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.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, February 26, 2007
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
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bbaRyDLMvA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Flinkateria%2Eblogspot%2Ecom%2F
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, February 19, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 16, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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.
Monday, July 10, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
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.
Friday, June 30, 2006
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.
"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.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)