Wherein I think I'm in labor, but it might actually just be gas. It's hard to tell this late in the game.

Yes. I am at that lovely stage of my pregnancy where every other minute I'm having some sort of twinge that immediately sets me into "AM I IN LABOR?!" mode. The Boyfriend™ has learned to sleep through it at this point, God bless him. See, the thing is I don't know what actual prolonged labor is like. Well... that's not entirely true. I was in full blown labor with The Monkey, but that had a fairly obvious start (my water broke). With The Nugget, I was in labor for about 12 hours and then it stopped. "They" say that's called false labor. But again, it's hard to tell when you're two weeks overdue.

Right now, I'm right on time with the Lima Bean and I'm pretty sure she's ready to come out (if the constant head-butting of my cervix is any indication). My cervix just isn't cooperative at all. Possibly because my children have ginormous heads and it would be really fucking painful to birth them the right way, and my body is more than willing to take advantage of medical science to help itself along.

And I'm pretty ready for the Lima Bean's debut. Enough with the touchy-feely, love your children, Waldorf School bullpucky. I. Want. My. Body. Back! Granted, I'm going to be nursing, so I won't really have it back, but I'm hoping the swollen ankles and feet will disappear and take their bastard friend Restless Legs along with them. And I'd really like to enjoy a glass of wine without feeling sixteen kinds of guilty about it (that is to say, the guilt I feel merely thinking about enjoying a glass of wine while the alien is in residence prevents me from actually consuming it. I must've been severely Catholic in a previous life).

Not for nothing, but finding out you're pregnant five weeks into it makes for a very long pregnancy indeed. I miss the days when I didn't religiously keep track of my menstrual cycle and I found out I was pregnant close to the end of my first trimester.

In other news, The Boyfriend™'s name is now officially The Fiance™ as of last night. Yes, Dear Readers, the man proposed! It was sweet and slightly awkward and he's taken to claiming he owns various parts of me -- like my belly button -- now that he's slapped a ring on my finger. I gotta tell you, aside from the vaguely misogynistic overtones, I couldn't be happier. I'm pretty sure he's happy about it, too.

Now I just need to get divorced. There's something fairly sister-husbands about still technically being married whilst engaged to another man.

Now that's more like it

I just had to open all the open-able windows in my house because my kitchen is filled with smoke. Since our house has an open floor plan, the whole house is actually filled with smoke. This is the sign of something tasty about to come out of my kitchen in about four to five hours.

I started cooking for the week on Sundays, a few weeks back, in an effort to get supper on the table sometime before 8:30 at night. Cooking for the week also gives the trolls options for supper - they can have whatever they want, so long as it's something that's already made. Cooking for the week can be a challenge, because you want to make something that reheats well, so things you want crispy... Well, sorry. Not gonna happen (unless it's Sunday night supper).

Like all of my good intentions, though, things happened and I fell off the "being prepared" wagon for a bit. Of course I chose Thanksgiving week to get back in the saddle. So, we're having ethnic food this week: Moroccan Cubanos and Pasta Rustica. The fat content notwithstanding, these are super healthy meals - especially when paired with a nice salad or steamed vegetable (the Cubanos have pickled veggies included). And being healthy is not something I've been terribly good at these days.

And so I return to my scrubbed-top-to-bottom kitchen (there's just something about a super clean kitchen that makes me want to get in there and cook) to bring healthy and delicious meals back to my family - and just in time for the Lima Bean's taste buds to appear. She'll being enjoying the flavorful combinations, too. This tree huggin mama, with her love of organic and yoga and fresh fruits and veggies has returned. I just hope the boys are ready!

And on that note, while I wait for the pork to roast, I am going to tackle the studio. It's elving season and I anticipate having to spend a LOT of time in there.

To be honest, I wasn't really surprised.

The Lima Bean was cooperative. It's official - we're having a girl!! The Boyfriend™ has been wandering through the house singing, "I'm having a daughter! I'm having a daughter!" and grinning like a school boy whenever he looks at the ultrasound pictures.

As for me, I'm thrilled! But I wasn't surprised to find out that this little one is very, very much a girl. I knew she was a girl from the outset... Even before she had proper sex organs. She is just so vibrantly THERE; her presence palpable and real, it's as if I've known her my whole life. Her spirit is fierce and strong. She will most definitely be a force to be reckoned with.

I'm not the best mother in the world. I swear a lot. I watch TV when I should be hanging with the trolls. I am remiss in helping with homework. I don't make them brush their teeth. But at the end of the day, I am a pretty good mom and I get an A+ when it comes to loving my kids - and I do, fiercely.

The Trolls have already taught me so much that I am only mildly nervous about becoming a mother for the third time. But this little one growing inside of me whispers in her own quiet way (like the trolls did, too, in their own ways) that it will be all right; there's nothing to worry about because we'll get through it together and just fine. It's funny; I think she already senses how much she is already loved, and in that knowledge feels safe and secure.

Now that I'm having my own daughter, I am more thoughtful about my relationship with my mother and the line that is continuing. I look at the women that surround me and I think how lucky this little one is to have such wonderful, strong role models. She's lucky in the same way I was lucky and that is most definitely an inheritance worth passing on.

I need to buy a new coffee maker and other Sunday thoughts

My house is very quiet at the moment. The trolls are with The Ex, The Boyfriend™ is sleeping off the weekend's busyness, and the whole of the world seems very quiet at the moment. In the perfectness of the quiet and temperature of the air, I miss home a bit more than usual right now. Sundays have that effect on me.

Tomorrow, we find out if the Lima Bean will cooperate enough to let us know if she or he is a she or he. The Boyfriend™ will get his first glimpse of his child and get to hear his or her heartbeat live, rather than the recorded version he's heard so far. I'm beyond excited to begin calling this little one by either of the names we've chosen, and to start properly preparing for him or her.

I'll keep you posted and, perhaps, post a picture here for you.

And then I finally remembered that I don't own a Canon

After three attempts to order a new USB cable for my camera, so I could make with the picture goodness up on here, I finally got the right one. I would lock the cable in a safe or something, but I'd probably just forget what the combination was. Also: it took my a solid 20 seconds to remember the word "combination" (I kept wanting to call it a password).

SO! I finally have pictures for you from my last two visits home. I didn't take nearly as many as I thought I had and, for that, I am very sad. But that's just all the more reason to get my touchis back to Massachusetts -- for good -- so I don't need to take pictures; I'll already be living there.

This is my Uncle. The Trolls call him Gus. I love him so!

The beautiful Connecticut River

Roasting weenies on the campfire

The Trolls, hiking through the creek

SOOC -- mossy rocks and roots

The Boyfriend™ contemplating... the dog, I think?

Barton's Cove, wherein we hunted for dinosaur foot prints

The farm down the road from my nana's. I want some version.

I love these shelves. They're in my Gram's house

The back of downtown Northampton

Really -- there's no place like home. I can't wait to get back there for good!

One week later

I went home for a too brief visit last week, to go to my paternal grandmother's (Dottie) family reunion. It was ridiculously good to be home, among family. I was spoiled rotten and catered to - because the LaBarge/Newman/Miller clan believe that pregnant women need to be spoiled. It's no wonder there are so many of us - a girl could get used to that kind of treatment.

My aunt Kathy and I compared many notes about our lives, likes and dislikes. We talked about family. We talked about friends. There was a good deal of sharing - even in the inconsequential stuff. Our bonds were reaffirmed and I felt validated. Here in the Sunshine state, I often get called crazy for loving the rain and complaining about all the sun. As it turns out, that's a family trait.

When Sunday rolled around, and it was time for me to head for points South, I didn't cry, which surprised me (because these days, I cry about everything). I felt more resolved to get home for good. WhenI walked in the door to a sleeping boyfriend and trolls, I was glad for those still packed boxes. We'll move those out to the garage for now, and keep them packed. It's stuff we want to keep, but nothing we're going to need in The next couple of years.

One week later, I miss home utterly. It's taking a great deal of strength not to huddle in a ball and cry about wanting to go home. I have to remind myself that there is work to be done here first. The necessary tilling and planting is happening now, so the harvest of home will await us in just a couple of short years. But I'm impatient and I want it NOW. But going home prepared for that first winter of obscene heating bills, with a nest egg socked away in case employment doesn't happen right away, will make everything better. I don't want to start the way I left home - sort of running away from a daily struggle to keep the lights on and feed the trolls.

I also have to remember to keep the hopes small, in terms of what I want when I get home. Ideally, I want a homestead that we can farm. I want self-resiliency and family under foot. But the monkey will be 15 and less likely to want to be underfoot. The nugget will be 12 and trailing his brother. A homestead may only happen with Lima Bean under foot and the trolls off on their own adventures - but I'm really OK with that. We'll be close to the large nest of family.

In the mean time, my dear friend Meeshka is working on getting her hand crafted pieces into shops around the area. I'm trying to convince her that we should go into business together. I would love nothing more than to have an established business to go home with (and to).

One week later and I am resolved. We WILL be home and soon, and all of this work of planting will bring a mighty harvest.

I have 17 minutes before I'm supposed to be awake

Every once-a-while, I like to pretend that I'm a list person, in that I will do those things that I put on a list. I'm very bad at accomplishing everything on a to do list, as a rule, despite the feeling of accomplishment I get whenever I DO complete my to do list.

Yesterday I made a to do list for the week, filled with lots of simple things. See, I'm trying to simplify. I'm trying not to be so scatterbrained despite scatterbraininess being part of my genetic make up. So I have this list, and I carry it around with me in my purse. On my to do list are things like "clean out purse" so I don't lose things, like my to do list... Or drivers license; and "make the bed", because I sleep better in a made bed (The Boyfriend™ does not share that quirk).

Because The Nugget will be getting on the bus earlier, starting tomorrow, I also have "wake up earlier" on my list, in an effort to make an early rise time a habit. Unfortunately, this means The Boyfriend™ and I are now waking up at the same time. Neither of us are morning people and both of us being awake at the same time may result in jail time for one or both of us. He is extra cantankerous in the morning, and I am extra sarcastic. Not a good combo.

Frankly, a world run by morning larks should be illegal. I am a night owl; all my best thinking happens at night, the way God intended it. And as I sit here on the back porch up earlier than necessary, sipping my coffee, looking at the pile of cat food on the floor (one of them just knocked a bucket of it down), I remind myself that patience is a virtue.

...One I don't possess. Especially in the morning.

12 Things... Why I'm 98% Sure Lima Bean is a Girl

It's been a while since we did a 12 Things around here and since The Boyfriend™ is dead to the world and there's only so much Pawn Stars I can take, I thought I'd regale y'all with baby talk. Fun, right?

1) I don't have any cravings...except when I do and then it's for sweet stuff.

If little boys are snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, then my cravings with The Trolls were just about dead on. Savory and meaty (except with The Nugget. I couldn't do meat with him). With Lima Bean, I want sweet: juice, fruit, candy and ice cream. She's already a bit of sugar and spice.

2) I have zero appetite. As soon as The Boyfriend™ actually gives in and goes to the store to get whatever-it-is-I'm-craving-which-of course-isn't-anything-we-have-in-the-house, I no longer want it. Or only want a bite of it.

3) I cry ALL THE TIME. No, seriously. It's like a waterfall up in here...a snot-filled waterfall. Over a lamentable lack of gummy bears. I wish I was kidding.

4) The teensiest thing will make me want to blow chunks. Yesterday, a wadded up piece of bread sent me reeling (I am holding back a gag even as I type this).

5) I am WHINEY. Especially when The Boyfriend™ farts... Which is all the time. I'm pretty sure there's a hole in the ozone his butt is solely responsible for.

6) I'm breaking out like a 13-year-old boy before his Bar Mitzvah. And since I currently live with a 13-year-old boy, I know from greasy skin. This isn't pregnancy glow, Loves. It's a super shiny t-zone.

7) I have a sudden love for all things pinky and fuzzy.

8) I change my mind more often than I change my underwear... Which is a LOT, since I'm also sweating like a nun in a whorehouse.

9) My mood swings more often than I change my mind. Those sob fests of waterfall proportions? Yeah, I've also taken to LAUGHING during them. Which is painful. And not just for The Boyfriend™.

10) Boys are icky.

11) My will is strong. When I was having the trolls, I insisted that I would have boys. I only wanted boys then. I have since learned my lesson, which is why....

12) I told The Boyfriend™ that I was not letting any Y sperm up in my vajeege. As a rule, I'm fertile Myrtle and it took us FOREVER to get pregnant. I'm fairly certain it's because my vagina was doing battle against invading Y-ers. The go 'round that put me in the family way, he must've been shooting nothing but Xes because (not to get too graphic), there wasn't a whole lot of opportunity to get pregnant, if you know what I mean.

Of course, I'll let you know for sure, once we have the official confirmation. But for now, we're either giving our son a wicked sexual identity issue or I'm having a girl.

Now I'm going to cry over my gummy bears.

 

Three Day Weekend. Thanks, Isaac!

I am sitting on the back porch (I refuse to call it the Florida room) at the moment, listening to the wind In The trees. It's Monday and I should've been at work an hour-and-a-half ago, but the county closed the schools just in case Isaac decided to get nasty, so I am on Troll duty.

So far it hasn't gotten nasty. So far, it's actually quite peaceful and soothing. A much needed balm for my soul. I am restless these days; full of longing for home. I am not sleeping well, for all this want. But right now, I feel at peace and for that, I am grateful. I don't know what possessed me to move to the Sunshine State, when I much prefer cloudy days to sunny; cold to hot.

And so The Two Year Plan stays in motion. Every step a little closer to being home for good.

Today, I am going to unearth my studio and set it to rights. My hands are itching with the need to create and a desire to have my creative space at the ready. But first, Big Breakfast is in order. I have a house full of hungry boys.

Scallion Pancakes

I've been far away from this space as of late. Too far and too long away, I think. There's been so much life happening these days, that it's been difficult for me to find a few moments in which to gather my thoughts - which have been even more disjointed than usual.

Let's start with some updates:

We are officially moved into our new digs now, but still unearthing ourselves from a mountain of boxes. I'm afraid I haven't been much help with the moving effort because...

The Boyfriend™ and I are expecting our first child together. I must say, there's a world of difference between being pregnant at 24 and being pregnant at 34. I am tired. All the time. I don't remember being this tired with either of the trolls. Lima Bean (as we refer to "her") is due in very late March. I'm hoping, since I have to have another c-section anyway, that the doc can deliver "her" on March 29th - my Grammie's birthday.

In case you didn't notice, I have a feeling (or maybe it's an over inflated sense of wishful thinking) that this one is a girl. Or maybe it's because I desperately need more estrogen in the house, since I'm sorely out numbered in that regard.

That's really it, in terms of big life announcements, but I guess that's plenty. So let's move onto thoughts:

I miss my daily yoga routine and really need to get back into that. I definitely had more energy when I was practicing regularly and didn't feel nearly so out of sorts. There's a focus when you're on the mat and a necessary calmness that happens. I need that calm... Especially for the Lima Bean.

I am so thrilled that the trolls are thrilled about becoming big brothers (again, in The Monkey's case). The Monkey and I have been having marvelously candid conversations about the nature of relationships, life, love and everything in between. He's one cool kid that one is.

I miss home so desperately still. I've realized that my sort of constant general malaise is not so much that as a constant state of homesickness. I miss home. Even Lima Bean misses home... Or so says I (my food cravings are all for things that I can only seem to find back home).

The new house still doesn't feel like a home yet. I think this is due in large part to still feeling like my folks' place, and the rest owing to the fact that I detest the town I live in. I was never so grateful to move out of it - and now I find myself back in it. I'm a bit grateful for this though, since it'll keep the fire stoked to get out of here and move back home.

The Two Year Plan is still very much in motion. Don't you fret about that.

I need, need, NEED to get back into my studio. I miss it with a fierceness. I hope to unearth it tomorrow.

Scallion pancakes a delicious. Just saying.

 

There are not enough hours in a day

The older I get, the faster time moves. When I was younger, I never believed that time could move faster; now that I'm older, I wish time would slow the eff down!

There's a lot going on around these parts these days: a new "pup" (he's practically full grown), the move, work, dealing with the aftermath of the break in (oh, I didn't mention that? Yeah, our house was broken into while we  were in Massachusetts). More packing. More laundry. More moving.

Of course, nothing is going as smoothly as I'd like it to. And, of course, I'm being infinitely lazy and procrastination-ish. There's just so much to do and I'm exhausted by it all.

The studio at the old house has been dismantled, packed and moved to the new house. The studio in the new house is currently the staging area for all the boxes we've moved over. I've had no access to my supplies and, frankly, no energy to do anything creative.

I feel sort of adrift and off course, but I know all of this discomfort is just the storm before the calm, so I keep muddling through. Fortunately, The Boyfriend™ is infinitely patient with me and this process. That's not to say he doesn't have his fair share of anxiety about all of this, too, but he's hiding it pretty well (occasional outbursts, notwithstanding).

So.. there's a lot. And there's not enough. But it's the process.

With a little bit of work and kick in the pants, all of this will be settled soon. And I can get back into the studio, pay more attention to the Etsy shop, and actually do some of the assignments for my copy writing class.

The Two Year Plan -- Updates

So, The Best Friend wanted to know what was going on with The Two Year Plan. It occurred to me that the best way to answer her was in a blog post, so I can, y'know, update y'all too.

Here's what's going on, in list form. Cuz it's late, I'm starting to get tired and lists are just easier:

1) The Two Year Plan is still in effect.

2) The Boyfriend™ has extended the deadline of the plan. Mostly, I think, because he's a chickenshit. :P He's saying five years. I'm saying it'll be two years... from now.

3) The parents, in their awesomeness, are selling us their old house in a kind of owner-financed situation. The Nancarita is doing this to set us up to have a nice nest egg to move home with. But this means that...

4) The Boyfriend™ is right; it's going to take us a bit longer to get home.

5) Mostly because we're both procrastinators of the first order and it's going to take a bit to get our acts together, credit-wise.

6) Because we're moving to a new house, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to move again in a year. Well, I guess it kind of does, but I really hate living out of boxes. Which is what I'm doing now. Which is also why I haven't packed more.

7) I may have been overly-optimistic in my whole grand scheme. I want to go home, fo sho, but I also have a whole lot of stuff I want to do here, too... well, around here. There's something to be said for being within driving distance of New Orleans.

8) Frankly, I have bigger fish to fry at the mo'. Which is the whole "stuff I want to do around here" point. I have a creative biz I want to get off the ground. The market here isn't saturated with the work I do, but it is saturated back home. Sales 101: don't try to be successful in a market that already has a bunch of successful people in it... doing the exact same thing.

9) And this is the big one: wherever you go, there you are. It doesn't matter if I live here, home or Timbuktu. If I'm not happy here, I won't be happy at home. Well, that's not entirely true -- I'll be less unhappy back home because it's, y'know, home. But I think the lesson I need to learn in all of this living in a state I actively loathe is that I need to find peace and happiness within myself before I go running back home.

10) I'm willing to accept that I may end up staying here, but only if it's what feels right. At the moment, staying in Florida doesn't feel right. But I may develop Stockholm syndrome. You never know.

So there are the updates. Life keeps on happening and I keep going with the flow. But I'll say this: there are moments when you need to sit back and wait for things to happen in their own time, and there are other moments that you need to seize by the short and curlies and make them your bitch. Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference. I'm at a point where there are a whole bunch of roads opening up to me; a whole lot of opportunities that I need to chase down for all they're worth. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that the move back home is probably one of those things I need to let happen in its own time. But only because I need to make some other moments my bitch.

This is going to get complicated. Maybe. I hope not. OK, it totally will.

And I'm not at all talking about this blog post. Or the blog title which, frankly, was really fucking cumbersome.

But in other news, half my street has no power because a transformer blew because, apparently, transformers can only take so much "being under water" before they go kaput. Why was the transformer under water? Because I'm currently sitting in a tropical storm. OK, I'm not actually in the tropical storm (I'm sitting in my house), but the Tampa Bay area is getting its ass kicked by a bitch named Debby.

Which is, ironically, my boss's name though not spelled the same way.

So, half of the county I live in is currently under evacuation orders. Driving north, south, east or west is a bitch and an exercise in "don't get pulled into a sinkhole" because, apparently, I live in the Sinkhole Capital of the World.

Because Florida sucks.

Which is why I'm going home for a week-long visit next week. YAY!

In the interest of saving money on a hotel (because, at the time, I was told that my one aunt (who I usually stay with when I come home) was selling her house and staying with the other aunt 'til she, the first aunt, found a house she liked), we're going camping. Which makes me happy to no end. The Boyfriend™ is afraid that we're going to get eaten by bears. I had to explain to him that it's not the bears you have to worry about; it's the mountain lions (and no, I'm not being cute. That's actually true). Frankly, I'm worried about the ticks. This will also be The Trolls first camping adventure.

So far, all we have is a tent. So I just ordered a bunch of "camping supplies" and am having the shipped to my nana, for us to pick up when we get to Massachusetts. Of course, my nana doesn't know this yet. I'll have to try to remember to call her tomorrow to let her know to expect a big-ass box on Friday.

I just hope that I got all the right stuff, otherwise I'm going to have to go spend more money on more camping stuff that we probably won't use again until next year. Why? Because Florida sucks and nobody wants to go camping in 98-degree heat (with 1000% humidity).

But... I'm GOING HOME! And that's the most important part. I'm so excited, I might just pee my pants! I am going to absorb as much grandmother love as I can possibly contain and whatever I can't contain, I'm going to put in tupperware for later. And I'll get some Troll time. And we'll have some family togetherness time which will light a fire under our asses to move back  home.

So, yeah. It's gonna be complicated. In a phenomenally good way!

So I'm the Mother of a Teenager Now

Today is The Monkey's 13th birthday. I'm forgoing my usual sobbing over his baby books while wondering where all the time has gone tradition in an effort to embrace the sweet melancholy of being a mother.

Because, seriously, being a mom is heartbreaking.It's not the work, or the asshole comments that kids make (and they make a ton of them). It's not the wretched table manners or constant interrupting. All that's sort of part of the package deal -- take the good with the bad. What's heartbreaking is that these quite-literally-pieces of you grow up. And every year that they grow older, if you've done your job well, they need you less and less.

If The Monkey's birthday is any indication of what his teenaged years will be like, he'll be OK. There will be way more asshole comments, but there will be plenty of moments of pure "Oh my God! He is such a good person."

Of course, now that he's a teenager, he's holed up in his room completely ignoring the rest of the world. As long as he doesn't get all Emo, and comes out every now-and-again for food and bathing, I'm OK with that. It's the natural of order of things. While he's being teenaged, I'm editing photos from my trips to Alabama.

Here, have some love:

This store is growing a tree. Inside of it.

REALLY artsy downtown Opp, AL. Believe it or not, people DO live in this town.

Opp, AL. Entering downtown

This is Alabama for you.

Ooo... artsy train lights.

Ooo... more artsy train station stuff

Dowtown Opp, AL after 5 PM. The whole place shuts down at 5. I'm not kidding.

This was the height of high tech and the next town over from Opp.

The fates, you should not tempt them...

Remember how I said it could be worse? Apparently, the fates took that as an engraved invitation to deliver a crappy week my way. A run down:

1) An employee on my staff's nephew OD'd last Monday. This meant that...

1a) I had to do her job on top of mine. Not a big deal, usually, except that we were already really short staffed.

2) My step-grandmother ended up in ICU on life support, suddenly and unexpectedly. Which meant that...

2a) I got to watch her die on Friday night. This was not a good thing at all and, in my opinion, should be illegal (the watching someone die part). But she was surrounded by people that love her, and that is a good death.

2b) The Trolls experienced their first wake. The Monkey is not a fan. It was very difficult for him. The Nugget, on the other hand, was a trooper and sat right by his Papa.

3) I got news that the nugget did not pass his FCAT, ergo did not pass third grade. He sobbed. It broke my heart. It's for the best, really, because he just wasn't ready for fourth grade (as much as he thinks he is).

4) Apparently, I blew through a red light on Mother's Day and the Pasco County Sheriff's department were very happy to collect my $158. I got the ticket on Saturday. The curse of Mother's Day continues...

5) The Boyfriend™ and I got into a tiff. It was by no means our worst fight, but it was enough to send me over the edge.

6) Our washing machine broke.

7) Our dishwasher does not actually wash dishes. It just bakes on food detritus and water film. Which means that...

7a) I have to wash all the dishes by hand.



OK Universe. I get it. It can and will get worse. I have had my quota of worse. And bad. And suck. And horrifying. And annoying. And crap. And blah. I will gladly accept good, and fun, and wholesome and loving and everything is awesome with the world. Yeah, I'll take plenty of that.

I'm off to Opp, Alabama today to lay the grandmother to rest. Opp has about 6500 souls and is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town in the middle of some backwoods. I'm hoping for some good photography moments, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm also going to be stuck in a car for eight hours with my errant sister, whose behavior makes tattooing the side of my face look tame in comparison.

So, Universe? We're even. I'll take that goodness now.

I told you - NO WIRE HANGERS!

There are a few blogs I subscribe to for inspiration, aspiration, laughter, tips, tricks and ideas. I love these women bloggers and can not wait to grow up and be like them.

One blogger, in particular, Amanda Blake Soule is an amazing woman. At least on blog. She makes it a point not to put her family not-goodness on line, choosing to use her blog space to chronicle all the wonder that is her life with her family on their homestead. The good stuff looks really darn good, if I do say so myself. And she and her husband, Steve, seem to have a symbiosis that is rather breathtaking in its honesty and simplicity.

Here's the thing: As much as I admire Amanda and all that she stands for; as much as I want to be her and have that kind of magic mothering instinct, I'm just not wired that way. I am not the kind of mother who can let her children leave scraps of paper all over the place (though I do it). I am not the kind of mother that gently explains the ins and outs of life, or coddles the sick or injured.

In my house, unless you're dying, broken or on fire, you better not be crying about an injury.

I am not the kind of mother who humors children's interruptions. In my house, I will very un-politely tell the child to shut up and find something else to do, because grown ups are talking.

I never was a co-sleeping kind of mom, either. Past the age of three, The Trolls were far too old to spend a night in my bed.

I bottle fed, used disposable diapers and let The Nugget fall asleep in his high chair (more often than I care to admit). Both my boys were c-sections.

I tried flash cards and labeling everything in the house, but I just didn't have the patience to keep teaching a toddler how to read. The Nugget didn't learn to tie his shoes until he was seven.

I swear, I yell, I spank. I don't make The Trolls brush their teeth all the time. I let them leave their room a mess, and only sporadically enforce other chores.

I refused to vaccinate The Trolls until they were school age and I had to (because I couldn't claim religious exemption, what with my not going to church and all). I usually make them eat organically, except for candy. And the sweet tea. And occasional adventures at Dunkin Donuts.

I ship them up to Massachusetts every summer so I can get a break (all the while, my heart breaking until they are safely home with me), where their Loli will feed them anything and everything they want.

We have date night, and prayers and books. We snuggle - all four of us - in bed just about every night. I mostly make them do homework, and we have family dinners just about every night. There are no video games or TV during the week.

So, while I am not perfect and will never be SouleMama, I do my best. My kids seem pretty OK, for now. But just in case, I already have therapy funds set up for them.

Insert long suffering sigh here

So I had every intention of hanging out in the studio all day. Then The History Channel sucked me in. This is why TV is bad.

I also had every intention of cleaning today, since our house is in that lovely half-way-packed stage that makes people inclined to live like slobs. Between our room and The Trolls' room, we're starting to look like an episode of Horders.

The fact that I keep making television references ought to tell you that I've been watching entirely too much TV lately.

Speaking of cinematic badness, don't see Dark Shadows. I was absolutely champing at the bit to go see this movie. It's Tim Burton! It's Johnny Depp in a Tim Burton movie! I love Tim Burton with a love so fierce that it must rival Helena Bonham Carter's. I settled in to my too small movie theater chair, with my large tub of popcorn, The Boyfriend™ by my side, prepared to be wowed. I left disappointed. Actually, I left the theater more than disappointed; I left feeling let down.

So it's a weekend action packed full of let down. Which, I suppose, is the nature of the life. I mean, not all the time. But some of the time we're all going to be let down.

The cleaning didn't get done.

I eventually got into the studio, but felt no creative compulsion (I blame Tim Burton).

Dark Shadows left so much to be desired that I want the two hours of my life that I spent watching that tripe back.

It's insanely hot right now, and the air conditioner unit in my car is broken.

Monday is the day-after-tomorrow, and I have to go back to my day job.

In the grand scheme of things, my list of let downs isn't so bad. And I guess that's the point of this whole blog: it could be worse. It could be a lot worse. I'm grateful that it isn't. The house will get cleaned. I'll have another creative stint that will rival Picasso. The weather will cool back down; and shortly after Monday is another Friday that I can look forward to.

... I don't know if Tim Burton can recover from the travesty of a movie he created, but I remain ever hopeful.

New Product Announcement! Can I get a WOOT! WOOT!

Ridiculously excited about this new product! They're perfect grab-n-go gifts, inexpensive, and just all around awesome!!

They're also collectible.

But please ignore the typo in the quote on the back. That's what I get for not proofreading... Or, rather, proofreading while two rambunctious trolls and one bored The Boyfriend™ vie for my attention.

They will be up on the etsy shop by Saturday. Stay tuned and get your shop on!

Playing in the whitebox

I finally got some decent lighting a couple of weeks ago. Not great lighting, but decent. There's a lot to be said for natural light. And awesome photo editing software. An artist can't rest simply on her laurels, now can she?

Here are some of the results:

I spent the better part of tonight deep in iPod-land desperately trying to cobble together more sentences for the book I'm working on. When the muse clearly was busy elsewhere, I decided it was time to do some photo editing instead. While I'm not 100% thrilled with what I captured that evening, I'm glad I'm getting back into the groove with the photography again.

I've come to realize that my art is a holistic thing; it requires both typical tools of the artistic trade and photographs. When my pool of photos is running thin, I have to revisit the ones I'd previously discarded as not good enough. Often I find treasures in there -- things that won't stand on their own merit, but are otherwise excellent fodder for some mixed media work.

The only thing I'm really lacking these days is time. There are simply not enough hours in a day and in my week to get everything I want to do done. I keep trying to figure out how to make it all work, but there really is no such thing as having your cake and eating it, too. That frustrates the hell out of me, because I don't like being thwarted. Because, dammit, I have dreams. Big ones. Living, breathing, dynamic visions of what I want my more immediate future to look like -- and it has nothing to do with dragging my ass out of bed so I can drag it into a corporate job.

Which is why I have to have my cake and eat it -- swallow great big gobs of it. Because dreams this big won't wait to come true. I have to ride this for all its worth. I've got the support and love of a good man, trolls who already believe I'm an artist and don't understand why I'm not an art teacher. I've got the gumption, the vision and the relative know-how. Now all I need is time -- and a bit more money in the bank.

Images from New Orleans

Oh! How I love New Orleans -- the energy. The vibe. The atmosphere. The readily available debauchery (that I didn't indulge in... much... thankyouverymuch). I wish The Boyfriend™ had been there to explore with me (it's not a very troll-friendly city), but I'm so, so glad I had the experience.

I hope to turn some of these images into art soon. So, don't be douchey and steal them or anything.

This building caught my eye every time we walked past it, into the quarter.

Same building, juxtaposed against its neighbor.

Urban decay -- I love it.

No need to flash your boobies when you can just grab some beads from... well... anywhere.

I love this building. I felt like I was in NOLA from 1850

Mama Leveau's tomb... supposedly. There were a few marked up tombs in St. Louis No 1 Cemetery