudchick friends and perhaps run the risk of partying too much,....she got pregnant! Okay...so that only happened twice but its not like the MCs get together too often and pregnant girls are suppose to be the cool designated drivers but since LV doesnt drive...well you can see my point. She so dramatic!

** LV and I once planned to publish a racy pottery calendar (oxymoron?) featuring naked men with their fancy bits hidden by painted pottery. We were gonna call it "Piece of the Month." I think that was about the same time that those old English ladies did their naked calendar and LV didnt want to show them up. Theirs was purely for charity...ours was, as is everything we do, purely for our own entertainmment.

There are many other things I can tell you about LV but it will take careful coaxing to get the good stuff out of the mushy parts of my brain. Its kinda like cleaning the attic....dusty, smelly and well...you have so many nice things here in the living room...does the stuff in the attic really matter?

You've got Mail

Here is an actual Email I received today. I sometimes get 20-30 of these puppies a week:


The following message was sent from ournameismud.com by (name withheld):
Hi, I am writing on behalf of West End Day School, a not-for-profit special needs school located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We are having our annual fundraising auction on May 3, and would greatly appreciate a donation from Our Name is Mud (which quite a few of our families are fans!). Over 200 families attend the auction, and it would be a prime opportunity to reach all these families with information on your restaurant, as well as to generate goodwill among them.
I'd like to suggest a gift certificate for $50, but of course, anything you'd be willing to donate would be greatly appreciated.


Hello parent from West End Day School that is such a fan,
Thanks for writing the Our Name Is Mud restaurant. We don't often get mail--unless it's from the Health Department. I had to go ask the Manager about your request--interupted her doing belly shots on the bar to see if shooting you a gc for $50 in order to generate some good will was cool with her. After Ted, whose a regular here at the Our Name is Mud restaurant, was done sucking the tequilla out of her belly button, he suggested we forward your request to the Our Name Is Mud Dry Cleaners--which is also in the neighborhood. I have done so.
All the best,
Lorrie

JESSE IS SIX

Six years ago today...Jesse George Veasey was born.

I still haven't lost the baby weight. I should get on that.

Happy Birthday my sweet, complicated, mercurial boy. The last six years have been the best of my life. (That's the story we're sticking with--forget about year #1 with the colic and having to put you on top of the dryer to stop the incessant screaming.) You have brought us such joy, and I have fallen in love with your father all over again everyday I see him with you. You hang the moon for your little sister. You are my heart.

This is who you are at the moment.

You are compulsively creative. You are driven to draw, to paint, to sculpt and invent. You are not content with the ordinary--you want to make robots that work, to paint on the walls of our apartment, to make life sized statues. You prefer markers that are either permanent or smell like different foods. You go through reams of paper monthly. While you have trouble sticking with your homework or cleaning up the living room, you can sit at a table for hours drawing one thing after another.

You made a sign that is currently hanging on your bedroom door. It says "Jesse is mad." When you feel slighted, which unfortunately is more often than we'd like, you sit on your bed and scowl. Your emotions swing from intense joy and excitement causing you to hug everyone in the proximity, to anger and disappointment so overwhelming that you wear traces of it like a mantle for days afterwards. We talk a lot about "letting it go." We talk a lot about "choosing happiness." Sometimes we try to penalize you for your anger, other times we try to hug it out of you. We are often lost in the wild forest that is your emotional make up. I see myself in the things you struggle with and pray that your dad's grounded nature will at some point balance things out.

Sometimes you are so generous. You will wake your sister up by covering her faces in kisses and she will reach her arms up to you. You will pick her up from her bed, carry her to the couch and get her a glass of orange juice. You will snuggle in beside her, and your dad and I will find you both with your arms around each other laughing together at SpongeBob. You will call out "Family Hug" and we will all clasp each other tightly and it is always a good day that day. You call Saturdays and Sundays "Mommy Daddy Jesse Annie days." You wait for them each week with almost the same level of excitement you waited for today.

You love people with an intensity that makes you anxious about life. You want to know when people are going to die, if we will ever move, and worry about every change that may occur in your future. You are excited about getting bigger and older because skateboards and freedom have their allure, but you still want to sleep beside me. You have lost two teeth, your hair has grown dark, you are gangly and coltish. You are doing well at karate and can swim and ride a razor. You can read simple words: THE CAT IS ON THE MOP, but grow frustrated with the tricks of language like silent "e's" and blends--and you'll just look at the picture and say "the fat cat is sitting on the rug and he is happy" which at the end of the day is a more interesting story anyway.

You have many friends, and this year you have blessed us by hanging out with kids whose parents we really like as well--and life is fuller and richer as a result. You play with mostly boys, but you like a girl who has long hair and draws complicated pictures. When asked recently, you declared you were going to marry a boy--which by the way, we are totally cool with if that's what's in your future and just ignore the look on Dad's face---but you were more concerned about weather or not you and your future spouse would be allowed to live with us. I said yes--but then, I have also told you you can stay at home for college and the rest of your life. Again, just ignore that look on Dad's face.

Happy Birthday my Jesse Bear. For your sixth birthday you are getting a Hulk boogey board for the beach this summer, some construction toys you have wanted for months, and Nonnee and DeeDad are getting you a conga drum because you still have an uncanny ear and a natural talent that we are doing nothing to nurture. So bang your drum baby--march to your own rhythm. You are so very loved.

Love,
Mom

For Your iPod

I like to play a little game with my ipod. Before I put it on, I hit shuffle, and I tell myself that whatever song plays--the lyrics will have some great significance to the day ahead. (Do not try this if you have downloaded Mmmmbop by The Hansons.) But if you have an eclectic collection-as I do--you may find it's better than the tarot for mapping out the next 24 hours. Try it.

One song/album I recently downloaded that I totally recommend as a ditty you will thoroughly enjoy is TROUBLE by Ray LaMontagne. Apparently this album is a few years old--which would mean it's about time for someone like me to actually get hip to it. I love the song-love the album. Get thee to itunes for a listen.

Oddly enough, I also include among my favorites TROUBLE by Cat Stevens and TROUBLE by Pink. Which just goes to show that when I go looking for trouble, I am usually able to find it.

Change

Change is
a verb
full of possibility.

You cannot get
to where
you want to go next
without leaving
familiar places
behind.

Good luck
Godspeed
and lots
of love
to those who start
a new journey today.

Jonathan Adler of Top Design

I knew Johnny Adler when he was an unknown potter at MUD, SWEAT & TEARS--the same small studio where I started my ceramics career. Now, of course, he is the head judge on TOP DESIGN--and is also celebrated for the mod shapes, vibrant colors and organic eye-popping patterns that are the signature of his work today.

His business encompasses seven retail outlets in Soho & the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Los Angeles, East Hampton, Miami, San Francisco, and Chicago; a thriving interior design business, responsible for the re-design of the Parker Palm Springs hotel in modernist style with a comfy residential feel; a burgeoning licensing business under the brand name Jonathan Adler Happy Home that's expanding into bedding, bath accessories, stationary, dinnerware and table linens at accessible prices; and he continues to sell his wares to high-end boutiques around the world. Jonathan's “happy, handcrafted, and luxe” designs for the home have become a part of American pop-culture, appearing on the sets of the “Today Show,” “Sex and the City,” “Will & Grace,” and “The Apprentice.” In November 2005, Jonathan launched his first book My Prescription for Anti-Depressive Living, which combines his wittiness and enthusiasm for creating happy homes everywhere with serious design.

Oh BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Not that I'm jealous or anything.

Oh Johnny-I knew ye when you used to tape your designs off on your pots with masking tape. When those who didn't understand, mocked you for your precision. "Is Adler making that striped bottle AGAIN?" They would ask. But these were the same people who held me in such disregard for my own sense of commercialism. I still remember walking into the retail space of the studio to see a class of beginners gathered around a pitcher I had made while the instructor used it as an example of how NOT to attach a handle.

I can remember working right beside him at a round canvas table. But I can't remember looking or commenting on his work, and I can't remember him looking or commenting on mine. Which may be why we both went on to leave the studio; both of us were very focused early on.

For the first few years-before he made it REALLY BIG--because he is REALLY REALLY FREEKING BIG-- not that, again, I am jealous or anything, I would see him at the NY Gift Show and I would say "Can you and Simon have dinner with us one night?" And he would always say "yes." But we never did. We never deeply connected and our paths diverged greatly even though we both began in NY in the same place, shared many similar experiences, and were often the only ones left working long after the studio closed.

When you look in the dictionary under ceramic designer-it is Jonathan's picture you'll find, wearing something natty and holding something that transcends simple pottery.

I had one shot at TV; a show on one of the cable networks was doing a Crafters Challenge and I went all stoked to the audition. They put a pipe cleaner in front of me and an egg timer and told me to design a piece of jewelry and I froze. Just froze. Ultimately I think I connected both ends of the pipecleaner and called it a choker. I could have hung myself with it-they were not impressed. Hours later, I came up with seventeen different brilliant ideas for pipecleaner jewelry which haunt my dreams to this day. I could not take the pressure.

So hats off to you Johnny Boy. I hope you think of me when you stroll past a little mom and pop in LA (if you ever do veer off of Rodeo) and see an Instant Human Just Add Coffee Mug. I am happy making stuff that ends up in someone's kitchen sink. Call me on your way to the Hamptons this summer and let's have dinner, eh?

Vomit

I had six boxes carefully packed and ready to ship sitting on the floor of my spacious 10 sq ft office when Lenny jumped up from his carpeted cat perch and upchucked the equivalent of 5 cans of fancy feast (tuna & shrimp) all over the place.

So here's the thing: cardboard? Not the ideal surface for the cat to puke on. For one thing, it gets super soggy if you attempt to clean it with liquids. For another, it kind of soaks the smell in--like a big brown sponge--so that even if the vomit only hit the corner of a box, the whole 16 inches of it will start to smell as well as whatever is inside of it.

It's kind of like that Cat in the Hat book when he comes back and the snow goes pink, and the more they try to clean it up the more it spreads. The tiny spot in the bathtub, on mother's dress, becomes a whole back yard of pink snow. That was me and the cat vomit.

It even managed to find its way deep inside one of my boots that I had taken off in a Mr. Rogers kind of mood today--thinking they would be safe while I walked around in my sneaks. Now one of my boots smells like the Fulton Street Fish Market. Strangely enough, I think the other one does too.

And here's another thing: I kind of felt that this was oddly karmactic anyway. Not that anyone spiritually deserves to have a cat wretch, gag and projectile vomit all over every square inch of their personal space. But this has been the kind of week where lots of cathartic upchucking has been happening in my realm--even writing this, I have a hard time with the bitter taste that remains in my own mouth.

And so begins the process of cleaning up the stink. To do it properly, I will need to empty the room of practically everything and then scour it multiple times -going back over and over again areas where something lingers. Everything that was packed and planned will need to be unpacked and repacked.

When we first had children, Kip and I divided bodily fluids. He is the poop and vomit guy--I am the go to girl for pee and blood. I should have negotiated a better deal.

yes this website is broken

In response to the many emails I have received; yes--this website is truly broken. I have tried doing what the children do, and begged Kip to just fix it-FIX IT DADDY PLEASE DADDY DADDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEE-but it seems way beyond repair-damn you, paypal gateway.

We will have a completely brand spanking new website in about two weeks. The elves are hard at work on it in Chekoslovakia. Which is where websites come from, dontcha know.

With spell czech.

One compelling monologue

Here is a link to a fabulous monologue by Craig Ferguson. It's a bit long, but very heartfelt and compelling-worth your time on you tube. So grab a sandwich and listen up:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bbaRyDLMvA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Flinkateria%2Eblogspot%2Ecom%2F

Stick a Fork in Me

My cousin Deb has arrived from Detroit with her two boys aged 2 and 6 and her husband Jim. My cousin-who immediately following a six hour journey complete with missing luggage and various other obstacles says "let's go to the Empire State Building!!" And when I look at her all slanty eyed thinking ARE YOU CRAZY she says "we are get up and go people."

So today we were all GET UP AND GO PEOPLE and we started out by hitting the American Museum of Natural History. We began in the butterfly conservatory--well, actually, first I had to spend 15 minutes convincing Annie and Jesse to enter the butterfly conservatory: THEY'RE GOING TO LAND ON ME MOMMY-DON'T LET THEM LAND ON ME!! Demonstrating butterfly kiss after butterfly kiss-never mind the Maybelline Great Lash mascara. I was rewarded by the look on Jesse's face as a monarch perched on his index finger; pure wonder and amazement. Annie chose to see each winged creature as an opportunity to make a wish: I WISH THE WHOLE WORLD WAS FULL OF LEOPARDS.

All the better to make coats with my darling.

Then off to the dinosaurs, the Native American indian exhibition Jesse insisted on seeing ( I think because there are ample opportunities to snicker and say -NAKED BUTT) lunch at a crowded cafe, more dinosuars, amphibeans, an attempt to get into the GOLD exhibition, some lame movie narrated by Meryl Streep and, of course, THE GIFT SHOP.

Following THE GIFT SHOP we chose the next obvious stop: TOYS R US. which, if nothing else, is a great place to visit if your child is constipated-which Annie often is.

Annie and Jesse both claimed that they were about to throw up in the cab ride there--so we got out in the rain and limped to the Toys R Us.

The boys hung by the lego, Annie and I headed for Barbie, Disney Princesses, and Polly Pocket-but not Bratz, because they "don't look like nice girls." And later in the bathroom (which, like I said, was inevitable) she said to me: "Mommy- I am not going to get a toy for myself. I am going to get a toy for you because you never get toys."

MY SWEET SELFLESS GIRL.

"And I am going to get you an Ariel purse Mommy because I know it is what you really really really want and also that if you did not want to use it sometimes you would let ME use it-right Mommy?"

We left my cousin and her brood soon after-intent on exploring Times Square and perhaps jetting over to 30 Rock. Tomorrow we will hit Chelsea Piers, Canal Street, and perhaps some sort of boat ride around Manhattan. I'm hoping at some point Annie will let me borrow back the Ariel purse.

Tooth or Consequences

Part of being a MOM is dealing with a vast reportoire of gross bodily emissions--which I will not list here because starting out a paragraph with the word vomit never bodes well. However; there is one physical phenomenon that causes my blood to run cold, my innards to freeze up, and a sensation not unlike the itsy bitsy spider running up my back.

The loose, wiggly tooth.

Jesse has had two now; LOOK MOM! LOOK! WATCH ME WIGGLE IT! YOU'RE NOT LOOKING MOM! I CAN ALMOST TURN IT COMPLETELY AROUND WITH MY TONGUE! LOOK-I CAN MAKE IT WAVE TO YOU! MOM-WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY?

I shudder at the thought-grow faint while being forced to watch him place his grubby finger in his mouth and show the flexibility of his tiny tooth. Flash back to first grade: to a metallic taste in my mouth, an odd crunching sound when I realize that my own tooth has become wrapped in wonderbread and O MY GAWD IF I SWALLOW MY TOOTH HOW GROSS WILL THAT BE. Because everyone knows that chewing gum stays in your stomache for seven years--so swallowing a tooth would be really, really bad-not to mention getting stiffed by The Fairy. And though the memory is hazy and much has been supressed, I do believe at some point in my life string and pulling became involved--but I could be remembering an old episode of The Waltons in which Jim Bob gets a clever idea about barn door dentistry.

Kip was away on a business trip when Jesse lost his first one. Jesse announced that his lower front tooth was now turned completely sideways and ISN'T THIS COOL MOM? LOOK AT THIS MOM! OH MOM-THIS KIND OF HURTS MOM-A LITTLE HELP HERE, MOM....MOM? So I opened the fridge, pulled out a bag of red delicious apples, and had him bite into apple after apple until finally his teeny tooth remained embedded in the apple core. And then we jumped hysterically around the kitchen for ten minutes--Jesse triumphant at this first rite of passage--me giddy with relief that the damn thing was out. Then Annie came in the kitchen HOW COME I DON'T GET TO LOSE ANY TOOTH MOM? HOW COME ONLY JESSE GETS TO LOSE A TOOTH? I WANNA LOSE MY TOOTH RIGHT NOW! WAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA.

After Jesse has looked at the tiny tooth 10,000 times I put it in an envelope--which he makes me open at least 3 more times so he can look at it again, between trips to the bathroom mirror where he stares at the hole in his mouth and begins to figure out ways of making his tongue do tricks within the gap. My big boy. Wasn't it yesterday Kip and I were anxiously scanning his gumline for this same tooth to make its first appearance--because it had to be teething that was causing all that crying and fussing--it couldn't be Jesse's personality--no way--just the pain of those damn teeth coming in, right honey? RIGHT? PLEASE STOP CRYING! O MY GOD I HATE TEETHING!

The Tooth Fairy brings a gold dollar coin--the one with the woman Indian that never caught on with society. Jesse is impressed until he goes to school the next day and learns that the going rate for first teeth is $10.00. Plus, he realizes the mythology of the Tooth Fairy is not as well thought out as that of Santa- and where is the merchandise? The DVD, the doll? And he was a little freaked at the idea of a buzzing creature coming to him in the middle of the night--he actually requests that Santa leaves his stocking in the hallway at Christmas.

It is a hard moment when you take the envelope you have gently removed from underneath the pillow of your sleeping child and realize you have to do something with it. I know many people who save these baby teeth like precious gems. I am not one of those people--apartment dwellers seldom have room to store body parts that aren't essential. I threw it away.

The next morning, Jesse announced that yet another tooth was loose.

Random Thoughts: The Naked Brothers Band

For those of you not lucky enough to have a five year old in the house who demands the television be kept on Nick Jr, THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is a show about a rock band fronted by 9 year old Nat Wolfe. His six year old brother Alex is the drummer and looks like one of the guys in a Van Halen video from the 80s. There are other kids who round out the band; one is fat, one is a minority, and one has glasses. Oh and there is A GIRL- Rosalinda--who is the 13 year old Bratz look-alike who plays bass and is Nat's love interest. They've set the show up to reflect a kind of Sam Malone-Diane Chambers sexual chemistry between Nat and Rosalinda which is disturbing on many levels. Shame on Nat's father-who plays--you guessed it--the goofy father--- for executive producing a show that should celebrate his son's amazing musical and vocal talents but instead tries to exploit his 9 year old hotness. Because if I were between the ages of 7 and 13 I would be writing Mrs. Nat Wolfe on my notebook right this second. 6 year old Alex was asked in an interview what he liked best about being in the band. His answer: "The chicks."

Jesse is obsessed with this show. He chooses his clothing based on weather he feels Nat would wear it; meaning he has been wearing a camouflage shirt with camouflage pants lately (much to Kip's embarrassment, who worries other parents will consider our child pro-Bush, pro-military spawn. So he loudly proclaims when we are in public "I DID NOT DRESS MY CHILD TODAY! I HAD NO SAY IN WHAT MY CHILD IS WEARING!) Alex "rocks the tattoos" and so Jesse used sharpie marker to draw a six inch rocket on the inside of his right forearm. We expect it will wear off by the time he is old enough to sneak into a real tattoo parlor and get Tweety Bird on his shoulder.

Jesse has decided he wants to be in his own rock band (for the chicks, of course.) He has begun lobbying heavily for an electric guitar, a drum set, and keeps trying to make his dad and I agree to become roadies. He is convinced if we would just get him the instruments he needs and if we could make his little sister get the heck out of his room, he could be famous.

As any good mother would do, I put my dream crushing combat boots on and tried to discuss the reality of fronting a rock band. "Becoming famous is hard. Look at Dan" I told Jesse: "He's been in a band for many, many years but he is still working for MUD and allowing me to find fault with his facial hair on a daily basis. Rocket Scientists get a lot of chicks. And you won't have to change the tattoo."

THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is on Teen Nick Saturday nights. You can download the single "Crazy Car" on itunes right now.

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

It has been more than a year since I added to this blog--it will not surprise me if no one notices that I am back at work on it. The inspiration? An amazing blog at www.dooce.com Sort of like a day at the art museum that finds you later splattering paint chanting "Hey, I can do that..." PLUS: I located the file which I had cleverly labeled "HOW TO." In it-how to add a number to my cell phone, send an attachment, sell something on eBay, call for a messenger etc...all things I can't do unless I have written it all out-step by simple step. When Kip goes away he has to leave piles of papers; how to work the television, how to work the stove, how to play a dvd for the kids. He learned to leave these instructions after the last trip when he returned to find I had mutilated the answering machine with a steak knife. Stabbed it brutally at least eleven times, then choked it. Technology makes me tap into my inner rage for some reason.

So-anyway-I have decided to blog again. We'll be changing this website soon and I don't think keeping my musings front and center are at the top of the priority list for revamping-so perhaps my words will disappear into cyberspace in the near future. In the meantime, stalkers and haters be damned, I will continue to share pictures of my children and my rambling thoughts.

TILES FOR AMERICA

Yesterday was spent refurbishing the memorial on 7th Avenue and 11th Street. Thanks to the help and participation of many studios across the USA, we were able to once again have all the victim's names of the September 11th tragedy represented on the fence. You can read about Tiles For America at www.tilesforamerica.com

Here is a link to some of the tiles from studios who participated in the refurbishment. These studios crafted memorial tiles in addition to the tiles shown here that honor their individual states or studios.
http://ournameismud.com/tiles4america/studio/index.html

Thanks again to everyone who helped work on this project--big shout out to BETH at All Fired Up in Englewood who was instrumental in making it happen this year.

a poem about a pot

Wind with words the line and form
and round the rhythm with a phrase,
curve the lip to syllables of sound:
deep from damp earth's dungeons
Dig your clay
spin it
and from the magic spirals let it rise,
a springing, slender line, sensitive, ageless.
Fire it, hold it petrified in stone
safe beyond time.

Goodbye Kelly, Hello Victoria

Sadly, we must bid adieu soon to Kelly Clark our amazing PR/Marketing head. Kelly has done a fabulous job in getting our stuff in ink--we jump up and clap our hands together and applaud her efforts!! Kelly leaves us to return to teaching. (Which is, of course, just flat out CRAZY, but who are we to judge?) So anyway, this CRAZY chick who is leaving PR to go to teaching is also an incredibly talented photographer. Perhaps she will Email me a link to her website so I can post it here. Anyhow, we will miss her very much but know we'll see her at shows and that we'll stay in touch- because in the end, you know you can take the girl out of the MUD but....

Taking Kelly's place will be Victoria Compton who is also an amazing fine artist and a Drew University Alumni like myself. We are very happy that she's joined our company and have been struggling to write a press sentence about just how happy we are for the last week or so. Over the moon. Jumping for joy. Like a pig in...well, anyhow we are really glad she has chosen to work for us and we look forward to getting to know her better. Kelly leaves big shoes to fill. My feeling is that Victoria may choose to kick the ball out of the park barefoot.

If anyone is reading this who owns, like, a National Magazine or say a television show, please Email Victoria at Victoria@ournameismud.com Or just say howdy and welcome. We're all family here.

COME SEE ME AT THE GIFT SHOW!

Come see me at the New York Gift Show Monday from 2-4. Watch me stand front and center in the booth, popping altoids and attempting to look like I am not socially awkward. Listen as Jill reads every single new Guardian angel out loud to prospective buyers. I have free "Guardian Angels of Giftware" to give away to anyone who wants to come say "hi." Tell me about the ashtray you made in High School. Suggest a mug that says something about PMS. I live for this stuff, people. Be there or be square.

This Blog is Clogged

Between abscessed teeth and weekend schleps, I have slacked on the blogging. Here now, in an effort to begin to make amends, are some random free floating thoughts, in no particular order:

Israel etc: Why can't we all just play nicely? And wouldn't it be cool if it was spelled Isreal? Many people think I am Jewish, but I am not. Nor am I waspy in a JCrew catalog kind of way. I'm just a pear shaped anglo.

Latest download for my Ipod: Mary J Blige's rendition of U2's "ONE." It's good, in a sweaty, spiritual kind of way.

Dave and Carmen: I don't understand the facial hair. Or the fingerless gloves on a man. Guess I am a square. A square fan of SuperNova.

Jesse: has seen "Superman Returns" 3 times despite the fact that it is rated PG, but I still won't let him watch Power Rangers. Does this make me a hypocrite?

Annie: Needs to stop holding her pee for 5-6 hours at a time. What's that about?

The Weather: sweat happens.

Losing Weight: Why can't they make a calorie free glass of wine? For Gosh sakes, it's grapes we're talking here--if they can do it for a cola bean then why can't I have zero calorie Chardonnay?

Lenny: I share a turkey sandwich with him many a lunch hour. Last week he threw up all over my keyboard. Now some keys stick and the whole thing smells like the F train.

The F Train: I know because I used to ride it.

My Wisdom Tooth: Coming out Friday at 10:30. Since I have been mainlining codeine every two hours, I'm hoping for better drugs.

Designing Fall 2007: Something tells me that everything I think is really funny this week, may not actually be so once the drugs do wear off.

Final thoughts: I still miss my black sweater.

Work with me people. Post your random thoughts below; except keep the ones about making money at home to yourself thankyaverrymuch.

Codeine

Thank God for Codeine. That's all I have to say. Wait, that and ........um, I forget. Oh yeah, I'm glad that codeine exists and........ummmm.....yeah. That's it.

Voila! C'est Tristan

C'est Tristan, un garcon francais qui est vie avec nous. Il parle anglais, je ne pas parle francais, oui? Mon enfants il sont adore. Il est tres manifique.

The Devil does not wear Prada

Almost every single day, for the past five years, I have worn the same black sweater. (I originally purchased two of them, but one became lost in 2002.) There is nothing special about my black sweater; it is an acrylic cardigan with five black buttons in front. Friends and family have gifted me with upgrades throughout the years--various versions of cashmere or wool, but they remain folded and unworn. For approximately 1,725 days, it has been the first thing I have put on in the morning-often over my pajamas.

I love my sweater. Newly washed, and warm from the dryer it has brought me great comfort. I have defined my self within its embrace-it has been amongst other things, armor, uniform, shroud, and bandage. I am like that sweater now: comfortable and well worn, with spots of paint that won't wash out.

When the first few holes began to appear along the seams, I made plans to repair them. It was only later that I realized that the sweater itself had begun to disintegrate from years of daily wear and washing. It is futile to try to mend fabric when you cannot bring two edges together; when the reason for the hole is a vanishing of substance. My sweater is disappearing.

This morning I decided I would put it aside. At least for a week. I would explore life without its secure coverage--I would venture from the blackness--I would try a different fabric against my skin.

My arms feel exposed and vulnerable. I am aware of my own hugeness in space. I am too hot. I am too cold. (I begin to wonder where the missing sweater is from 2001--perhaps I actually could find it, and be set for another five years.) I think about how all well loved items made of cloth and fiber suffer the same fate: Jesse's blanket worn smooth as silk in places, stuffed animals missing ears and eyes. At some point we must all set aside the things that give us comfort. It's a necessary journey. If you cannot pack a sweater, bring a raincoat.

Aunt Lynn

What is more important: how you say goodbye to someone in their final hours, or how you have loved them all your lives?

My last visit, only two weeks ago, was rushed and inconsequential. Jesse refused to come into the house until my Aunt removed the oxygen tube from her nose. Annie clung to me and refused to give even a smile. We spoke of nothing important. I said a quick goodbye, lips brushing her parchment cheek.

Goodbyes are so hard, but necessary before any meaningful journey. And at this juncture, it is two, not one, who must travel a new road. Aunt Lynn will go to the place where creative souls who lead good lives go, and I will see her there one day. And I will begin a journey of my own, which is the path that leads away from her.

If tomorrow morning the sky falls,
I will have clouds for breakfast.
If my heart catches in my throat at the word "goodbye"
I will ask a bird how she sings.
If I am afraid of the dark
I will remember the night rainbow.

Happy Beerthday Scottie

The picture will have to wait until Dan returns to make me an url.

Happy Birthday Scott!

Scott adds the necessary testosterone into the studio mix that helps prevent us from destroying ourselves with monthly free floating rage. He is a good guy. An extremely likeable guy. The kind of guy you could definately take home to your mother- but you know that if you did, your dad and he would end up watching football together all night on the couch. That kind of guy. A guy who is generous with his smiles.

My children love him, and he, in turn, has painted them pyramids and expressed admiration for their superhero antics. He is probably a great brother, an amazing friend.

He is interesting because he is always interested.

He puts his head down and does his work. I admire his tenacity, his optimism, his willingness to try new things. I think we are lucky that he found us.

So Happy Birthday Scottie--and choose your cake, for the one from Dan's birthday last week (sadly unblogged) is about gone and Lord knows we need chocolate daily.

Hey, Superman

This story begins last week, at a cottage by the lake where we spent seven days sans cell phone, computer, and television in the company of children. At twilight one evening, more desirous of finishing a second chilled glass of Chablis than of playing one more round of soccer or hide and seek, I pointed out a gnarled tree to 5 year old Jesse and deemed it, (as mothers are wont to do after the first glass,) a "Magic Tree."

"If you collect 100 acorns and lay them at the base of the tree, it will grant your wish." I tell him, settling into the wooden swing, relaxing as he ran across the yard squirrel-like and began to make his pile.

Much later, I leaned in closely behind him to hear him whisper his desire into the textured bark. I expected to hear him ask for a toy or game, to express his yearning for an object or item that could be easily purchased, or sought after and obtained on eBay.

"I wish I could fly." His back turned towards me, lips pressed into the tree, his shoulders hunched in concentration, he wished and wished and wished.

"Doesn't happen right away," the wine told him, "Tree magic is very slow magic. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, why don't you fly on upstairs put yourself in pjs, and put yourself to bed?" A bold wish on my part, unsubstantiated by acorns, and met with as much immediate success as his own.

I thought the wish was forgotten-blown out to sea by days spent swimming in the lake or riding bikes. Before bed we spoke of picking strawberries and making swords from driftwood; there was no mention of flight other than to remark upon the birds that sang a morning greeting.

Then last night, our first full night back in New York, Jesse had a long conversation with Kip about rocket boots and jet backpacks. Anxious to get to all that TiVo had captured in our absence, Kip did nothing to dispel the talk of engines and boosters. Jesse fell asleep believing that his father would make all that was necessary for him to fly in the morning; that from duct tape and cardboard boxes his father could make flight a reality.

The first thing Jesse did upon awakening was call me into his room and begin to discuss his plans for flight. It could have been Christmas morning for all the enthusiasm he brought to his description of what would be built that day, and all the flying he would do. I nodded, sipped my tea, noted the sheen on my boy's upper lip, the wide pupils full of excitement, the anticipation visible in every limb. I left him sitting on his bed, talking excitedly about what the day held for him, and went to my husband to tell him this was entirely his fault and ask him what he planned to do about it.

Kip went in and tried to explain that he could not make a flying suit from materials readily available at Home Depot. And then the crying began.

I went in and tried to explain that rockets were fire-based, and that rocket fuel was dangerous, and you had to be at least 14 to fly, and that there were rules about this sort of thing. His mouth open, face wet, Jesse looks at me and says "yes, but I made that wish on the Magic Tree and YOU said it would come true. Were you just pretending? Were you? Were you?" I was ashamed at the look of utter betrayal that crossed his face as he said this, and in an instant knew the days of seeing fairies in the corner of the woods would soon be ending. I want my child to believe in magic forever. But in the end, magic can disappoint. Mommies can disappoint. And the crying continued.

Annie comes to the door and asks "What's wrong wif my bwother? Why you crying Jesse?" and she reaches out a tiny hand to comfort him, which he kicks away in anger and rolls over to face the wall. " I want to f-f-f-f-fly...." He keeps wailing. Annie finds this ridiculous. Just yesterday she wanted to be a guinea pig-but she got over it.

We try other tactics. We leave him to himself and tell him to come out of his room when he gets a hold of himself. He cries another 20 minutes. I tell him to be grateful for the fact that he can walk-tell him there are children who can't run, can't swim, can't skip. He thinks about this for all of three minutes before returning to his sobbing. He wants a hug but he does not want a hug, he is hungry but he does not want breakfast, he tells me his heart has broken and he will never draw another picture for me.

Kip leaves, because this morning he will be bringing Chirpie to the vet to put down. She has begun to pee everywhere, most notably on the children's beds, and at roughly 140 human years, it is time for her to go gently into that good night.

Last night we discussed what to tell the children. I suggest we invent the most perfect farm. "We'll leave a note for the kids" I tell Kip, "From Chirpie's mother. It will say that she came to pick her up, and that they are going to live on a farm and eat tuna out of the can every day." Kip suggests telling the children the truth. I look at him like he is crazy.

I realized as I bought my morning tea, 38 minutes late for work, having left Jesse still sobbing at the elevator door; (" I will NOT have a good day.") that I need to let the shadows touch my children. That they need to know that trees do not grant wishes, that 5 year old boys can't fly, that Daddies can't fix everything, that Mommies make up stories, that sometimes the things we love and think will be around forever must die. I know in my heart that to provide them with the strength and armor they will need in life that I must show them truths in all their messiness. But I wish it weren't so. And so I continue to gather acorns.

This blog is for YOU

I won't be blogging for a week, so I've loaded on a bunch of pictures of our new Fall products in an effort to tide you over. But you may also write your own version of this blog in the comments section. I know when I return that Spamela will have written her usual comment about making money at home, but I am hoping that some of the rest of you will share your wit and wisdom with the rest of the world. Have a great week!

I am Woman...

In the winter, I have snow balls.

WMWJH?

What mug would Jesus have?

I Hate To Cook

Frankly, I'm so lazy that Kip places all the orders.

New Travel Mug

I am not the clutterbug-Kip is

Perfect mug for Kip

This is what the kids think his REAL name is.

More Fall

Happy Father's Day, Dad

As a child, had I heard "My father can kick your father's butt" on the playground, perhaps I would have replied with; "Yeah, but my father can build a bird house or paint a six foot high canvas, or build a clay bank around a blown up balloon!" Because my father could certainly do all that and more. He could build things, grow things, paint things, imagine things. And yet, he was also a businessman. His hair never grew beyond his collar, I never saw him wear a pair of sandals, and although interested in athletics, he probably wouldn't have been caught dead in a yoga class. So one of the best gifts he gave me was the shattering of the "artistic" stereotype. In watching my father be a tie wearing commuter, a planter,a successful businessman, a sculptor, a painter, a leader, I formed the belief that those abilities lay within all of us, including me.

My father taught me that creativity is a verb. It's not something you possess or try to own--it is an action, a movement, a decision to make something new appear in the world.

My father taught me that work of any kind is joyful. That life is about the business of doing. That anything worth doing is certainly worth doing well. That when you do something, you gain satisfaction in the knowledge that you did your best: and that other people's opinions about what you did-good or bad- don't matter at all. That esteem lies in the amount of effort put forth.

To this day, my father is sometimes frustrated by my penchant for hyperbole. He is exasperated by my tendency to revise history, to lean towards the dramatic, to write my present story with a slant and to bend and weave facts in a manner that pleases me. Things that I do, this blog included, will puzzle him. He will wonder why I felt a need to publicly share all of the above.

At which point, he may likely blame my mother and her side of the family.

Nevertheless, Dad, I am proud to be your daughter. Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day Dee-Dad

Ten Things I Learned From Dee-Dad

1. Remember in grammar school when you were studying American History, and learning about The Constitution, and your teacher told you that it could be important to know about later in life, and you were like; "yeah, right-about as useful as Algebra, snort." Dee-Dad proves she was correct. Sorry, Mrs. Applebee.

2. Lawyers can be good people. Frustrated actors can be great lawyers. Both can be amazing Father-in-Laws.

3. Every day should start with a latte and a donut for the people you care about. They are like kisses for the tummy.

4. Drive a "no top" car. Blast musicals on the car radio as you make your way down life's highway. Sing loudly. Understand "pitch" as it relates to life outside of baseball.

5. Golf; more than a game, it's a way of life. But make sure to get your better half expensive jewelry whenever you can, just to keep your hobby in perspective.

6. There is a place children can get sent to called "Chair School." You don't want to get sent there by Dee-Dad, and you also never want to visit Door School.

7. Refrain from saying "I don't like." If you need to be frank with Dee-Dad, try to use statements such as "This sucks..." or "I can't stand..." Extra points if you say "I abhor..."

8. It takes a real man to kick prostate cancer right in the ass.

9. It doesn't matter if you are 4 or 40; hearing a father say they are proud of you still makes you feel like you are king of the world and can accomplish anything.

10. You can bring equal passion to the things you do in life- your family, your work, your enjoyment of red wine and golf, your stance on ethics, your enjoyment of traveling to osh gosh county and speaking to people, your ability to read the Times cover to cover, the pleasure of a choir in full song. At the end of the day, it is the love you have put into the moments we are together that matters-and Dee-Dad fills them to the brim, our cups always overfloweth when we are with him. Happy Fathers Day!

Shimmerplanet Pride

Carolyn sent the following and I will update as she sends more info. We are very proud that our girl's band is going to be part of the Gay Pride Weekend:

WE ARE PERFORMING THIS SUNDAY JUNE 18TH AT THE GAY PRIDE RALLY IN BRYANT PARK….OUTSIDE!!!! SUN AND FUN!!!!



EVENT IS FROM 2-6 BUT I WILL LET YOU KNOW OUR SLOT SOOOON



COME JOIN US AND BE GAY AND PROUD…AT LEAST FOR ONE DAY!!!!





SHIMMERPLANET LOVES YOU!!!!



SOREN AND CAROLYN

For Kip 6/15/06 Happy Anniversary

On June 15, 1996-ten years ago- I walked down the aisle to "Going to the Chapel," and made Kip Veasey my husband. We walked out to "I Got You Babe." The reception was held in my parent's backyard, decorated with balloons, with a wooden dance floor laid out in front of the gazebo my father had built. It was a hundred degrees, but we square danced the afternoon away. It was a sweaty, deliriously happy, beautiful day --it was the days of wine and daisies.

I was introduced to Kip by my best friend from high school, who had met Kip's friend from high school during a layover in an airport somewhere while both were traveling to different exotic destinations. The two friends shared a cocktail in an airport lounge and told each other if they each happened at any point to be in New York, that they would connect for dinner. When that actually occurred, each felt the need to bring along a friend.

I recognized Kip from the moment I saw him, as the man I had been dreaming about since I was a little girl. I handed him the keys to my apartment three days later. I abandoned all pretenses at game playing and coyness- and I threw myself bravely into love, confident that he would catch me. I did not need him to take care of me. I did not need him to fulfill me. But he did both those things for me anyway.

He proposed on a rainy New Year's eve. He rushed me out of the house, not saying where we were going, and I whined and cursed at him for not giving me enough time to get my mascara on, or fix my hair just so. We took at cab to the Museum, where we found we had arrived too late, and the Temple of Dendor was closed. So he pulled me in the rain up the grassy embankment outside the windows to that mystical place, while my high heels (which were velvet) sunk inches into the muddy ground. And because it was drizzling, I couldn't tell what was sweat, and what was tears ,and what was rain-but it was a wet proposal. And then he turned white as a sheet.

Kip lay for hours on the couch after throwing up-our dinner plans abandoned-while I called every family member, every friend, to squeal "Guess what? I'm ENGAGED!"

Ten years have passed in a blur. Some memories are stronger than others; there is Kip, staying up with me all night to unload pots from a kiln, to build a store, to change a window. There is Kip ever patient with me, as I learn to negotiate social situations that prior to marrying him I would avoid. (Like shaking hands with government officials. Not my thing-but I did it.) There is his face the day we found out we were pregnant with Jesse: sheer disbelief and fright, mixed with wonder. There is Kip at 2 a.m. bringing me a bottle while the baby is screaming and I am yelling at him even louder; "Just bring me a damn bottle!" There is Kip crying with me in relief and joy to find out we would have a healthy little girl. And in every memory I am reminded of his basic goodness, his kindness and strength, his capacity for love and his ability to give. He is such a good, good man.

Happy Anniversary to my best friend, my partner in all I do, my soul mate. XO

I'm always Hungarian

Happy Birthday Monika! 25 today. Even though it's been five years, I still remember what that felt like....

In honor of your birthday, here is a Hungarian Blessing:

May you live long and happily and with your fellow
May your toenails never turn a shade of yellow
May you continue to recognize familar faces
and not have hair start to grow in odd places
May you wake in the morn without aches and pain
May you continue to drink and never weight gain
May you treasure the days that make up the years
Happy Birthday Monika, and from all of us- cheers!

Survey Says...

My little sister sent me this survey-said I would not fill it in and send it back. So of course I will post it here. Just to show her she is WRONG. (Nah nah nah nah nah, by the way.)

1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:44 am

2. Diamonds or Pearls? Cheap mexican silver. I'm a sucker for a sidewalk table with rings for $5.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Over the Hedge. I'm hoping the racoon gets a nomination.

4. What is your favorite TV show? Sopranos, Greys Anatomy, Survivor, Desperate Housewives, Deadwood, Entourage. God, I obviously need to get a life.

5. What did you have for breakfast this morning? Oatmeal. Instant. 2 packets of Splenda. I always start the day optimistic about losing weight.

6. What is your middle name? Carol. Oddly enough, named after my Grandfather. Poor guy.

7. What is your favorite cuisine? Diner Food. I like either the breakfast version or the burger deluxe-depends on what time it is and how much I've had to drink.


8. What foods do you dislike? Seafood. Except tuna-especially with miracle whip, pineapples, walnuts and a dab o relish--- anything I can do to make it not taste like tuna.


10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? I am subjecting everyone at the studio to the entire contents of my ipod at the moment. Trying to skip the odd show tune.

11.What kind of car do you drive? I don't know how to drive. Last car I actually did get behind the wheel of had large rubber bumpers and an electrical wire attached to the ceiling.

12. Favorite sandwich? PBJ. With extra crunchy peanut butter. Much better than oatmeal.


13. What characteristics do you despise? Sloth, laziness, mean spiritedness, self absorbed behavior. I admire: people who take responsibility for their actions, honesty. I am puzzled by; people who are intimidated by me.

14. What are your favorite clothes? Jeans, white t shirt from J Crew, black cardigan. Have been wearing it every single day since 2001. Wonder if anybody has noticed yet.


15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? Someplace with the kids like Disneyland or Atlantis. Um, I meant that romantic hide away with Kip. Uh, yeah that's it.


16. What color is your bathroom? Blue.

17. Where would you want to retire? Anywhere there is grass and trees; where trick or treaters ring doorbells at Halloween.

18. Favorite time of day? Dinner time, especially if Kip cooked.

19. Where were you born? Chicago

20. Favorite sport to watch? Physical challenges on SURVIVOR

24. Coke or Pepsi? Cup of tea. Many cups of tea.

25. Are you a morning person or night owl? I hit my stride midday

26. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone? See the article about MUD in this month's CRAFTS REPORT magazine. I need my teeth whitened. New MUD catalog coming out end of this month.


27. What did you want to be when you were little? paid attention to.


28. What is your best childhood memory? Jumping in leaf piles, playing games of kick ball in the cul de sac, sneaking a kitten into my room and keeping it a secret from my parents for a whole 2 hours before the dog ratted me out. (They let me keep it.)

29. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Paper boy at age ten, babysitter at 12. Started to work for real at 14. I sold tuxedos for many years (cheap prom date). Worked in a chinese restaurant as a dishwasher through college. Waitress, off broadway production assistant, kindergarten teacher. Geisha one night only. Entrepreneur which means now I am chief cook and bottle washer

30. Nicknames: Mama, Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy, Ma

Vamanos Yolanda?

So the time has come for the lovely Yolanda to leave the House of Mud. The Witness Protection Plan likes to keep its people moving...wait..was I supposed to write that Yolanda? Anyhow, she has plans to travel the world, see amazing sights, meet new people, and collect all the quarters from each new state. It goes without saying that she will be deeply missed by all. Back when she started with us, Jesse was still popping up in the office next door to home, dressed as Peter Pan (except missing the pants). She has handled key accounts and most certainly held the key to all our hearts (even JN's; although in addition to a key you need a 15 digit security code and a cornea scan.)

We hope that Yolanda enjoys her journey and we wish her much luck on the roads ahead. We hope she leaves with a minimal amount of baggage, and that all her troubles can be packed up in an old kit bag. We hope the road rises to meet her, the wind is always at her back, and that eventually she'll circle round and visit often. In the meantime, we want to add some mementos to your metaphorical suitcases. Here is what your fellow co workers would like you to leave MUD with:

CAROLYN: Plenty of snacks and anti bacterial soap…. (Because at the end of the day, it really is all about something salty,and something sweet, and having clean hands.)

BECKY:A lifetime supply of Apple Cinnamon Soy Crisps and an ipod that won’t die. (because again, GAWD FORBID you find yourself with nothing to munch on.)

JZ: I wanna pack a rotiserrie chicken('cause the girl loves her bird) and a 10 cent coupon to dallas bbq to help ease the cost of the plane trip. Also some rubber bands so she can fling them at the guy in front of her on the plane and think of me.......possibly some fake bologne and a green sweatshirt similar to the one she wears out on a daily basis. MMMMMMM, some sparkling water, chocolate marshmallows, canned soup, weird food items wrapped in foil......... (Just as an aside, we asked for A SENTENCE OR TWO. JZ rewrote his response while waiting for his lunch, obviously)

CANDACE: The movie “Fried Green Tomatoes” (because her real name is Towanda)…and one of those beer drinking hats (because she loves the juice and sports).- (Just as a note here, Candace skipped this part of the assignment and went straight to sappy love you-miss you-you are my friend kind of stuff. Then she sobered up before lunch and sent this in)

UMA: All she needs to pack are a flask and a compass. I can’t believe I won’t have anyone to attack me with rubber bands and coo at penguins anymore!! Meeooow *sniffle
(glug, glug. Obviously hanging out with Candace now.)

KIP:Labels and routing guides- (I have no idea what these are, but strangely I agree)

JILL: This reminds me of the “I’m going on a picnic game”. Mom would resort to it for us in the car a lot to keep us kids from killing each other in the back, (before Dad had to yell “don’t make me stop this car!”). The first person to go had to pick something for the picnic basket that started with the letter “A” and say it out loud. “I’m going on a picnic and I’m bringing Apples” - then the next person had to pick something starting with “B” and say the whole sentence again but with the “A” thing too, and then say their “B” thing. The next person had to pick from “C” and say all three… memorizing the A and the B thing…as you get on into the alphabet, it gets harder and harder and funny to try to remember the list. It’s fun. Sooooo, I’m packing Yolanda’s bag and I’m putting in an Alka Seltzer (in case she get indigestion)
(Again, the instructions were 1-2 sentences. We are amazed at Jill's restraint.)

JOHN N: season tickets to the Knicks cause she likes hoops.-I'm gonna also throw in a set of keys to the office since she'll always be welcomed back . (awww, so typical of JN to get all sentimental like that, aint it?)

MONIKA: I see that she got a lot of food in her bag, but still, she also have to take some cheese with her, it is a must, but NO PEPPERS in any form!! Also a must have, any type of clothing in GREEN. Oh, and an alarm clock! )) Who knows, maybe she will need it when she has to be on time to lay on the beach in Greece, or under the palm trees in Paraguay and throwing mangos at strangers walking by. It always comes handy!! (Monika taking a cue from Jill here obviously)

ALYSSA: a mini-dirty martini bar. chicken lemon-egg soup and omelettes from the Greek Diner. the DVDs of Lost and AmericaÂ’s Next Top Model. and John Nelson’s IPod song lists. (Cuz it's easier to travel when ya got some booty shakin music-true dat)

MAYA: I’d put a BIG but foldable world atlas into Yolanda’s bag with many little handprint stickers, so that she would place one over each place that she travels to!! And a book of international stamps – to send postcards to Monika here so that we could all be a part of her travels!!! (Hey-where was the kiss ass part of this response Maya? Didn't you mean to write: 'wonderful memories of a great place to work with outstanding bosses?' Sheesh.)

Anyway, I'd say let's have one for the road but from the above it's clear that if you have one more you may get pickled. So GOOD LUCK, GODSPEED, and come back and visit us often!!!

More new Fall-Crazy Cat Mug

Lenny and Boots work at the studio. Lenny's job: to walk back and forth across the table while you are in the middle of painting, attempting to get his butt under your chin, his tail up your nose. He is unusually accident prone and addicted to catnip. He can usually be found wherever I am. Boots, his snobby sister, prefers the company of men and likes to curl up in a box beside Dan and flirt with him throughout the day. While Lenny is as coltish a cat as God ever made-all gangly limbs and ginormous feet, Boots sleeps tucked into a perfect circle, paws crossed daintily.

At home, I have Chirpie and Elsie. Chirpie is roughly 120 years old, with cataracts in both eyes, mangy fur, and the bump of each individual bone in her spine clearly visible. She looks as though I buried her in Stephen King's "pet cemetery" and then dug her up. She is the perfect mascot for Night of the Living Dead. And, why, you might ask, do we not put this cat down? Because she eats. Lord, how she eats. She lives to eat-she eats to live: Kip and I both have a problem with destroying this creature with such a hearty appetite. So we let her hang out by the food bowl all day, except for when Annie tosses her blankie over her head, scoops her up and puts her in her doll carriage, wheels her through the apartment bumping into walls. Then Kip and I look at each other and think; hey, the cat vomit everywhere, the incredibly stinky and vile cat box...all worth it the way our little girl kisses the matted black fur of this animal as she tries to force it into a t shirt. We think the same when both kids hug the rounded sleeping back of Elsie, laziest cat on the planet, parked on the end of our bed, and cry out in delight "she's purring mom, she's purring!" And a moment later; But what's that smell?"

So here is the Crazy Cat Lady mug made for the crazy cat people everywhere. Except, obviously, the cat guys. Kip doesn't think it's a big enough demographic to make the Crazy Cat Gentleman mug. Some men are born to cats, others have cats thrust upon them I guess.

More Fall-the Cheap Therapy Mirror

I heart Me, dammit.

Divinity Discussion with Jesse

I am nothing if not efficient. So, being a lapsed Protestant and regretting not putting Jesse into Sunday Bible School as I myself grew up attending, is it any wonder that I decided to catch him up completely by purchasing the 1970's musical GODSPELL? (Plus, isn't "Day By Day" a rocking tune on its own?) Much like the lazy mother who hands her pubescent daughter a pamphlet that explains all, I popped the DVD into the machine and hoped it would address, in 90 technicolor minutes, all the greater questions my 5 year old might have.

The movie is enjoyed, the popcorn is eaten, we ready for bed. I await big questions. And so he begins.

JESSE: Mom-why did Jesus have a Superman shirt on?
(For indeed, Jesus, played by Alias' Victor Garber, is clad in a superman shirt with Mork and Mindy suspenders and a white afro that is to die for.)

ME: Well, ummm, in real life, Jesus didn't really wear a Superman shirt...

JESSE: But you said the movie had real life people in it.

ME: Well, it did, but they were actors, honey.

JESSE: You mean they weren't real? Mom is Jesus real?

ME: Yes, well what I meant...

JESSE: Is Superman real?

ME: Well, ummm

JESSE: Why didn't Superman save Jesus when the bad men were killing him?

ME: Well, honey, Jesus lived BEFORE Superman

JESSE: Well then how come Jesus wore a Superman shirt?

Father's Day Discount

A big shout out to my peeps at GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL at the lone standing OuR NaMe Is MuD in Lexington Passageway. Please stop by and visit sometime soon. Between now and Father's Day, June 18 2006, you can print out this blog page and present it for 10% off of your purchase. We offer many great Father's Day items (check the website under the recipient DAD). Sorry that this offer is available only to people who appear live and in person. Please say hello to Pat or Oscar or Abi.

Shimmerplanet Tonight 6/5/06

The lovely Carolyn's band is performing this Monday night, June 5th, at the PUSSYCAT LOUNGE in Manhattan. They are on at 10 pm (or a few minutes after).

They will be be joined by the gorgeous Christo Logan on cello. And he is rather gorgeous in a deppishly reeves kind of way.

Now, this may shock you as much as it shocks us, but the PUSSYCAT LOUNGE is NOT just a rock 'n roll establishment. Apparently, the ground floor level is a venue for the display of women who are in need of CLOTHES. So, in the spirit of Goodwill, as it were, Shimmerplanet is holding a women's clothing drive in conjunction with their concert. Bring your gently used items to the show, and receive a KISS from a band member! (Please post here in cmments if you get one from the cello player)

Details:

Pussycat Lounge
99 Greenwich Street at Rector
1, R, and W lines stop at Rector

Time: 10 pm

Cost: $8




Links:
http://www.shimmerplanet.com
http://www.pussycatlounge.com/

A Sneak Peek at Fall

Our Fall 2006 line is going to be available SOON, but visitors to this blog can begin viewing it right now-one piece at a time-with Director's comments!

We start with the Liquid Bday goblet. Because so many fine retailers have asked and asked for a Birthday item. But really, who wants to drink out of a "You're Over The Hill at 40" mug on a daily basis? (Not to say that I should name the well that I will never drink from-as after all, we are the company that makes whatever it is that people tell us they want. Even if it's just WRONG.) Anyhow, I developed this concept one night out drinking for somebody's big day. Bottom line: Alcohol=Fun.

As always, your comments are soooooooooo welcome. Feel free to rate this piece on a scale of one to ten, 10 meaning you would give your right arm for it, 1 meaning you wouldn't buy it for a buck at the dollar store.

Look for more of Fall 2006 right here every day. Also; stop by our Grand Central location and see Pat-he will have already received a few prototypes of items before they were run in production.

Adios Bean, Farewell

Sadly, we bid farewell to the lovely Allison Bean from our Wholesale Department this week. Now many of you think that in the massive organization that MUD has become, that it's not possible for me to know details about the wonderful people who spend their days working for us. Not true I say. I've come to know and love Allison over the past six years that she's worked for us as, um, you know, the thingy she does. With like, the files, and the phones and stuff. And I've had the pleasure of meeting her handsome husband Bryon and her dog, Mr. Chow. So you see, having her co-workers contribute to this send off? Totally unecessary. Nevertheless, some did have some parting words for the girl behind the purple desk.

Chris Jump-in-the-Phone-Boothe wrote: "Allison, by far, had one of the most daunting jobs at ONIM-that of keeping, on record; all orders, credits, cancellations, and correspondancies between the ONIM staff and customers. Allison maintained the back up. Pretty stressful-but Allison always met whatever demands were put on her with a smile and a laugh. The ONIM offices will seem a little bit quieter without her texas twang and here's hoping she visits often." What Chris meant to write: "You've been like Starsky to my Hutch. That thing that happenned at the Xmas party 2003? Never told a soul, honest."

Jill Call-me-Boterus wrote: "I will simply say that Allsion has been delightful. A breezy, smiley, I'll do it, kind of girl. I am sorry to see her go." What Jill meant to write: " I will simply say Allison has been DELIGHTFUL!!!!!!!!!!! BREEZY!!!!!!!!!! SMILEY!!!!!!!!!!! I'm SORRY to see her go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Natasha Reilly-o-Really, who is paid to write, made a whole 50 cents off of this missive: " I'm really going to miss Allison- the moment you step off the elevator she greets you with a warm smile. Whenever we'd email about catalog orders or press break stuff, she'd always share some cool random story. Yeh, I'm going to miss her smile and her random stories." What Natasha meant to write: " The one time she told me the story about how she got the wooden leg, it made me throw up in my mouth a little. I was more comfortable discussing Greys, or Desperate Housewives, or even Sopranos, but no. Always something a little off color from this chick's motor mouth."

From the desk of Alyssa Staltworth, " I honestly don't know how you managed not to hate the AR department, in those months we had over 1000 statements to mail out. Folding, stuffing, sealing, metering, lugging and papercuts. You should really hate me. You and tequila have my respects. I am a tequila girl. You know tequila. That makes you good people." What Alyssa meant to write: "Holy crap what a boring sounding job. If I had to do that every day, I'd drink tequila too and a lot of it."

John Zazulu wrote: "You are a sweet texas treat that can't be beat" making us ALL throw up in our mouths a little.

Yolanda Brite wrote "Allison, you will be missed very much. We had a great time crossing the bridge and having yummy Junior's cheesecake woohoo!' Then Uma Sank added "I can't believe that you are leaving us already! I drink a toast to the best gambling/drinking/overall wonderful buddy ever!!!" Then TOGETHER they wrote "We are very excited to visit you in Texas; we are planning our road trip as we speak!" What they meant to write: "thank God we still have each other. We are incapable of going to the Ladies Room by ourselves."

Maya Applepiya wrote: "Though I've only had so little time to get to know Allsion, I think she should represent her State Flower. She has touched me with her open heart, abundant kindness, and that unique accent. Wherever life will take you after Mud, may that road always be MUDDY (a.k.a. exciting and colorful). Maya gets points for sucking up to us with her tribute to Allison, BTW.

Carolyn Youphraseyeeow put away the compact and wrote " If Allison were a song she would be a Shimmerplanet hit!! We can do a cowgirl song for our lovely Texan! She will be missed but she will be back!!!" Carolyn then went on to include these song lyrics:
"Oooooooowoooooooooo Allison,
I know this job is killing you, oh oh Allison,
our aim is true.........."

Bexter Dingleberry phoned in this toast: "It's been great having Allison around, even when she randomly starts speaking Spanish or when waiters love her the most. I wish she wasn't leaving (who else will want to buy cookies from the dollar store?) But I'm also excited to visit her in Texas and listen to Dolly Parton." What the Bexter meant to say: "We'll pour us some tequila, put on the soundtrack to 9-5, or maybe just play "Here you Come Again" and "Islands in the Stream" over and over again. Then let's rent Rhinestone and it'll be just perfect-clap clap jump jump kelly clark impression clap"

Other office mates missed this blog's deadline but wanted Allison to know that they would treasure the xerox of her nether regions forever. (Xmas 2002)

Oh-and then there is Candace All-the-way who wrotein response to these suggested questions: "On average, how many bad hair days does this girl have?" She has pretty good hair…long nice…can be curly or straight. She went through a phase of putting baby powder instead of washing it…bad idea. She needed some bumble and bumble product if she was going to go down that route.

"How could she have come from the same state that gave us W?" When people ask…you’re from Texas, you didn’t vote for Bush did you? She responds…I’m a social worker! Of course not! Ally Cat is a Texan through and through. She loves the great state but loves to venture out too (thank goodness, if not we wouldn’t gotten her for 10 months).

"If Allison were a song would she be best performed by Shimmerplanet or Bully?" Which ever one would play the country music…oh all the country music. Smiley face icon.



Allison was the “scan-derella” of ONIM but didn’t complain about the monotony of the job. She can drink tequila with the best of them and make friends with everyone at the bar…as we found out from XMAS PARTY ’05. I am glad that the temporary job developed into a semi full time gig.

Beaner is one of my bestest friends in the entire world. I have known her FOREVER and she is still the same sweet southern girl that would help anyone that needed it. But I have to say, she has developed a bit of a “NYC edge” (well…as much as she could). She frequently asks if she still has her accent or if it has gotten less distinct…I have to tell the truth about that one and say…it has changed a little. Yet another smiiley face icon. She is a country music loving…wide open spaces needing…horse owning traveler…who no one in our itty bitty hometown of Sherman Texas would have bet on actually moving to and staying as long as she did in NYC. I am super proud of her. I am just glad she didn’t fall and break something while she was here…she has done crutches before while she visited…NO FUN. Should have been a frowny face icon, but wasn't. I think she has had a good time but the Lone Star State is calling her back. I am going to miss her terribly and my Libby Ann is going to miss her Aunt Allison just as much. I am just glad I got to live with my best friend and be a part of her experience." What Candace also meant to write" We loooooooove yooooooooooose, yer my bestestttttt friendddddddd, pass the tequila and get me a waiterrrrrrrrrrr"

BEHIND THE MUSIC

Not many know that we began as a garage band, back when most garages held volkswagons. It was all good at first: the liquor flowed, the groupies groped, jam sessions were wild and friendly. Then bassist John got addicted to hair gel. Kip and Lorrie hooked up secretly. Jill wanted to explore solo projects. Before we knew it, record sales plummetted and we had to figure some other way to make a living.

REVIEWS ARE IN

Forgive me for not posting a picture. Stumbled into bed at 1:18 A.M. this morning, and Annie was up at 5 A.M. Asking for orange juice. Demanding an audience with Dora the Explorer. Wrapping herself around my knees as I dragged my tired butt into the kitchen and started the day. It's a multiple cup of tea kind of day. Onto the reviews:

SHIMMERPLANET ALBUM RELEASE
My Gawd; have I really been wasting my time watching American Idol when I could have gone to see this goddess chanteuse perform? Carolyn Eufrasio has the most gorgeous, soulful, throaty, amazing voice--the kind that gives you goose bumps. She has true star quality, and I would recommend that anyone reading this download Shimmerplanet: A Better Place. Now. Get thee to itunes.

WELL RECEIVED
The film by J. King screened at the Tribeca Grand Hotel last night. My best work was left on the cutting room floor (Dan's too), but it was still a great film. John Farley does a great job in it-old Mudders will remember that at one time he and Dan ran an ONIM store by themselves, and while they may have come close-didn't actually burn it down in the end. Anyway, J.King is an amazingly talented writer, director and actor, and I predict he will be incredibly successful once more people become aware of his quirky and brilliant film work. You can sign up to be informed of future screenings by emailing jkingpop9@nyc.rr.com The film was scored by BULLY-check out Bully.com for more info

DENICA'S BIRTHDAY
Celebrated at the bar in the Tribeca Grand Hotel was great fun. I am always impressed at the talented and interesting people we are lucky enough to have work with us. It's officially pajama Friday next week.

MY DEAR HUSBAND
Successfully fed, bathed and put the chilluns to bed all by his lonesome. Spoke to me briefly at 1:18 and did not give me grief. At 6 took Annie off my hands so i could return to bed. Wiped up the jelly I had tracked through the kitchen at 1:20 a.m. after making a sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwhich to absorb the pinot grigio. Gave me small amount of grief about the jelly.

I am a lucky, lucky, lucky gal.

We are SUPERSTARZ

Dan and I will make our debut film appearance in the film WELL RECEIVED, a film by J.King. You may join us for the screening tonight, Thursday May 18, 8 pm, at the Tribeca Grand Hotel Screening Room- 2 Avenue of the Americas. Or you can wait for the DVD. See you on the red carpet!

Download Shimmerplanet

Our very own bird in a muddy cage-Carolyn-releases her band's latest CD on itunes tomorrow:


FOR THE ONE WHO KILLS TOMORROW - TUESDAY, MAY 16.

Also, please join us as we support the launch:


IN CONCERT, MAY 18



For those of you who will be in New York on Thursday, May 18, we're

putting on our biggest concert yet. We like to surprise you with our

choices of non-traditional venues (our last concert was in a public

library)! This time around, Shimmerplanet takes you to church with a

nod to a New Orleans' style funeral. Be there! Amen.





Thursday, May 18, 2006

7:15 p.m.



The Metropolitan Community Church of New York

446 West 36th (9th/10th)

New York, NY



Incredible Live Performance!

Shimmerplanet Gift Bags!

Wine and Hors d'Oeuvres!

Art Exhibition from "For The One's" Artists and Photographer!



Cost: FREE





info@shimmerplanet.com



http://www.shimmerplanet.com

My Nonnee

Nonnee is my MIL, and raised Kip to be a fine husband and father.

No one is more generous of heart and spirit. She is of the belief that you can't love your children too much, anymore than you could extinguish the sun by pouring gasoline on it.

She'll work tirelessly to cook the family one of her famous breakfasts, and if the pancake batter runs out, promptly declare she didn't particularly care for pancakes that morning anyway.

Nonnee has taught me so many things since I joined her family ten years ago. Among them:

1. You won't break a baby if you actually wash its face.

2. A good haircut is worth the money. Who cares if you saved a few bucks if your highlights turn green the day after.

3. Elbows off the table. Really. Not negotiable.

4. Start each day with a piece of bacon, end each day with a cosmo. Cocktail hour is a way of life. Embrace it.

5. True ladies who might be required to snort OJ through their nose don't complain about it.

6. Forget red hats and purple dresses; wear aqua and you'll look fabulous. All good jewelry must jingle. If you've spent most of your life laughing, your wrinkles will be beautiful.

7. When you had a good role model, being the matriarch is easy. Or at least you can make it look that way. If at first you don't succeed, do it the way your mother told you to.

8. Civility makes the world a nicer place. Practice simple kindness.

9. Love your children, and they will come back home often. Of course, it doesn't hurt to build that home by a beach.

10. Tell your grandchildren you are magic and they will believe it: their parents have always known it to be true.

Words never come easily when I try to write something for Nonnee--I choke each time there is an opportunity to talk about her goodness. She has raised me up in ways she'll never know, and I am proud to be her DIL. I love you Nonnee. Happy Mother's Day to one of the all time best in the biz!

My Wicked Stepmother

When I say "wicked" I mean it in the Bostonian vernacular way-which means awesome!

There is a song that used to be on one of the records my parents had. I used to listen to it all the time, and the lyrics go like this:

Sunny,
yesterday my life was filled with rain.
Sunny,
You smiled at me and you relieved the pain.
Now the dark days are gone and the bright days are here,
my Sunny one shines so sincere,
Sunny one so true,
I love you.

My father could have written that song himself. He met Sunny when he moved back to Kalamazoo Michigan (where he had grown up), shortly after my mother died. She was walking a small dog.

I first became aware of the fact that my father was smitten when he came to visit us that first Christmas. I caught him staring at a photograph he had with him. It was of Sunny at her daughter's wedding. From the picture you could see that she was full of energy and life, and you could tell she liked to laugh. He was like a highschool girl sitting by the phone that Christmas morning waiting for her to call.

My father and Sunny had a whirlwind romance and were married that Summer. Initially, some in the family had difficulty with the swiftness of their union. I did not. I knew that my mother's passing had taught my father to grab joy when he could, and to live each day fully. Life is sweet, but life is short, and life is made even sweeter, and the days even longer, when you are able to spend them with someone you love.

Sunny has wrought amazing changes in my father. The man who used to tinker in solitude in the basement is now on committees, attends the theatre, hosts parties. The only travel I could have associated with my father in the past is the commute from Stamford to NYC; now together they have gone bike riding in Paris and Hawaii. He has seen the Grand Canyon. The man who lived the majority of his life with a series of cats, now owns a small dog that he treats like a child.

I am thankful that my father found Sunny to love and be loved by. I celebrate her this Mother's Day with the fullest of hearts, knowing how much she cares for my Dad. She injects his days with joy and energy and an appetite for life (although he now always splits his soup and sandwich combos.)

My Mom

My mother died five years ago around this time of year, when Jesse was just about a month old. That is when I feel I fully became a mother, an adult, and a woman. Parents work their whole lives to teach their children; and their final gift (though painful) is always a profound lesson. Her passing left me with a legacy of strength and perspective that I did not possess before: ironically, nothing teaches you more about life than death. Mostly, you discover that you can survive and persevere-and that surprises you. You connect with an inner core of strength that you may not have been aware of-and you hold onto the knowledge that those "spiritual abs of steel" will hold you in good stead for the challenges that we all face as that damn circle of life keeps on going round.

I come from a long line of women who create. I grew up playing with dolls that had been handmade by both my Grandmothers, in houses filled with creativity and expression. We always had a Sewing Room; a magical cave of fabric bolts and glass jars of buttons, shelves of gold trim, plastic fruit, and my mother's noisy sewing machine. She would make clothing, tablecloths, curtains, wreaths, and miniature Christmas Trees decorated with various themes. In the last place we lived, it was a small room with dark paneling and massive shelving that held a huge collection of plastic boxes all holding crafter treasures. The hallway off of this room held her doll house,always a work in progress, and next to that, the living room, with paintings she and my father had made. My favorite was a large red sun coming up over the horizon.

In the basement there was an orchid greenhouse, and my Father's workshop where he made weathervanes and clocks and wooden whirleygigs. And of course, there was the ceramics studio.

One of my first memories that I can recall fully with all five senses, is making a pot on my mother's rickety green wooden kickwheel. I am three, and the sun streams at a sharp angle through the basement window and it creates a spotlight in which the dust dances like a smokey apparition. The smell is sharp--clay smells like earth and mold and metal mixed together. And I perch on her lap, my legs not long enough to reach the base, her hands on top of mine, feeling the sandy clay spin beneath my hands, feeling her leg kick the metal wheel, the excitement of making the clay rise and form and become. My mother made me a creation junkie right then and there, just as she had hooked my father earlier, and would go on to hook the entire family.

My mother had a smile that would light up the whole room. This is what they said about her at her funeral: how very much that smile would be missed. And I remember seeing it, as we all gathered as children around the coffee table when she opened a box of crayons.

People have asked me what my mother would have thought about the success I went on to enjoy as a potter. I tell them that when I opened my first store in 1995, I saved for months to be able to send a limo to pick her up with my father, and drive her into the city for the opening. My mother, meanwhile, had been saving paper grocery bags for months--and at the opening she presented them to me: a pile of used grocery bags, carefully smoothed. "For the store, for when a customer buys something." she said. I never told her we had preprinted glossy bags hanging behind the counter. I have always loved that my mother arrived in a limo carrying paper bags for me to reuse.

I did not really come to know and understand my mother until I had my own children. Then her love for me, which before had been hidden in various pockets and casings of the baggage of my childhood, became crystal clear and tangible. In the voracious love I feel for my own children, I feel the certainty of my own mother's love. This knowledge becomes a looking glass through which allows me to review the past and see it anew--accepting the fact that I had failings as a daughter, and understanding now some of the more perplexing things my mother did. I am like her at her worst sometimes: when I express anger through a cold, stoney silence, or I am quick to criticize, or walk into a public place and complain about how loud the music is. I see me at my worst: My mother was very hard of hearing and before she got better hearing aids, I would stand behind her as a teenager, cursing her to her back. I allowed her to lose me as I got older by not letting her see often enough who I was growing up to become, then I blamed her for the distance. We never spoke about her impending death, and when I visited, I used to draw analogies to some of my pregnancy symptoms to the reactions she was having to chemo: as if cancer and giving birth could be the same sides of a coin flipped by God into the air.

Ah, but she loved me so. I am sure now that she crept into my room when I was small to check my breathing. Certain that she shared the pain of every scrape, every bruise, every insult and setback. Positive that her greatest hope for me was simple happiness.

And each day I celebrate her. As Jesse and I lay on the rug shoulder to shoulder with a new pack of markers. As Annie and I make a tent out of sheets and the cushions of the couch. As each day I am lucky enough to make my livelihood in a way that is creative and fulfilling. I am not motherless, because in the end, I am mother-full; overflowing with it all. And like her, doing the best that I can.

So stop smoking if you smoke so that you can be with the people you love and who love you as long as you can, and call your mother and tell her that you love her.

Quick Annie story

Annie and Jesse went to a street fair yesterday. Jesse won a stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear dressed in safari garb.

All evening long, he referred to this bear as his "puppy." It was "My puppy this..." and "My puppy that..." Finally, as bedtime drew near, 2 yo Annie, hands on hips, told him in a voice full of authority; "It's a BEAR. Not a puppy."

Well of course Jesse threw a fit and flung himself dramatically across the bed, sulking and carrying on. A tantrum ensued. At last, Annie came into the room and with a voice barely concealing her disdain said: "It's a puppy, alright? Now go to bed."

Ah, I look forward to the day my Banana becomes the wife and mother she is so destined to be.

Heading Home

With sun kissed skin and several extra pounds, we return to our usual lives today. A vacation blesses you with the ability to see your everyday surroundings with new eyes; to appreciate the familiarity of your own bed, the comfort of your routine, and the pleasure in the company of the usual suspects. We will see you tomorrow with a pocket full of seashells.

lessons from the beach

1. Children don't care what temperature it is--they just jump in. Grab joy when you can, but get out when your lips turn blue.

2. Never throw sand, because it makes the ones you love tear up.

3. Wear protection. This obviously applies at all stages of life.

4. There is high tide, and there is low tide. You can find many hidden treasures if you look during low tide, and high tide is a great time for sailing.

5. You are small. The ocean is big.

6. When you dip your hand into the water and pull it out, the water lets go. Traces of it remain, but it lets go. We should learn to be more like the water.

7. Castles are made to be built and then jumped upon and thoroughly destroyed, with the full knowledge that tomorrow's castle will be even better.

8.Pick up any shell you'd like, but if it has something slimy in it, don't expect Mommy to carry it.

9. Wash your feet off before you enter the house. Wash your mind off before going to the next thing--because sand in your thinking can be so annoying.

10. Sometimes it is nice to just walk beside eachother, your tiny hand in mine. And when you get tired, I will carry you.