MaryWig

Book Report for January

2012-01-02T18:22:00.000-06:00

Instead of putting the Christmas decorations away, I have been watching "The Office" from Season 1 (available on Netflix) and eating black-eyed peas for good luck. When not lounging in front of the TV, I have been reading reading reading.

I loved A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. You would love it, too, if you are around my age [50-ish but still hot] and are prone to pondering high school/college friendships and where they are now. One thing I liked is that each chapter is written from a different point of view. As you go through the book, you're immersed in the story but not quite sure whether you are being given important information or not - so you have to pay attention to everything. So I reread parts and got that much more out of it. The book has won every award there is - which usually turns me off, but in this case, the book lives up to the hype. I think it is one of my favorite books of the year.

I don't know why I picked up The Best Nonrequired Reading of 2011, but I'm glad I did, even if I'm scratching my head over some of the selections. Poignant, funny, deadly serious - it's a great range of material, all from publications I would not ordinarily read - like Mother Jones and The New Yorker and Esquire and various indie press offerings you can't find anywhere but in a college town full of English majors. Favorite piece was on Roger Ebert - of Siskel & Ebert - and his struggle since losing his ability to speak due to cancer - a real upper, eh? But it is. A committee of high school students helped hone the selections. Lucky them.

In the self-improvement category, I offer you Women Food and God by Geneen Roth. I bought it because Anne Lamott blurbed it. Of course I've been struggling to lose the same crappy 15 (well, okay, 20) pounds all year and this is a totally different approach. I was all set to do some kind drastic diet (isn't this the most boring subject ever?) but the book changed my mind. Especially after reading this:

In an April 2007 UCLA study of the effectiveness of dieting, researchers found that one of the best predictors of weight gain was having lost weight on a diet at some point during the years before the study started. Among those who were followed for fewer than two years, 83 percent gained back more weight than they had lost. Another study found that people who went on a diets were worse off than people who didn't."

Dang! So I'll probably follow this Geneen's plan (which is, basically, asking yourself if you're hungry and paying attention to what's going on inside, or put another way, the AFGO approach. {Mentioned in the book, AFGO refers to "Another Fucking Growth Opportunity".} Be warned, for the umpteenth time, I'll be trying to learn to meditate. I'm up for it, though; it seems kinder and gentler than giving up Oreos.

For a laugh, check out Amy Sedaris on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, modeling "Weekend Pants." I think I have a pair of these...

Christmas in Connecticut

2011-12-25T02:34:00.000-06:00

December Book Report

2011-12-15T16:01:00.000-06:00

Recipe for disaster: read the final chapters of Larry McMurtry's Terms of Endearment in an empty house. Cry-fest City! I loved the movie (so well cast), and I loved the book even more. It's not your typical Mommy-Dearest mother-daughter relationship and Aurora (the mother) is a piece of work. How a man could have created this character is beyond me. I haven't seen the movie in years, but I don't think they made much of Rosie's (Aurora's maid) trials and tribulations. Short recap: to her utter shock, Rosie's husband takes up with another woman. When she finally comes face-to-face with the woman, she realizes "the other woman," whom she has imbued with so much power, is nothing but an overweight, ugly thing (but with a lusty appetite).

That's just one example of those "Aha" moments when you realize McMurtry has caught things just right. In the book, Aurora has a magical effect on several suitors, but when she is introduced to Vernon's (one of her four suitors) long-time acquaintances at the breakfast diner, they are surprised at how old she is -- for this slightly tubby woman with the aging Cadillac Vernon has turned his life upside down? It's along the lines of beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

And finally, of course I love that the book is set in Houston, and it's obvious McMurtry has an appreciation for the city and its quirky entrepreneurial spirit.

For a change of pace, I read It Sucked and Then I Cried by Heather Armstrong, the chick behind the enormously successful dooce.com blog. Originally, I thought this would be a great gift for a new mother, but um, probably not a good idea. While I loved reading about her bout with post-partum depression (and subsequent hospitalization), it would probably scare the bejeezus out of most breast-feeding people. Yes, it's a horrible thing, but Heather has a sense of humor I can appreciate. I think she's great, but perhaps she's an acquired taste? If you're a blissed out mom, not your thing, but for the rest of us, she puts into words the frequently unvoiced and conflicting thoughts that new babies can arouse.

Though I loved Mary Roach's Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, I wasn't so crazy about Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. I couldn't get through the tedious scientific approach to bonking and after 50 pages, I quit the book and concluded that people who study sex so scientifically are a bunch of weirdos. Frankly, I don't want to know that there are sex-machine events just like there are knitting circles and soccer leagues. I may give it another go in a couple of months - the book got excellent reviews. Maybe I'm just a hopeless prude.

The best chapter in Tina Fey's Bossypants is the one about doing photo shoots for magazines.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you'll slip into your first look. It will most definitely be one of the dresses that didn't even come close to fitting you, so Lot's Wife will bridge the gap with a thick piece of white elastic and some safety pins. Don't ever feel inadequate when you look at magazines. Just remember that every person you see on a cover has a bra and underwear hanging out a gaping hole in the back. Everyone. Heidi Klum, the Olsen Twins, David Beckham, everybody.

I am amazed at (and glad about) this woman's success. She's funny and smart and humble, and she's not an extroverted fool. Perfect read for a behind-the-scenes look at network television, female humorists, etc.

One thing, though, for some reason the "man arms" on her book cover creep me out.

"Beast is at the grocery store picking up something for dinner"

2011-12-14T14:08:00.000-06:00

"Beast, honey, don't forget my Diet Cokes! And I like them in the smaller cans..."

Recently, Kid1 got a new job as a Disney princess with a Tier 2 (somewhere above carnie-land but way below Disneyland standards) birthday party outfit. Depending on the assignment, she is either Ariel or Cinderella, Belle or Sleeping Beauty.

She just finished her first weekend on the job with four gigs. She went 120 miles, from Pearland to League City and suburbs in-between, changing in her car from red wig to black and so on.

I saw one of these not-quite-ready-for-prime-time get-ups and told her that any five-year-old would see through it in 30 seconds ("You're not a real princess!), but so far so good. Still, there are obstacles.

"It's not the kids who are the problem, it's the 17-year-old older cousins." Turns out they're the ones who point out that your wig is sliding backwards off your head.

It's bad enough she has to change in her car, right, but she can't even walk in the Ariel costume due to the low-budget mermaid tail. She either has to take geisha-like steps or hop. So when the family asks her to set up upstairs (while hauling her 1980s circa/company-issued CD player and "magic bucket,") it's a problem. ...hop, hop, hop.

Meanwhile, there are any number of unscripted questions to answer. Here's my favorite.

Q: Belle, where's Beast?

A: He's at the grocery store picking up something for dinner.

Q: Which grocery store?

A: Kroger.

Pick me, pick me!

2011-12-12T22:39:00.001-06:00

Look, I know it was nothing personal, but this is what it feels like to go through a layoff at work. It's a musical chairs-type exercise, and until you know you've got a job, it's like standing there waiting to be picked for a team.

Glad it's over and someone picked me. I think I actually lost hair and gained five pounds over it. Crazy.

Are you really my friend?

2011-12-02T17:45:00.000-06:00

{Photo: Flora's Findings}

Even though I am a crappy Facebooker, I'm interested in this project about Facebook and friendship. A photographer has committed to visiting every one of her 600+ FB friends and posting a portrait of them. Her self-imposed assignment will take her from Maine to Dubai.

I'll be particularly checking on her when she visits her old boyfriends, which she is saving for the end.

What would portraits of your FB friends look like?

A fascinating series of essays on bullies

2011-11-15T21:11:00.000-06:00

Who would have thought that there would be a way to find the bully who bothered you in sixth grade? Such are the unexpected benefits (?) of Facebook. So here's a series on salon.com called Interview with my Bully wherein bullies and the bullied contact each other and write about the experience. Definitely worth a look. The most surprising to me are the bullies who seek out the kids they bullied, fully realizing what little turds they were, and even better, being sorry for it. I always thought "born a bully, always a bully." Not so!

"That was the day Momma started painting the floor..."

2011-10-09T15:49:00.000-05:00

"...and we just let her." -- Kid 3

That's supposed to be an animal print border...

...note the groovy fringe...

...and here's a close-up of the center. It's hard to tell but this is green on green.

The finish has worn off our wooden floor in spots in our kitchen, so instead of refinishing the entire floor, I painted a faux rug on top, complete with fringe. I've been thinking about this for about two years but don't know what up and made me start painting last weekend. Guess I couldn't stand it anymore. Between the sanding, filling the cracks, painting it, and sealing it, about a week has passed. So don't try this at home unless you're ready to give up some significant time.

Meanwhile, in a fit of decluttering (my favorite de-stressor), I pitched two of my current projects because, because, well I was just sick to death of thinking about them. They weren't going well. I now know for sure that they weren't going well because I like them far more in the trash than sitting around the house. Not everything I do/make is precious or deserves to live. Sometimes you just have to do something drastic.

So here's to new beginnings and new projects. If something isn't working, stop making yourself feel bad and get rid of it.

September Book Report

2011-09-26T12:02:00.000-05:00

I tell you the truth -- I haven't been reading much because I CAN'T SEE because I lost my expensive new glasses and I refuse to replace them [so quickly]. I have managed to finish Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton, recommended to me by Catherine A.

It's a memoir, and actually less about becoming a chef and more about the demise of a marriage. But what did I expect - she's a lesbian who married an Italian man so he could stay in the United States and then halfway through the performance-art wedding, she decides maybe this could work. It's only after two children and several years that it truly unwinds, and it's kept together because the Italian's family has a house outside of Rome where they retreat every July for a month of food and fellowship. [Come to think of it, that does sound pretty good, but in this case, the sound of it turns out to be better than the reality of it, but the reality doesn't sound that bad either.]

I find this happens sometimes -- a person marries someone because she falls in love with her lover's family. But in the end, it's not enough to keep the marriage together. [She doesn't give me enough information about this Italian man, but I thought about it, and it must be because he's her children's father and she doesn't want to diss him. Yet.]

Now, if I were to summarize this chick's life, I would say, her family abandons her too early (not actually, but *poof* her parents divorced unexpectedly and left her holding the spoon), she is a hard-working juvenile delinquent who feels at home in the back kitchen and travels around Europe on $3 for about two years longer than I could have stood it -- bottomline, she's a scrappy broad with some good ideas about how to take care of people and make them feel at home -- which certainly must be the reason for her restaurant's ultimate success.

Meanwhile, she is quite funny. In talking about the woman who lives above her restaurant and constantly complains about the music being too loud:

...when she complained that she was now sleeping in a hammock made of egg crates in her kitchen on a pulley system high above her dish cabinets so that the vibration from our sound system wouldn't keep her up at night, we kind of realized it wasn't us or our music. Our sound system was two shitty speakers from J&R Music World. We're a small bistro, not a rave club with bouncers on headsets.

It's an amusing book. She's an excellent writer, and if you're in New York City, I would pay plenty of good money to have brunch at her place {Prune Restaurant}.

I'm having one vicarious reading experience. Mr. Husband is reading/listening to Driven to Distraction by Edward Hallowell. The family doctor recommended Mr. Husband get in touch with his inner ADHD. "Wow, the president of Jet Blue has a big stack of clothes on a chair in his room too!" Amazing. And I thought it was just a lazy thing. It's ACTUALLY a manifestation of how ADHD people think differently, and it's a blessing if you only embrace it! Mr. Husband is thrilled with every new discovery. I am a bit less enthusiastic as the oft-mentioned "loved one who seeks to understand."

Four different ways to fall on your face...

2011-09-04T10:29:00.001-05:00

or... aerial fabric class for dummies. Mr. Husband is the photographer here, okay, and every time I did something perfectly, and I'd glance at him meaningfully (Take the PICTURE now!), he was fussing with the camera. So these are the best we could get - when the camera battery wasn't dead, when there was enough memory to take another photo. The other people in the class must have thought I thought I was really swell. What a laugh. I just had to document this adventure for you guys! My aerial career is at a standstill till I can get back to classes or I develop some abdominal muscles, whichever comes first.

This shot is for Mr. Washburn, my elementary school PE teacher. Finally I can climb the ropes to the ceiling, Mr. Washburn!
Look at me now, fella!

Because I like poetry...

2011-08-21T21:17:00.000-05:00

Dyslexic Wonderboy teaches himself to play

WATCHING MY SON
Pick lost,
strummin' with a dime.
Long fingers
gentle on the neck,
pressing frets, reaching straight.
Large, pudding eyes
look
Body leans
listens, feels the chords.
Black hair and two black brows
rarely knitted in consternation.
Ease, no smile
Just the pursed
lips of concentration
a song released
into the air.

--Jane Everham

If a bear were to open a cereal box...

2011-08-21T19:49:00.001-05:00

As a family lay sleeping nearby, a bear entered their home and managed to open a box of
"life" cereal. No other cereals were touched, and an empty bowl and spoon were
found in the sink.

...this is what it would look like. Surprisingly, although it looks like a bear with oven mitts got into our "life," it was only Mr. Husband. I can vouch that he has all 10 digits (plus toes), byt cereal boxes and other paperboard food containers never cease to challenge him.

It's as if it's a new puzzle every single time. I love that I can count on Mr. Husband to behave in predictable ways when faced with simple obstacles. (He is the first one to off-road to create his own exit if there's a delay in traffic, for example.) But back to the cereal box. I can put MONEY on what he will do to any given cereal box at any given time. One would think that just slipping your thumb under where it says OPEN and tugging gently upward was easy enough. Apparently not.

How Mr. Husband responds to removing items like batteries from blister packs is a little less predictable -- although I know he will attack it with a dangerously sharp object, I never know exactly which one -- my favorite filet knife, a Phillips head screwdriver, or my nail file. If not for the safety issue, it'd be fun to watch from strictly an anthropologist's point of view.

The day the appliances died

2011-08-14T19:10:00.001-05:00

I think the appliances in my home have gotten together and taken a kamikaze pledge to die in the same week.

And just as the washing machine AND the dishwasher have turned their swords inward, the camera card won't work in my computer, which obviously means I can't write on my blog, because I can't show you the 1) mascara wand; 2) nylon sock; and 3) band-aid we found in the outgoing line that caused the washing machine to lock up and refuse to drain.

I'm not even going to count the microwave that went kaput during a 10-second thunder storm and refused to be revived, or the toaster that now only works on one side of a piece of toast.

Under some kind of lemon law, I will be getting a new dishwasher so I can't talk right now. I have to figure out which one can wash a cookie sheet and a dish at the same time. Small request, right? If they can send a man to the moon...

So after I can wash clothes and dishes in the same day, I'll be back.

Ebb and Flo

2011-07-29T23:31:00.002-05:00

"Ebb and Flo" taking in the salty air...

I made these two girls for a TAODA exhibit of "Bathing Beauties" in Galveston, Texas.

They're made entirely from cloth and based on French poupee millet dolls. Filled with birdseed, Ebb and Flo are satisfyingly hefty.

I believe they've been friends forever, eh?

Do: sign up for the Sketchbook Tour

2011-07-25T04:37:00.001-05:00

Look, my drawing skills are iffy but that didn't stop me for signing up for this cool project. What I know: I took my little sketchbook with me to Seattle recently and took a few minutes to draw along the way. Oddly enough, when I look at the book and what I drew, I can immediately remember everything about where I was. Taking photos just doesn't work the same way in my brain. Which is lucky, because, um, I accidentally deleted every last photo on my camera. { dang! } So I am especially grateful I have my little book.

How it works: you pay $25 (I think it is) and you get this little book and a theme (you pick - mine is "Along the Line") and a deadline (December 31, 2011). At that time, you send your book to Brooklyn and it becomes part of a touring exhibit. People check out the little books like at a library. Plus they're digitized as part of the permanent collection. If I didn't have a deadline and the little book, I know I wouldn't be drawing.

You can see tons of excellent sketchbook excerpts in one of my avorite books: "An Illustrated Life" by Danny Gregory.

Sign up, man.

I'm ready for my close-up Mr. Technorati!

2011-07-09T17:52:00.000-05:00

{ Pay no attention to the girl behind the curtains... }

So I am trying to get my blog registered in Technorati (kinda like the Who's Who of blogs in the world) and they require I put this magic code in a post so they know I'm real...

PXH8NEZQDEMK

That's it!

{ I'll be back manana with a post about my adventures in aerial silk. No, it's not a craft thing. }

Love & kisses,
MaryWig

June/July Book Report

2011-07-04T09:28:00.002-05:00

In Second Honeymoon by Joanna Trollope, I expected a gooey story about how a woman rediscovers her husband after the kids have left home. Luckily, it was not what I expected. It was a lot better that that. In fact she rediscovers herself, which is far more interesting.

Meanwhile, three 20-something kids are in the process of launching their adult lives while simulataneously moving back in or back out for various good reasons -- one is recovering from heartbreak and a five-year debt binge; one is displaced when his live-in girlfriend goes off and buys the loft of their dreams (but sadly which he can't afford, so he feels compelled to move out to punish himself for his lack of earning power), and one { the baby, of course } who is finally moving out to find love with this hip chick and her mum.

The cool thing is, at first (before all of this moving-back-in business) Edie is mooning over the loss of her role as primary mama bear in her kids' life - she still thinks she wants to making pancakes for the noisy crowd, but she quickly tires of the laundry and the disruption when she surprisingly gets a role in an Ibsen play (she had put her acting career on hold for 20-odd years...). Here's her daughter Rosa's take:

"It was strange to see her mother photographed by someone who didn't see her as a mother, didn't know her as a person. The portrayal of Edie as Mrs. Alving gave Rosa a queer little rush of possessiveness, a desire to say loudly to all those people who simply saw her as an actress giving a fine performance, 'Excuse me, but this is my mother.'"

I especially like that Edie doesn't enjoy making everyone a damn sandwich after 10 hours of rehearsal. Love the husband - who tries to clear the way for his wife's rebirth, but whose actions are sometimes misinterpreted by Edie. Perfect characterizations of domestic dilemnas, even if Joanna is British.

Now for a change of pace, I turned to Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell to figure out the backstory on some people's wild success. Anybody can do it, right? Isn't that a core American belief? Turns out, there are good solid reasons why some people make it big and others don't.

Here's the gist of it right here:

"In the autobiographies published every year by the billionaire/entrepreneur/rock star/celebrity, the story line is always the same: our hero is born in modest circumstances and by virtue of his own grit and talent fights his way to greatness...

I want to convince you that these kinds of personal explanations of success don't work. People don't rise from nothing... The people who stand before kings may look like they did it all by themselves. But in fact they are invariably the beneficiaries of hidden advantages and extraordinary opportunities and cultural legacies that allow them to learn and work hard and make sense of the world in ways other cannot. It makes a difference where and when we grew up... It's not eough to ask what successful people are like, in other words. It is only by asking where they are from that we can unravel the logic behind who succeeds and who doesn't."

The rest of the book details why this is true. Counterintuitively, it makes you feel better knowing these little known facts. Like that most pro hockey players are born in January, February, or March (because the way it's set up, those are the kids who are the biggest and strongest by the cutoff date for Canadian hockey leagues - so hold your kids back a year to help them excel). Or that Bill Gates had the opportunity to spend 10,000-plus hours programming computers as a middle-schooler because of an over-active PTA mom who bought a computer and had a corporate connection.

Now before you throw your hands up, there is good news, and it's this: with coaching and hard work, it is possible for anybody to become really good at anything. If anything, this book blows the myth of innate talent, because it comes down to who is willing to work (practice) the hardest, coupled with opportunity and timing.

Malcolm explains it a lot better than I do. Give it a whirl. Or go to http://www.ted.com/ and listen to one of Malcolm's 17-minute presentations. They challenge traditional thinking. Good mind-bending activity.

And then there's the best-seller by Kathryn Stockett: The Help, which is kind of like a To Kill a Mockingbird version of The Nanny Diaries. Now I know a lot of people love this book, and it is well done. The voice, the dialect is exactly right. The perspective is unique (white closet activist girl gathers stories told by maids in the 1960s and publishes them at great personal risk). The plot is satisfying, if not plodding. But I found it slow-moving, especially the time between publishing the book and waiting for the sh*t to hit the fan. But the insights are not surprising to me.

Yep, some people are a**holes. Relationships between maids and their employers were sometimes complicated, messy things, where love and family and all kinds of conflicting emotions creep in. And maybe it's the mean in me, but I thought it was a little hokie (sp?) when the maid is telling the neglected chubby little white girl secret stories about "Martian" Luther King and people being scared because he was green and the little girl glomming on to this story as her own salvation.

Anyhow, you may love it. There's a great sassy maid and her lovable white trash employer; the whole white girl/sorority kind of {anti}friendship thing is illuminating; I enjoyed the uber-critical mother character. I did appreciate the scene between Skeeter and Lou Anne (write about sixties-style depression, girl!) See -- plenty to like, but still, it felt like assigned reading during Black History Month.

To think about: probably the same white chick who is shocked by this book thinks nothing of her nanny who has the keys to her minivan and her children's hearts. That's the story I want to read.

Love & kisses,
MaryWig

EAT AT PINK'S, MAN!

2011-07-01T15:32:00.001-05:00

It costs extra for the "Young Adam aka Dyslexic Wonderboy" [left] topping!

We realize you have a choice when you buy pizza. That's why you should buy locally-owned and -operated (in H-town, at least) Pink's Pizza, the coolest pizza this side of the Gulf of Mexico.

Pink's Pizza is a proud sponsor of Cockfight Skateboards (now there's a company name you can't show the relatives...), who in turn sponsor my little pepperoni, Adam. And when you go to the website to order a pizza, you see Adam skating the pizza bowl. Pretty cool, eh?

Eat at Pink's today!

The big bad wolf and me

2011-06-27T21:30:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time there was a girl walking home from work in downtown Houston. Every day she passed a homeless guy on the corner selling M&Ms. "Hey little girl, you sure do look fine," he told her. "Will you marry me?"

Never mind that he asked every girl walking by to marry him. No matter what kind of reaction he got from passersby, he always responded the same. "God bless you!" And somehow, it was good.

So the girl thought, "I am an open-minded, free spirit kinda gal," and she started conversing with the guy. Pretty soon, in addition to getting marriage proposals every day (which if not exactly flattering, were reliable), she got a little hug and a blessing, which felt, darnit, kinda holy. Or was it holey?

The thought crossed her mind that maybe it was Jesus in disguise. Didn't he say something like, treat me as you would the lowest person on the totem pole? Another thought was, "At least homeless guys are still asking me to marry them." A co-worker had a less charitable opinion.

What the girl wished she could do...

Then one day it seemed the little hugs were getting a little more prolonged. "Ummmm," said the girl as she tore herself away from his grasp, "You don't want to get my 10-foot 350-lb husband jealous, hahahaha," to which he replied, "I don't care about your husband." What happened to my blessing? The girl was perplexed. And had a problem with boundaries, her co-worker pointed out.

So now the girl walks two blocks out of her way to avoid the would-be Romeo. Maybe it is from watching too many Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Or the girl's kids who told her sternly, "Momma, you do not let homeless people hug you."

At any rate, the world looks just a little more sinister to the girl these days.

Because I like poetry...

2011-06-03T13:26:00.002-05:00

MY MOTHER THE DANCER
--Paul Martin

Louis Prima, Fats Domino, Rosemary Clooney, she piled
high the 45s, grabbed the mop she called her honey

and began upstairs, singing and swinging it
across the floor, dipping low to reach under the beds,
shaking it out the window, swiping
her dust cloth across the dressers, picking
up a stray sock or underwear, circling
through the three bedrooms and down
the stairs, moving as though a curtain had opened
to one of those Hollywood musicals
she dragged us to at the Rialto, pulling me by the arm
out of the chair I was sunken into, twirling me
once or twice around her, that red bandanna
in her black hair as she,
danced toward my brother,
urging him into the sunlight slanting through the window.

As seen in The Christian Science Monitor | May 30, 2011

You should be trying something you suck at...

2011-05-28T20:12:00.001-05:00

Here's the ideal -- from Cirque del Soleil

When is the last time you sucked at something?

I particularly suck at something every Saturday morning when I spend 90 minutes defying the odds to participate in an aerial silk class -- a cross between rope-climbing, modern dance, and circus trapeze.

It's not easy, and I suck. But I get 10 points because I try. Because most people doing this are between 20-30 years old and are former gymnasts and dancers.

As far as I know, I am the only 50-year-old-non-dancer-koala-bear-with-slightly-longer-legs-worried-about-farting-girl participating.

It was a just a few shorts months ago when just doing a cartwheel was my goal, but it turns out, I can actually do that without too much trouble (unbeknownst to me for 40 years). It is my *secretest dream in life* to be a Cirque de Soleil performer, and this is the closest thing to it I can find.

Here's the reality...

I do get tempted to quit. I get discouraged and disgusted. And when I can't get something, I tell the class to hurry along past it, because I don't want them waiting on me. That's the worst feeling -- when everyone else is hanging like a happy bat and I'm still flailing to get upside down. I know that I give up too easily on moves sometimes, but the truth is, I don't want to try again and again while everyone else is looking and waiting.

Meanwhile, I hear Dsylexic Wonderboy (Kid2) tell Friend and very reluctant bass player in newly formed and untalented band, "It's okay to suck when you are doing something new." Friend is unconvinced. I know how he feels.

Mr. Husband is going to put some ropes up in the backyard so I can practice with only the dogs looking on. (I love how he never questions my requests...)

Maybe you should try something new, too. Trust me, you cannot look any worse (I'm in TIGHTS for Lord's sake!) than I do, every Saturday morning. Give it a whirl.

About the guy who invented it all.
Where I'm flying.

April/May Book Report

2011-05-21T06:06:00.001-05:00

I am in an odd reading place these days, not having landed on a great book in a while. It makes me feel a bit out of sorts, which has led me to delay my book report. Nonetheless, I trudge on with this month's selections. Here's a hodgepodge of genres, including gothic, writing, biography and food writing.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. This book recommendation came to me via my hair salon, where women can be found on certain Saturdays mixing margaritas along with hair color and sharing spinach dip. In the style of Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights, this tale had a dark, murky cast that ultimately disappointed.

Take a set of unruly twins (time period murky) born to a schitzy mother, add a crumbling mansion, an incest-prone uncle, a village, an I-saw-it-coming additional feral child, a devoted housekeeper, a fire and disfigurement, and you have this story.

I should have looked more carefully at the hair of the woman who recommended this story, as this has been a reliable gauge of biblio-compatibility. In retrospect, this woman's winged bangs was a giveaway that she probably likes the Twilight saga and likely watched the gothic soap opera Dark Shadows from 1966-1971. { Disclosure: I l-o-v-e-d Dark Shadows and wanted to marry Quentin Collins (aka David Selby), even if he was a vampire. }

Now on the other hand, Naked, Drunk, and Writing by Adair Lara was an excellent read on memoir and personal essay writing. This book will join the ranks of Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird. I ended up writing Adair Lara (I figure authors need love too) and telling her that I had perfected Naked and Drunk, but I was still working on the Writing, and to this end, her book was quite helpful. She liked that, so now I am doubly enamored with the book, as she has the good sense to recognize wit when she sees it.

Seriously, I collect books about writing like some people collect shoes, and this one is a keeper. Her tone is fabulous. Here's a bit on what it takes to get yourself published.

"I know. It's like going out of your way to ask people to be mean to you... Why run into the street knowing the odds are good that you will be flattened by a truck? If you don't show your work to editors, they have no chance to not like it. Maybe a better idea is to keep it in a drawer, or show it only to those special someones (Your children, perhaps, or Mom) who can be depended on to exclaim over it. That way, you can warm yourself at the fire of your genius undisturbed."

Um. Not that I can relate or anything. Of course the book is chockful of writing exercises, which I healthily skip over so that I can remain a closet memoir writer and tell myself how great I would be without actually doing any work. [ sigh ]

Moving along, whenever I can't sleep, I can reliably turn to this book and read an essay and feel oddly good and satisfied and not have to get up and eat a bowl of cereal or the last Oreo. I am not a foodie, but A Stew or a Story by MFK Fisher is full of tasty morsels.

Best of all, she is not a food snob, as many of those foodies are. For example, many of the yummy things she mentioned have just three or four common ingredients - like Bisquick, good cream, grated Parmesan and butter. Can you ever go wrong with something like that? I am confident she is one of those people without airs, who, when you show up unannounced and cold and wet, she puts a tomato sandwich in front of you and you just die of comfort. I wish she was my mother. She makes you want to cook well for your family - which is hard to want to do when half the little squirts around your table are pushing your food around their plate like you're trying to poison them.

Now about Willie Nelson's biography by Joe Nick Patoski. I am usually not a biography fan, but it's Willie Nelson, and I wanted to make sure the guy had paid the IRS back and was still smoking weed somewhere. The answer is yes and yes. Biographies about the musicians life intrigue me and this one did not disappoint. I'm just at the part where he marries for the first time in the 1950s and it's a full-blooded Cherokee woman. You got to love her style. An excerpt recounted by a friend:

"As I drove up, Willie was running out the back door, and this iron pot was following him," Johnny said. "It was the strangest thing I've ever seen. He outran that pot. Then he turned. When he did, that pot hit the garage. He stood there with that grin and said, 'She loves me.'"

For better or worse, I just love the guy. That said, it's been 75 pages and we're not even out of the 1950s. The biographer is nothing if not devoted - jeez, he probably knows which of Willie's teeth have fillings. And Big Bonus Points because based on this book, I think Willie knows where I live, because he recorded songs in a hole-in-the-wall studio off Washington Ave in Houston, and performed at some joint on No. Shepherd, which is roundabout my neck of the woods. So in my little mind, we're practically best friends now.

(Aside: I read Clarence Clemons' autobiography and was disappointed. Yes, Clarence, you da Big Man, but you don't have half the soul Willie's got.)

And finally, to keep up with my kids' reading, the big thing in YA (that's Young Adult to the uncool) is The Hunger Games, recommended by The Book Whisperer, about a future Dsytopian society similar to Survivor but with teenagers who have to battle each other to the death while the rest of the world watches for grim amusement.

Given that I couldn't bring myself to finish one chapter in Cormac McCarthy's The Road, this was a stretch for me. I can't say I loved it, but I had to see for myself what kids who weren't reading Twilight were up to. It's got a halfway decent heroine, who at least is not a whimpering "I don't feel pretty enough" standard issue teenage character. Depressing view of the world, though.

On that bleak note, I will leave you to next month. I'm SURE I'm just a few hundred words away from another book I will just LOVE.

Love & kisses,
MaryWig

My maiden form gets a lift from the lingerie drawer

2011-05-15T16:21:00.006-05:00

Maternity Bra Ad For Target
Found at adsoftheworld

When you buy a bra, you’re not just buying 4 ounces of cotton/lycra and some wire. You’re buying a lifestyle embedded in a cupped technological miracle.

According to Maidenform, my recent purchase will make me feel Ultra-Comfy, and that’s not any old underwire supporting these gigantic orbs, that’s Dreamwire, fella. Let me put this little bugger on. Jeez, I feel better all ready. You know why? Because there’s Dreamy Comfort in Every Detail.

My other purchase from Lily of France merely promises to Stay Put, but it does feature the Gel Touch Pad, which, unlike an iPad, is in-stock. Last time I was paying attention, though, Gel Touch was being applied to things like pens and mousepads, items that frankly get a lot more handling than I’m expecting on any given day.

So when I’m getting dressed, I have serious decisions to make -- Do I need the 4-Way Convert, the Plunge Neckline, the Front Closure, or the T-Back? Am I looking for a Miracle, a Lift, or something that Makes Me Say Ahhhh? Heck, my new Lily of France offers 62 ways to wear a single model! If I just hook it up right, I bet I could turn it into an automobile.

Oh to work in the marketing department of a lingerie company. Imagine the staff meetings. “Goal-setting for Winged Glory at 10am.”

GIVE ME THIS JOB. I want to name some heavy-duty three-hook coned number the “Wicked Mutha.” Can't you just see the ad campaign?

If someone knitted Paul Bunyan baby booties...

2011-05-10T12:45:00.003-05:00

...this is what one would look like. Or it could work for the Little Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe and had so many children, she didn't know what to do. I know what she could do. She could take this bootie and turn it into a condo and rent it out to one of those dang kids. [ Where did that come from? ]

With some bookcases from Ikea, this condo could work for me, ma!

Seriously, this is my first attempt at baby booties. Since they were to be a gift for someone at work, and I was going to be using a cashmere yarn, don't-you-know, I thought it would be a good idea to knit one up in whatever size just to prove to myself I could do it. And if not, there would still be time to order my standard go-to gift for new parents.

"Pick up those booties and take them to your room! Don't make me tell you twice!"

As you can see, they turned out darn cute. I call them "Glam Rock Booties," and here's the pattern from Fuzzy Galore. I have not personally tested these, but I hear from a qualified grandmother that they do not come off the bambino's footsies like booties knitted by other relatives who are clearly not as talented as you.

For now, turquoise is my favoritest color for baby girls. Mainly because it is not pink. (Though of course I still love pink, but I wanted something non-standard issue.)

I must say the clear paint can was a stroke of presentation genius. I picked it up at a scrapbooking store and it is just the right size.

Now I am working on a tasteful gray pair for a baby boy. There is a minor epidemic of offspring going on. Personally, babies are about the only thing that keep me interested in church. I like to get the kid all squirming around and giggling and then when the parent twists around to determine what is the catalyst for this inappropriate behavior, I act all innocent.

Peace be with you, sister. Now get out of here, I gotta go knit.

Five tomatoes, or about this homeschooling thing

2011-04-26T05:32:00.005-05:00

Five tomatoes minus one. A bug got it.

It is a scary thing homeschooling my Kid2. Especially if Kid2 (aka Dyslexic Wonderboy) is 16 or 17 years old and people around you are talking SAT scores and engineering majors, starting salaries and boomerang kids living with you forever.

Especially if Momma is working, tends to get overwrought, and thinks the sky is falling more days than not.

Here are a few things that let me know it is going to be okay.

1. Five tomatoes. I have personally talked about a vegetable garden exactly forever, but it's not till Kid2 buys the plant and sticks it in the pot and throws some water on it that it actually happens.

2. A drum set. This was purchased years ago. And sat there unused, transformed into a monument to a time when money was a little easier to come by. Now there is a *band* around it. Annoying the neighbors. Just the way I like it. There is something eternally hopeful about starting a band, isn't there?

Eat at Pinks Pizza!!

3. A family discount at Pink's Pizza. Who says skateboarding doesn't pay? The swell people at Pink's sponsor Cockfight skateboards, and Kid2 skates for Cockfight. Which translates to 50% off the Pink's Hawaii Five-Oh pizza. { I just wish Cockfight was a different name so we could wear the t-shirts to church. } <-- lame Momma thought

4. Nine books. Easily my/our biggest achievement. Dyslexic Wonderboy has read nine books since the beginning of the year. Visit the http://www.bookwhisperer.com/ for the *secret* to our nonreader-to-reader success.

5. A 93 on an Algebra final (disclosure: he got a 63 the first time). We gave Kid2 extra time the second time around. And I didn't even have to ask for an act of Congress to enact this accommodation. So shoot me. In the business of real-life, are you allowed an extra hour for hard stuff? I say yes.

But you can't go on making all these exceptions, you have to put your foot down.

You do with some kids. But with others, your foot just ends up DOWN and the relationship ends up under it. And then you get nothing much out of them. And then who showed who?

Have a tomato and quit worrying about stuff.

Girl talk: men in women's places

2011-04-10T10:57:00.002-05:00

Below, a letter I wish I could mail...

Dear sir(s),

On the few occasions when I get my toes done, I don't want to sit next to you -- you with your massive sasquatch foot-hooves in the pedicure bubble bath next to me. You, there, yakking on your iPhone for all the world to hear.

Similarly, when I go to my Stretch'n'Tone class, I don't expect or want to see you there either, grabbing what should be my yoga mat. And if you absolutely must join the class, have the good sense to go to the back of the room with the rest of the newbies and keep your mouth shut. I don't want to bear witness to what your little splutters, gasps, and grunts. The last time I heard sounds like that was in a labor and delivery room. Honestly. I don't want to see you in a sleeveless shirt of any kind, and I especially don't want to see you dripping man-sweat anywhere near my downward dog.

Finally, if for some reason you decide the six-week Aerial Dance class is truly for you, don't say you'll grow ovaries so you can feel a part of things during the pelvic floor references. Further, I can assure you you are not going through menopause when the room gets hot.

In short, go find your own Red Tent.

Cheers,
MaryWig (grumpy-style)

Modern adventures in keeping house

2011-03-20T11:00:00.001-05:00

This Toro 235 mph 390 CFM electric blower/
vac makes dusting a snap! Plus, a quick-release
latch converts the blower to a vacuum.
Great for getting crumbs off the table!

Popular thinking about getting help around the house tells you not to criticize, lest you lose the help. So for the most part, I am keeping my mouth shut, but still, do other people experience this?

Mr. Husband goes to grocery store and comes back with three big packages of shredded mozzarella, mistaking the "3C" (3 cups to my way of thinking) on my list for three 1-lb packages. Now I have enough cheese to blanket the house. Okay. Who thinks in 'cups'. Totally my mistake.

From work, I talked him through roasting a chicken, with detailed instructions. I hang up thinking, dinner is solved! And it was for the most part. But I left out one thing. Breast side up. I have never seen a chicken roasted back side up. I was momentarily confused when I saw it on the dinner table.

An ominous code on the dishwasher panel tells us the thing is not going to work until a real plumber sees it. Of course it is loaded to the gills with dishes. I am sighing loudly, thinking about washing them all by hand (read: thinking about getting the girls to do it until the plumber comes on Wed.).

Mr. Husband lifts the bottom rack out, tells me to open the back door (which I do without even asking why). He sets the rack in the driveway and attacks it full force with a garden hose and a bottle of Dawn. "This is how they do it in restaurants," he says.

It is not uncommon to see the shop vac inside my house (it picks up big things better and saves time, after all, because all you have to do is pick out the items you want to keep once at the end of the vacuuming session). And shop towels work just as well as paper towels and come in a convenient 5-lb. pop-up box perfect for the dinner table. (And the blue matches my dishes!)

Whether you're rinsing lettuce or submerging
small motor parts into a toxic cleaning agent
agent, this $59.95 colander offers first-rate performance!

What I am getting at is there is no difference between inside and outside tools for Mr. Husband. Resources are resources. If it's good enough for the house, it's good enough for the garage, the workshop or the car, and vice versa. That explains why I find the lemon zester next to the table saw.

"I just paint with a broader brush than you do," is the explanation Mr. Husband has given me more than once to justify any difference in opinion about his approach to the work at hand.

Sounds reasonable, right? Except usually, it's not a brush, it's something with a 12-amp motor and a pull cord to start. And that's inside the house. I am thinking, as more men do the house-husband thing, there's going to be a revolution in household appliances. Like riding vacuum cleaners and appliances that come in camo.

I'll have some sibling rivalry to go with that Coke, please!

2011-03-13T15:00:00.002-05:00

Scene: A leisurely Saturday morning at the kitchen table with a pile of bacon and egg tacos and two Cokes - one for Mr. Husband and one for Kid2. Kid3 reaches for Kid2's Coke while Kid2 is off looking for the salt shaker.

Me to Kid3, reaching across table: "Don't drink Kid2's Coke."

Kid3: Rolls eyes. "Yes, don't drink Kid2's Coke. Not his Coke. He can't do without his Coke."

Kid1: "Jeez, you treat him like he doesn't have any arms."

Me: "Excuse me?" With no warning, we have moved from the kitchen table to the courtroom of sibling justice.
Kid1: "Oh yeah, I think I feel some dyslexia coming on. The letters, the letters are switching places!"
Kid2: Sits down, says nothing, piles salsa on a taco, sips Coke.

Kid3: "It's ridiculous. When he finishes a book, it's 'Oh my [feigns tears in eyes] I'm so proud - let's buy him 10 more. He finished a book! It's a miracle!' If I want a book, it's 'Can't you just take it out of the library? What do you think I am, a money tree?'"

Kid1: "See, I'm not crazy!"

Mr. Husband: "Yeah, she's got that mama-bear thing going on with him pretty bad. I don't know why."

Me to Kid3: "I didn't want you to drink his Coke because I wanted to drink his Coke." That is partly true. I just didn't want to hear the bickering that would result. And I don't have any idea why it's okay for my son to drink Cokes and not my girls. Maybe I am protecting their reproductive health?
Kid 1 to Me: "Remember you were in the bathtub that time, and I told you you treat him so special and you started crying and said, 'But he can't READ.' He can read now, mom. He's fine. You let him get away with everything.

Kid2: "See, actually, they [waving broadly to include both Mr. Husband and me] work for me now."

Kid1: "I would not be surprised."

Kid3: "Oh sick."

Backstory: Three kids in four years, now almost 16 years, 17 years, 19 years. Girl boy girl. High school, home school, high school. Brainiac, skateboarder, actress.

The outlandish claim: Boy garners more exceptions per square acre than the girls put together.

The Momma rebuttal: Don't be silly. I love each one of you equally and perfectly. For the most part.

Book Report for March

2011-03-06T13:01:00.001-06:00

Hamlet (No Fear Shakespeare). If your kid has to read Hamlet for English (or you are homeschooling and want your less-enthusastic student to at least be familiar with the story), you might find it useful to check out this Graphic Novel version by Neil Babra. I used to think that finding easy ways to understand something was cheating. Now I realize this is a dumb idea. I will use Shakespeare for Toddlers (there's probably such a thing) if it will help me or my kid get up to speed. You should, too.

About the story: At least I now know the source of "Get thee to a nunnery." There are no good parts for women in this play, I tell you. You could be the slutty mother who marries Hamlet's uncle two minutes after her husband dies, or you could be the stunned Ophelia, who wanders around like a loon after Hamlet tells her, "I never loved you, I just wanted to get into your pants, and all guys are dawgs." This bit irks me: a lot of William's plot seems to hinge on hiding behind screens or curtains and being accidentally stabbed or poisoned. These devices seems a little too convenient. For example, before you knifed someone, wouldn't you maybe take a look? If you're going to poison someone, wouldn't you pay more attention to whose grabbing which cup? Just saying.

A Bigamist's Daughter by Alice McDermott. I have always been curious about bigamists. Especially the ones who secretly maintain two separate households. I would consider a bigamist relationship myself, as I am sorely in need of a wife who could be a good cook, finicky about laundry and toilets, and always come up short if compared to me in looks or weight.

About the story: So this book surprised me. I thought I knew how it was going to end. I knew nothing! And I'm left unsure what the conclusion means at all (I won't ruin it for you). Aside from that, I thought it was a fascinating look into the world of vanity publishing, where Elizabeth the main character works as an editor.

McDermott gets the tone just right of the hopeful, would-be writer convinced of his/her talent and moving ahead (and paying) to publish his/her own story. It is not unlike watching the really awful ones on American Idol "I don't care what you say, my grandmother says I'm the best and I'm going to KEEP TRYING!" and Elizabeth is one of the judges. But it's different, because Elizabeth makes her living by encouraging the also-rans and not-quite-talented-enough, rather than sifting through them looking for the diamond in the rough.

Now that I write about it, the fact that she doesn't seem to have too much trouble with that job is a *signal& knucklehead! Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised by Elizabeth's behavior. It's not that she kills someone in the end, but I thought she was one of us. The one's looking for true love that lasts forever and all.

Here's a random excerpt I related to:

"...after a childhood spent in a middle-class neighborhood where achievement often implied exile, lonely worldliness and who-the-hell-does-she-think-she-is? Where, as a teenager, she overheard often enough other women call her mother 'saintly,' while using a fingertip to turn up a nose."

Just one more thing before I move on. Elizabeth's friendship (since childhood) with the recently married Joanne. Plenty to think about there.

"I waited all my life. I mean, how many times did we play bride? And have weddings for our Barbie dolls? Remember I had the five-dollar gown with the veil and the bouquet and the little blue garter? And I'd always pretend her husband got hit by a car or drowned or something so she could get married again"?

Of course I'm skirting the entire bit about Elizabeth's father being a bigamist, aren't I? Well, heck, read it yourself!

And then there's A Short History of Women by Kate Walbert. It took me about 85 pages to warm to this story, and then I was totally sold. (It's also no small matter that I thought the jacket design was particularly well done so I probably gave it the benefit of the doubt and kept reading.)

About the story: The book follows the trail of seven women in one family through three generations, starting with one woman in 1880. I'm not much on suffragette history. But it gives you pause to think that a woman starved herself to death for the cause. That's what Dorothy Trevor Townsend did in 1914, despite the fact she had two small children to raise. The book opens with a chapter written from the daughter's point of view.

"You're too smart to be so stupid," she [the mother of the suffragette] said to Mum as the attendant looked on, ladling broth on the ancient blue Chinaman in the match bowl. "Nobody is paying a damn bit of attention." But Mum simply turned away."

Now my only experience with suffragettes is one scene at the very very beginning of Mary Poppins. It didn't seem like a particularly heroic, it seemed like a carciature of a cause. So was it really so hard to get the vote? Did you really have to starve yourself lady? It's hard to back up time and imagine the scene, but this book does, and the interesting part to me (clearly) is Walbert's representation of today's women - like me. I would be halfway between this woman's granddaughter and great-granddaughter's age.

Funny thing is, I identify with several of the women, some all at the same time. And because she caught so many nuances of the predicament of "today's" woman, then I trust she must have the women before my time right as well.

As usual, I am most touched by the portrayal of women's friendship, which I find vital to survival. There is a scene at the end - a playdate where two moms are warily getting to know each other as their two weirdo daughters play (all kids are weird). Liz is worried, among other things, that her kid has her finger in her nose, and her new friend will notice and judge her. Her new friend explains how she came to move back to New York City:

"This was in San Francisco,where everything is, well, healthy, do you know? There's always someone talking about loving-kindness. I couldn't stand it after a while. We just got on a plane and flew away." ... There is a bit of a pause; comfortable enough, Liz thinks. The truth is, she's enjoying herself. It's a playdate, she finds herself thinking; I'm on a date for play.

I recommend it - for women of all ages - there are insights to be gained, pictures of yourself in the mirror you didn't see before.

Lasting effect? More than ever I am pushed forward to leave some kind of message in a bottle so that my little peeps down the road will know more about me than just that I worked all my life and made crazy dolls. What message do you want to leave behind?

Looking for a sense of accomplishment

2011-01-23T19:11:00.001-06:00

Another dust bunny appearance at my house...

It has taken me a little while to realize the small things that make me feel like I have accomplished something. These things are so small, they make me think I have some kind of problem to derive satisfaction from them. So this is either endearing or pathetic; judge for yourself.

Recent accomplishments

I like when there is a lot of lint in the dryer lint collector and I can peel it off with a flourish and toss it in the trash.
Most weeks, I like to sweep rather than vacuum. (Vacuums are too noisy and I hate to plug things in and pull them around.) I especially like to make a significant (greater than 4" diameter) pile of dust and dirt. (I know it is against the law, but sometimes I just throw the pennies away; every single time, though, I debate this issue in my head. "Does this mean I don't respect money? Do pennies matter?") From now on, I am throwing the pennies and Legos away without conflict.
Now if I do choose to vacuum, I like to undo the little dirt holder and find a lot of dirt. The more the better. Behind the washing machine hiding places are particularly satisfying.
I like to pre-treat with a stain remover and have it work.
I like to fill the dishwasher very full and with precision.
I like to empty the pencil sharpener and refill the stapler (but only when the former is very full and the later is very empty)

Given how much fun I seem to have doing these chores, you would think I would do them more often. But I don't.

But what does it mean?

Maybe dirt is tangible proof I exist; that I did something real, something you can measure in a cup. It is hard to do this most days with, for example, kids or your job or your life. { This cannot be right -- other suggestions welcome }

I once remarked to a colleague, "It is more satisfying to empty the vacuum cleaner than to do my job on any given day." This is sounding very bleak indeed.

{ Image: The original 'dust bunny' }

About your New Year's Resolution: I hope you've broken it

2011-01-18T21:19:00.001-06:00

I have a hard time making resolutions in January. I have a hard time making anything in January unless it is in a crockpot. It is enough for me to think about taking down the Christmas decorations (yes, yes, everything is still up like the wedding decorations in Miss Havisham's house in Great Expectations).

But some nuts out there have committed to resolutions right and left. {These are the same people who have packed away their holiday decorations.} For example, they are promising to do things every single day. Here's how it goes: you commit to do something daily (make a dress, a piece of art, do a self portrait, cook something, take a photo, write a novel, whatever); you do it, someone fabulous notices, your life changes and you are a genius. Yeah, big damn deal, I say.

{The Uniform Project Trailer from Uniform Project on Vimeo.}

So YOU'RE probably on, like, Day 18 of your new life, and I still can't make up my mind about what to to do in the first place.

I believe this makes me an undisciplined slouch.

So what. Here's an idea I can live with. I can think of ONE THING to do for the entire year. This one thing is semi-attainable but still a s-t-r-e-t-c-h. And if accomplished, this THING will make 2011 memorable for me.

I will learn how to do {are you ready?} a CARTWHEEL.

I have a PLAN, and it involves finding a professional who knows how to teach remedial physical skills. I thought my kids could help, but they are ridiculously impatient. Hence, the professional.

Question: do you think some people are physically incapable of a cartwheel? My kids are of this opinion. Obviously, I have always thought it was simply a matter of proper training and opportunity. I guess we will find out. I am going to wait till the weather is a little warmer because it seems to me ~~after what happened this weekend~~ this is best attempted outdoors.

SIDEBAR: Some of you might be wondering how my weight loss plan is progressing from 19 weeks ago. Well, according to my calculations, I have lost {on average} at least 3 ounces a week. So, like, about the weight of three postcards clutched in your hand. That could ADD UP after a couple years. Huzzah for me!

Artwork by blueskysunburn

Google and magical thinking

2011-01-14T15:10:00.000-06:00

I receive Alerts in Google whenever my name is mentioned, just to keep an eye on my online profile. With 12 blog followers, you never know what could happen.

The first time I received an alert, I thought, wow, someone REALLY liked my blog post and now they're writing about me! Then I found out I had died. At 85. In Iowa. Funeral services would be on Friday at 10 a.m. at Mission Baptist Church.

The second and third time I received an Alert, I was still excited. But it turns out my dying is pretty common. I die every couple of months. There are at least 500 people with my name, and we all can't be feeling good all the time. Of course I was a stuntwoman in the 1930s and sometimes things come up on eBay with my photo on them - like an ad for Camels. "When Mary Wiggins needs to be calm, she reaches for a Camel" - and there I am strapped to the wings of a bi-plane. {I was Claudette Colbert's double for her dive off the ship in It Happened One Night.}

Usually, though, I am attending a conference for art docents in the Mukilteo School District or named in a photo of the graduating scuba class in Florida.

One day I'm going to hit it, though. And hopefully it won't be my obituary.

January Book Report

2011-01-07T20:20:00.004-06:00

This here's my book report for January. I'll try to be organized and do this once a month. So no matter where I am, I'll stop reading and let you in on my life in books.

Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. A powerful good story. First off, I love a book with a good organizing device, and this one relies on a common event - the tightrope walker who crossed the Twin Towers in 1974. I remember something about this event in real life. I was getting ready to start high school just outside NYC at the exact moment Philippe Petit stepped out on the tightrope. Each character is expertly drawn. Can a writer man truly imagine life as a woman, as a white woman preparing for a get-together in her Park Avenue apartment? As a mother losing a son? As an older black woman? A young prostitute? Many times the answer is, "No, Mr. Writer can't." The fact that McCann can imagine the interior and exterior dialogue of some many characters is something to behold. Above all, every last character, every last movement and thought rings true. Side note: he seems to pick people to portray that we are most likely to walk by without a thought. The little people, you know? Who no one is going to bother to portray...

The most riveting part of this book was the unlikely friendship between Claire {white woman} and Gloria {black woman}. How easily it could have evaporated and thankfully, didn't. Yet it's not a book about race. It is a story of hope. Else I couldn't have stood it.

The novel started off slow for me at first (there is only so much Irish tenement and misery I can stand), but then accelerates with force. No less moving is the prologue, where the author tell us he keeps his father-in-law's soot-covered shoes from Sept 11 in a box behind him as he writes.

God vs. Darwin: The War between Evolution and Creationism in the Classroom by Manl Singham. Full disclosure. I picked this up because of Kid2's writing assignment in Physics. (This is what you get when Physics is taught in a church environment - not complaining, just saying) Evolution vs. God. Apparently this question had the country tied in knots in 1925, culminating in the famous Scopes trial (Jennings vs. Darrow), which actually turns out to have been an attempt by some city fathers to put a small town in Tennessee on the map. (They figured a big trial would bring more business into town and agreed among themselves who would accuse who of what...)

At the end I am left with these contradictory (but in my mind perfectly acceptable) truths. Evolution is proven beyond a doubt. We all have the same ancestors. And we couldn't have come to be just by chance. There had to have been a divine hand in it from the get-go. I'm not doing the issue justice here, but it's not the "Inherit the Wind" story you thought you knew.

Time of My Life: A Novel by Alison Winn Scotch. So this 30-something Pottery-Barn, Starbucks, soul-searching mother of one, wife to successful but hardworking if slightly dull man is wondering if she made the right decision marrying her man. So naturally, since she quit her uber-fascinating job to full-time mother, her thoughts take her back to her old boyfriend and the "What if..." question. "What if I'd married the magical free-spirited him instead." And poof! Apparently deep tissue massages give you the power to time travel. At any rate, she is whisked back in time her life with the old boyfriend and chooses the road un-taken, only to find, some xxx pages later, like Dorothy, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home." Once I figured out she wasn't going to save the world in her time-travel, but just her marriage, I skipped to the end to see how it all turned out. [Sorry, if I could time travel, I would have stopped, like, Sept 11 from happening, but that's just me.] I did love the cover art, so she gets a point for that.

The Mindful Way through Depression by Mark Williams, John Teasdale, Zindel Segal, and my personal favorite, Jon Kabat-Zinn. If you don't know I am serotonin-challenged, certainly you will now. I am always looking for the answer, the thing that's going to take me from cranky, glass-half-empty Eeyore to vivacious Disney-princess extrovert. And this book could do it, if only I would actually do the exercises. Basic premise: thinking your way through depression won't work ("Why am I like this, why can't I ever be happy"). Instead, focus on the moment ("Whoa, this peanut butter sure is crunchy."). And here's how. Step-by-step, thought-by-thought, meditation by meditation. No surprises, it takes extreme discipline to change your thought patterns because your brain is apt to travel the road more travelled, so to speak. Absolutely excellent resource, and when I am less depressed, I will pick it up again.

Because I like poetry

2011-01-02T22:32:00.001-06:00

The winter solstice left a poem in its wake. I bumped into this poem (previously unknown to me) twice in two days. I think this means I'm supposed to pass it along to you.

The Journey
by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was alread late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Above, artwork I created in a "Winter Solstice" collage workshop, a generous Christmas gift from Kid1.

Blessings for you on your own journey in the days ahead.

xxoo,
MaryWig

Happy New Year from the other three tenors

2011-01-01T11:13:00.001-06:00

It's a New Year.

Time to learn Italian. Not really.

But if you are susceptible to the charms of Dean Martin, the cleavage of Sophia Loren, or just want to feel better about the world, listen to these three 15-year-old Italian boys sing, "O Sole Mio."
http://www.wimp.com/threetenors/

Enjoy!

Short interview by ABC News Houston (Channel 13) on the TAODA show at the Jung Center

2010-12-14T17:09:00.002-06:00

Below you will find a short little video from Channel 13 on the Texas Association of Original Doll Artist's show *Imagine* at the Jung Center. You'll see Janet Bodin, TAODA's leader, and me, talk a wee bit about our work there, along with lots of shots of several of our artist compadres. Neva Waldt was there as well, but apparently she was feeling very Greta Garbo-esque and did not "vish to appear on da camera."

Even so, as Aretha Franklin would say, it was nice to get a little doll R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

p.s. Janet and I have been absolutely deluged with emails from Barbara Walters and Oprah requesting interviews. Sheesh.

Artwork above by Angela Jarecki

Yes, Virginia, there really will be a Houston FlashMob this year

2010-12-13T20:11:00.002-06:00

It was just a few months ago that I discovered ImprovEverywhere, based in New York City. These are the masterminds who *magically* coordinate phenomenon like a gigantic freeze tag scene in Grand Central Station. I am absolutely fascinated by this, and I wished upon a star that I lived in The Big Apple just so I could be a part of something like this.

And then, and then, I came upon this Elf Dance "FlashMob", and again, I thought, "Gosh, maybe one day..." And then I sadly walked along in my life.

Then, *poof* the Angel of Christmas came upon me, and told me, MaryWig, there is JUST that kind of opportunity coming your way in Houston. There's an actual website for just your kind! And all you have to do is learn the dance here....

...and await further instructions.

(I know, I know, I think the guy was used as a model for a Ken doll, but his instructions are great - I especially love "Double Dream Hands.")

Embarrassed or not, I am making my whole family participate. I have to start today, right now, to learn the dance. And I have bought us all reindeer hats.

If you live in Houston, why don't you join me?????? Check out Houston Flash Mob and join the super secret mailing list (is this cool or what?).

Sunday, December 19, time and place to be announced.

Just one thing. I WANT A COSTUME!

This explanation for the Wheel of Death is long overdue

2010-12-12T13:19:00.007-06:00

Even though I have included the several posts showing progress on this project, I don't think I've explained how it came to be. Seems to me the best way to do that is to pretend I was interviewed on Inside the Actors Studio.

What is the Wheel of Death? Are you some kind of artist?
The Wheel of Death refers to a big art project for me. It started about six months ago. I belong to a group of artists called the Texas Association of Original Doll Artists (TAODA), and we have exhibits from time to time. After three years of work, the group was able to secure a spot at The Jung Center, a wonderful local gallery here in Houston. TAODA visited the gallery as a group to check it out and see how it might best display our work. We saw this big wall at one end and thought to ourselves, "That calls for a BIG piece of art." (We generally work small.)

Separately, my husband (Mr. Husband) just HAPPENED to bring home 83 huge wooden cable spools.

James Lipton interviews MaryWig on her work titled, "Alter-Ego"

Huh?
They were free -- a cable-laying company was trying to get rid of them. Mr. Husband, being a handy guy, thought they were cool and piled them onto the car and brought them home because he thought "we could use them one day." I guess if we happen to own a national park, they could be picnic tables.

{DISCLOSURE: This is an exaggeration. It took about a week to take 83 spools apart and haul them home. This is why things get messy around here and I get off-topic.}

What does this have to do with a gallery exhibit by TAODA?
Mr. Husband happened to hang a wheel up in the warehouse (everyone has these in their backyard, eh? -- ahhhh -- I'm doing it again). And he made it spin, for unknown reasons. This thing was about five feet in diameter, so I was impressed.

And in that second, I envisioned a girl in a knife-throwing act on the wheel and someone throwing knives at her. Because that's how I feel half the time. In the next second, I was volunteering to make such a thing for TAODA, even though I had no earthly idea how to do what I envisioned. This is known as the "Jump-first-and-a-net-will-appear school of thinking."

Yes, but why the "Wheel of Death"?
In doing some research, I found that that's the name for this particular knife-throwing act. The women were/are called "Target Girls." I had read "Carry Water for Elephants" and I like circus backstories. Even though I work as a cog in a large corporation by day, by night I have visions of being a trapeze girl. Or a target girl. I didn't end up calling the piece "Wheel of Death," though. I call it "Alter Ego" because it captures that part of my wanna-be personality. The girl that stares death in the eye and says, "Go ahead, make my day," when in fact, I'm more like the girl who stares Monday in the eye and says, "Oh crap, I'm late for work."

Are you an artist?
Yes. Mixed media, which means I can use any materials I want. In this case, it became a game to only use materials I already had on hand. Hence, I painted layers and layers using certain colors because, guess what, those were the colors I had.

Besides that, though, I am quite proud of the fact that everything about "Alter Ego" (except for the canvas used to cover her body) is from discarded materials.

What does it mean to be a doll artist?
Doll artists are artists interested in 3-D representations of the human figure. We use non-traditional methods to create our work. Most people are familar with traditional sculpture in wood or stone, say. Lots of doll artists work solely in cloth or some combination of cloth and clay. Personally, I like all things cloth or fiber-related.

Being a doll artist doesn't mean we make Raggedy Anns or weirdo dolls that stare at you in the night or come to life and kill your family. We have an image problem. I like being a doll artist because it allows me to use so many traditional skills I love like sewing, knitting, drawing, and making a big mess.

MaryWig confronts inner demons

What did it mean to you personally to create "Alter Ego."
It was a triumph. I have lots of reasons not to do stuff like this. Not to try so hard to "put something out there." After all, I have a job, a family, food to cook, bales of cotton to tote. But the hardest part was that I wasn't sure I could actually do it -- could I actually get something that big out of my brain and into the world. Especially since I didn't have a really clear idea about this beyond the basic thought of getting a girl on the wheel.

In the end, though, she birthed herself. I should have just trusted the process. Actually, it wasn't about trusting any process; it was more a question of getting out there and saying to myself, "Self, get your a** out there and take the next step, and you can't do anything else until you do." So more a one foot in front of the other approach.

Anything else you'd like to tell us? Nope. I've got to get the Christmas decorations up, grocery shop and do the laundry. Thanks for having me on the show.

Wheel of Death: Conclusion - "Imagine" at The Jung Center

2010-12-05T10:06:00.007-06:00

Ha! Bet you didn't think I was going to make it. It's done. Major personal accomplishment for 2010. (And I couldn't have done it with support from my TAODA buddies.)

Plus, excellent example of "upcycling."

Here's what you need to know: The "wheel" is from a wooden cable spool. The base is a sign base from a gas station. The axle is from the innards of a pressure washer. The wheel inside the wheel (enabling it to spin) is a metal wheel from an old warehouse cart. All items were discarded (read: free). Mr. Husband deserves credit for this -- all I did was make demands and stamp my feet for emphasis to explain what I wanted to accomplish. His only comment to this challenge was, "Do you want it to light up?"

What about the "doll"?
The "doll" is made from a plywood base, newspaper, drywall tape and plaster topped with painted canvas.

Total weight: 350 pounds plus.

It was a little tricky to get it from home to The Jung Center, let me tell you. I had to ask the Target Girl (that's what they call Knife Thrower targets) to hang onto the car roof for dear life. I didn't see the piece fully assembled until opening night. Mr. Husband was in charge of delivery and set-up.

So go get a cable spool (actually, we have about 85 of these now -- price negotiable) and make your own.

More about the Texas Association of Original Doll Artists

Wheel of Death, Part V, facing fears

2010-12-03T19:07:00.000-06:00

I skipped some steps but you get the progression from abject fear to okayness. Somewhere in there she was born. She wanted her hair like Ginger from Gilligan's Island. From that point on, I knew we'd be okay. We were going to make it. If anyone asked me if I was having fun, I would have said, "Heck no." I would describe it in terms usually reserved for a difficult birth.

The important thing, though, is that we made it. I got a little crazy and went back to the wheel itself and added more color and interest. And then we were done.

Tomorrow, the final installment.

Super easy holiday project for you!

2010-11-28T21:40:00.000-06:00

I know you would rather hear about my weight loss progress, or what books I'm reading (many), or possibly my ongoing drama with the Wheel of Death, but I am too stuffed to write about all that. I saw these cute little trees on http://www.purlbee.com/ and thought they were perfect. Two-inch rectangles of felt, a zigzagged triangle, a tiny stump and voila! A holiday project I might make. { Stick a magnet on the back and do some kind of Advent thing for your refrigerator! } (Probably, though, I'll get the felt, cut it out, pour a teensie bit of Baileys in a mug and head for the bath instead.)

Here's hoping you've emptied the refrigerator of Turkey Day leftovers and you have half your shopping done for the holidays. (I have done neither.)

Love & kisses,

MaryWig

It's the little things that matter

2010-11-21T20:34:00.008-06:00

Althea here knits teeny tiny sweaters with, I don't know, toothpicks I guess. Sheesh - there's teensy sock patterns and glove patterns on her site and I don't know what-all.

It's one thing to knit a sweater three inches wide and quite another to knit it with a phenomenally complicated design. She is probably related to those people who write the history of the world on a grain of rice. And if your fingers are the size of a grain of rice, she can make you a pair of gloves (80 stitches to an inch) for $600 or so, intricate pattern included.

See, this is someone who would understand why I spent four hours of perfectly good and precious weekend time making a pair of 2" shoes instead of grocery shopping like a good woman oughta.

Photos: Althea Crome and passed along by Neeeeeva

{ w w w. b u g k n i t s. c o m }

Pssssst, this poster would make a great $20 present for someone....

2010-11-20T17:17:00.001-06:00

Love type, love funny messages... more good stuff from RollandTumblePress.

Wheel of Death, Part IV, in which a girl asks her doll tribe for HELP!

2010-11-07T22:09:00.002-06:00

Now here's the thing. I've been dutifully working along and working along all by my lonesome, and while I still have a lot of details to add, I don't think I can delay THE FACE much longer. But I'm scared of the face. First of all, I need to build a better sculptural foundation for the face. And second, I need to use a different fabric to cover her face than canvas because canvas is too rigid. Maybe a t-shirt fabric. But I would need to paint it to match the existing skin tone on her arms. And then how to paint the facial features. I'll say it again for emphasis. I AM SCARED OF DOING THE FACE. Because if I do it and I hate it, I will have to chop her head off and start again, and I really really really don't want to do that. So, I need my doll tribe to help. What's the best way to get her face done?

Help me help me help me oh great doll spirits out there.

Love & kisses,
MaryWig

Wheel of Death, Part III

2010-11-07T21:33:00.001-06:00

When last we left our heroine (aka Target Girl), she was patiently awaiting a new layer of sumthin'. I started with paper mache goo and Mr. Husband talked me into using drywall patching stuff. It went a lot smoother (figuratively speaking) and was a lot faster. I might have a future in drywalling.

The fingers are a problem. I hate fat palms and chubby wrists so I do my best to shape them but not overdo it. Do they look like kielbasa sausages? And I like a natural curve to the fingers. Doing this with drywall plaster is not so easy-peasy.

Oh yeah, we haven't talked about the beginnings of the costume yet have we? That's a painting adventure. It's midweight canvas from Texas Art Supply. I didn't prime it - I just started with layers of acryllic paint and I swooshed and painted and stamped and wrote with paint pens and generally took a layered collage kind of approach. I didn't want her to have just flat color. She needed more personality. But I didn't really do this with a whole lot of thought and planning. Which is terrific if you're a wild child, but not so great if you're scared to death. But if I didn't just start throwing some paint on canvas, I would chicken out.

The end result is that her skin has a bluish cast. Why I don't know. And then I'm kind of cutting it out and covering the plaster as I go. Again, I don't have a dang clue as to what I'm doing here, and I can't really say I'm having fun, because I'm very concerned about OUTCOME. I don't have time to re-do all this if I hate it. So onward.

You can see a bit of what actually becomes her skin covering in the background - it's red and blue, and then I cover it with a light flesh toned color to completely screw it up. But I keep going. Because I am too scared to stop.

Wheel of Death, Part II

2010-11-07T20:17:00.014-06:00

Now that the wheel is more or less on track, there's the small business of creating the big-ass doll. What do I want her to be like? Traditional? Not? I don't know. Above, bits and pieces of inspiration.

At work with Master on Franken-doll, Igor asks, "Should I hit the switch?"

This paper mache Franken-doll [front and back above] has a 3/4" plywood base silhouette that was cut out using a jigsaw. I totally get the power tool thing now. All that vibrating danger in your hands. I could cut a hole in the house if I wanted to. There's something heady about that - I could destroy the world!!!! Mwah hah haha. Seriously, once unplugged, I couldn't decide whether to make her more 3-D using layers of wood or what. This whole thing has been a prolonged anxiety attack. Why did I want to do this?

Finally, I decided on this paper mache approach to give her some voluption (word?). Wads and wads and wads of newspaper and masking tape gave the girl some curves.

Then I was at impasse number 1232, when I couldn't decide the next step. Smooth her up some more? Cover her with what? That's Part III.

A Project of Epic Proportions: The Wheel of Death, Part I

2010-11-06T17:16:00.008-05:00

Inspiration, even though she's not on a wheel, you get the idea.

I like circuses. I like danger mixed with entertainment. And I like how when I want to do something, Mr. Husband never questions my judgement, he just makes it happen. Like, I can say I need a b-i-g damn wooden wheel, and it needs to be able to spin. And poof! I've got it.

Well, that's not exactly true. We got our hands on about 65 gigantic wooden spools, and THEN once I saw them, I thought, that would be a perfect wheel for a Wheel of Death. Aside: A Wheel of Death is for knife throwers. You've seen the beautiful girls in the red outfits cut up to here and the guy throws the knife at them. I am the opposite of that girl, but I thought it would be cool to make one, name it "Alter Ego" and put it in TAODA's (that's Texas Association of Original Doll Artists) upcoming show at the Jung Center. So here's how I did the wheel...

I call this, "Starting with the easiest thing." How hard can it be?

Oopsie. A little spill with the blue stain. Guess what? This stuff does not come off your toes. Or legs, or elbows. So I am a bit blue for a while.

The finished wheel is about 5 feet wide. Next time: the epic doll.

"Lost boy" fashion tips

2010-11-02T23:00:00.003-05:00

Yes, these photos aren't as clear as I'd like them to be. Me having technical difficulties. Help!

Our FALL FASHION MOMENT includes Red Converses with contrasting black laces, rolled and wrinkled Dickies (no other brand will do), cotton plaid shirt (for extra softness) hand-embellished on back with Ramones t-shirt for extra flair. You will not find this look at Abercrombie my friends. Not available in any store. This is pure 16-year-old cool, circa 2010.

To file under SMALL VICTORIES, the Dyslexic Homeschooled Wonder Boy has finished one 500-page book plus two others. ME: Why didn't you ever read a book before? HE: Because I didn't know they made books like this. Like movies. I thought it was all Julius Cesaer and The Hobbit. I hate that crap. ME: Have you done your writing? HE: Gotta run Momma!

MEANWHILE, work continues on my major BIG creative PROJECT of epic proportions. More later this week.

Love & kisses,

MaryWig

Because my little baby WON 6th PLACE in "Rock the Cradle"

2010-10-23T19:49:00.002-05:00

"I'd like to thank my Momma for making this day possible." - Adam Wiggins during a practice session.

ROCK ON! That's right. Sixth place overall. So are we all going out to dinner with the winnings? "Put it in the bank, Momma. I'm getting a truck." Oh boy.

Time to Rock the Cradle!

2010-10-23T00:45:00.009-05:00

"It was actually my Momma who taught me how to do this." - Adam Wiggins

"I really don't ever want a tattoo, because that would only upset my Momma." - Adam Wiggins

This week has been a homeschooling wash-out because Rock the Cradle, an invite-only World Cup Skateboarding Pro Contest benefitting Johnny Kicks Cancer is in town. Just like Nascar or pro tennis, pro skaters skate events all over the country and collect points. Kid2 will be skating in some capacity as part of the Cockfight team {now there's a shirt he can't wear to church...}.

[A word from our sponsors...]

God bless Cockfight and Surfhouse for supplying Kid2 with boards and his entire fashionista wardrobe, not to mention field trips and endless nuggets of wisdom, like, "Young Adam, once you get married, it's all over, dude." And showing him skateboarding can be a lifetime sport, just like golf and swimming! And God bless Jeremy Smith, Cockfight compadre, for "flowing" shoes to him. We were going broke keeping his tootsies covered in canvas. And finally, our thanks to Joe Jamail and Push Houston for making the downtown skatepark a reality.

My official role is to sign waiver forms and hold my breath a lot.

How long you figure I got before Kid2 discovers this post and I have to take it down?

[Photos by Eric at http://www.skatehouston.info/]

I'm working on it

2010-10-22T13:54:00.000-05:00

If things look a little mental, it's only because I'm trying to give my blog a facelift. Without anesthesia. Stand by for more exciting changes.

Overheard at my house

2010-10-18T21:50:00.009-05:00

[Idle towel-folding conversation between a Cranky Momma and GirlKid3]

GirlKid3: So, did I tell you, this really cute kid Alex made us all breakfast. He is so sweet.
Me: What a sec - Alex is a boy?
GirlKid3: I told you that.
Me: No, you didn't. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if you said, "Can I sleep over Sydney's house along with a a bunch of guys you've never heard of but don't worry they'll do the cooking in the morning..."
GirlKid3: [Cue eye rolling] It was just one guy, and he's just a little boy.
Me: Meaning what exactly?
GirlKid3: He's not like one of those "I-brought-the-tequila-let's-get-this-party-started kinda guys." He's just a little theatre kid.
[Cue second wave of eye rolling]
Me: So I'm hoping he's gay?
GirlKid3: Sure, Momma.

[Image: http://weheartit.com/Soofie?page=7]

Modern teenage dating

2010-10-09T00:45:00.002-05:00

I am so proud of Mr. Husband. He was not cleaning a gun or throwing knives at an indoor target when the last young suitor stepped upon our porch to whisk GirlKid1 off on a date.

Kid2 (aka Younger-Protective-Brother-Ready-to-Kick-Some-A**) was a different story, but even he semi-behaved himself. Probably because he didn't really view a "pedicure date" as worth coming uncorked about.

Yep, a pedicure date. You and your guy-date get pedicures together. Who knew?

Me: "Was he actually wearing eyeliner?"

Kid3: "Yep. Guyliner. With a touch of mansquara.

Mr. Husband: Shakes head sadly and walks away to find comfort in a power tool.

[Time passes: See clock hands sweep by in circles]

Kid1 delivered safely home. Pours bowl of cereal, her go-to snack. BIG SIGH
Me: "What's up? How'd it go? Lemme see your toes."

Kid1: "He's such a nice guy."

Me: "Yeah? But????"

Kid1: "He likes Pokemon."

Me: "Deal breaker?" Did I tell you this guy was 19 years old?

Kid1: "Yup."

Me: "Bummer."

Presenting: Mauricio! A new cloth doll

2010-10-02T08:35:00.004-05:00

Yes, I started Mauricio: A Man of the Arts a year ago, and I finally topped him off this week in preparation for his debut at the Material Girl exhibit as part of the International Quilt Festival in Houston. He is all fabric, based on a pattern by stage costumer and doll artist Barbara Schoenoff. He's my first man (and I'll always love him because of that), and I'm quite pleased with him. I thought a lot more about the color interplay than I usually do. In fact, I struggled with it and froze up several times.

When he appears in the exhibit, he will have a paint brush in one hand (the artist) and a letter in the other (the writer), and of course, he'll have his dance shoes on (the dancer). (The shoes are damn removable - can you beat that? I am a genius, thanks to Neva, who teaches how to be a miniature cobbler in her spare time. The best part? He has a tiny gold earring in one ear. Love you man.
p.s. There is a certain satisfaction in finally finishing something. It clears out some RAM in my brain for other things, like the Wheel of Death I'm working on next. Got something going? Push through and finish it up, hon.

p.p.s. I think my photos are better that usual, don't you? I'm taking a blogging class and they teach you stuff like that. These were taken in my bathtub - and I see now (with my glasses on) they're not in absolute perfect focus, but I think they are vastly improved. Blogging Your Way is an awesome class, and I don't "awesome" lightly. Plus, you meet other cool bloggie people like kalanicut. Ciao!

xxoo

Part 2: September Book Report

2010-09-29T22:18:00.003-05:00

It's funny how books I read, with no obvious intention on my part, seem to be connected. A PERFECT compare/contrast English paper could be written using the two books below.

Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Now, Anne, you know I love you, but jeez, I hope you've calmed down by now about the right wingnuts and George W. Bush being president. I kept thinking you were going to have some kind of seizure. For someone focused on faith, seems to me you need to focus a little bit on tolerance or something so you are not walking around ready to take off the head of the next Republican you meet. That doesn't seem like a very spiritual approach to things.

On the other hand, the stuff about raising your teenage son is priceless (especially the bit about how they morph into reptiles we hardly recognize at times). I guess I thought hippie chicks with dreadlocks always got along with their offspring, but I knew you were headed for trouble when you tried to do that churchie number on him, even if it was just every other Sunday. You never can get someone else to get that faith thing. They have to get it on their own. [See Anne's Operating Instructions for excellent baby/toddler related insights.]

I tried to buy your latest book, Imperfect Birds, for myself for Mother's Day, but Kid1 thought I was trying to send her some kind of I-know-it-all mom message. {Me: Lookie! It's about Rosie, a typical senior high school girl concerned with body image and boyfriends, BFFs and boredom who is ACTUALLY an adept addict who's never met a substance she wouldn't abuse or a male she wouldn't seduce! Indignant Kid1: What are you trying to say here Momma? Is this what you think I'm doing? Put that book down and find something else.}

I ended up with what to wear for the rest of your life by Kim Johnson Gross, which could have been titled, What to Wear When You're Old and Fat, or maybe since I co-authored those Chic Style WHAT TO WEAR books in the 90s, and I just got a divorce, I can squeeze out one more book about my $300 shoes that still look fab. At any rate, you could have just told me to buy black yoga pants, flat shoes and a chunky necklace (to draw the eye upward) and called it a day. Once I "edited" my closet as you suggested, I had three tops and one pair of pants left - so I can only look good for one solid day (or three, if I'm sitting down the whole time).

Now on the other hand, Lit by Mary Karr is proving NOT to be a disappointment, even if I was a little apprehensive, given that we haven't heard from Mary in a good long while.

So I hate book readings and live author events on principle but ONE exception was seeing Mary (Liar's Club, Cherry) many many moons ago (1994?) at The Brazos Bookstore right after her first book, a memoir about her horrendous east Texas childhood, was published. I asked her one question (and it was the best one, too, if you've ever heard the dumb-ass things people ask at book readings.)

"So how's adulthood going for you so far?" {She laughed and said Fine, just fine.}

I remember her son and her sister were in the audience. This book answers the whole how-did-you-come-to-write-Liar's-Club question, and the title gives you a clue as to what her early adulthood entailed. Like Anne Lamott, she's dealing with Momma issues, faith and whiskey. But unlike Anne, Mary has broken through the anger thing. She's not mad at the world and the Republicans. I swear, the girl is one of the finest writers around. [And she's like the size of an elf, which has nothing to do with anything.] I am this close to being through with it, and while I halfway expected it to be depressing, it is anything but. Heck, I might even go to church again.

I have a feeling it will become one of the most important books of MY year, and maybe even my last few years. Mary is all grit and heart and, and, and, you just have to read it. I'm in such a non-hoard, paring down mode that I don't even keep any book that isn't worth its weight in gold. I pass them on. But with Lit, I started out underlining parts I liked, and now it is just a mess of underlining, and "Amen!" and "You tell it sister" all over the margins. I think I have a crush on Mary Karr. (Sorry, Anne, not to say I don't still love you, but I think you need some FURTHER further thoughts on faith.)

So Mary, hon, here's to you. [Clinking water glasses.]

And finally, there's The House by Anjuelle Floyd. Oh dear, Anjuelle. Full disclosure: Anjuelle sent me a copy of her book to review via She Writes. I loved the book's premise - just as this woman is about to divorce her husband and start a swell new life in Europe with a new lovin' man - her about to be ex-husband turns up with terminal cancer and she decides on a dime to stop everything - including selling THE HOUSE - to stand by his side. Or under his feet. Or something. Very rarely do I stop reading a book, but I left this one unfinished because I could not for the life of me figure out why the heck Anna should still feel so drawn to this guy who cheated on her for years and years.

If I were an actress playing Anna, I'd be standing there scratching my head, as the scene calls for me to put a roast in the oven for him, asking, "What's my motivation again?" Because I never got a glimpse of it. The characters in this book were just not drawn deeply enough for me to care about.

It also seemed like every time you turned around, Anna was growing "warm and moist" just being in the presence of her ever-cheatin' husband. (Didn't you just say he was dying?) Maybe she just recently started estrogen therapy, but I could find no justification for this residual heat.

It looks like I received a proof copy. And while it shouldn't have, it grated on me to find lots of typos and misplaced quotations.

Conclusion: If you were in my creative writing group, I'd have to say The House has promise but needs work.

That's it for September, my dears!

XXOO

September Book Report - Part I

2010-09-25T14:14:00.003-05:00

Part I happens to focus on books I read (or I am currently reading) related to homeschooling. Sorry for that, but look, one day you might find yourself working and homeschooling a junior in high school while riding a bicycle. Just saying. This month's freakout was what to teach in the MARYWIG BRAND of high school English. I know there's English curriculum out there, it's just that I don't like it and it won't work for the dyslexic wonderboy who is my son.

The Book Whisperer by Donalyn Miller. So while you're thinking I should be teaching Romeo and Juliet and To Kill a Mockingbird, I already know the traditional, everyone-is-an-English-major-wannabe-like-me approach just. won't. work.

My bestie Karen, who has like two PhDs and a master's in education with a specialty in reading, talked me back off the ledge with this book written by a chick who knows what does work as far as creating a lifelong reader. She cuts through all the absolute CRAP they are doing in school to promote reading and distills it to this: 1) create space {meaning, with your kid, know lots of good books, wander around bookstores and libraries, have tons of books at home}for the kid to choose what he wants to read and 2) provide time for him to read it. Every single day. Period. There is no other thing you can do that is more valuable. Not worksheets or comprehension tests or vocab lists or computer software. Just eyes on the page, reading. Karen sez make sure it's at the right reading level. Forget grade level. Take the book, count out 100 words from it and have the kid read it to you out loud. If he makes ONE mistake, the book is too hard. Drop down a level. SECRET TIP: if you want to increase your kid's verbal SAT scores, you could simply make the kid read more books and that would help him more than any pricey SAT study thingie.

And you can throw out the idea that Accelerated Reader (where you read books and take a computer test for credit) was ever a good idea or that reading a book as a class is a meaningful experience (and if you were the kid who loved Catcher in the Rye, I can guarantee your kid will hate it and vice versa). Turns out the whole "class read" thing, for most kids, ESPECIALLY boys, doesn't WORK. Which is nice, because, guess what? I DON'T HAVE A CLASS. But seriously, it doesn't work for a ton of reasons...

...which all come to bear in books like The Trouble with Boys: A Surprising Report Card on Our Sons, Their Problems at School and What Parents and Educators Must Do by Peg Tyre and Reading Don't Fix no Chevys: Literacy in the Lives of Young Men by Michael W. Smith, Jeffrey D. Wilhelm. Bottom line: Boys are increasingly disengaged with learning in the US. (I'm oversimplifying naturally, but in recent years, we've kind of gamed the classroom to benefit girls, and bored the boys to death or called them hyperactive.) Both books tout strategies for addressing the issue, and ALL of it makes me ~~want to scream~~ feel more confident about pulling Kid2 out of school, letting him build a treehouse and dumping the 11th grade literature list and sticking a book in his hands like Tales of the Madman Underground by John Barnes.

You wouldn't think I'd get taken in by what's called Young Adult Literature, even if it did win some American Library Association award. But I was. Totally. Kid2 picked it out, and I wanted to read what he was reading. What stands out is the authentic adolescent male voice - it's pitch perfect. Who didn't have a math teacher like this:

"Hertz came in, smelling like mixed essence of ashtray and old lady, and started pounding through the review. She said she was hurrying because she wanted to 'get into the new, fun stuff' on Monday. One good thing about her, she didn't give a shit how we were feeling -- she just processed us. Math was fun for her, it was fun for everyone, why would she ask? Load kids into desks, load trig into kids, release kids filled with trig. Like working at the cookie factory and her job was putting on the chocolate sprinkles, she didn't worry too much about any one cookie.

Gratz worried about every cookie, and that's why he broke a lot them."

And YOU should be worried about Gratz, a teacher who figures prominently with the "madmen," a group of high school kids who see the school psychologist. A great story, and it deserves a wider audience than young adults (what do they know?).

So that would, if you were homeschooling, get you started on the READING thing.

And thank you Jesus, because Karen told me to calm my ass down about the WRITING thing with Notebook Know How: Strategies for the Writer's Notebook by Aimee Buckner.

Kid2's writing skills are marginal. They need improvement. So I need to know what works and it's not going to be a compare/contrast essay on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. So far, per Miz Karen, I have been making Kid2 write. Write ANYTHING. In a perfect world, he would be writing every day, but in reality, we don't seem to get there. We are up to three times a week, with a goal of five entries. And this week, one thing I got from the kid was this:

"The smell of wood in the air
Lets me know I'm in my lair"

IT'S A START, you know? And I really like what Aimee Buckner says about kids being manipulative little twerps. See here:

My four-year-old pulls this stunt--I'm ready to take him outside to play, but he needs to put on his shoes. He says he can't find them. I end up finding the shoes buried under toy cars. He then sits down on the floor with one foot up waiting for me to put them on for him so he can play. It's the same with students and writing: If I'm working harder than they are on their writing, something is terribly wrong.

Amen, sister. I like anyone who tells me I could be working too hard. Because I am.

Enough homeschooling. Part II will focus on mommas, faith, whiskey and a house. See you shortly with:

Plan B: Second Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott, Lit by Mary Karr and The House by Anjuelle Floyd.

Scenes from a backyard: a treehouse grows in Houston

2010-09-17T21:39:00.001-05:00

Me and Mr. Potatohead have a lot in common

2010-09-05T10:36:00.005-05:00

Mrs. Potatohead 1

We both seem to like carbohydrates. So it seems logical to try the Carb Lovers Diet from Health magazine. Let me just say I am not some kind of grapefruit-eating, poor-body-image, diet-trying nut.

MaryWig
Age: 51
Weight: 148.7 lbs.
Height: 5'4"
Waist: 33"

I just can't fit into my clothes at this very moment and sometimes when I see my reflection walking down the street I'm taken back. And it makes me mad. And if I don't do something now, it's a hop, skip and a jump to me looking like one of Sophia Loren's fatter female relatives with the facial hair and jiggling arms who gets invited to things because she brings a plate of lasagna.

It occurs to me it could be a bad idea to make this weight-loss thing public. As in, Too Much Information. Then let me KNOW. A discreet comment below would do the trick. I can take a hint. I am undecided as to how often I will check in with photos.

Mr. Potatohead
Age: 58
Weight: 12 oz.
Height: 7"
Waist: 13"

Now in fairness to myself, I now have official proof that I am in men-o-pause. So I'm waiting for the day I wake up and discover that my life is the greatest thing ever at this age (and I'll go see Menopause: The Musical, get a subscription to More, REdiscover my sensuality as I start to feel wonderously free of familial responsibilities).

Mr. Potatohead weighs in

But so far all I've done is walk out of the doctor's office a little pissed, disappointed in her blase response to my question, "Is it NORMAL to wake up one morning and find a 10-pound pot belly where there used to be, well, a smallish bowl?" Her answer: "I don't do weight loss. [So she is saying I need an actual weight loss PROGRAM? Like someone who hasn't left their apartment because they can't fit through the door?] You will have to talk to your primary care physician about that." A simple, "Really, 10 pounds? Oh you poor thing! It can't be 10 pounds - maybe 5 pounds, hon, but don't be so hard on yourself..." and then give me the talk about slowing metabolism and how I might want to think about starting a weight-lifting regime. But no, nothing. Just a prescription for a bone scan. And an offhand remark about some over-the-counter remedy with eye of nute. Heartless she-doctor.

First "men-o-pot" sighting 2009

Well. Like Henny Penny, I will just have to do it myself. This article from WebMD, confirming the existence of the men-o-pot, was helpful to me in the same way that people who have seen Sasquatch find it reassuring when someone finally believes their story. This blog entry from Voodoo Cafe reminds me that people have tried to commit suicide during this "special time." Both helpful.

Question: Why do you have a bag over your head?

Answer: I thought it would help me be more objective and kind to myself.

Wish me luck!

xoxoxoxoxoxox

Because I like poetry

2010-08-25T13:12:00.010-05:00

FLYING BABY

by C. Malcolm Ellsworth

A baby sits quietly

on his mother's lap,

frightened and calm,

weary and curious,

beloved -- and so -- loving.

Old ladies struggling

with irregular carry-ons spot him

like a star on the horizon.

Passing by, each one

touches the baby's head

with detached and utter

affection, sparks of God.

Published in Christian Science Monitor. (Because I can't find the good stuff on my own.)

Why I like it: I'm one of those not-so-old ladies and I don't have babies anymore with squishy soft toes. I have offspring who now have feet like hobbits and say things to each other like, "Are you a f-r-e-a-k?"

Dear Little Red-Headed Girl...

2010-08-22T12:06:00.001-05:00

I was at a conference for bloggers. I am an introvert. The Little Red-Headed Girl sat at my lunch table. I know no one. Her mouth was full and I'd finished eating so I felt I had to fill the space. You have about 12 seconds to introduce yourself and your blog. Example: "Hi, I'm Carrie, and I blog about getting married for the first time after age 40." Personally, I'd rather send notes across the table and never speak. Why do you think I blog for God's sake? I don't have the three-second blog speech ready, so I give her a few examples of things in my life I think are funny and might show up on my blog. But I think I'm talking too fast and looking a little desperate and I'm too old to be interesting to this hip young thing who just got married but I keep talking and talking...

Like when (male) Kid 2 climbs in the car, and I say to him, "I've got to talk to you about something," and he says, "Is this when you tell me to keep my pecker in my pants?" {WHAT I THINK: I was just going to tell him not to download any more iTunes without permission but this is probably one of those "teachable moments" I've heard about and I should say something absolutely perfect that will prevent any unwanted pregnancies and needless heartache down the road. WHAT I SAY: "Yes. That's a really good idea. Do that." And then I can't manage another word. TIP: To find out how a better parent would have handled this, I invite you to read, "Everything You Never Wanted Your Kids to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid They'd Ask)."

A few hours later, I see her outside the hotel, and it was just like what happened in "You're in Love Charlie Brown" where Little Red-Headed Girl (you never actually see her) stuffs a note in his hands and gets on the school bus and it pulls away. The note says, "I like you Charlie Brown."

"You are so funny," she tells me, walking by. "You are hi-lar-ious. I'm following you on Twitter." {WHAT I THINK: Could SHE be part of my tribe? The tribe I haven't really located yet? WHAT I SAY, "Really?"} This probably sounds needy. I have, like, two friends -- one from 2nd grade and one from college -- who think I am quite funny. But you never know if you are funny outside those two friends. And you start to think of yourself as just the Inordinately Upset Woman Who Misunderstood the Blockbuster Late Policy and Lost It or even Woman Who Was Recently Evaluated With Low Leadership Potential at work.
In this case, the Little Red-Headed Girl is actually the Queen of Quirky. She blogs about making dinner for her friends once a week and maybe accidentally dressing like a tramp for work one day. Go visit her and tell her I sent you. This moving moment has been brought to you by Sally Field.

Thanks Little Red-Headed Girl! And um, I know you said you're following me on Twitter, but sh*t, I think I hate Twitter so this will have to do!

Part 3: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

2010-08-15T20:48:00.001-05:00

Bluebell Creamery. When I moved to Texas, I thought I invented cookies and cream ice cream. The first birthday cake I made for Husband1 was made out of a tub of Bluebell Homemade Vanilla with smashed-up Oreos pressed against the sides. Melting was a problem. Fast-forward almost 30 years, and I am finally making the pilgrimage to the Bluebell Creamery in Brenham.

I made my little angels take the plant tour and wear the little paper hats. I am wondering what it would be like to be the person whose job it is to replenish the cookie/cake part of the ice cream sandwiches. What is a bad day like, work-wise? Sandwiches that crumble? You know there must be drama on the plant floor. Maybe a nutty boss. I wouldn't like having to wash everything every single day. I'm always looking for the perfect job, so I keep my eyes open. Onward.

The Orange Show. People talk about this place like it is the best, coolest visionary thing ever. So I expected some kind of folk art utopia involving an orange. The reality is somewhat less impressive. It is like visiting a municipal pool that the city no longer has the funds to maintain. But with an orange theme. I have to think the guy who tiled portions of his home with a mind toward worshipping oranges had issues. I like almonds but I'm not going to turn my home into one. I am scratching my head. (They say this guy never married but liked to dance.)

Cost: $1 donation recommended

Kid1 at Beer Can House

The Beer Can House. Now I just said the Orange Show was nuts, but somehow this Beer Can House is appealing. Makes no sense. Why the inconsistency? Different vibe, I guess. I like the gentle clinking sound of the beer can tab garlands. They hang from the eaves like beaded curtains. I like the thoroughness of the homeowner's work - the guy covered every surface. I like that this guy's wife just let him cover the whole damn house with hammered cans. (What a sport!) I don't like that a developer bought the property next door and built the equivalent of a three-story cement box home that DOESN'T GO with anything in the neighborhood. If he had half a brain he would have made a beer nut house.

Cost: Free

So ends my vacation jaunt. I am slowly descending into real life. I have to go back to work tomorrow. My ears are popping. School starts next week. The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelts sign. Lunches. Homework. Drama. Responsibility.

At least I have given the tykes wonderful memories, eh?

Part 2: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

2010-08-13T22:45:00.002-05:00

I know, I know. You took your kid to the Grand Canyon and for $5,000 and a bumpy mule ride later, you hear him describe it as "a big ditch." You have the day planned at the Smithsonian, and your beloved offspring wonders if she can "just go get some sushi somewhere" and meet you afterwards. I say you can have just as much teenage vacation fun close to home! That's why I took my darlings to visit the Monastery Miniature Horses in Brenham, Texas, on a blistering hot day! There's not a Frappuccino in any direction for 45 miles. Just nuns, horses, and ceramic elephants to paint in the Art Barn there!

I had heard about nuns raising horses in Brenham forever but never had the chance to see it for myself. I envisioned miniature stables with miniature water troughs and miniature bales of hay. AND I was catholically curious about the nuns. (Do they ride the horses with little saddles? Wearing their habits? While playing guitar? Do they wear sunglasses doing this?)

It was dumb enough for me to take my kids on this field trip -- and I did it because it was just pure fun to torture them and I don't have much time left to get in lots of family vacations that they can remember forever -- but can you imagine mothers with little kids doing this? Insanity. Yet they were there, clearly melting, but insisting little Kaitlin hand over the juice box and pet the horsey.

The brown grass had a just-burned smell and the circadas were loud. We saw just one nun, as the others were probably singing somewhere, and she was wearing, according to Kid 3, "a greyish friar tuck robe with a rope tied around her rather large middle." (I couldn't remember.)

The horses looked more like horse dwarves than miniature horse replicas. Still cutish in a freaky way. A great time was had by all.

Total cost: $4 each; more if you want to paint a souvenir in the Art Barn or buy their banana bread.

Tomorrow: Part 3 (and final installment) - Bluebell Creamery, the Beer Can House and the Orange Show!

Because I like poetry

2010-08-13T15:24:00.002-05:00

Sentimental Moment or Why Did the Baguette Cross the Road?
By Robert Hershon

Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge

My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?

What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand

Taken from the excellent Christian Science Monitor essay, "Filling in the Blanks" by Polly Furth, April 12, 2010. Memory: My grandfather had just died. My dad: "I didn't realize he was old until we walked all around the driveway just so he wouldn't have to step up on the curb..."

Part 1: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

2010-08-06T06:22:00.009-05:00

Damn. July was here a minute ago. What did I do with it? Some highlights...

Enchanted Rock. So Kid 3 wanted some kind of cave-hunter-mountain-climbing experience and out of the corner of my brain I remembered Enchanted Rock. It's the closest thing to a mountain i could come up with around Houston. And even though it was a bit hot (98 degrees with 100% humidity), i thought, pshaw, we can make this work. It is only a 425-foot climb.

The girl park ranger with the boy scout uniform asked me if I wanted the 3-1/2 hour trek around the park or the 35-minute summit climb. I picked the weinie-sized summit climb and felt muy prepared with a single 8-ounce bottle of warm water.

So we set off to climb this smoldering granite mound of Texas heat. It was deserted enough to feel moon-like, but occasionally we encountered other people. A family of four. An elderly couple. While we could barely talk, what with our mouths hanging open and the need to rest every few feet, these people appeared to be having actual conversations as they walked along. For that one family, it looked like another perfect day in the Austrian Alp neighborhood minus Maria's guitar.

This information was juxtaposed with the fact that I was bent over trying to catch my breath despite my religious dedication to Zumba two times a week. Despite this hard-core training, we scrambled from one smidgeon of shade to the next like lizards. And what was supposed to take 35 minutes stretched to 90 minutes, and we didn't even get to the top.

I weighed whether we should push on to the summit or give up. In the end, I gave up. I was not going to be on the 5pm news as the sherpa-parent who died of a heat stroke trying to carry her 15-year-old to a watering hole Lonesome Dove style.

Total cost: $6 each, plus extra for 1 bottle of water

Next: The Nun's Miniature Horse Farm in Brenham, Texas

Playing school

2010-06-23T14:37:00.001-05:00

In the weeks ahead, I will be figuring out how to homeschool Kid2. It shouldn't be any big deal, right? What's teaching Algebra II and Physics to a 16-year-old? Piece of cake. While I am at it, I decided to go ahead and take in a few other neighborhood kids. Have fixed up the shed in the backyard to accommodate all the learning to take place. This school offers unusual hours, as I will begin teaching when I get home from work at 6pm and continue till 11pm. How hard can it be, after all. That's me, by the way, on the far left.

I am officially ready for summer

2010-06-05T12:48:00.007-05:00

Tod's Point, Connecticut, circa 1967. Mary is wearing groovy yellow sunglasses with a cotton-print yellow/navy two-piecer. Ruffled top (enhancing bustline) with hip stretchy belt (accentuating waist).

"Damn. My stomach still looks exactly like that."

The school year is over and not one milli-second too soon.

STATUS CHECK
location of offspring

Kid 1: Drank combination of vodka and Hawaiian punch last night and then felt compelled to tell me about it at 6am. Expects sympathy and understanding. The good news: no driving involved; happened at neighbor's house while (divorced) mother-on-duty was gallivanting around with boyfriend thinking her children were home with 75 friends "watching TV." (This is the same mother who won't let her baby boy spend the night over our house because she is concerned about our "parental judgement." {File in baby book under "First underage drinking episode"}

Kid 2: Drove with another twerp to Crested Butte, Colorado, to hang out without parental supervision for two weeks. Colleagues' reactions: "You let him to do that?" "Isn't he 16?" "Isn't that where everyone smokes pot?" My response: Yes, yes, yes. The kid listens to Johnny Cash and skateboards all day. Cut all his pants into shorts and looks like one of the lost boys from Peter Pan. I needed some time away from him to collect my thoughts. "Don't forget to text me when you get there..."

Kid 3: Graduated from 8th grade amidst plenty of ceremonial fanfare. Ridiculous. Since when is it an accomplishment to graduate from flippin' 8th grade? Gee, I wonder if she'll go on to high school? There was so much videotaping, picture-taking, memory-making nonsense going on I could hardly stand it.

Things I wish I didn't overhear when carpooling:

Kid-other-than-mine: "My mom was so mad the other night."
My kid: "How come?"
Kid-other-than-mine: "I came home from a date with my shirt inside out."

Recently at my home:

Me: "That skirt is too short."
Kid1: It is not."
Me: "It looks like you are wearing toddler clothes."
Kid1: "I'll ask Daddy."
Me: "Be my guest."
{time elapses}
Me: "Well?"
Kid1: "He said I look cute."
Me: "Really?" stomps outside to verify story...

Me: "Did you see the kid?"
Him: "Yup."
Me: "What did you say to her?"
Him: "I told her the bottom of her skirt was closer to her crotch than her knees."
Me: "She didn't mention that."

Tell me why more parents don't run away from home?

In Which Our Heroine Gets Her Mojo Back

2010-05-16T22:22:00.000-05:00

These photos are long overdue, but they have such enduring appeal. My dear little peanut was knocking them dead, okay, in this pageant a few months ago. And so what if she didn't want to try on the evening dress again after not wearing it for a few months, right? What is a couple of Frappucino's among friends?

But uh-oh. I knew from the second the emcee reported that there was a delay with the evening gown portion of the contest "because a young lady's dress has split from here to there" that it was my little peanut. But hey, the kid got out there (with 37 safety pins holding her together) and kept a smile on her face and twirled with the best of them and took the Miss Congeniality Award and was named top three in the Photogenic and Swimsuit categories. (I think she got Runner-Runner-up or something.)

And with that, we have been forced to retire from the pageant world. Sadly, our sponsor deserted us to plan her wedding and was further distracted when she adopted a spider monkey from a South American country to raise as her own. You think I am kidding, but I am not. It was fun while it lasted!

Now back to the real world...I have just 20 pages left of Handling Sin, and I am beside myself. How will I go on without this book to make me laugh at the end of every day? Of course I have told you to read it, but the last time I enthusiastically and fearlessly told a book club to read my selection (Moo by Jane Smiley), they came back several months later whining and complaining about the most boring book ever and wondering WHOSE selection this was anyway. This was enough to make me want to cry [inside] or better yet, order another pinot griglia [<--i have that wrong i know] and wonder why the heck I even try. (I never did tell them it was ME after all; I just quietly put every one of them on my list of People Who Don't Get It.)

Recommendations aside, this is the kind of book I would write if I had a smidgeon of the story-telling ability. Faith, hope and love -- it has it all. An excerpt:

AS A BABY, like all his peers--for there are no agnostics in the cradle--Raleigh Whittier Hayes had been a believer; the world contagious with magic, he the center and circumference, his the man to summon Titans to his bedside, set birds flying, move clouds with a stare, scare waves away. Maturation immunized him by slow infection. His powers weakened. By five, he coudl no longer change a traffic light from red to green, had no idea what dogs and cats were talking about, and was considering the possibility that he might be mortal. At six, he declined to join Jimmy Clay in leaping from a high bough with a towel safety-pinned around his neck and "KAZAAM!" on his T-shirt. That shattering his scrawny arm did not dent Jimmy's belief in his omnipotence struck young Raleight as another crowding example of faith's folly and self-conceit. That Mingo Sheffield (a little boy so fat he had neither wrists nor ankles, and couldn't even buckle the sandals he wore over droopy socks), that Mingo sobbed, "you're a liar!" and butted the soft bristles of his crew cut into his pillow, when told by Raleigh that Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny were only parents, struck the seven-year-old with the rich sense of superiority to his neighbor that was never to leave him." pg. 118

At the end of the book I am left with an overall hopeful feeling, which is a lot for person like me who tends toward the half-empty side of things. Hence, I will not worry too much on this day [only] about how in the world things will turn out for my little birds - even though one of them was recently voted, "Most Likely to End Up in Jail for Speeding Tickets," and the fact that I will be home-schooling the other one (yes, it is too bad School of the Woodland Fairies will not work out...), and the last little twerp who has her heart set on being a Broadway performer and is currently using Easter egg dye to color water to repackage "Pirelli's Miracle Elixir" (see musical: Sweeney Todd for explanation) in tiny spice jars for her drama compadres. I will say to myself, at least they have Personality and leave it at that.

Adios mis amigas!

Spring Book Report!

2010-05-07T22:37:00.000-05:00

I have not been this smitten with a book since A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving, but Michael Malone's Handling Sin has made me laugh out loud late at night (when everyone is asleep), on the bus (as others inch away from me) and waiting at the doctor's office (when I am mad they are running on time).

I am this close to writing Clint Eastwood to tell him that he should make this book into a movie but I haven't figured out exactly who I want to cast in what role and I feel I should have my ducks lined up before I make the pitch. I am partial to Robert Duvall as the hero, Raleigh Whittier Hayes, but beyond that, I'd like to look at some lesser known talents and anyone who has never appeared in People magazine. (I found this book because it was mentioned as a book club choice in Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons: A Novel and thought it might be worth a look.) Besides the hero, Raleigh, I like Mingo Sheffield, the fat and insufferable loyal friend, and I would consider Danny Devito for this role, however I don't know if he could muster enough Southern charm for my satisfaction.

I finally saw It's Complicated, and I was not disappointed (generally speaking) but a few things irked me. First, the fact that Meryl Streep had a $10-million home on the coast of California and felt she had to add a new kitchen is a little ridiculous. And second, why would she be interested in Steve Martin? His character was duller than dishwater. No appeal. Zip. And third, what was up with that kid of hers graduating from college? Was he supposed to be gay? They dressed him like a 12-year-old attending summer camp in the Adirondacks. Peculiar.

Because I could, I attended a book signing for Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler. You would have thought that Cleopatra was coming to town. We were not allowed in the bookstore until the appointed moment; you could take a photograph but Ms. Handler would not pose for a photograph; you were to have the book open and the desired name pre-printed on a post-it note. Heck, there were fewer rules from the Secret Service when George and Barbara Bush attended Cats a couple weeks ago. I hate to say this, but that was the last book signing I will ever attend. It is such a weirdo experience and makes me feel like some kind of worshipping serf.

The last one I went to was Sue Monk Kidd and daughter (Traveling with Pomegranates: A Mother-Daughter Story) and because of the crowd size, it was in a church. And the two of them click click clicked up the aisle like high priestesses, and I am SURE they are wonderful people and all, but there was so much gushing and oohing and aahing from the packed 35-50-year-old mothers-who-volunteer-too-much crowd, I had to get out of there. They were not reading from the Bible my friends; this was just a trip to friggin' Greece where the mom figured out, "hmmm, my kid is depressed...maybe i'll ask her what's wrong," and on the other side, "hmmm, i didn't get into the graduate school of my dreams; i hate my life and i really want to be a writer but would that be copying my mom. Should I maybe say something?"

(In all fairness I do buy the books at these things, I just don't stand around for hours to get them signed. And I did enjoy The Secret Life of Bees, but The Mermaid Chair less so, as it got a little too spiritual for me, and I couldn't fathom the stripping down and rolling in the mud to be one with nature bit.

One book I had to buy, even after my monthly promise to myself not to buy any more books, was 1000 Ideas for Creative Reuse: Remake, Restyle, Recycle, Renew (1000 Series) by Garth Johnson. It is chock full of ideas that spark my little brain like flowers made out of zippers and a sofa made out of a claw-foot tub and so on. Now the clothes are uglier than sin or maybe i am just too old to wear remixed fashion.

I leave you with this comment, overheard at my house, concerning my lunches, which i faithfully pack every day for my three baby-ass children, "Man, by Friday, you might as well just take a picture of a lunch and put that in my bag. It's like there's nothing left and you put peanut butter on cardboard and call it a sandwich." Well, there might be a smidgeon of truth to this, but the little twerps could always make their own lunches, eh?

Ciao!

What is self trust?

2010-04-20T21:49:00.005-05:00

"A knowing that when you feel overwhelmed or inadequate, it isn’t about your weaknesses or failings: Life is hard and complex, and there is a lot to juggle. Period." -- Jennifer Louden
Hermann Park wildflowers April 17, 2010; waiting for dark and Kid3's play to begin...

April beginnings

2010-04-05T20:50:00.002-05:00

I need to point out a few wonderful things I have spied recently. Like this freaky-cute doll by Missy Ballance. {If you're the kind who needs instructions, you can find them here.} See, I bought Blogging for Bliss by Tara Frey last week and I've been eating up the crafty blogs featured inside like they're candy.

Besides Miss Missy's Crafty Carnival, {check out them little spool people -- they remind me of the little Fisher-Price peeps but with better personalities} I like Holly Becker's decor8 {and I especially like her intentions for living, found here), plus I like Inside a Black Apple and ESPECIALLY her "People I want to marry" section. {She gushes over books like me!!!} And then there's Daisy Cottage even if it does make me feel like a monster for not having one single bloom in my yard.

There's just one thing though, and that's that all these bloggers are sweet and I am rather mean. I cannot see any one of them getting home, like I did today, and telling their family they wanted to pretend they lived alone.

Gosh, these women are in a kitchen somewhere making carrot cake and taking incredible photos of the whole damn experience. So while I l-o-v-e them, I also think I hate them a little bit. But that is my lack of serotonin talking, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, I am pleased to report that my search for a weekly magazine that doesn't annoy the crap out of me is over and I have settled on Christian Science Monitor. I like weekly magazines because you get a little perspective without the traffic accidents and murders, but I had to stop Newsweek long ago (it got too pop culture crossed with political criticism) and switched to US News & World Report (which I thought was terrific, only then they went to an online-only format -- and I tried to love it equally, but I couldn't) and then I happened to read a well-written article online and the author happened to be a Christian Science Monitor correspondent, and I thought, well, I wonder if this is the scientologist's official magazine, but it isn't - it's fabulous (except the crossword puzzle is unreasonably difficult). It even has poetry. And stories about people doing good. And photographic essays. And a big Life magazine format.

love & kisses,
m

"Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me"

2010-03-31T12:01:00.001-05:00

I am sad to report that my little peanut's heart was squashed on the concrete sidewalk of life this weekend when we received THE REJECTION LETTER from HSPVA.

I'd show you a picture of it, but I can't find it. Offspring 3 (aka "little peanut") rumpled it up and threw it down, and when I secretly went to retrieve it later to examine it for clues, it had disappeared. No doubt she has it squirrelled away somewhere to re-read and wonder about.

I was working on Saturday and idly checking in with my spouse, and he mentions it last, an "Oh-by-the-way" after the "What time do I pick you up?" I went outside and cried my eyes out and quit for the day.

So Husband1 picks me up and we retrieve the kid from an all-day rehearsal (Musical of the Moment: CATS at Miller Outdoor Theatre April 8, 9, 10 & 15,16, 17). He favored a "Let-her-down-easy" phased approach, like "Let's-tell-her-tomorrow," whereas I'm a "rip-off-the-Band-Aid-now" person. So before she was even fully seated in the car I blurted it out and gave her the letter.

No doubt there are good and bad ways to deliver bad news but I personally can't stand it when someone has something to tell me and they pussyfoot around. By the time they get it out, I find myself wanting to stab them with a fork for letting me go on like a happy village idiot before delivering the death knell.

I remember when Offspring1 was four years old and she figured out "death." She was furious. She wanted confirmation: Were her parents going to die? YES. Her grandparents, everyone she knew? YES. Was she, in fact, going to die? YES. [File under: "Moments when I hate being a parent..."]

I also remember telling the kids there was no Easter Bunny, or Santa, or Birthday Fairy. And the more I insisted, the more they laughed and thought it was a joke. "How do you explain this?" -- and I showed them all the colored eggs in the closet (a little triumphantly i think).

Meanwhile, I'm quite proud of Offspring3's moxie. I had put my tears in my pocket by the time I told her, and while she sort of squeaked and gasped at the news (which is shocking, by the way, because the kid can tap dance and sing herself silly and has performed in some musical somewhere since she was five), she kept herself in check and we all went to Fuddruckers and ordered man-sized hamburgers and strawberry shakes with real strawberries.

I told her we would work on Plan B. (And no, there is no Plan B.)
Then we went home, where she changed clothes and I delivered her back to HITS Theatre for an evening with Kate Baldwin, a remarkable performer, and the rest of her drama-pals.

Love & kisses,
Mary

Dodgeball gone wrong

2010-03-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

When is a dodgeball game not a dodgeball game? When it's at a big Baptist church! This little gang of bead-squeezin' Catholics (who happen to be related to me three times over) mistakedly thought it was going to be an evening of inter-faith fun and games aka Dodgeball. So little did they expect the doors to open from all sides and to be accosted by bible-thumpin' Baptists touting the road to salvation.

"I just wanted to play dodgeball," said one innocent.
"We bought these awesome shirts for nuthin," said another.
"I think we had a near-miss with a cult," said the last little lost sheep.
"Momma, they said we're going to hell."

The nerve!

FINAL SCORE
Baptists 0
Beadsqueezers 5

Just give me 15 minutes...

2010-03-13T17:42:00.000-06:00

We're all busy. Anyone will tell you. We have no time, and I am no different. So I set out to see what I could accomplish in three 15-minute intervals. Here are the results.

What I want to do: Work on Mauricio the doll.

What's holding me back: I can't even remember where I was with him because everything is a mess. I am overwhelmed.

The solution: Set the timer for 15 minutes and see if I can clean up my mess enough for me to work on him. Tell myself that at the end of 15 minutes, if I am still discouraged I can 1) quit or 2) set the timer for another 15 minutes.

Here is where I'm starting.

Hmmm. There is some progress. I could quit. Instead I set the timer again for 15 minutes.

Just 30 measly minutes later, I can at least remember where I was with the doll. (I need to make a shirt for him; I need to add trim to his jacket; I need to fix his hair.)

I have given myself another 15 minutes to blog about this. My perfect self sees that the final picture is slightly off; that is, it shows more of the floor than I want. I could 1) re-do the photo or 2) fuggedaboutit and move on.

I choose 1, realizing that perfectionism often holds me back from doing worthwhile things all the time. I know you won't hold it against me!

Update from previous post. "Ladies & gentlemen, we have a callback." Yes, Kid 3 is a born entertainer seeking entry to the Musical Theatre program at HSPVA. There were 450 applicants to HSVPA, 80 students called back, and of those, approximately 30 kids will be admitted to the ENTIRE theatre program (including Drama, Tech Design and Musical Theatre), so realistically, she is vying for one of 10 spots. We won't find out until the last week in March. Cross yer fingers!

Update from earlier post. Masquerade. Did "Phantom's Masquerade" ever make it into J. Bangles Silk Stocking Gallery? Sadly, no. I missed the deadline by a rather wide margin. I'll show you where I am at a later date. Discouraged? Yes, a wee bit. I got technically challenged and I ran out of time. But my guardian angel told me, "There, there, Mary, there will be other chances. Go take a nap, hon."

Ladies and gentlemen: We have a callback!

2010-02-26T17:40:00.000-06:00

One of my kids is auditioning for HSPVA. That's highschoolfortheperformingandvisualarts to you, pal. And I'm trying not to get too crazy-mother about it. So it was that I drove the little darling to the first audition and sat on the plastic chairs with the other parent-inmates.

Just because the kid has put ALL HER EGGS in one basket and we have no real high school alternative is no reason to put any pressure on anybody.

So they start this process by taking a picture of your kid with a number stuck to her chest and as I'm watching this, it is absolutely clear that something is wrong. The kid has the freakiest look on her face -- a cross between Jack Nicholson's twisted grin from The Shining and an unhappy prisoner -- and before I can jump over the chairs and knock the other kids out of the way to fix it, the flash pops and the expression is forever captured.

We are doomed. The unsuspecting kid comes back to sit down next to me. I am thinking: Who needs your mother to tell you after the fact that you have just ruined all possibility of success in one photo op. I am saying: I can't remember exactly but something unhelpful and I might have even mentioned the Jack- Nicholson-in-The-Shining reference.

I think she said something like, "M-m-o-o-m-m-m" in a tone that started off whiny with a bit of a squeal and ended with a pronounced I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that-to-me finality.

Luckily, the kid must have made some kind of comeback and redeemed herself during the three-hour audition DESPITE the photo snafu BECAUSE SHE GOT A CALLBACK! So she has made the first cut from 450 kids to 75. Tomorrow is the second and final cut, where the 75 will be cut to 35.

I am proud of myself for not asking for God's intervention. Well, not much intervention. I just said, "If you're not too busy and if things are on the mend in Haiti and all, and, well, thy will be done, and I understand if you don't want to, but if you could see your way to helping out a little bit here, I would be grateful."

And I didn't beg or make any bargains, but I did mention that we are a bit S-T-R-E-T-C-H-E-D, seeing as how my other kid now attends School of the Woodland Fairies (which costs an arm and a leg for all that free-to-be-you-and-me-ness) [seriously, I love them to death...] and oh yeah, I did ask You for help then, too, and you were absolutely ACES. Okay okay okay. Whatever happens happens. I'm (almost) good with it.

Break a leg tomorrow, kid! Wait, wait, (spitting on my tissue) what's that on your face? Don't you run away from me!

There’s a monkey on my back

2010-02-15T04:37:00.000-06:00

I think it is a good thing if you stop for a light and a monkey in a dress is looking at you. Do you agree? Although I acknowledge that a clown in full makeup driving down the street can also be a scary thing if you’re in a certain mood.

Let’s see if you can follow this line of thinking…

TEENAGE PEA BRAIN: “Miz Crabapple told us in Journalism class that the plant outside the window was poisonous, and not to eat the leaves, so you know my friend Meghan? Yeah, so, like we ripped off a leaf and I said, ‘Meghan, want to lick the leaf with me?’ ‘Yeah!’ So we did.” ME: “Why did you do that?” TEENAGE PEA BRAIN: “We HAD to do it when she said that. It’s bullsh*t, right?” ME: “Let’s just say you ended up in the Emergency Room and the doctors asked me, ‘Is there any chance your daughter could have eaten oleander leaves?’ I can just see me saying, ‘Why would my kid be eating leaves off a plant? She’d never be that stupid.’ I guess my thinking is flawed.’” PEA BRAIN: “My tongue is tingly.”

And sadly no, I am no further along on my Masquerade. That’s because since I last wrote, I worked till 9pm twice; I had one kid in the ER dehydrated with a stomach turning somersaults; I had one kid in Traffic Court (five offenses) “I was RUSHING to pick up YOUR son”; and I spent the rest of the time in line at DPS trying to get Mr. Dehydration a license just so he can join the fun. P.s. It never occurred to me that you had to have “Proof of Enrollment” to get a license. (I know, I know, I should have checked but I was not the original parent in charge of this task and I thought we were all set.) Too late I thought of saying, “He’s homeschooled” and scribbling out a note to the effect.

p.p.s. On one of those work-late nights, I was with a co-worker who parked her car in a garage that closes at 9pm. Of course we were locked out (and she was giving me a ride home). "This can't be happening. This is something that happens to YOU not ME!!!!" What the heck does that mean?

Head Games

2010-01-31T22:11:00.001-06:00

I hate to write this, but I didn't get my piece done in time for the Galveston show at J. Bangle Silk Stocking Gallery. I got stuck figuring out how to do what I set out to do, and before I knew it, I was, in fact, bringing a cheese ball to the reception instead of a finished piece.

In the past week I have been torturing myself – should I still try to get it done? Should I give up, and if I give up, can I skip the whole guilt thing? I want to just knock myself over the head to stop the chatter.

I have to tell you I have been solidly on the "SURRENDER DOROTHY" side, but then I got an email tonight from someone in TAODA with news from the gallery owner that he needed more dolls and people [ EXAGGERATION: one single person ] are intrigued with the name of my piece -- Phantom's Masquerade.

SIDENOTE: Yes, yes, they left a spot for it and already put the card up…and I thought of telling them, "It's there, can't you see it? ??? Phantom's Masquerade…..

Anyway, here's the work in progress.

It's going to be like a theater, see, so it's a frame on the wall. And then I copied an old painting on fabric and stitched around it for the background, and I wanted to make a bunch of dolls dancing in the foreground. Easier said than done.

And there's cardboard, and painting and gold burnishing - all kinds of stuff involved here. Heck, I even used a band saw for the first time to cut out these pieces.

Part of the dilemna is how to make these little dancer dolls, and whether it'd be okay to use pre-made doll blanks like this one that I was fooling around with. But then it wouldn't be 100% original, right?

So will I, won't I finish it? After seeing everyone else's work, of course I am beset with doubts. I could have cried when I heard my friend say it took her a week to get the legs on her doll right. No wonder our work is not in the same league. What would it be like to have a week to get the whole kitten caboodle together instead of 30 minutes here and there?

I have good reasons to quit. It is a bad time at work and a bad time overall (I have been avoiding telling you that we lost (as in, had to put him down, not forgot where we put him) Wayne the doggie suddenly; one kid quit school (oh who needs school in this day and age?); and one mom was beside herself trying to find alternative schools before landing on just the perfect one, only to realize that it will cost more than paying cash for a new car every year but enrolling him anyway because what else was there to do. S-I-G-H.

Other highlights: my colonoscopy. I am STILL recovering psychologically from the ordeal. Not the medical ordeal, which was merely a check the box exercise on the things to do when you're FREAKING FIFTY list. But the fact that my husband picked that particular occasion to learn how to use his phone camera.

"Hey, it shoots video!" These are not the words you long to hear when you are trying to find your way back from the bathroom in a hospital gown.

I'm pretty sure that if I ever have to do that little procedure again, I will pay a complete damn stranger to give me a ride home.

This week looks hard from where I'm sitting right now. Wish me luck.

Love & kisses,

Mary

Do it anyway

2010-01-08T17:50:00.001-06:00

I have 10 good reasons for not trying to get a doll(s) ready to put in the new TAODA show in Galveston. Deadline: January 22.

1. It's too hard… What a baby!

2. I should get my Christmas cards out. People are waiting anxiously for them. I don't think anyone is standing by their mailbox. You're already late. Why not be REALLY late. Or save them for next year and buy Valentine's cards.

3. I'd rather take a nap. Go ahead. Take a nap. Hide from the world. See if I care. You won't really be able to sleep.

4. It is just too haaarrrrrdddd. It is hard. Start on the easy part – like gluing something. Or just open the bottle of glue and paint your fingers, let it dry and then peel it off. That counts as starting.

5. Maybe I don't have such a great idea for this project. Mine will suck. Yes, and how are you going to feel at the artists' reception when everyone else has a doll on exhibit and all you brought were the cheese and crackers?

6. There's laundry to do/food to cook/kids to parent/husbands to harangue. A doll on exhibit lasts longer than either clean socks or spaghetti.

7. It is really busy at work. Um, you're not at work right now.

8. What if it comes out stinky or I can't make what I see in my head? That would be disappointing. Of course it's also a really good old-fashioned excuse – if I don't try I can't fail. Aren't you bored with that thinking?

9. It's too cold. Have some hot cocoa. Use it as an excuse for taking household holiday and doing the doll work.

10. My family will suffer if I spend every minute till the 22^nd trying to get this done. Newsflash: They will suffer if you don't do it. Say three times fast: my mother the martyr my mother the martyr my mother the martyr

Oh Nine!

2009-12-30T16:36:00.000-06:00

So I am grateful to have time off, and at the top of my brain every day has been the intention to go for a walk, and I have yet to do it even once. And I generally like taking walks.

But what I have managed to do every day instead is eat a big ole World's Finest Chocolate candy bar (with almonds) from the fund-raising box that is hidden in my kid's room. (I almost wish he was a better hider, but not enough to tell him to change the hiding place.)

Other things I have not done:
1. Printed 2009 in photos (hey, this has gotten tricky. It used to be, take pictures, drop off the film, get the prints, throw away the crappy ones and stick the rest in an album.

Now it's morphed to, take pictures, figure out which ones are worth keeping, which is hard to do if you don't have your glasses, figure out where the heck I saved them on my computer, figure out if anything is worth cropping or fixing, figure out if i am ready to delete the ones on the camera (did I save them on my computer? who can remember?), figure out if i want to print them at home or at CVS, figure out the chronological order of the photos, hey shouldn't i be saving them on a external hard drive - oh yeah i don't have an external hard drive - SEE HOW HARD IT IS?

2. Written Christmas cards

3. Cleaned my bathroom

Things I have done:
1. Cleaned up my workshop and organized fabric
2. Randomly completed loads of laundry
3. Made some great dinners
4. Laughed (and really guffawed, lost my breath, choked and everything)
5. Fallen asleep on the couch 10 times

Overall, even without the walks, I think I am ahead of the game. What about you? Here's hoping the New Year brings you all kinds of good things.

As for me, I am not making any resolutions or lists or God forbid, setting GOALS for the year, save one. And that is to take better care of myself. In little ways. Like sewing the button on my jacket so I don't freeze to death,
like buying more than one bottle of my favorite lotion (Gold Bond - you gotta try it) so I have one for my gym bag, like giving myself a "bye" on anything I don't feel like doing and NOT WORRYING ABOUT ONE DAMN THING for the rest of 2009.

{{{{But if you are a resolution-type, go to http://www.smithmag.net/sixword_resolutions/ to read the contest-winners of, well, six word resolutions. }}}}

Love & kisses,
Mary

One foot in front of the other

2009-12-09T20:20:00.000-06:00

I like the little walk I have every morning from my bus stop to my building. Even though it's not a very long walk, I like the space it gives me between the bus and my job. And then at the end of the day, between my job and the ride home. It's a little breather where I'm not supposed to be doing anything other than what I'm doing. I like to be alone among strangers. It's still hard for me to admit to people that I'd rather take the bus than have a comfy ride in an SUV. When I'm a grown-up, I won't have to think twice about saying, "No thanks, I'm going to walk to the bus."

Things I notice: how it smells like Shipleys Donuts in the morning on the corner of Fannin and McKinney. And how, at night, in the exact same spot, it smells like grilled steak. There is a homeless guy I see sometimes on McKinney. Our relationship is progressing. He used to ask me to marry him, but now he skips that part and asks for a hug. We have only hugged once. And when he hugged me, he blessed me, which made me get that choke-y feeling in my chest. I told my kids about it, and daughter2 said "Maybe it was Jee-sus, hahahahaha!" Coulda been.

Small things

2009-12-01T21:10:00.000-06:00

Found this tiny little mannequin at Texas Art Supply and thought it would look marvelous with some clothes.
Not the greatest photo, but now she has a silk dress with a velvet ribbon waist. Cute as can be. I'm not going to show you this, but she has silk drawers as well. Why is looking under the skirt the second thing (the first being to look at the face) women do when they handle a doll? Why do dollmakers put bellybuttons and other tiny things that no one in the world will ever see or know are there? I personally could never send a doll into the world unprotected, so to speak. There's something about giving a girl some fancy pants that says ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD.

I'd like to make a whole set of these little pretties. Like chess pieces.

Check out this 13-bean soup. I bought a bag of pretty-colored beans because they looked so good together. But after I soaked them overnight and cooked them the next day, they all seemed to turn the color of b-l-e-c-k. It seemed like such a wholesome, post-Thanksgiving cold rainy day thing to feed my family. And of course they refused eat it, thinking I was punishing them for some unknown crime. Twerps. The soup pot is so heavy now it's like lifting a pot of rocks. I think I'll keep it in the refrigerator for five more days just to scare them. "I'm hungry." "Have some soup why don't you?"

I continue to work on Mauricio. For the record, he is not gay, but he is flamboyant and he does like to see Cher live in Las Vegas. And yes, I realize he still doesn't have a head. I have to decide if he's going to wear a hat or if I have to make some ears. What do you advise? Ciao friends!

Just write something, anything

2009-11-20T10:25:00.000-06:00

I have been a bit stuck and unwilling to post to my blog, although I have written several posts in my head. Sadly, thinking about writing is not the same as writing. Otherwise I would be the author of several bestsellers and award-winning films.

I wish I could turn my brain off, but most of the time I am not only writing my autobiography, I am figuring out the soundtrack as well, and wondering who should play my character. And as the days progress, I am almost wishing someone would pick a fight or push me over the edge because it would make such a great story. (Go ahead, just splash me with your car so I'm wet from head to toe. Make my day. I'll put your license number in my blog.) This all makes it hard to carry on a conversation sometimes.

But let's start with my most comfortable topic, what I'm making right now, and if other topics make it in here today, so be it. I am quite pleased with my newest doll-in-progress, which came about because of a class with Barbara Schoenfeld. I liked her for a couple of reasons. 1) She is talented; 2) She had an asymetrical haircut; 2) She livened things up by posing a question to the group (on the second day, after she got to know us) along the lines of, "If you had a free pass from your husband, who would you sleep with?"

Now, I am one of the youngest in the group here, and let's just say not everyone was onboard with this "Red Tent" talk. So for that reason alone it was fascinating to watch the group's reaction. Meanwhile, I was scrabbling to find something to write with because there seemed to be so many possibilities I had not even heard of. After Hugh Jackman and the new James Bond guy, I was stumped. Not these girls! And this demonstrates, I think, a telling difference between dollmakers and say, quilters. Woo hoo!

Which brings up a short aside - the homework for this class was to have the body parts sewed and stuffed, and running short of time as I always am, I decided to bring the body parts to my daughter's football game and get them stuffed while I watched the game. Genius! Play with dolls and be perfect attentive mom too!

So the leg in question is pictured here. Halfway through the game, Jessica comes bounding up the stadium stairs, in her microscopic cheerleading outfit and a furrowed brow, demanding to know what I'm doing. "Three people have asked me what the heck my mom is doing in the stands." She even said that the cheerleading sponsor said her husband was no longer watching the game because he couldn't keep his eyes off of what I might be doing.

For the record, I was STUFFING a damn leg with a stuffing fork. I don't know what he thinks I was doing. As I think back, I am wondering what I was thinking. I remember my husband making a couple of rude remarks suggesting I put the thing away, but heck, I don't ever think his idea of reasonable behavior is trustworthy when this is a guy who pees off the backporch at home.

I think I thought it was like being in my car, where everyone knows you are invisible. In looking at the leg, I considered that it might be misconstrued, but I thought, aw, people will surely understand this is a very shapely man's leg, I have a doll class tomorrow, and give me the benefit of the doubt and besides, I really need to get this done. It strikes me now that I understand why the couple sitting nearby (whom we have known for years) did not even say TWO WORDS to us the entire time.

So I can't WAIT for the next football game tomorrow night. Apparently half the spectators on the Waltrip side will be waiting to see what I'll pull out of my bag. The very idea. p.s. Patrick Swayze and Shelley Long both graduated from Waltrip. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Anyway. So I like this doll because it's the first time I made a guy, and I like that he's rather fat (even if does look a bit like a headless chicken or turkey right now), and I like that there's a lot of pattern and layers to his costume. I actually planned the color palette before I started on him, because I am less and less inclined to be comfortable just winging it. I want things to look like they belong together, not like I cast blindly into my stash and came out with a fistful of possibilities (which is my usual approach).

I love his little moustache, (which he DEMANDED I add) and I think he's Italian. For now, anyway, I am toying with the name Mauricio. Barbara's version is much more stately. My darling little children think he looks like a baker.

So tomorrow, my goal is to finish his vests and jacket and maybe attach his head. But none of this will happen at the football game. They'll think I'm doing something weird with a turkey. Sickos.

Love & kisses, m

Sue Sylvester: my new Chuck Norris

2009-10-21T21:26:00.000-05:00

I know, I know - where does the time go? School started is what happened. If it's not a history fair, it's an algebra problem I can't solve or a lunch to pack. Thank God my kids learned to forge my signature so I don't have to sign their agendas and permission slips anymore.

I wanted to introduce you to my new favorite character: the indomitable Sue Sylvester - a woman who is never wrong. Watch her yourself on Glee on Wednesday nights. Glee is a mostly hilarious musical comedy (if you can get past the lip synching).

Although no one can replace Chloe on 24 in my heart, I'm making room for Sue and her swell Adidas tracksuits.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGtRO9MpGGo

July/August Book Report

2009-08-19T19:35:00.000-05:00

To start, I think Eat, Pray, Love should maybe have stopped at Eat. It was pure joy to imagine going to Italy for months on end with the single-minded idea that your purpose is simply to enjoy the food, learn a beautiful language and take a nap every day. Plus, it looked like author Elizabeth Gilbert had a sense of humor and humility and so what if she was a little annoying from time to time. I mean, everyone gets on your nerves after a few days of travel, right?

When I mentioned to others that I was reading the book, though, I was unprepared for how many people h-a-t-e-d it. This was unusual. Especially for a book with "Pray" and "Love" in the title. How bad could it be? But K from college asked me if I was listening to it (nope, just reading it), and then said I would want to kill myself if I heard this woman's whining voice for just five minutes. "And when she goes to the ashram and she's scrubbing the floor, you'll just want to start screaming at your iPod."

"I couldn't believe how self-absorbed she was," said one woman I don't know very well (and who probably thinks I'm really self-absorbed because that hadn't even occurred to me at that point in the book). "I had to stop reading," said another. Man. I thought the author was funny, but then I was still in the "Eat" phase.

In "Pray," in India, I thought it was pretty cool to spend a lot of time in silence and have a guru and all, and I could actually envision myself doing this some day, although my 'monkey mind' would require a lot more training before I wouldn't feel like an absolute fraud. And truthfully, the idea of spending my days scrubbing the floor endlessly actually does appeal to me, as does folding laundry and moving boxes from here to there and back again. I need the mental r-e-s-t after all.

But then "Love" in Indonesia. Stop by on vacation a few years early, meet a medicine man and then tell him you'll be back in a couple of years. It could happen. But this was the most suspicious part - as she ended up f-a-l-l-i-n-g in love, and then come to find out, they got married and it's the subject of her next book. I dunno. Plus she seemed to give herself a ton of credit for not sleeping with anyone for a year (clap clap clap i guess). Clarification: she did not marry the medicine man, but another guy.

Anyway, I liked the way the book was organized, according to prayer beads in sections of three's and how it is all linked to the Catholic rosary. Good stuff, and I do love symmetry and order. But in the end, ** out of *****, and not just because I'm jealous that she got a friggin' book contract just for being whiny (and often funny) and goofing off for a year. How do I get that gig?

Now earlier I had said I was reading The Long Walk Home by Will North (because I liked the cover) but I didn't think I would finish it because it was a little too romance novel-y for me. Plus, it was written by a guy but from a woman's point of view, and um, I just can't take that seriously. (I'm sexist that way, especially when we're dealing with what a woman thinks is h-o-t.) But I DID finish it, mainly because I needed a counterpoint to Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud & INcredibly Close book about a very interesting little kid whose dad died in 9/11. (More on that later.)

Now, clearly, the author of The Long Walk Home was a little more interested than I was in raising sheep. I mean, jeez, I think I could now deliver a lamb based on the details he provided, and clearly he is an American who wishes he was Welsh - I can almost feel his itchy sweater giving me hives from here. He gives all indications of being a Celtic wanna-bee. Which is somehow discouraging to me. All the same, when he introduces the daughter to the mix and how the mother has to navigate through her daughter's love life on top of her own "unexpected feelings" plus the DDT poisoning that has made an invalid out of her husband, I thought it was getting halfway interesting. The author does resolve everything satisfactorily and credibly.

But p.s. that is also a little too much detail about hypothermia, buddy, and just maybe, I woulda kicked the guy off the ledge just to get rid of him for good, poisoned or not. (** out of *****) p.p.s. this Will North is probably one of those guys who had a crush on you and you wished you loved him (cause he's so sensitive and you could always count on his endless love) but instead you dump him and go for the bad boy.

Now, I liked this kid Oskar Schell in Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close very much. He reminds me a bit of Owen Meany, John Irving's creation and one of my all-time favorite characters. Quirky doesn't begin to cover it. His use of "What The?", his letters to Stephen Hawking, his "quest" to find the lock to a key he's found, his forthright 'can I kiss you' to an attractive older woman - it's brilliant. I am also glad to see someone writing about 9/11 and including all the bits that I have thought and wondered to myself over the years. And also, in the end, I am glad to feel like Oskar Schell will be alright.

What ISN'T alright with me is the juxtaposition of the grandmother's story and the whole bombing of Dresden thing. How much tragedy and unbearable suffering can one book offer? The grandfather is struck dumb and can't speak. TRAGIC. He marries the grandmother because she is the sister of the woman he loved and lost in Dresden. EVEN WORSE. Holey moley. ENOUGH! I need a little more redemption in mankind.

Aside from that, I think the book should be required reading in high school. (**** out of *****) Along with The Kite Runner. I can see the syllabus now.

Which brings me to Bob Schieffer's This Just In: What I Couldn't Tell You on TV audiobook. I enjoyed this very much - as his career basically spans my lifetime and I recognize all the "players." Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, etc. The guy l-o-v-e-s politics, and that alone is interesting to me, as I thoroughly hate politics and can't imagine the fascination. But it was interesting to me in the same way Charlie Wilson's War was interesting to me, that is, public perception versus reality. How people are always looking to believe in something. How images are manipulated. Fascinating stuff.

I don't know why, but it's comforting to have people like old Bob around. I know, I know, he's kind of hokey and old-fashioned, but he seems trustworthy.

From a technical standpoint, I can't believe how quickly they pulled stories together - how fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants it all was/is. All Bob's experiences with the various presidents - I liked hearing all that stuff, and it confirms, as apolitical as I am, that Gerald Ford is my favorite underrated president. He pardoned Nixon and in effect doomed his own political career for an unpopular decision made for the good of the country. Plus I always loved Betty.

Bizarrely, I had no idea how many reporters were from Texas. This cracks me up, as Yankees generally think they invented the world.

Anyway, Bob starts with President Johnson and ends with 9/11. Well-told, good pace and interesting, although I didn't much care about CBS and network battles. Sounds too much like work. (*** out of *****)

At the same time, I was listening to A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon. Obviously the author is gay, as any hot scene between gay people had fireworks out the kazoo, and any straight scene went something like this: "He kissed her. The next morning..."

60ish man is having a 'spot of bother' or going a little crackers, convinced that eczema is cancer and tries to cut it off with scissors. Meanwhile, his wife of 30 years is having an affair with his old officemate, and their daughter is getting remarried, this time to a guy they are all convinced is from the wrong side of the tracks, despite the fact that they are far from being on the right side of the tracks.

(The fiancee's accent is very northern England, which I guess is a bad thing if you are from southern England). The wildcard is the gay brother, who can't manage to tell his partner he loves him and subsequently loses him over a row about going to the sister's upcoming wedding.

It's all about love and families of course, and how you never quite get what you need from them all the time and how that is okay in the end. The bloke that the sister marries is great - the wedding scene is tremenously well done. This book is from the same guy who wrote The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time...

Hope that wasn't too long. Up next: Do-over by Robin Hemley; When You Are Engulfed by Flames by David Sedaris; and What Are You Optimistic About by John Brockman. Over and out.

This was supposed to be a Book Report

2009-08-11T22:06:00.000-05:00

I asked my pal Neva [ who is practically famous and if you don't believe me check out the 12, yes 12 pages in the current issue of Art Doll Quarterly ] on a girl date to see the movie Julie and Julia because it had chick-flick written all over it. Very fun, I give it A FOUR STAR (OUT OF FIVE) rating. And psychologically I am almost over the fact that someone wanted to make Julie Powell's blog into a book and then someone else like Nora Ephron wanted to make it into a movie. [Photo of the real Julie swiped from MSNBC]

Texas-born Julie Powell had a solid, swell idea. To make every single recipe in the Joy of Cooking and blog about it. I like these ideas where people make commitments like "one piece of art a day for a year" or "one art doll a month" no matter what and stick to it. It gives a girl structure and a deadline. I suspect these are the same people who make New Year's resolutions. I can never settle on a resolution that feels right for me. Just as I had difficulty naming my kids and figuring out a quote for my yearbook picture. I choke when I have to commit.

That said, I never really liked Julia Child. Frankly, I thought she was dowdy and dull, but I like Meryl Strep's Julia and I like Julia's husband and their supportive but not sickening marriage. Julia is endearing and mischievous. Heck, I might even buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking and make a holladaise sauce.

Don't want to spoil your own movie nirvana, but let me just say I was happy to see my professional idol Chloe O'Brian (from the show 24) aka Mary Lynn Rajskub cast as the best friend. Julie: "So am I a bitch?" Chloe: "Well, ye-ah. I mean, we all are."

SIDEBAR: I was a Graham Kerr/Galloping Gourmet fan. And in fact, my third grade teacher sent him a story I had written wherein I was a green pea on his show (when Graham Kerr ate a pea, it was like that Meg Ryan "I'll have what she's having" scene in Sleepless in Seattle - peas were that good. So it was in my story where some single pea was buttered and blissfully digested (uh huh). I remember receiving a personal response, which encouraged me to "slosh around in the kitchen" as soon as my mother would let me. God bless people who answer kids' letters. Turns out Graham Kerr is still cooking, but not "sloshing" the wine around anymore. He and his wife found Jesus and lost the wine, butter and cream. Amen.

A la carte - So offspring3 wakes up practically trembling from a nightmare. I'm all "it's over now, let's just flush that dream right down the toilet, mommy's here" but she insists on recounting the terrifying details.

Offspring3: "You were PREGNANT. It was DISGUSTING. And people KNEW you were pregnant."

Me: Yeah, that scares me too.

OS3: I never want another sibling, you KNOW that right? I NEVER want another little PERSON in the family [shudders violently].

Me: Well, um, yeah, well...

OS3: And I'm really mad about it, okay?

Me: [For a half a nanosecond I wish I was pregnant with twins.] I can see that.

OS3: Thank God you are soooo menopausal. And dad is fixed, right? TELL ME you got him fixed.

She b-a-c-k! From Budapest, no less!

2009-07-26T15:38:00.000-05:00

See what Cordelia has been up to this summer!!!!! http://www.cordelias-adventures.blogspot.com
What, you don't know Cordelia? She's a real doll, just 16 inches tall, and she wants to see the world. Past visits: NYC, Paris, Puerto Rico, Mexico, and now Budapest and Vienna. Still to come: Savannah and London.

Lucky daze

2009-07-19T08:23:00.000-05:00

You might remember that several weeks ago I tossed a bottle into the ocean [otherwise known as posting a message here] with this basic message: "I am lonely and blue. Please help." And damned if J didn't come winging in from Jacksonville!!!! And anyone who comes to Houston in July willingly is a FRIEND of all FRIENDS!

[Now I am thinking, hey, what if I write, "I want to go to Paris." Will someone take me there? I am clicking my heels three times right now: I WANT TO GO TO PARIS or anywhere else where there is no laundry or lawns to water.]

Besides herself, she brought me books! Extremely loud & incredibly close by Jonathan Safran Foer and City of Thieves by David Benioff [which will be covered in my July book report]. And She-Monkey, which I made for J last year, which she brought along all dressed-up.

I took her to the TAODA doll artist club meeting, I took her to the Heights (19th St.) for some of my favorite things: Jubilee and Crickets Creamery and Colina's for pizza. We almost went to Phantom of the Opera, but instead we bought gouda cheese and wine (Verget Macon Villages 2007 - $15 at Specs) and watched, I am ashamed to say, Ultimate Fight Club and Jackass 2 late into the night.

If anyone told me that me and my school chum (and Husband1, two offspring and dogs) would be watching a guy put a sock on his banana and stick it in a hole for a snake to bite, I woulda said, "I think we have better things to do, thank you very much" but it happened. Husband1 posing next to his Ultimate Fight Club hero.

Thankfully Wayne did not eat her underwear or pee in her duffel bag. Harley was almost downright friendly and Sally was her usual wary self. And the girls weren't bad either.

Husband1 demonstrated his dog training methods. Here he is singing, "I Gotta Dog His Name is Blue," while Wayne floats alongside. In this way, he hopes to teach Wayne not to jump up on people.

We are now monogramming towels with J's initials and holding a spot at the kitchen table for her NEXT visit, which is bound to be very soon indeed.

After J left, I shipped She-Monkey off to Rhode Island as my stand-in for the real reunion. Hope they have fun but not that much fun.

Stay-cation!

2009-07-06T07:13:00.001-05:00

I'm on a "stay-cation" this week. My mission is to chill out, enjoy the 100-degree days and get my laundry done. But oops, we had a little dryer mishap and I can't restart the dryer unless I want to barbecue the house. The appliance gods have been called.

So I am playing like I stay home all the time and Husband1 goes off to work, even though he works in an office 20 paces from the backdoor. The first three days of this staycation I barely managed to get dressed. But now, I think I can stay awake for more than four hours at a time.

Witness this dinner: spaghetti and meatballs from scratch (with a small romaine and avocado salad) and strawberry shortcake.

[Okay, so I lied. These are actually from two different days. The strawberry shortcake was dinner for the Fourth of July for color reasons, and the spaghetti was yesterday for no reason.]

On strawberry shortcake. The cake shouldn't be too sweet or cake-y, in contrast to the sweetness of the strawberries. Hence, the biscuit approach, which is from "The New Basics Cookbook," written by those SilverPalate gals Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins before Julee's father had a heart attack and she got religion and published A Fresh Start.

DISAPPOINTMENT. I am measuring flour for the slightly sweet biscuits and Husband1 says, "You know what would be really good? If we used Twinkies instead," and he is serious. Based on this alone, I don't think we will ever be featured on the eharmony.com commercial.

Anyway, I didn't go all out with the whipped cream from scratch because I didn't want the calories. I used reduced fat Cool Whip. But if you came over, I'd use the real stuff because food = love and I love using beaters anyway.

I did use half wheat/half white flour for these (the flour already comes this way), which I think makes them taste better but those same teensy weensy flecks of wheat that I love only make my family suspicious of anything I set in front of them. Oh, and shake up the baking powder. I read it on the can.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MEATBALLS. Meatballs are serious to an Italian girl, and I make them from a recipe {if you call it that} from my mom along with some tips from the Barefoot Contessa Family Style cookbook by Ina Garten. Ina is fat, so it makes sense to trust her with stuff that tastes good.

Things I have learned: I didn't realize that you only have to brown the meatballs; for years I thought they had to be cooked through at this stage. Nope, that's what the simmering all day is for, and a crockpot works well for this. Meatballs should not be the size of baseballs.
They should be smaller than pingpong balls but bigger than marbles. If you go half-sies with ground turkey and ground round, no one will know. If you use fresh breadcrumbs (couple of spins in the food processor), the meatballs are a lot fluffier and do not resemble small rocks or turds. When making the sauce, you might saute a little onion, right? Well, I sautee a little onion, celery and carrots in a little olive oil and garlic, and I do this because, you guessed it, I didn't have a damn onion, but I DID have one of the those frozen meal-starter veggie groupings, and it worked great. When everything was softened, I added a little merlot (or any red wine alcohol) and after it boiled off, I threw it all in the crockpot along with a 28-oz can of crushed tomatoes, some kosher salt, pepper and a smeck of nutmeg. I used some of that whole-wheat penne pasta and no one complained. Of course, by the time this was finished, there were only three people to eat it, one of whom shared that she didn't really feel like spaghetti and gave half to the dog. Still, I feel like a champ. And not just because I left a big mess for my offspring to clean up.

PS: {If you think I should include actual recipes here, tell me and I will, but I can't really believe someone would be that interested so I haven't done it.}

Today I might use the vacuum cleaner or take clothes to the cleaners. Then again, I could fold clothes and put them away. It's all so new!

MaryWig

Book Report for January

Christmas in Connecticut

December Book Report

"Beast is at the grocery store picking up something for dinner"

Pick me, pick me!

Are you really my friend?

A fascinating series of essays on bullies

"That was the day Momma started painting the floor..."

September Book Report

Four different ways to fall on your face...

Because I like poetry...

If a bear were to open a cereal box...

The day the appliances died

Ebb and Flo

Do: sign up for the Sketchbook Tour

I'm ready for my close-up Mr. Technorati!

June/July Book Report

EAT AT PINK'S, MAN!

The big bad wolf and me

Because I like poetry...

You should be trying something you suck at...

April/May Book Report

My maiden form gets a lift from the lingerie drawer

If someone knitted Paul Bunyan baby booties...

Five tomatoes, or about this homeschooling thing

Girl talk: men in women's places

Modern adventures in keeping house

I'll have some sibling rivalry to go with that Coke, please!

Book Report for March

Looking for a sense of accomplishment

About your New Year's Resolution: I hope you've broken it

Google and magical thinking

January Book Report

Because I like poetry

Happy New Year from the *other* three tenors

Short interview by ABC News Houston (Channel 13) on the TAODA show at the Jung Center

Yes, Virginia, there really will be a Houston FlashMob this year

This explanation for the Wheel of Death is long overdue

Wheel of Death: Conclusion - "Imagine" at The Jung Center

Wheel of Death, Part V, facing fears

Super easy holiday project for you!

It's the little things that matter

Pssssst, this poster would make a great $20 present for someone....

Wheel of Death, Part IV, in which a girl asks her doll tribe for HELP!

Wheel of Death, Part III

Wheel of Death, Part II

A Project of Epic Proportions: The Wheel of Death, Part I

"Lost boy" fashion tips

Because my little baby WON 6th PLACE in "Rock the Cradle"

Time to Rock the Cradle!

I'm working on it

Overheard at my house

Modern teenage dating

Presenting: Mauricio! A new cloth doll

Part 2: September Book Report

September Book Report - Part I

Scenes from a backyard: a treehouse grows in Houston

Me and Mr. Potatohead have a lot in common

Because I like poetry

Dear Little Red-Headed Girl...

Part 3: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

Part 2: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

Because I like poetry

Part 1: Me + three days off + kids + full tank of gas [-] money = vacation fun for all!

Playing school

I am officially ready for summer

In Which Our Heroine Gets Her Mojo Back

Spring Book Report!

What is self trust?

April beginnings

"Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me"

Dodgeball gone wrong

Just give me 15 minutes...

Ladies and gentlemen: We have a callback!

There’s a monkey on my back

Head Games

Do it anyway

Oh Nine!

One foot in front of the other

Happy New Year from the other three tenors