Little Big Top

The Girl of 100 Lists

2012-01-20T06:06:00.000-08:00

I am the girl of 100 lists.
Fom what shall I wear to who I have kissed.
Check patterns off, let nothing be missed.
Sing I to myself and my 100 lists.

Like many girls my age, I learned everything I needed to know about life from Belinda Carlisle. Take fabulous vacations! Waterski! Learn to lip-synch better! Those irrepressible Go-Go's; they got so much done in a day! And you know why, don't you? Because they made lists.

I do declare... I am the Girl of 100 Lists! Every morning to help me get crackin', I drink some wonderful coffee and prepare the List Du Jour. Lists help me stay organized and feel successful. I like to use paper that has lines and a comfortable pen. Sometimes I try to match my little pen to my coffee cup, even though it's very distracting and counterproductive to getting actual things accomplished. Still, it's fun and extremely adorable.

Sure, there are days when the list can be pretty tedious. Other days, challenges are everywhere! Occasionally, I put stuff on my list that is already happening, so I get to cross it off right away. When I make my lists, it's like I'm saying to the world, "Hey, World, look at me! I am MAKING a list!" It's THAT powerful a feeling.

Lots of successful people make lists. Santa Claus. Led Zeppelin. God. And me!

Look! On the Horizon, the Ginger Zebra!

2012-01-15T12:30:00.000-08:00

Hey, remember when this used to be an art blog? I know, I barely do either. And that's just a shame, because I make cool stuff when I set my mind to it. Uckh! I disgust myself! Well, not really, but I do need to be tougher on my creative side. There's at least five projects upstairs that I have no issues with; I should finish them. Here's three oldies, but goodies that deserve a second chance.
1. Swingin', Smokin' 2. Fairy Girl 3. Pilfering Pooch There's also a new guy; he's pretty big and super sweet (30" x 40").
4. Ginger Zebra Now that they're up on the blog, I really should address their completion. There, I feel better already!

Clinker!

2012-01-09T18:10:00.000-08:00

It has been 2012 for a little more than a week now. The new year fits so nice and snug, thus far, like a glove. I have some practical goals; they are quite reasonable. Grow hair, check! Make new friends, check! Keep up with old friends, check! Continue being excellent, check! Remind Dad to shave regularly, check! Get Dave to paint stuff and make home improvements, check! Let's see, what else can I do? Hmm. Something bossy that involves the kids...

I've got it! Piano lessons! What a great idea. I will pay good money to a brilliant musical mentor who can help the boys develop some creative talent. Hopefully, they can learn at the feet of a chain-smoking master, as I did. I wonder where in the Queen City I can find that unique individual who not only provides piano instruction, but also fixes broken stoves and small appliances in the basement of his modest two-family home... I know, it's a tall order. The Bronx is pretty far away, and so is the past. Tommy Carr's shop is long gone from Crosby Avenue, I bet. But hey, we still love music. And we do have that piano. By jove, I will teach them myself!

Sure, learning how to play an instrument is torturous monotony for children, but so is almost everything when you're young (and definitely, when you're Desmond). Of course, there will be lots of yelling and sobbing. No big deal. There's plenty of that most days, anyway. Might as well do something productive while we're making all that racket!

No Need to Be Coy, Roy...

2012-01-02T06:21:00.001-08:00

Boy, Christmas break lasts a long time in these here parts. Sixteen days and evenings of festive delicacies (pigs-in-blankets for breakfast, yay!), holiday films and family fun.

Well, thank God that's over! We usually start pretty strong; I'm always gung-ho for the mother and child reunion. They're just a couple of sweet kids, after all. But two weeks? C'mon! If you're smart, you'll start squirrelling away some monies for Summer Camp, post haste. Don't be caught short, come the end of May. It's in your own best interest that you enlist the assistance of some professional camp counselling teenagers to help stave off those icky summertime blues. Life is long, especially in July.

So let's everybody start off this brand new year on the right foot, and get back on that bus!

I'm a Believer!

2011-12-22T19:20:00.001-08:00

I think these boys are just about done believing in Santa Claus. Sniff. We did have a nice long run, though. Desmond jumped ship sometime during the year, when I botched a critical tooth fairy event. Now, he is much more of a realist. And at least, he's not trying to bum the other guy out. Rory's playing it pretty close to the vest, as well. That's always the safe bet. He saw a sign in the neighborhood for Cookies with Santa - December 18. He asked if we could go; he does love cookies. I told him I thought it was something geared more toward the younger kids - a photo opportunity with a professional stunt Santa. His face looked sad, like he already knew too much. But he took it well. They still cobbled their lists together, and we mailed them to the North Pole. The letters themselves were more clinical and straightforward than in previous years. Less chatty, no artwork.

Dave did threaten to call Santa on his cell phone a couple weeks back. Neither of them even flinched. That tactic used to work wonders when they were toddlers! They'd be all tearful and blotchy, begging for just one more chance to straighten up. I felt so bad for my husband. The moment he said it, we both realized that his power was gone, and I may never look at him in the same way.

So, I guess this year is more for David and myself. We still hide the gifts in a closet and wrap them when the boys have gone to sleep. I'll arrange them under the tree on Christmas Eve and fill the stockings. Then I'll stage the break-in. I like to leave a few little things at the foot of their beds, suggesting that Santa actually came upstairs to check on them in the night. (Tracking mud through my house with his work boots, right.) I'll nervously nibble on two cookies and half of a carrot, crumple up the napkin and pour the milk down the sink.

We always have alot of great things to be thankful for; this year, especially. We haven't been able to figure out the fireplace in this new house yet, but who cares? It's 70 degrees, most days. I truly love the holidays, more now than I ever did when I was a kid. Merry Christmas, everybody!

And In This Corner...

2011-12-14T10:28:00.000-08:00

Rory Malcolm has never been the type to back down from a fight, but some stuff just ain't worth it. Take the altercation he had on Tuesday morning with some troublesome school furniture. Everybody was lining up for lunch, minding their own business, our man included. From out of nowhere comes this student desk chair. Clearly a superior opponent, all chrome and sharp edges. Especially for a tomato can like RM. Leading with the face, as usual. Ouch! After they revived him, some volunteers brought the injured party and his cream cheese sandwich into the nurse's office. It must have really hurt; he was crying all over his baggie filled with ice cubes when I signed him out for the rest of the day. A brief leave of absence, due to an unsightly shiner and mild to mid-level embarrassment. Talk about getting your bell rung.

Conquering Christmas Clutter

2011-12-10T12:06:00.001-08:00

There are very few secrets to a beautiful artificial Christmas tree. I'm going to tell you what they are because I made them up, and they are true.

Secret #1. Fake trees are dormant for a big portion of the calendar year. Considerable fluffing up of the branches is required. The bigger the tree, the more fluffing is necessary. Get your spouse or an underpaid stage hand to assist you with this crucial holiday effort. If he or she is taller than you, remind them that they should just WANT to help because of their size and the length of their arms. "One's charitable nature is directly proportionate to his or her height." This is a really great quote that Dave just made it up. Feel free to use it, if you like, in order to encourage some assistance from the people just sitting around your house, watching you work. If those squooshed limbs are not unflattened properly, you might as well just leave your tree wrapped in its plastic body bag, leaning against the darkest corner of the garage (where the spiders live - Eek!).

Secret #2. Something festive must be hung from every branch! And I mean EVERY branch! If you run out of Christmas ornaments, start looking through the drawers in the kitchen for stuff. Tell the kids to empty their pockets. Get it all up there! You can stop decorating only when your Christmas tree is positively lousy with ornaments! Once you've completed these two important procedures, step back and admire your efforts. And now, for the piece de resistance. Tada! Okay, take a closer look. Closer. Beauty is, after all, highly subjective.

Little Boy Blue

2011-12-05T07:15:00.001-08:00

Some Sunday nights after dinner, Rory will get tearful. He is sad that the weekend is almost over. In between sniffs, he will sob about the torture of his education, the unholy length of each school day and his concern for my welfare in his absence. I allow the waterworks for a few brief moments, if only because I'm pretty sure I used to feel that way from time to time, leaving my own mother when I was little. Even though she was rough and did a ton of hollering, I loved her. This little vagary of his makes me think of just how much I miss my mom, so I pull my youngest boy close for a minute or two.

I remind Big Bunny that second grade is his job, home schooling is not an option, and I will be just fine while he is away. If he persists with the tears, he must go and fetch a tissue, blow his own nose and pull it together. Learning how to comfort yourself is just part of growing up.

Paranoia, the Destroyer

2011-11-10T06:00:00.000-08:00

Once all the Halloween swag has been carefully inventoried and catalogued, you really need to ask first before you go eating a guy's Nerds Rope. Even if it's twelve days later and Trick or Treat is already forgotten, don't do it. Even if you found the half-eaten package discarded in the back of the car, DO NOT eat their Nerds Rope! They will never forgive you. And now they're gonna be watching you very, very carefully. Feeling guilty, feeling scared. Hidden cameras everywhere, Stop! Stay in control! I mean, it could just be your imagination...But it's probably not. You really just need to get your own candy.

The Pit and the Pendulum

2011-11-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

There's a big test today on telling time. I hope Little Bro does okay. We're still kinda shakey on which hand does what, for how long and why. It's so confusing, and our man on campus is easily turned around. Maybe once you actually start wearing a watch, you take time much more seriously.I told Brother that Santa Claus could bring him a nice one for Christmas, but if it means he's gotta sacrifice games and toys from his wish list... Let's just say, he's not feeling it.

What a cinch it would be to simply gaze at the constellations in the sky and figure out that it's almost bedtime. But these facts are important things to learn and know. Otherwise, you're gonna miss all the best shows, like Dude, What Would Happen? (on Cartoon Network, Wednesday nights at 8pm/7 Central). You gotta watch it!Dude, how else are you gonna find out what would happen if you tied 375 helium-filled balloons to a sumo wrestler? Did you see that episode? It was completely bananas! Or how about what would happen if the guys challenged a great big lumberjack to a lunchmeat chop-off? You'd be surprised at the results!

And just how are you gonna cook your own Hot Pockets someday? Or figure out when church is over (ugh!) You could end up burning your mouth or worse yet, going straight to H-E-double hockey sticks.

Besides, all the coolest jobs require that you know time pretty good. Like racecar drivers... and ninjas... and the guys who work at the bakery (they are so lucky!)So, off he went to school this morning, confident and filled with time-related knowledge, after a somewhat misguided attempt to slurp down his cereal with a green crazy straw. Go get 'em, Rory Boy! And remember the immortal words of one of Dublin's fondest intellectuals, Oscar Wilde. "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars!"

Trick or Treat!

2011-10-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

Eat too much Halloween candy, and you're gonna start to see some pretty zany things. It's important to memorize your mom's phone number and always stay with the group.When you get home, brush your teeth twice and just sleep it off. Things always look better in the morning.

Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

2011-10-19T08:13:00.000-07:00

Poor Rory Malcolm. He was very sad this morning. He can't go to the Book Fair today because telling jokes at the Tuesday night Faith Formation class landed him in all sorts of hot water with the authorities. Wednesday's Child has alot of Purdon in him. Secretly, I blame myself. We Purdons are genetically predisposed to certain behavioral quirks that, when presented with tedious environmental conditions, often results in somewhat inappropriate outbursts. Just saying.

Nonetheless, a costly lesson for Big Bunny. He was gonna buy the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid book with his allowance, and now he can't. Plus there's no dessert until Friday. Dag, yo! That's harsh!

Goodbye, City Life!

2011-10-15T11:51:00.000-07:00

Green Acres is the place to be!
Farm living is the life for me!
Land spreading out so far and wide.
Keep Manhattan, just gimme that countryside!

New York is where I'd rather stay.
I get allergic smelling hay!
I just adore a penthouse view.
Darling, I love you, but give me Park Avenue! Click here: Green Acres Opening Credits

Children of the Corn

2011-10-13T12:10:00.000-07:00

Remember to wear your patriotic golf shorts when you go to the Amazing Maize Maze. This way, when your rescuers find you, they can return you to your parents in America.

Tramps Like Us!

2011-10-08T19:33:00.000-07:00

Did you know that running around like a kook on the soccer field and pouring water over your head can help raise money for your school? It can! Friday was the annual Elon Park Elementary Fun Run for Education. It was a beautiful day to support a worthy cause and, in Rory's case, frolic about like a lunatic with beetles in your shorts. A local celebrity motivational speaker was there, Mr. Awesome. A champion multi-tasker, he was spinning discs and rocking the mike! I know what you're thinking... But don't judge Mr. Awesome, not until you've boogied a mile in his dapper red cape and fuzzy headband. Can you do the Tweezy Dance? How about the Cat Daddy? Or the Dougie? Okay, then. We gotta give Mr. Awesome his props. He got the crowd up and kept them there for 75 heart-thumping minutes! Mr. Awesome's flair and genius ensured that our sweaty athletes stayed amped as they tore up the track, occasionally at lightning speed. This is BoomBox. I'm not certain what his purpose was, beyond providing a real world example of good looks and physical fitness. But physical fitness can be intimidating, especially if it's running in the wrong direction and not paying attention to where it's going! When the dust settled, Desmond Henry had completed 30 laps. Rory Malcolm fell a few times and clocked in with 20. Bottom line: You can't keep a Killian down when you turn up the music and crack open the ice pops!

Take Out Wrenched Ankle!

2011-09-23T19:51:00.000-07:00

Wow! Third Grade Anatomy class is serious business! All your favorite body parts have fancy names this year, so everybody needs to just memorize them and know what goes where. There will be a test! Second Grade Science, however, remains hilarious.

In a Nutshell

2011-09-20T18:42:00.000-07:00

Here at my new house, I love that everything I need is only ten minutes away. Ten minutes away! Everything. Except for the peanut butter. I have to keep that much closer.
And my peanut butter thing is really not that big a deal. Now that it's actually in writing, it looks like it might be a big deal. But it's really not.
I'm telling you, it's not.
It's just not.

Borst Blue...

2011-07-27T19:53:00.001-07:00

I'm really excited about the big move, but I miss my work pals.

Fruit is Nuts

2011-07-21T09:44:00.000-07:00

I found myself on a real orange kick a couple of weeks ago. Every morning, I brought an orange to work, to enjoy with my lunch. One afternoon, I ate the whole thing, even the skin. I think I must have been in a crazy fruit trance because I didn't even know I had done it. Heidi mentioned it to me a few days later, when I still had a terrible bellyache and had casually suggested that perhaps David was poisoning my coffee.
Don't be a fool! Peel your orange first, then get to it. Muffins, on the other hand, are a completely different species. If a muffin is particularly yummy (let's say, a whole wheat blueberry muffin), I will never hesitate before I eat the paper that it comes in. I will eat muffin paper every time. You will never stop me.

Explore The Space!

2011-04-23T17:57:00.000-07:00

There are lots of reasons why everybody should have a cool friend like Kenny Stagg. He is tall, very strong and handsome. He likes flowers and is kind to animals. He loves music and sings in a rock-n-roll band. Drunk Uncle Bob; ask for it by name! I mean, I'm lucky because we work together, and he treats me very nicely. He buys me jewelry and sodas. He appreciates the importance of Diet Dr. Pepper as part of my well-balanced diet. And did I mention what a terrific listener BK is? Sometimes I want to discuss controversial topics facing our world today, like unicorns and rainbows and birthdays. I know I can always count on Ken to lend an ear.

Now there is even more incentive for friendship, Big Ken-style. My buddy, Ken is a fantastic host. When David and I were at his place recently for dinner, we were served up some righteous cuisine and fabulous five star treatment. He prepared a truly sumptuous feast; we enjoyed Eggplant Caponade, Italian Wedding Soup and Chicken Piccata. Indeed, we strapped on quite the elegant feedbag! He cooks, he cleans and he entertains! This guy is the complete package! And guess what else you probably didn't know until just now. Kenny Stagg has one bangin' crib! All the yummy foods we scarfed down came out of his compact gourmet kitchen. Check out his living room and dining area. I loved spending time at BK's house. It was alot of fun being his guest and seeing how nicely he keeps his home. I liked peeking into his big refrigerator and going into rooms that had the doors closed. Here is a photo of his bedroom; this is where BK goes at night to dream and grow. Next is a picture of his bathroom. I couldn't help but notice how clean the floor tiles and grout were. The vanity top was immaculate; I nearly wept in admiration. And, get this, ladies: Flowers in the bathroom! But that's not all. Candles that match the flowers in the bathroom! No, I'm not kidding. There are a few very sweet animals at his house, too; a pooch they call Fozzie and a couple of kitties. Fozzie is a dog with a great attitude and a bladder as big as a football! He waited patiently while Kenny prepared our dinner and never let on that he had to go outside and take care of business. What a champ! This feline's name is Jesse; she was lovely, but what a blabbermouth. Don't get her started about genetic engineering and how it affects cats. Oh, my God! She went on and on... How scientists are manipulating mice to produce human proteins in their semen, which may allow drugs to be farmed from biotechnically-modified livestock. Blah, blah, blah. I tell you what - I had trouble getting a word in edgewise, and that ain't easy! I guess I just don't like to talk politics at the dinner table (or ever), especially with pets. They are just too passionate about the issues.

I would like to get invited to BK's place again and spend time chilling in his cool-out conversation pit. It's at the back of the house, behind some french doors. This room was so glamorous; it looked just like the VIP section at the Whiskey Bar. And much like most trendy clubs in the big city, it is off limits to cats! Seems like a great place to have some high-quality rap sessions. And for the record, he never said I couldn't go in there, just not by myself... I'm lucky that I get paid to work with people I'm truly fond of. Spending time together when we're not on the job makes friendships grow. I love Kenny Stagg so much. He is a great host and a wonderful friend for a girl like me to have.

It Pays To Dream

2011-03-22T17:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Work Pals:
I am posting this blog entry in anticipation of our thrilling Megamillions Jackpot Sweepstakes win later on tonight! Now, just in case we do not receive a phone call from Kenny or Bob in the morning telling us that we're rich and where we should meet up for our victory breakfast and the big photo opportunity standing behind the giant check with the news team from Channel 12, don't be disappointed! It just so happens that I won $30.00 from the Spring raffle sponsored by the Lenox Elementary School PTA, and they sent me a check in the mail this afternoon! If I put another $10.00 toward that amount, I can buy us something pretty that we can each wear on a different day. Maybe some Jammie Jeans; they are remarkably stretchy and will fit all of us! Plus there's a free shirt.
Before I forget, I baked us a nice cake to celebrate my one year anniversary of being a Borst employee and also, never repeating the same outfit twice. I personally think both of these things are fair enough reasons to serve and enjoy cake. I feel so fortunate to be part of such a terrific group of awesome people, in addition to being a really snappy dresser. And even though Rob is my favorite, I am very fond of the rest of you as well.
Love, Mary
oxxoxo

Sir Gene Edward

2011-03-19T18:11:00.000-07:00

82 years ago today, a baby boy was born; his parents named him Gene. When they took him home from the hospital, they gave him car keys and a gun because the world needed rides and protection. Before too long, he met a girl named Mary and she yelled at him until he married her. They had two daughters; he liked them both. And so it went for many years. Working, driving, the occasional nap at church... Until one morning, he fell really hard and hurt his head. He stayed down for a long while and slept for two months straight. When he woke up, his wife took him home, and she hollered him back to health. Now he is very nice, and he seems to like me alot more. For his birthday, I told him he could keep the middle name he recently gave himself. Edward. It's a great name.

The Royal Imperative

2011-03-10T13:08:00.000-08:00

I found a little piece of paper in Desmond Henry's pants pocket the other night. On it, he had scratched a quote from William Shakespeare's King Lear. "I am a man. More sinn'd against than sinning." Could things be any more unwittingly prophetic? When taken to task, Desmond swiftly gathers his guests for a debilitating celebration of everything that's wrong with his life. His "Woe is Me!" way of thinking reveals that he considers himself a victim of cruel circumstances, pitted alone against fate. He suffers at the hands of merciless gods (I guess that would be David and myself) whose retribution is unjust. He is quick, however, to chalk up our transgressions on a cosmic balance sheet. Surely, we as parents have deep within us "undivulged crimes". How can we not? We get to stay up really late, drink soda whenever we want and use the computer without supervision.

My Winter Recess, by Beau Borst

2011-02-21T17:49:00.000-08:00

Last week, Bald Girl from work took me to her headquarters, off-campus, while my family went skiing in Vermont. Every night at quittin' time, I got to ride in the front seat of the dirty brown Blazer. Bald Girl told me the brown car is the vehicle she uses for all of her social experiments. Bald Girl must be very scientific. I don't think she is a legitimate medical expert, but who cares? She is full of good energy, zany schemes and hair-brained formulas for success.

My stay at her facility among her staff of obsequious handlers was most enjoyable. Big Man was a rather hospitable bloke; lucky for me, the large breeds are quite slimming, and we looked good together. He is tall like my Daddy, but I do not think he works with his hands. As well, the members of Junior Management were a curious lot. I believe they were part of an elite special forces unit, with an emphasis on developing space age technological gadgets from little pieces of colored plastic. Although often armed with weapons and a zip-loc bag of spongy yellow bullets, both interns were most affectionate and forthcoming with these teeny weeny bone-shaped treats. If left to my own devices, I could have eaten a whole bag! Every evening, Big Man and Bald Girl conducted training sessions with their employees where they discussed behavioral standards, quality control issues and personal hygiene. Meals were served and enjoyed by all, dishes licked clean by me! At bedtime, I was encouraged to select any stuffed animals I wanted from a seemingly endless bucket of old toys. Except for Smudgy - that dude was exclusively off-limits! Get this - a teddy bear who thinks he's a person who thinks he's an athlete. C'mon! As you well know, every experiment requires two main components, a control group and a variable, in order for the results to be meaningful. This is Serious Boy, otherwise known as: The Control. The Control was determined to try and teach me some cool tricks he read about in a book, but I didn't really feel like learning them. He also wanted to watch canine movies together. Ugh, For the Love of Benji... What claptrap! Enter the Giddy One, nom de guerre: Test Group. I have a hunch that Test Group may have had a screw loosened during a recent non-invasive procedure. Without exception, his uniform smelled like ketchup, frosting or both, and he didn't seem all there (if you catch my drift). Despite several obvious shortcomings, his clothing was delicious. Bald Girl and I had a grand time together! She is very musical. She played the drums and piano, and sang me all the songs she knows. She brushed my fur and vacuumed me. She swiffered around my body while I laid in the kitchen, protecting the workers and their backpacks filled with delectable lunchtime entrees. She explained why American Idol has become such a wildly successful cultural phenomenon. She also told me that babies come from heaven and that I came from heaven and that when I steal food out of the garbage, I make God very sad. This week, everybody is back where they should be. My vacation was so much fun, but it's good to get back home. Being away and visiting such an exotic location has taught me a couple of valuable things. I just can't seem to remember what they are. With any luck, nobody will ask. If they do, I'll just tell them to check the blog.

Sports Corner

2011-02-12T16:27:00.001-08:00

I am not a Soccer mom. Not yet, anyway. Four weeks into the season, it's still unclear if the Killian brothers understand what sport they're supposed to be playing. Nonetheless, this morning's game was, bar none, the most sensational exchange to date! Hey, no need to take my word for it. Just check out the photos; my camera could barely keep up with the action!
Wow, right? I know. These boys demonstrate the kind of raw athleticism that really grabs everyone's attention instantly! I get so caught up in the early morning spirit of the bewildered crowd, under the bright lights of an energy-efficient gymnasium. It is fun to shout words of encouragement from the sidelines, even though none of my helpful queues are ever acknowledged. "Son, you're on the blue team!" and "Honey, you're going the wrong way!" "Go get your sneaker and bring it here, so Daddy can tie your shoelace tighter!" I drink a big coffee and nervously make a list in my head. Note to self:
Support the Team!
Get down from these bleachers without falling!
If you do fall, try not to cry until you get to the car.

You know how much David loves sports. Oh, he loves sports so much. And in two weeks, Miss Janine can't make the big game, but don't worry. Zach's dad and Dave will be coaching the Alfa Wassermans to yet another vague, score-less victory. I can hardly wait!

Hemipristis Elongatus, a.k.a. Snaggletooth

2011-01-20T18:45:00.000-08:00

Sharks have the most powerful jaws on the planet. Unlike most animals, a shark bites with its lower jaw first, then its upper. It tosses its head back and forth to tear open a packet of ketchup for a chicken nugget which it swallows whole. Each type of shark has different shaped teeth depending on its diet. Sharks are meat eaters and will devour almost anything that is slower than they are. Most sharks hate fruit because it tastes yucky and gives them the farts.

Sharks never run out of teeth. If a tooth is lost, another spins forward from the rows and rows of backup teeth. A shark may grow and use over 20,000 teeth in its lifetime! The Killian shark, in particular, hangs on to its baby teeth almost to the point where the Tooth Fairy seems like a preposterous notion, except for the money.

Normally, young sharks prefer to eat alone. But the older sharks are good cooks, and since they are in charge, they insist everybody sits down together for meals. Sometimes one feeding shark attracts others, especially when there are Cool Ranch Doritos involved. Many will swim up as quickly as possible and rip the bag to shreds. They bite wildly at anything that gets in their way -- even each other! Several will need a time out. A shark's teeth are the most likely part of its body to fossilize since they are composed of bone. Over the years, many fossilized shark teeth have been discovered, preserved, bought and sold by dealers who are interested in these magnificent prehistoric creatures. Mostly, however, these relics of evolution are kept in a little box in the mother shark's underwear drawer.

Pest Control

2010-12-30T19:06:00.000-08:00

I finally got that mole on my neck removed. Don't be sad; I'm not. Well, maybe I am, just a little. I have had it, after all, since forever. I think my neck really misses that mole on my neck, though. Of course, it's hard for me to tell because my neck doesn't have a mouth and can't actually speak and share its feelings. Then again, if my neck had a mouth, I'd probably have much bigger problems than that mole on my neck. If my neck ever grows a mouth, I will have it removed.

We're No Angels!

2010-12-26T17:46:00.000-08:00

Gotta hand it to you, Christmas, talk about perfect timing! Managed to get everybody's favorite old guy and the rest of my holiday company in and out of the house before the big storm started. Phew, that was close! Nothing more satisfying than watching Grandpa tuck into a big juicy plate of ham and three different kinds of desserts without having to worry about him taking a major header down some snow-covered steps. Let's face it, nobody loves a good slip and fall more than Gene Dall, but he's just too heavy to pick up on a full stomach.

Come on now, Christmas, you've only been hanging around since October. I say, "Good riddance!" In my opinion, the day after is so much more excellent, anyway. Even with a sobering blizzard keeping the whole crew inside, what a downright fantastic time. The Killian brothers got right to building a bunch of Lego things, setting up some diabolical Hot Wheels track and eating leftovers. David wrestled with installing a new version of I-tunes without his head exploding, and I watched four hours of mind-numbing reality television. Poor Kendra! She's having another emotional upheaval! She's happy that she's not a stripper anymore, but she's also sad because she doesn't want to just be an "NFL" wife and mother. There's too much laundry, traveling and dieting. In one of the episodes I watched today, she selflessly gives an adorable male friend encouragement so he'll have the guts to tell his parents that he's gay. They sit in her closet (get it?), and she tricks him into helping pack up her hot wardrobe for a trip to Minnesota where husband, Hank Sr., is playing an away game. He'll need a special Kendra pep talk too. She will have to fly, first class, to be by his side and discuss their relationship. They talk about how badly they want their marriage to work and be good parents, while little Hank Jr. bangs on a coffee table with a can of aerosol hairspray and sucks on her car keys. Wait, Kendra's sort of crying again! Only a little bit, but there are tears involved, I think. What can she be feeling now? It's endlessly hard to tell. One thing is certain. She makes already boring things look even more boring! How does she do it? Let's maybe find out, but probably not.
After I post this blog entry, I'm gonna put on my pajamas and cash in some holiday gift cards on-line. Then sleep a little later in the morning. Sweet! I've got a really swell boss who gave everybody the whole week off from our little jobs. Still, I feel bad that some of my work pals are out plowing today and tonight. When I get back to my desk next Monday, I know how I can help out! I'm gonna give that old snow-billing a run for its money! Until then, us kids are determined to have us some fun!

Merry Christmas, Everybody!

2010-12-24T19:37:00.000-08:00

Listful Thinking

2010-12-22T18:43:00.000-08:00

Almost finished dispatching most of my older paintings to the swell folks at work. Boy, everybody seems to get a kick out of them; what fun! Of course, compliments and positive feedback remain the best incentive to get cracking on some new pieces. With tomorrow being Christmas Day and New Year's right around the corner, I better get started making up my list of detailed objectives for 2011. I only have a handful of things I really need to focus on.

1. Develop genius level intelligence and learn hand-to-hand combat. These two skills will help me tremendously with any super-hero pursuits I may entertain in the coming months. As well, extra smarts can only come in handy with the snow-billing, but that is just a seasonal goal.

2. Be a friendly friend and insist on keeping it real. Under no uncertain terms use the phrase "keeping it real" out loud, but continue to engage in high-quality rap sessions whenever possible.

3. Become a better drummer; learn how to play the cajon expertly. Share the story of the origin of the cajon, and by doing so, support the abolition of Peruvian slavery.

4. Make more art to distribute worldwide.

Already there are three new paintings in the queue. Here's a sneak peak...

Employee, Heal Thyself!

2010-12-16T11:38:00.000-08:00

This unsightly cut under my nose is determined to ruin Christmas! Times like this I wish I had Wolverine's ability to recover from any wound, disease or toxin at an accelerated rate. This blasted cut would be healed up by the time I got to work. Instead, I'm walking around with my finger covering my lip, trying alternately to look as though I'm stifling a sneeze or listening intently to what people are saying, which, truth be told, I am not. Except if it's something really interesting, like a cool discussion about boots or feelings, but how often does that happen on the job?

Don't get me wrong; I take the work very seriously. And Wolverine could not do the job costing, what with those pesky retractable bone claws. If he got all steamed because the route sheets were late, he'd never be able to type up the details! Can you just see him clacking away at the calculator, slashing up the paperwork? He'd be making alot more mistakes than I do, I can tell you that much. Mark would probably put him on a lawn maintenance crew; maybe he could prune stuff. Or rake leaves.

We All Honk For Mohonk!

2010-11-25T14:41:00.001-08:00

When you plan your weekend getaway to Mohonk Mountain House in New Paaltz, New York, be prepared for the obvious. They have alot of nature there; it is really all over the place! Expect trees, most of which are green or yellowish red; this one was pink! There's some water, blue style. Rocks, rolling hills and well, a big mountain. Went for a walk with the kids, out where the nature is very natural, into the woods. It was a nice enough walk, nothing too strenuous.
Some of us, however, are not in the best of shape. We saw some little animals and pointed at them. We looked for zombies; zombie bobcats, specifically. I thought I spotted some, but I was mistaken. They were Belgian mules, pulling a wagon. They were definitely not zombies; I'm pretty certain they were hotel employees.

We stopped to rest at a gazebo. We drank a Diet Sprite and enjoyed some Razzles. Desmond didn't like his, so he spit them out on the path. This way, a bird could have them, if they wanted. Even snapped a photo of David smiling! Woah!
Luxurious accommodations are excellent, and balconies are righteous. So are elegant dining rooms with tables of massive chafing dishes filled with scrumptuous foods at every meal. Cookies and tea at 4pm is also a very nice perk. When you go to MMH, you can sit in some rocking chairs and take in the scenery. You can feed the fish that live dockside. You can get a massage and swim in the pool, if you like. They have some pinball machines and a foosball table in the game room. The gift shop has lots of cool stuff, too.
You can relax and take photos of each other relaxing. You can get some reading done. When it gets dark, you can rent a TV set so you can watch nature shows on Animal Planet. Did you know that bears who live near landfills have too much fat in their diets from eating cheesy pizza, sugary donuts and fried chicken? We have to do something! We have to prepare more nutritious snacks for these bears! In the evening, you can take an awesome shower or have a bath in a tub with feet, then put on a swanky hotel robe.
You can mess around with the toys you brought from home. Playing board games in front of a fireplace is so much fun, until somebody wins and somebody else loses. Then there's just gloating and crying, and everybody gets yelled at and has to go to bed. By Sunday brunch, we were all vacationed out and ready to go back home. Some of us get very emotional about just how much we miss our house and our stuff when we're away. It wasn't me, this time, I swear.

Zombie Preparedness Initiative

2010-11-19T20:02:00.000-08:00

When the zombies come (and they are coming!) we're gonna need to have a strategy in place to, you know, combat them. Somebody at work told me that the zombies are already in Arizona, so part of our plan should definitely include not going there. Below is a preliminary list of things we will need when the living dead arrive:

- Baseball bats (for wielding)
- Ax handles (also for wielding)
- A gun with bullets
- Diet Soda (in cans)
- Several pairs of underwear (clean)
- Shout stain-removing stick (for pre-treating gore)
- Cool tunes

If you can think of anything we ought to add to the list, drop me a line so I can update our inventory and secure provisions. We should totally try and find an old pick up truck, bust the windows out and paint flames on the sides, if there's time. Oh my God, we will look SO COOL! I also have an awesome backpack we could carry stuff in. Wait til you see it. It's pink and purple! I got it at Target. List Addendum:
- Fruit by the Foot (for the kids!)
- Also, dynamite

Happy Halloween!

2010-11-01T18:32:00.000-07:00

If you live in a small town,
You might meet a dozen or two
Young alien types who step out
And dare to declare...
We're Through Being Cool! When a problem comes along, you must whip it! Figure out that you have to step to the left when the person who opens the door comes with the candy. It's the only way to get what's in the bowl!

Spooky Dooky!

2010-10-30T18:13:00.000-07:00

The boys and I are not built for horror, hallowed or otherwise. We tend to avoid shuddering fear whenever we can. We offer a universal "No, thank you" to creepy movies, haunted mansions, paranormal activity and any skeletons wearing glad rags. We enjoy daytime! And sunshine! Fluffy little animals that sing and dance to popular music! Everyone who thinks we should have Easter twice a year, say "Aye"! Aren't twisted childhood flashbacks of driving around in a car with the seatbelts purposely removed enough to contend with? How about trying to eat a grilled cheese sandwich amidst ashtrays and coffee cups with gobs of red lipstick on them? Oh, C'mon! Let us have our Kitten Party already! If I wanna give myself a good scare, all I need to do is park my green car between two work vans at the Home Depot on a Saturday morning. Or look inside Rory's ears after a day at the beach. Ack! Here's an idea. Why not eat six big pieces of an orange and chase it with some candy and a Capri Sun after the Halloween parade at school? Then go run around the playground and see what happens... Now, there's a little something special for Desmond's book of memories.

Bend over, Dover!

2010-10-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

Here’s an interesting fact you probably didn’t know about the White Cliffs of Dover. High above the town is a shaft carved through the rock, leading from the base of the cliffs to the Western Heights. Inside this passageway are three concentric spiral staircases called the Grand Shaft. They were built between 1806 and 1809 in order to get troops down to the harbor in a hurry, most likely so moms could take pictures of their sons in uniform and subsequently update their clever war blogs. Some days it's just too much to ask for even the most immeasurably small amount of cooperation from the lads of the resistance, especially when it involves a photo session. Interestingly enough, this is also known as the Grand Shaft. This particular version, however, looks a little bit like this and a whole lot like that.

Drunk Uncle Bob

2010-10-11T18:35:00.000-07:00

Totally made the V.I.P. list at a free sold-out concert on Saturday night. Drunk Uncle Bob was playing at Thatcher McGee's, right down the street from my house. Sweet! Got there at 10 p.m. to meet up with my work pals; everybody looked so adorable outside of the office. We must always raise our goblets of rock in support of the arts, especially live music - because it's awesome! The band was in fine form, covering a wide range of catchy favorites and hip-checking ditties. Dynamic male vocalist Kenny Stagg leads his eclectic combo with confidence and panache. BK has a terrific singing voice and an unassuming stage presence. It's true what everybody says: He is one righteous dude! I stayed for most of the first set and took dozens of blurry photos of the band. It's a free service I provide as part of the New Jersey fan club, Pompton Lakes chapter. Atta Babe!

Teach a Girl to Fish

2010-10-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

The strangest thing happened to me while I was out for a swim on Saturday afternoon. I was down at my usual spot, kinda hungry, doing my thing. Sometimes my mind wanders when I'm looking for stuff to eat. I can't help it; I'm always mulling over lots of cool ideas. I was wondering how fun it would be to have feet, to know what size they are and shop for boots on the internet. Then have them delivered to my house where I live, on land. Imagine! Anyway, as luck would have it, right before my eyes plopped a big juicy worm, tied to a string. Thinking back on my experience now, I'm pretty certain the brother was motioning to me to keep moving. At the time, however, I was so thrilled with my seeming good fortune that I misinterpreted his indeterminate queues. Who could blame me? Everybody knows that worms are notoriously unscrupulous and without social compunction. Or arms.
I gave my surroundings a quick once over. Above the water, I saw the outline of a lady wearing a Borst Landscape and Design sweatshirt. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to own my own home and have an outdoor kitchen and pergola installed by licensed contractors on my professionally landscaped property. Boxes of new boots would be waiting for me on the porch every day! Anyway, the lady was hollering intermittently at two smaller individuals. Not in a hostile way, almost as a matter of course. I glanced back at Dr. Worm and as I chomped down on my lunch, I was yanked skyward by my face. I found myself dangling unceremoniously in front of a pair of chattering ninnies wearing Cub Scout uniforms. I'm no expert, but they seemed to know nothing about scouting. It was clear, however, that they were thirsty and bored. One of them needed to chew gum very badly or he might just die. I'm pretty sure my photo was taken. I became faint from twisting in the wind and not really knowing how to breathe without water. Suddenly, a very big one emerged from the group. He took hold of me and pulled the hook out of my cheek. Did I mention there was a hook in my cheek? Probably not; it all happened so fast! He attempted to hurl me toward the lake, back to my home. One thing was certain, this bloke was no athlete. He threw a fish like a Medco employee. Thwack! After I bonked my head on a low-lying branch, I sailed straight down into a thorny bramble. Before I blacked out, I wondered what time the raccoons would come to eat me. When I regained consciousness several minutes later, Whitey Ford had his greasy mitts on me again. The lady seemed a little upset, yet relieved that I was alright. So was I. Perhaps she might take me to her little job so I could live in one of Rob's fish tanks with the other happy captured Sunnies, I thought. Rocking out to Gwen Stefani and the soundtrack from Grease, all day long! No such luck. After the next wind-up, I hit the shallow bank with a splash. Into the mighty Pompton I was tossed, dreams dashed, face shredded, yet dignity intact.

Black Socks, White Wedding

2010-09-15T18:58:00.000-07:00

The Killian brothers have transitioned quite nicely to their new school. Yet even with a full course load, there's still time for dating! Desmond is mostly playing the field and keeping his options open. He's just so bossy and opinionated; I thoroughly understand why the women give him his space. In Desmond's mind, simply put, girls represent the importance of reliable customer service. Rory, on the other hand, loves the ladies. He has assured me that Jenna is not his girlfriend, but they have a nice relationship. Wait until she gets a load of his filthy dirty socks after a toss through the wood chips at recess. If she can get those awful things white again, I'll pay for their wedding!

Wear In Your White Out!

2010-09-03T19:12:00.000-07:00

If you love your white pants, you better get to strapping them on over the holiday weekend. After that, you'll have to wait until Easter to wear them again. Let's face it, the likelihood of sitting in something wet and spilling chocolate milk on your clothes greatly increases as the weather gets cooler. I think it's a known fact. So do your wardrobe a favor and pack them up for the season. And relax, this fashion rule does not apply to your precious concert leathers. If you're still rocking those bad boys, you can wear them whenever you like!

Sports and Whine

2009-03-24T09:25:00.000-07:00

Okay. Now that it's officially Spring, everybody feels the pressure to go outside and do something physical. Maybe you'd like to have a little exercise. Well, good for you! Don't let me stop you. I'll be right here, drinking a soda and watching Air Bud with the kids 'til you get back. There's nothing about rackets and pucks, mitts, rope (and whatever all else kind of equipment you athletic people need to get your endorphinated freak on) that piques my interest. Except that everybody needs to put all that stuff away when you're done being silly. I'm just not a very sporty spice. Sorry. I know you probably think it might be fun for me, but you'd be mistaken. Sure, if there's a ball lying around my yard, I'll kick it back into the shed where it belongs. And I can run to catch an ice cream truck, but that's just good reflexes. Sports that get served up indoors are okay, I guess. Like Bowling! Bowling is awesome. In fact, I dare say it might just be right up my alley (heh, heh). Desmond and I went to Josh's 6th birthday party at the T-Bowl Lanes on Saturday; we had great fun! All the boys played so nicely; they took turns and cheered for each other. The bumpers they have for little guys nowadays definitely help make them feel more successful, as well. Terrific sportsmanship was in effect! Next up, dart throwing!

Let Him Eat Cake!

2009-03-20T12:49:00.000-07:00

Today is Patrolman Dall's birthday! Woo Hoo!
Happy Birthday, Dad. You're 80 now, so pace yourself.

The Happy Couple

2009-03-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

Thanks for checking in. How about an artwork update? Soho Chick; everything is outlined except the hands. I'm leaving them for last so it feels more like Guy and Girl are getting finished together.

Soho Dude; making progress. I think he looks like Brian's brother, Kevin. Doing series work is tricky; consistency is key. Things really have to match. I guess it's like handwriting; your signature can vary wildly, depending on the day.

A Room with a View

2009-03-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Busy, busy, busy! The garage door is off; the new floor is down. Told you things move quickly around here, especially with Brian in charge. David swings a sledgehammer like a computer programmer, but he's having such fun helping out.

Garage Band!

2009-03-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of the Garage/Music Room Conversion project. Hello, big empty dumpster! We're all really excited about this bit of home improvement. Things tend to change pretty quickly around here, so I better post these initial photos before the metamorphosis begins.

Gizmo and Gadget

2009-03-06T18:02:00.000-08:00

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. ~Arthur C. Clarke, author of 2001, A Space Odyssey
I bet you probably think I'm good with technology, what with the flashy car I drive and my purple cell phone. How I'm not afraid to use kinda big words when I'm making sentences and communicating with others. But you'd be wrong. I generally think all technology is pretty dumb; new technology, in particular, extra stupid. Whenever I get the feeling that new technology is coming at me, I try to pretend it's not there. I may even shield my eyes. If it gets too close, I've been known to run the other way and hide behind a pile of old record players, typewriters and subway tokens (at least until the hype blows over). Still, every once in awhile, something shiny will catch my eye. I think I've already mentioned my new phone. This curious item seems like it might have tons of interesting capabilities, none of which I find especially compelling. It is purple, though. One, please! I just got a new camera, a rather impressive piece of equipment that came with a thick instruction manual describing a myriad of impenetrable features. The book is completely off-putting, so I put it in the drawer. I spent the last several days snapping blurry pictures, then pressing Erase. I performed this little exercise hundreds of times; doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. Sure, it sounds insane, but now I really know how to delete things alot. And as luck would have it, I did accidentally take a couple good photos of the guys. By the way, Gizmo's on the left; Gadget on the right.

Places, Everyone!

2009-02-24T18:14:00.001-08:00

Tutorial 1: How to Score an Awesome Couch
Course prerequisites:
a. A son with no couch
b. A Salvation Army that sells furniture
c. $60.00
Course duration:
Eleven days
Step 1: Make note of unfortunate absence of comfortable places to sit in son's apartment.
Step 2: Tell him that you can totally help out!
Step 3: Go home and look around the house for a spare couch.
Step 4: Go to furniture stores and see how much couches cost.
Step 5: Pick out one you might like. Envision what 23 year olds might do on the $900 sofa of your choice. Try not to get sad.Step 6: Adjust expectations considerably.
Step 7: Go to the Salvation Army.Step 8: Repeat Step 7 for eleven days straight, except for Wednesday when you forgot and Sunday because the shop is closed. Don't get discouraged!
Step 9: Resist the urge to buy garbage. Allow your little boys to play on dirty ramp while you quickly scan junky furniture; pry all dodgy toys from sweaty hands before exiting the store.
Step 10: On Friday afternoon, eye Awesome Couch being carried off the truck, down the ramp and into the back room. Ask men carrying couch if you can have it once they put it down.
Step 11: Quickly check cushions for unsightly blood stains and bullet holes, unsavory details that might make some seating arrangements unbuyable.
Step 12: Realize several women are getting on cell phones and making arrangements to secure transportation for couch, in the event they can free up $60.00 to make purchase. Avoid nervous small talk with the competition; they sense your determination and are only trying to distract you from your goal.
Step 13: Buy couch - quick!Step 14: Introduce Awesome Couch to happy son. Watch with delight as he flops down on it as if they were separated at birth.Coming Soon!
Tutorial 2: How to Score an Awesome Coffee Table

Pep Squad

2009-02-23T07:39:00.001-08:00

Today is Crazy Hat Day! So, dust off your fez and get in on the action! C'mon, gang. Show some school spirit!

My Free Tutorial

2009-02-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

Last night, I dreamt that I wrote a tutorial. It's unclear what the tutorial was about, but everybody in the dream was really impressed with my writing ability. I was very popular because of my tutorial; it was a smash hit! A party was thrown in my honor, to celebrate me and my tutorial. Lots of guests thanked and congratulated me. No one looked familiar; still, they were friendly. Some of the men were wearing beards. When I woke up, I drank some coffee and a soda. I realized that I'm not even certain what a tutorial is, so I looked it up. I'm pretty sure I could definitely write one. I would make my tutorial free, so that all people could enjoy it, at no cost to them. Now I've just got to figure out what to write about. There are a few people who write tutorials about computers, but I'm not gonna do that because I really don't like computers all that much. I'm more interested in other things, so I think I'll start there.

Four Score and Seven Years Ago...

2009-02-17T16:25:00.000-08:00

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.
Ya! Like that's ever gonna stop us! When Abraham Lincoln was a baby, he was wearing a diaper. Then, he grew up and become a musician; next, the President. One day, his mother just died. He wasn't upset. He still had a Daddy, who told him jokes and cheered him up. Even though there were no Legos, no stickers and no chicken cutlets back then.

Pass the Hat

2009-02-16T13:12:00.000-08:00

I just loved the movie, Once. You know, the film about the guitarist and the immigrant girl who cross paths in Dublin and spend the weekend making awesome music. I thought about that sweet duo quite a bit setting up this little series. The facial expressions on my two kids came out so great! After I decide the colors, I generally prefer to outline faces. It's definitely less stressful to establish distinctive emotional quality to the artwork early on. I feel more confident and devoted once the subjects' moods are determined.

Personally, I think I'd make a lousy street musician. The only instrument I can play with any level of competency is the piano. Good luck getting some of your busker friends to help roll that thing off the porch and down the sidewalk to the local pitch. When's the last time you saw a mime move a piece of heavy furniture that wasn't imaginary? Balloon animals twisted into the shape of barbells don't count. I'll give you those fingerless gloves; they are adorable. Beyond the colorful accessories, however, alfresco employment lacks appeal. Besides, all my favorite things are indoors; TV, the fridge, air-conditioning. Ahh, bed (my soft and fluffy friend). Why would I even want to be outside, if not to just get in the car and go somewhere that's like a building? And how do we entertain ourselves when not performing? I guess we could play cards and juggle; take turns riding the unicycle. That ought to keep our minds off our financial woes and lack of dental insurance. Desmond does math now, so he can be our bottler and collect money while Rory wails on harmonica.

I'll sharpen a few knives; you, collect the fleas. Then, let's go in. We can take a shower and use the toaster, watch a movie. That's more like it.

My So-Called Life

2009-02-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

Spent alot of time this weekend trying to figure out who gets to play me in the feature film about my life. Of course, my first logical choice would be Samuel L. Jackson. I've read that he generally selects roles that are exciting to watch and likes to take on characters he hasn't done yet. Besides he has a rather impressive eyewear collection and enjoys experimenting with make-up, just like me. Sure, our differences are obvious. He loves golf and thinks Star Wars is interesting. I do not. Hmmm.

Let's face it; we can't ask Meg Ryan to do much of anything anymore. Seems she's gotten way too freaky deaky with the plastic surgery. So, who's left to pick from?If Mary-Louise Parker isn't available, I guess Renee Zellweger and Sandra Bullock could both read for the part. As for my movie husband, Dave has his own opinion on who'll portray him most accurately. Okay, brace yourself.

His first preference is Constantine Maroulis, the American Idol finalist from several seasons ago. I guess he's hoping things get musical! Next up, Camryn Manheim.

(At this point, surely you realize it's best if you just play along.) Finally, Daniel Baldwin; from what I understand, he could always use the work. Cmon, it's important that we support the arts! Got any suggestions?

Musical Youth

2009-02-04T10:24:00.000-08:00

The faces on these two buskers were all wrong. The young man looked really smug, and the girl was downright ugly. After reworking them both and filling in the color, I'm more comfortable with the results. Now they are completely in tune!

Enough, Already!

2009-02-03T12:50:00.001-08:00

Flurries all day; thankfully, no accumulation. Feels like we're trapped inside a blustery snow globe. Just enrolled the guys in summer camp at Spa 23. Five action-packed weeks of swimming, sports and sweaty fun and games. It's kinda hard to think about July and August right about now. I read somewhere that the groundhog came out of his den yesterday, wearing his nylon basketball shorts and flip flops. As soon as the wind whipped up, he gave everybody the finger and went back in his hidey hole. I can't say that I blame him, not one bit. In our hearts and boots, we're all done with winter. How about you?

Harshing My Mellow

2009-01-30T07:51:00.000-08:00

I know what you've been asking yourself. "Hey, where's all the artwork? What about the paintings? Isn't this supposed to be an art blog? How am I supposed to get aesthetically enriched if this one won't come across with the product? What has she been doing with herself, for heaven's sake? Navigating to this site anymore is just a waste of clicks!" C'mon, now; give a crippled crab a crutch... January is a long, cold month. I got a new phone, and Lisa showed me how to tape my favorite TV shows on the DVR. I finished my resume. Oh, and I made a necklace. Be that as it may, here are a couple new boards I'm working on.

I Got You, Babe!

2009-01-29T08:16:00.000-08:00

Punxsutawney Phil is not the only true weather forecasting representative; we could care less if he sees his shadow or not. Around these parts, we gauge the length of the winter season by whether or not David falls in the driveway. He went down for the first time three weeks ago. Granted, I've never actually seen it happen, but I can't imagine that it's anything short of completely hilarious. Besides, he's pretty good with the details . He'll come in with one whole side of his body soaking wet or a brand new pair of pants all tore up. So for me, news like this ranks somewhere between a unicorn sighting and a shooting star. My general reaction is "Oh, man! I missed it again!" Needless to say, Spring seems a long way off this year!

Kit for Kat

2009-01-28T15:51:00.000-08:00

Some boys don't even need a kitten around to have a good time playing with cat toys. It would be funner, but not by much. Might be the brown soda that makes them this way. Note to self: Switch to white come sundown.

This is Tuxedo, Kirin's new roommate. As soon as Des and Rory came at him the other night, Mr. Fuzzy Britches beat it under the bed and stayed there for the duration of our visit. He could very well be the smartest cat in the world.

Good-bye, Tonsils!

2009-01-23T16:33:00.000-08:00

After your tonsils are removed, your throat will be very sore. You will need a sip of something really, really bad. You will ask for water one hundred times, in different ways. You may briefly consider the possibility that while you were sedated, everyone in charge went deaf and cannot hear your requests for a drink. They offer you some whack ice chips (completely unacceptable)given what you've just been through. Demand to see the manager! Finally, a sympathetic nurse will bring you three teaspoons of water in a teeny weeny cup. To repay her kindness, you may barf up a little on her shoe. Some orderlies hoist you out of bed; they hand you over to your mommy. You fall back asleep for a little bit; you wake up and complain about things, then drift off again. This goes on for a long time, like an hour. When you finally come around, it dawns on you that you're wearing a flimsy surgical garment with clowns on it. You may clutch at your IV in a desperate attempt to free yourself and find your boy clothes. Your efforts are thwarted by everybody in the room. You swallow your pride (which is excruciating given your delicate condition), and pull yourself together as best you can. To compensate for the loss of your dignity, Nurse Jack presents you with an Italian ice. Lemon. It's pretty good. The remainder of your recovery time is spent sitting there on your mommy's lap, while your progress is closely monitored. Even though you weigh 53 pounds and jab at her repeatedly with your elbows trying to get comfortable, she seems cheerful and happy to be trapped like she is, under your inanimate girth. She tells you how much she loves you and what a good job you're doing. She thinks about the day she brought you home from the hospital, after you were born; how quickly the time passes. Oh, great. Now is not the time for her sentimental twaddle! Make sure you remind her that this is the worst day ever. You are thirsty, and you need water. She suggests a different topic for discussion. So you talk about juice, Gatorade and Vitamin Water for two more hours. Mom tells you about this drink called a Slush Puppie; it comes in cherry, cola and blue flavor. She knows where a kid can get one. Remember to make her take you there when you're back in action, which will more than likely be within the week.

Birdgirl, 2009

2009-01-16T19:43:00.001-08:00

In the seventh grade, my Catholic school classmates and I were approached with the opportunity to receive Confirmation. At the time, the whole thing seemed like a pretty big event. Nothing like a religious sacrament thrown into an otherwise lackluster school year to liven things up a bit. At first, this one seemed compelling enough, with lots of decision-making potential aimed at piquing the interest of directionless, impressionable youth. To further sweeten the deal, we were offered the choice to add a new name, but it had to be a Christian name that should reflect a saint who you admired and could imitate. Okay. You also got to choose a sponsor, but that person had to a) be a grown-up, b) go to church every Sunday, and c) act all responsible. Sure, there was a new outfit and shoes. And then a party where you only got cards with money in them, and you had to put it all in the bank. You get where I'm going with this? The perks were confusing and rather suspect. Alot of razzle in the dazzle, if you catch my drift. Truth be told, as a self-conscious pre-teen, I couldn't even be counted on to order a pizza by phone without dying of embarrassment, never mind becoming a public witness to Christ. I suppose I was as ready as I was ever gonna be to accept Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior. At twelve, I could use all the help I could get. My father isn't Catholic; he's not a praying man, but he loves God just as much as the next guy. He's the one who suggested Sacagawea as my Confirmation name. He said she was a historical figure, kind and good. Sacagawea sounded exotic, much more clever than Agnes, Patricia or Florence. I couldn't wait to share my holy choice with the teacher. Next day when I saw Mrs. O'Byrne, she told me that Sacagawea (aka the Bird Woman) was the young Indian squaw who accompanied Lewis and Clark on their expedition through the Northwest Territory. She wasn't the patron saint of camping or travel or anything else, for that matter. Mrs. O'Byrne asked me where the brilliant Sacagawea idea came from; with my cheeks burning hot with shame, I gave my old man up as the culprit. Then she asked me what his name was, and that's how I ended up with mine, Mary Elizabeth Gene.
Birdgirl is a stylized interpretation, (closely) adapted from the work of Mike R. Baker http://mikerbaker.com/404/ I looked exactly like her when I was in the seventh grade. Ask anybody. Except Dad, of course. He can no longer be trusted to give a straight answer.

How Does She Do It?

2009-01-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

My mom has always said that I must learn to wait patiently for some things. She says it all the time, the same annoying suggestion. If we are on the phone and she says it, I want to smash the receiver into tiny little plastic bits. If we're together in the car and she lets go with this pearl, I want to reach across, open the passenger door and boot her into some shrubbery. It is hard for me to sit and wait. I want to take control of the situation. I want to make things happen, and I want it now. Anxiousness sets in, and then I feel ugly inside because it becomes all about me. Do I give the impression that it's all about me? I don't think I mean to. Well, maybe I do. So glide away on soapy heels,
And promise not to promise anymore.
And if you come around again,
Then I will take the chain from off the door.
I'll never say, I'll never love.
But I don't say alot of things;
And you, my love, are gone.

Okay, time to share! I really enjoy my relationship with God; we have fun. I try to live my life with an attitude of gratitude. I'm clumsy with the prayers, though. Praying is like exercise; I realize that it's good for me, but I just wanna watch this show on how to make non pareils. I generally roll a petition or two around when things get prickly. I know, I'm a pig. Still, Jesus loves me; the bible tells me so. My mom, on the other hand, is a professional prayer athlete - a prathlete. She prays for all of us with the strength and stamina of an Olympic gold medalist. When called upon to help out, Mom follows a rigorous schedule of church visits, candlelight vigils and dedicated novenas to several powerful martyrs and angels at once. She's got all the equipment and paperwork to make a wish, farm the work out and get the job done. Rosary beads, holy cards, maps to the patron saints' homes; whatever you need. She has a pretty good track record for success. It's been a relatively quiet year for divine intervention requests; thankfully, most everybody has remained in pretty decent shape. Nonetheless, I know she's kept praying that Kirin would call. We've all been, in different ways.

Here he is, January's miracle. My eldest boy.
All three of my sons together Tuesday night, for the first time in a very long while. Perhaps the most beautiful thing in the whole world, to see him gather Rory and Desmond up in his arms and lift them together (no easy accomplishment!). To watch how these little guys embrace him as if he were never gone. It's so important to have faith that things can somehow work out; that someone you love can find his way back to your heart.

Cruising on a Sunday Afternoon

2009-01-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

Seems as though it's getting easier to fall from a cruise ship these days. This past week alone, two people went missing in separate incidents. The young woman was a passenger, on vacation with family. The gentleman was a stage performer; you'd think he was more familiar with the layout of the vessel. Perhaps tour groups are not providing enough incentive to remain on the boat itself. How unlikely! There's tons of entertainment aboard a luxury oceanliner. Rock climbing, simulated surfing, ice skating; plenty of opportunity to hurt yourself and frighten your loved ones without plunging into icy, shark-infested waters, not to mention ruining everybody else's trip while you're at it. There are easier ways to break up an unhappy marriage than booking an 8 day/7 night vacation, positioning your unsuspecting spouse near a weak railing and hoping for a gusty wind at sunset. Use your imagination! Be flirty and arrange dates with whoever is friendly; recklessly gamble your life savings away in the casino while your husband or wife nervously looks on, nursing a now very costly virgin rumbuck. Your partner will be so fed up with your behavior, he or she will have no choice but to seriously consider filing for divorce as soon as you return to dry land. Don't get me wrong - I love buffets and awkward organized games with complete strangers, but not enough to risk my life on a cruise. How about accidental death that doesn't involve travel? Banana peels, marbles... A barbecue explosion seems plausible. It nearly happened to me this past spring while grilling hot dogs; I forgot I had already turned the gas on. When I flicked the switch, the invisible fireball I encountered took me by such surprise, I became immediately concerned about the condition and location of my eyebrows. And don't even get me started about black ice. I have my children and the elderly terrified of breaking a hip on the black ice. Total body casts for the whole gang! These kids live in fear of being hospitalized during the holidays, where they'll receive only one gift from an unfriendly nurse in an elf costume; my parents have been warned that they'll contract pneumonia, lapse into comas and never regain consciousness. When I see my mom wearing her Keds in the snow, I blow my stack! Last night, Dave told me a story about some Metallica musicians whose tour bus skidded on some Swedish black ice in 1986, pinning the bass guitarist under the vehicle for several hours. When they finally lifted the rig off him, the ropes snapped and the bus landed on him again. That black ice is nothing to joke about. With the details of Cliff Burton's untimely death swirling in my head during our otherwise lovely dinner conversation (He was just a kid!), I finished my tuna fish in silence. Now, where was I? Oh yes, falling from cruise ships. I suppose there's a part of me that just doesn't understand it. As toddlers, Judy and I spent many hours on the rooftop of the apartment building where my folks lived in Manhattan, bouncing balls and playing with dolls in the company of somewhat pre-occupied adults. The women hung laundry and smoked cigarettes while their men drank beers after work and all day Sunday. There we were with assorted cousins, two little girls in matching plaid dresses and red leather slippers. So cute, padding around on the blacktop amidst the chimney stacks and tv antennaes. These are some of my best vague memories, and I guess that's because not once did any of us kids ruin the summer by dropping to our deaths. So, no. I don't get it; and I probably never will.

The Male Mook

2008-12-31T09:06:00.000-08:00

So much for David's theory about the purchase of winter boots preventing snow storms. Several inches of white and fluffy this morning. Oh well. Stuck indoors as 2008 draws to a close; my thoughts drift to what I'd like to do in the new year. We certainly did get some awesome things accomplished over the last twelve months. I guess I'll make more stuff; pretty stuff, maybe something shiny. We'll see. The holidays have been so distracting; I've fallen behind somewhat on painting the Birdgirl. She's still coming out great. Spent one afternoon messing with the droop in her eye, but I'm okay with it now.By the way, here's a photo of some things I made a while back; I'm not sure what you'd call them. Mooks, I guess.

Happy New Year, everybody!

Here's to all the creative fun we'll have in 2009.

And So It Goes

2008-12-28T11:13:00.000-08:00

I'm always relieved when the seasonal frivolity starts winding down and fizzling out. I gotta admit - every day is Christmas when you're Mary. I suppose that's why the holidays have a tendency to throw me off a bit. You know when you're on a bus that's creeping along in traffic and another bus pulls up alongside? For a moment, you're not certain which vehicle is moving. Vertigo. Last week, the boys were fighting over whose turn it was to flick on the Christmas lights. Today, they could care less. And so it goes. My beautiful tree knows its hours are numbered; the poor thing can't even look me straight in the face. This time tomorrow evening, Dave will be dragging its stripped carcass back down the basement stairs, like a kitty cat struggling to avoid the bathwater. Maybe its my short attention span, but Christmas seems to last a long time; this year, we had three fully dedicated gift-opening sessions. Is that too much? It felt like alot. Of course, we embrace recycling with a gusto, but I guess I do feel bad about the bows.

And so it goes, and so it goes.

But where it's going, no one knows.

Spoon Nose

2008-12-19T17:23:00.000-08:00

I've been working on a little passive aggressive behavior with the weather last couple weeks. It goes something like this: If I don't buy the boys winter boots, it can't possibly snow. Dave's version is similar, albeit more proactive. Buy the boots; once they've been purchased, no more snow will come. He tried this line of thinking when we got the snowblower; I seem to recall it was pretty successful the first year in this house. Desmond's teacher told the kids that if they wear their pajamas inside out and put spoons under their pillows when they go to bed, it'll definitely snow. That's what these guys did last night - and it worked! Instant snow day. Yay, no school! Dag, no boots! Now I'm in a tight spot. I'm going to Payless in the morning, after Dave digs the car out. Just in time, too. December 21 is the first day of winter; the shortest day of the year, you know. Funny how it felt like the longest, trapped in the house with these two mini-goons, complaining about their lack of appropriate footwear.

I Get It, 2008

2008-12-15T10:55:00.001-08:00

Even though little boy racecar umbrellas are not functional accessories, they are adorable when accompanied by little boy raincoats and boots. If, however, you wish to keep your boy children dry when it's raining, don't mention racecar umbrellas as you make preparations to get from Point A to B. In the hands of youngsters with no concept of the importance of staying dry, umbrellas are as dangerous as your prescription eyewear, loaded handguns and eggs. Allowing little boys their racecar umbrellas during the big storm is a really dumb idea. Letting them hold your wallet when they're bored on the subway is dumber, but not by much. At the slightest hint of midday showers, little boys will offer to equip themselves with coordinated rain gear, as if nothing else in the world matters. Oh my, it's raining; we must dress for the occasion. To my chifforobe! Once outfitted accordingly, they admire themselves and so do you. How cute they look! Nine seconds later, they are bored with their parasols; one foot is soaked down to the sock. Now you have even more things to carry (wet things, by the way), or they outright refuse to close their umbrellas in places like Starbucks and church. Desmond tried on his little boy racecar umbrella recently; it no longer fit him. I know this because it appeared as though he'd misplaced his tightrope and unicycle. How did this happen? Yesterday, he was a baby. Now he is six.
And there is the vague backstory behind this painting; I Get It. These changing seasons of rain, and then flowers. Babies, and then boys. How you can only appreciate some things after experiencing other stuff first. This very notion has taken more than half my life to figure out. How the momentary nuisance of their costume demands becomes the most lovely memory, like these photos of my sons dancing in the sprinkler. Baby faces flicked with mud during the summer our backyard had no grass. The way our guys embrace just about everything is so effortless and uncomplicated; their play is simple. It will be for awhile, and I'm grateful. Little boy racecar umbrellas are some of the bare necessities of life.

Antibiotics are Us!

2008-12-12T18:18:00.000-08:00

I guess in some families, children who are close in age can be pretty competitive. Vying for the attention of their parents, challenging each other to win the game, get there first, know the answer, etc. Our guys are like that. They race each other from the porch to the car, which is kinda stupid because neither of them are forward thinking enough to open the back door of the vehicle, once they've arrived. Instead, they stand there in the cold and rain, like turkeys with their beaks hanging slack. Teeth chattering, "I won! I won!" Waiting for assistance, like most poultry. When it became clear that Rory was the frontrunner in the contest for Biggest Tonsils in North America, naturally, Desmond seemed determined to contract a moderately contagious disease, with which to impress and alarm us. Let's see, something rare with a historical old-fashioned flair, traditionally stomach turning with eye-popping special effects... Hmmm, how about Scarlet Fever? That ought to bump little brother out of the top spot, in a jiffy! Strep and a rash, shmoke and a pancake. And no, I'm not kidding. So, here's the gang: Helen Keller, Thomas Edison, my Dad (when he was eight), the little boy in the Velveteen Rabbit story, all six Oblonsky children in Anna Karenina, Indiana Jones' mother and one of the Hardy brothers. Oh yeah, and now Desmond Henry Killian, the big winner!

When Doves Snore

2008-12-07T13:27:00.001-08:00

Guess who needs to get his tonsils taken out.
Little bro. Amidst the colds, ear aches and recent daytime dozing, it makes sense. Besides, the night noise is ridiculous. Both boys saw wood when they sleep, but Rory makes such a racket! It sounds like he's tearing himself to pieces. Here's how Mark Twain described Big Jim's snore in Tom Sawyer Abroad: Jim begun to snore-soft and blubbery at first, then a long rasp, then a stronger one, then a half dozen horrible ones like the last water sucking down the plug hole of a bathtub, then the same with more power to it, and some big coughs and snorts flung in, the way a cow does that is choking to death. It sounds like that every night at our house anymore. Big Bunny is in good company; lots of famous people have been known for snoring. Elizabeth Taylor, Orson Welles, Regis Philbin, all the overweight presidents (Taft, Harding, McKinley), Barbara Streisand. Goofy. We're gonna see the ENT this week and get on the holiday schedule as soon as possible. I read in Martha Stewart's magazine that with a little ribbon and glitter, tonsils (once removed) can be just as fun and festive as mistletoe.

Show and Smell

2008-12-03T12:57:00.000-08:00

Show and Tell is the process of showing an audience a certain something and telling them all about it. Usually, a child brings an item from home and explains to the class why he or she chose that particular item, where they got it and other relevant information. Show and Tell is a valuable early elementary school technique which teaches young children the importance of public speaking.

This is Smudgy. Smudgy is Rory's "go-to" guy. Since R.M. started school, he lobbies to bring Smudgy as his Show and Tell item. Every Wednesday. There was a time, like last year, when Smudgy took great pride in his appearance and made a very nice presentation. You may not think it to look at him, but Smudgy is a magnificent conversationalist; he's light on his feet, quick with a joke and big with the ladies. He is, however, starting to look a tad long in the tooth. He smells like sleep and spit. And fabric softener. But it is Wednesday, and I can't always say no.

Hearts and Minds

2008-12-02T14:04:00.000-08:00

Flowers and circles! Circles and flowers! Yeck! Not certain which I find more loathesome today, after spending several dedicated painting sessions outlining 18 flowers and 32 circles. What was I thinking? If I elect to consider another project involving flowers and/or circles, feel free to shake me until my button eyes come loose and my stuffing falls about my feet in white cottony tufts.

Things could always be worse; thank goodness it's not hearts! Hearts would be decidedly more despicable, what with their indecisiveness... Am I round? Am I pointy? Artistically speaking, 18 hearts would have been mind-numbingly boring and quite stinkeroo*. Note to self: No more hearts, flowers or circles. Might as well throw shamrocks on that pile, while we're at it. Never can be too careful with those things, either.
* Totally artsy technical term for sucky.

Zing!

2008-11-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

I can be such a dope, sometimes. Allow me to explain. I nearly smashed this board to bits the other day. Which really would have been unfortunate, because look how cute things are turning out.

I haven't gotten hysterical and destroyed artwork-in-progress in quite a while. I generally have a back-up piece at the ready; one that requires less meticulous effort. In the event there's too much caffeine in my breakfast, or I'm preoccupied with thoughts that interfere with my concentration. On this particular occasion, I approached the beginning of my outlining procedure right after a great big double coffee. Jittery. As I was zigging and jagging it up with my teeny tiny brush, I kept thinking "This stinks. Too shaky. I'm gonna totally bust this board into smithereens!" I tried pushing the thought out of my head; it kept returning, like fifty times. What's really dumb is that I do have something else to work on; I sketched out this adorable birdgirl last week.Maybe I'm learning how to master my rage, so my rage won't be my master any more. Probably not. I just didn't want to get off the couch. In times of crisis and indecision, I still lash out with every limb, like the octopus who plays the drums.

Gentlemen Farmers

2008-11-27T11:38:00.000-08:00

Nothing says "Thanksgiving" like four year olds making butter, don't you agree? Alas, Rory Malcolm was absent for the group churn yesterday at school. Mild fever and stomach virus through the night equals pre-K bum out. The illness was fleeting... by evening time, he was almost back to his old self. Desmond's class had a big holdiay spread; he tried stuffing for the first time. He claims to have enjoyed two heaping loads. Plus a mini corn muffin and chocolate pudding; just like our forefathers.

Did I Forget to Mention?

2008-11-23T16:55:00.001-08:00

Forget to mention Memphis?
Home of Elvis and ancient Greece.
Do I smell? I smell home cooking.
It's only the river; it's only the river.
Find a city. Find ourselves a city to live in.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Making Things and Eating Them

2008-11-23T13:07:00.000-08:00

Desmond will be having another birthday in a couple of weeks. David and I are taking the boys go-kart racing at the Funplex to celebrate; that should be a good time. Yesterday, we went to the toy store just to look around, see what's new and interesting for six year olds. Desi remains interested in the same stuff as last year; Transformers, Power Rangers and Legos. Star Wars paraphernalia has been picked up on his radar. I managed to score a few things while Big Boy wasn't looking, stashing them under our coats in the shopping cart and distracting him at the checkout. You'll never guess what I got... Lite Brite and Spirograph!

I loved both those toys as a kid; didn't you? I betcha he will, too. Can you remember what you played with when you were six? Ah, youth! I had some terrific dolls and stuffed animals, Colorforms and puzzles, a cash register.

We played games like Headache, Aggravation, Don't Break the Camel's Back, Battling Tops... I guess we were an angry generation.

In 1969, I had big dreams. As far back as I can recall, I wanted out from under my mother's thumb. Hatching a plan for freedom with extremely limited resources and virtually no knowledge of the real world was hard work. I spent hours on my pretend phone, scheming with imaginary friends, smoking fake cigarettes and borrowing money I couldn't possibly pay back.
I watched alot of television, whatever was on, eager to absorb details about life on the outside. From what I could gather, I needed to get married so I could move out; that was key. Soon after, I would lose my husband due to mysterious and tragic circumstances, providing me with lots of free time to shop, travel and decorate my gorgeous home. Not to mention countless opportunities for playful brushes with true love among other young widowed individuals.What fun, right? Although I was not particularly athletic, I realized that staying in shape was important, given the task at hand - that being, landing a live one! Sports were not encouraged in our household; physical activity involved a rope tied to a fence, marbles, darts and a little pink ball.

I wasn't allowed in the street, so once it bounced off the sidewalk, I went back inside and resumed my TV watching activity. I practiced skills that would come in handy for attracting and securing a spouse with hopefully a terminal illness; learning how to make change and drinks, figuring out what keys were for and how to use the stove. In the event that my companion was still healthy, best to secure a few things, just in case: a butter knife, some bleach and a vehicle (preferably one with a blanket in the trunk). With my plans for escape firmly in place, I returned to business as usual. I dressed my teddy bears in handkerchief outfits; I played school, grocery store and hospital. I guess I had some anxiety, what with all the secrecy. I chewed gum, just to take the edge off; I made gum chain rugs out of the discarded wrappers, to decorate my future apartment.

I fashioned other things with paper, yarn and buttons. Nervous energy, I guess. Okay, okay. So, one day I hacked all the hair off Judy's Beautiful Crissy doll (which I truly regret doing but have never copped to, until now). Hey, what a relief to finally let that out. Wow, this blogging stuff is really liberating! And what a great idea. I know just what to get my sister for Christmas. Don't let on that I told you!

I forgot what I was talking about...Oh, yeah. Basically, I guess mine was a pretty normal childhood. Don't you think?

King Me, 2008

2008-11-17T09:51:00.000-08:00

If I were Queen, I'd probably do a crummy job; too much responsibility. I struggle with soup choices on the menu at the diner, never mind running a country. I think, however, I'd make a great Lady-in-Waiting; Lady of the Privy Chamber or Mistress of the Robes. Can you see it? I definitely can. I like being invited to join in and help, rather than singled out to make decisions. Still, I think the Queen and I would make a good team. We'd have a fun and fresh relationship, Elizabeth and I. Together, we could take splashy trips abroad, tooling around town in her Dodge Challenger; visiting children's hospitals and chocolate factories, ribbon-cutting ceremonies for new Starbucks' locations. At a party, I could help find the royal pocketbook when the queen misplaces it under a pile of coats. Carefully apply nail polish to a run in her support hose when she kicks her shoes off to do the Electric Slide. I'd be a terrific royal companion, keeping her majesty entertained with stories and photos of the boys doing things I wish they wouldn't.

I'll never grow weary of answering "Of course not!" when she asks "Does this coin make me look fat? How about this stamp?" At nighttime when I'm off the clock, we'll hang out together in our pajamas and watch American Idol. I'll paint while she does scrapbooking and buys Marie Osmond dolls (which she doesn't need) from QVC. She'll purchase my paintings anonymously and give them as presents to her buds in Parliament. I bet she's already got her eye on this one - King Me! for Prince Andrew, Duke of York. She's been trying to come up with something different this year; his birthday is in February. She usually gets him gift cards to the Olive Garden and ascots.

Imperial Margarine vs. Shedd Spread

2008-11-14T17:51:00.000-08:00

Windsor Castle is not a single building, but a large complex of structures that covers an area of 26 acres, high above the River Thames. In addition to a royal palace, it contains a magnificent chapel and the homes and workplaces of a large number of people. The extravagant State Apartments are furnished with some of the finest works of art from the Royal Collection. The King's Dining Room, the Queen's Presence and Audience Chambers retain many original features. I know what you're thinking... It's just like here, only soon we'll have a cool Shed. Finally, a place to store our armour and weapons! The chain mail apron I like to wear to concerts and my javelin.

An official royal residence, Windsor Castle serves as the weekend home for the royal family. You'll know that the Queen is in residence when the Royal Standard flag is flying over the castle. Here at our house, you can tell that I'm home when both cars are in the driveway. Just ring the doorbell! In the morning if you come around 10 o'clock, we could watch the Tyra Banks Show together. Maybe you could help me fold laundry. It'll be fun.

Barack Obama is My Boyfriend!

2008-11-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." Have you heard this saying? It's a quote from Shakespeare's King Henry IV. It means "With great power comes great responsibility", which is a quote from the first Spiderman movie. Both are pithy observations about the importance of good leadership. Right here is where I'd love to compare my boys to the wonderfully rich characters of Prince Hal and Hotspur, fiercely competitive young men, capable of tremendous maturity. I can't do that. Now if Betty and Veronica were in a Shakespearean classic, that'd be a snap.Anyway, here's what I've been working on these days. It's a cute little crown, bedecked in jewels. I think it's very presidential and adorable.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." That's intense. The Hand that Paints the Crown, however, has a good old time. My life is fun, the kids are healthy, happy holidays are coming. Yippee! I sleep like a baby in our makeshift family/dining room boudoir. So cozy!Okay, so the basement looks like backstage at the Lunt-Fontanne Theater. Yikes!

Cmon, places everybody! On with the show! Back by popular demand, building a little house in the backyard, it's Brian Pollack (of BP Custom Woodworks, LLC), specializing in carpentry, renovations and general excellence!

Just so you know, I'm gonna start using words like "thy", "hath" and "goodly" (and "pithy", when appropriate) in my blogging; I bet readers will be impressed with how smart I sound, and I hope to get more comments this way.

The Sticky and Sweet Tour, 2008

2008-11-01T17:59:00.000-07:00

Halloween was a lively success! Even though Optimus Prime and Bumblebee wore undershirts and winter coats to school in the morning, the weather warmed up nicely as the day (and their costumes) unraveled. Des and Rory were positively robotic at the schoolyard parade; everybody's kids looked magnificent! David and I took the boys trick-or-treating along the shops in town, then out to dinner at Buffet. They had fun answering the doorbell for evening revelers until we shut the front lights off at nine o'clock. Sometimes I think these boys are their perfect ages. They are sweet and smart, imaginative and playful. They are too young to ever smell really bad yet, too unsophisticated for truly mean-spirited behavior. I love how they reach for each others' hands when we cross the street; both of them will burst into song without hesitation. Rory will gladly show you his belly, upon request. What precious children! That's fine, take a moment; okay, moment over. Quick, somebody do something stupid before I overdose on adorable! Crawl behind some boxes at Lowes and clean the floor with your new pants. Then eat a piece of gray cereal from the car ashtray and spit it out all over my pocketbook. There, that's much better.

Woodchucking 101

2008-10-27T15:50:00.000-07:00

Young-looking Nick and his even younger-looking brother, Brian are very shy. I much fear these tender lads may just be too young and too shy for us to become close friends in four short days. I'm only human! I get scared like everybody else. But, I'm not afraid of airborne wood dust; I generally laugh in the face of nasty known carcinogens. Alas, I don't even have to with dustless floor sanding equipment. Although great for the environment, this big red machine is cumbersome and very noisy, blocking the narrow hallway and preventing me from making much progress in the way of extending any natural friendliness toward Nick and Brian, not to mention peppering them with questions about their shy, young lives. That big plastic sheet tacked to the bottom of the stairs is somewhat off-putting as well. Still, I refuse to be discouraged; I must remember the basic tools of professional conviviality!

1. Provide warm, nutritious meals and snacks; mention that you've toasted the bagels, and they should be eaten soon. It suggests "I want you to feel strong and be healthy while you're on this job; I will panic if you faint, fall and hurt yourself. I'm a terrific waitress but a horrible nurse."

2. Including real silverware says "I trust you; please don't throw out my spoons. I'll only have to fish them out of the garbage after you leave."

3. Gatorade and Clif bars make everybody feel athletic! "I know you'd rather be rock climbing and white water rafting with your chocolate labrador puppy right now, sweaty Verizon guy. Still, I'm grateful you chose to come to work today and fix my phone."

4. Check on folks regularly; tell them where you're headed when you go out and remind them "No girls in the house" while you're away. That one usually kills. Ask if there's something you can get them from the store. "I'm going to Michael's for foamy pumpkins; you guys need any?" Most times, they will say no.

5. Be friendly, authentic and sincere. No, I mean, for real.

C'mon, Feel the Noise!

2008-10-25T18:16:00.001-07:00

It sure has been quiet here the past two weeks. I must admit - I had a little 'empty nest' syndrome when Brian first packed up his toolbelt and went back home around the corner. With the house to myself for the first time since mid Summer, I did have me nine or ten full days of quiet fun. I painted, watched movies, bought light fixtures and sent out Halloween cards. All that's about to change come Monday; two new men are scheduled to make things loud again. Men named Nick and Brian; I hear they're Scranton graduates. They're coming to sand, color and finish the new floors. We're doubled up bunking downstairs for now. Our bed's in the family room; the boys are camped out in the dining room. Of course, Desi and Rory think our sleeping accommodations are an absolute riot! Last night, it took a good while for them to finally pass out. And oh, my God! They are so noisy, even when they're unconscious. The coughing, whistling, clicking and snoring - they sound like distressed scuba divers with clogged snorkel equipment, riding musical dolphins (all of them, interestingly enough, with advanced tuberculosis) - gasping, blurting and popping all night long.

Seamstress in Disguise!

2008-10-21T10:09:00.001-07:00

Halloween is just about a week away! The Killian brothers are anxious for the big event. Since August when we purchased these flimsy garments, several meticulous fittings for the Transformer costumes have been staged and carried out; both boys squawking and darting about my bedroom like nervous, catty bridesmaids. Optimus Prime's wristsbands have been double-stitched at the cuffs, and Bumblebee needed his robot pants hemmed. These outfits are made out of negligee material - very slidey and difficult to sew. Hours have been spent admiring themselves and each other in their nylon shoulderpads and polyester bell bottoms. Nonetheless, when they look in the mirror, these guys dig what they see! Major transformation!

Do These Come In Pink?

2008-10-19T18:15:00.001-07:00

Walking in high heels ranks right up there with leaving the house not wearing my glasses. Might as well just confiscate my car keys and call me a cab because I'm not going anywhere without hurting myself in the process. Some women make it look so easy! They drop the kids at school, rush from the subway station, zipping up escalators on their way to board meetings. They sniff and buy organic produce, run for president and kick through puddles holding umbrellas while giggling. I can barely maneuver through a store wearing a big coat without knocking something over. You won't find ice skates or a surfboard in my closet, either. I'm just not natural athlete material. If I drop a little gift on somebody's porch and ring the bell, I can run pretty fast so I'm gone by the time they get to the door. Not if it's dark outside though; I'll definitely fall. Still, I'm okay with my physical limitations and footwear requirements. Hey, I can paint! I can paint some killer shoes and call them Fierce Heels. Remember these?

Then, I can do it again! Do These Come in Pink? You bet! All this and more, wearing my slippers.

O Beautiful, for Spacious Closets

2008-10-13T10:35:00.001-07:00

Today is the last official day of the home renovation project; Brian is installing new shelves and hanging rods in my bedroom closet. It's gonna be awesome when he's done; my top, pant and shoe collections are going to look sensational! I am a little sad because it's been great having Brian around for two whole months. I mean it! Watching him transform our home into such a beauty has been really exciting. Amidst the demolition and cosmetic surgery, light fixtures and crystal doorknobs, the new staircase, windows and all the tricked-out wainscoting (how do you pronounce that word?), it's time to return to business as usual here on Colfax Avenue - whatever that means. The boys are home from school today; we're trying to figure out how to celebrate Columbus Day. Although he deserves credit for his courage, persistence and great vision, Columbus was also a greedy opportunist and brutal slavemaster. So far, I made the kids fold their own laundry; I served water with their lunch. I may just insist they come with me to the pharmacy in a little bit to pick up David's Lipitor; that sounds grueling. I'm pretty sure that's all I got as far as honoring the discovery of the new world. You know, Columbus Day also provides an opportunity to examine both sides of the coin; with great accomplishments often come great failings. Columbus Day challenges us to put the microscope not only to our history, but to ourselves. It certainly challenged me to open a Word document, type in my name and address and label it my resume. That was a cinch; where'd I put my flag? Now, as far as realistic and legitimate accomplishments go, the shoes painting is coming along nicely. The colors are really starting to pop with outlining; hopefully will have that finished and framed within the week.

Help Wanted

2008-10-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about going back to work, like at a real job where they pay you money for showing up and doing stuff. Have been stay-at-home momming for enough years, I guess. These guys seem quite stable and probably won't mind. It's almost time to return myself to the other people who go there, to the workplace where the work is. I'll just go find some. Some fancy work at a fancy job with some nice people; I could definitely do that! I'm gonna get started putting a resume together. I clean up rather nicely, and I bet I still look pretty good on paper. Gotta brush up on my Powerpoint skills and see whatever else I've forgotten that I know how to do. Here's a secret, though... I'm a little scared. But now that I've told you, I feel much more confident. Grrr!

Freshly Ground Stumps!

2008-10-05T17:05:00.000-07:00

My folks and I took Desmond and Rory to Byram Day yesterday so they could see their Daddy play music with Brian Stella and the Company Town Band. The group looked and sounded terrific; they performed a solid 40 minute set including many of their liveliest tunes.

It's fun watching Dave play guitar; he takes all things musical very seriously. I'm not certain how impressed the boys were; they mostly ran around like kooks in a field. That is, after all, what they are and where they were. Best part of the whole day was that I finally got to meet Sienna Stella, who was looking very cupcake-like in a fetchingly yummy pink ensemble.

Can't wait for the group's next live gig at Orphan Annie's in Stirling, NJ on Saturday night, November 8. Clear your calendar for a rockin' show. And remember, it's Stump Grinding Season; so keep it on the road, whatever's left!

Hardy Mums, Hardy Boys!

2008-09-26T13:56:00.000-07:00

The boys and I have colds; we are grouchy. Still, we have to get on with life. Every morning, life is out there - waiting for us to share our illness with it! So I get up, blow my nose and wash my face. Then I rouse the disgruntled student body for a day of academic disease-producing microorganism sharing. They are grumpy; they make it tough to not get any of their sick on you. They have no qualms about coughing big germy puffs straight into your face when you're zipping jackets; so you can leave the house, and they can get the rest of the world sick. On Friday, I took the guys to the cinema to see Igor (we all loved it!) Sitting together in the movie house, the young one was slurping and licking all over me and my big drink. I blame myself; I didn't realize we were coming down with something. It was chilly in the theater; I let him sit on my lap, so I could use his cuddly body for warmth. We drove to Cooperstown over the weekend to visit Tim and Tracy. At a rest stop, Rory licked a corrugated ice cream sign in front of a Baskin Robbins' frequented by kabillions of under the weather travellers every day. When I saw my baby's little pink tongue pull up the side of this disgusting point-of-purchase display, I nearly fainted. And now, we are sick; of course, I get it. Hey, I got it from them! I always do. How generous! Thankfully, they are sturdy boys, familiar with the drill... "Cover your mouth, and go wash your hands. Honey, you've got to cover your mouth. Did you wash your hands? Get a tissue. And for God's sake, cover your mouth!" It is, after all, Autumn; our first collective cold of the school year. The seasons are changing, and we are the hardiest of mums; we're gonna make it! So pucker up, and give us a big kiss!

These Shoes!

2008-09-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

Here are some possible colors for Pink Heels. Orange, pink and light brown; maybe green. The background is a very pale pink. It'll be fun to note how alternate paint choices will make this piece look similar to, yet different from Fierce Heels. I'm so curious to see this project come together.

Tea Time, 2008

2008-09-22T19:20:00.000-07:00

My mom drinks roughly 75 cups of tea a day; morning, noon and night - tea is happening. Seven or eight cups just to get going every morning, a couple more with her breakfast pills and a vitamin. The kettle screams with alarm at the very sight of her. Water is always boiling on the stove; she's ready in the event women go into labor while they're at her house or should they request tea between contractions. It's unclear whether Mom is eating any real meals during the day. I busted Mom and Daddy parked at the end of my street a few weeks ago, nibbling Chipwiches in the car around lunchtime; she had some chocolate on her face. To date, I don't think I've ever seen anything more adorable. Mom has no idea why her stomach gives her problems, and she can't sleep for more than two hours at a clip. Every once in a while, she'll come at me with a casual medical inquiry. "Mary, did you ever get where your belly feels as hard as a rock and you have a stabbing pain down the side of your leg; then your eyes begin to burn and when you rub them, all you see is fire?" No, Mom! No, I've never, ever experienced anything like that; nor should you! "Oh, well... it's better now. I had some ginger ale and a few swigs of Pepto Bismol; then I went to church and lit some candles for you and your sister. When I got home though, I was so nauseous so I drank forty more cups of tea and had some cheddar Wispread on a cracker. And I also had some TicTacs." After Mom makes my dad's supper, more cups of tea will be prepared and nursed, until television is turned up really loud and napping starts to occur sometime in the evening. Of course, with all that noise and after all that tea, Mom will wake up often to go to the bathroom and replenish her empty bladder with more tea. She may also eat some candy and leftover chinese food. I've learned everything I know about taking care of myself from this woman. I am somewhat reluctant blogging on my mother; I'm nervous that once I start writing about her, I will never be able to stop and I might never paint again. Be that as it may, steep, savor and enjoy a piping hot cup of Mom, just like I do!

Wow Wow Wubsy...

2008-09-15T13:50:00.000-07:00

The hero is exposed when

his crimes are brought to the light of day.

Won't be feeling sorry, sorry, sorry

on the judgement day.

Wasn't it me who said,

There'll be a price to pay.

And I won't feel bad at all

when the hero takes a fall.

When the hero takes a fall. Oh, no.

Poor Jub Jub. He never knew what hit him. That's what you get for sleepwalking onto a construction site. Needless to say, there's a new friend in town: Wubsy. Wow, that was quick.

Weekend Update

2008-09-15T13:12:00.001-07:00

Haven't painted in days! Took a few photos of some work in progress so I could post an update to help jumpstart getting back on track. The tea kettle is in the outlining phase.

Next are photos of the umbrella, a flying zebra and the crown. These pieces are still in rough shape; at least colors have been picked and placed.

Last are two pictures of a color variation on the Fierce Heels theme.

Bubba's Jubba

2008-09-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

Get a load of this thing. His name is Jub Jub, and he's a NeoPet that Rory got in a kids' meal at Burger King three weeks ago. In a very short time, Lad and this disgusting bit of fluff have become inseparable pals. They share many similar interests: scenic car rides in the countryside, literature (namely, The Adventures of Captain Underpants) and fine dining at five star restaurants that serve onion rings. A fabulous summertime getaway to the Land of Make Believe and Pirate's Cove (featuring incredible family fun in a safe and wholesome atmosphere), an emotional farewell on the first morning of school: these are memories that will last a lifetime. But life can be short; it can also be cruel. Especially when you have such a playful nature, yet no arms or the subsequent ability to brace yourself at the mere suggestion of physical conflict. Last night, Jub Jub got tangled up in the bedsheets at 4:30 a.m.; Rory woke the house bellowing for his wad of spit-stained polyfill. As David is generally on call for disturbances that occur after business hours, these disruptions seldom end well for the parties involved. It seems clear to those of us in the know that at some point this weekend, Jub Jub will fall victim to a fatal dumpster accident.

It's Hammer Time!

2008-09-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

Ack! I remain distracted - for weeks now. It's hard to stay focused when there's a wave of professional improvement being done to the home. Hey, I'm trying to blog here! First, the windows; now, the floors. Every morning, the Brian Pollack Experience arrives, blood-thirsty for wood and hell-bent on renovation. Carpets are torn up and flung out the window; doors are measured and ripped from their hinges. Prybars, a nail gun and a big yellow compressor are some of the tools being used to make this kind of noise! I'm not at liberty to discuss any further project details because either I don't find them interesting enough to be paying attention or I can't figure out why you'd want to know. Bottom line is: Crown molding makes the house look like a movie star!

Brian Pollack is awesome. As a craftsman, he's prompt, courteous and infinitely knowledgeable. He listens to classic rock music while he works; he's been known to hum a few bars. He likes to enjoy a chicken sandwich, on occasion. As a person, Brian is quiet, yet surprisingly terrific company. He's kind to all living creatures. Insects think he's excellent and so do the mice who've wisely chosen to steer clear of my basement. I've personally seen what the man can do with a shopvac and a shovel; it's definitely not for the squeamish.

King in a Catholic Style

2008-09-05T18:10:00.000-07:00

You know how the old saying goes: You can't spell Kindergarten without first learning how to spell. And that's how they get you, friend. By they, I mean them. By them, I mean him. By him, I mean Him. By HIM, I mean God. What a clever Lord and Savior! Caught up in the whirlwind of new Twistables crayons and peanut butter Dunkaroos, your fate is sealed. Before you're even done with your cereal (Silly rabbit, Trix are for parents!), you're standing on the porch getting your picture taken, wearing a uniform like this:
Today is the first half-day of the rest of Desmond Henry's career as professional student. Back to school - hip, hip, hooray! Bright and early Monday, both maroons will be ceremoniously marched off to the hallowed halls of St. Mary's School for Boys in Trouble and also Other Children. Rory is annoyed that he's not wearing a uniform like Des. Although he lacks any clearly defined sense of style beyond a penchant for glow-in-the-dark Incredible Hulk underpants, he is miffed that the Pre-K dress code is so loose and fanciful. He is completely covetous of that black/brown reversible belt. "Wear fun, comfortable clothing, boys and girls! We're gonna have a great year! What do you need a belt for? Hitch up your elastic waistband, and let's get ready for circle time!" Uhm, no thanks, says he. This child wants his flair for fashion hammered out of him just like the older kids. And rightly so. New uniform is both classic and chic. It does not scream Catholicism upon impact, like the industrial plaid parochial school hair shirt of yore. Given his stylish attire and fastidious attention to detail (coordinating Iron Man backpack, lunchbag and pencil case), one might never guess that DH is a born sinner, on the fast track headed for the naughty steps of eternal Hell. Excellent.

Thrice Yum, 2008

2008-09-04T11:53:00.001-07:00

At my age (next week, I'll be 45), it is essential to my nutritional and spiritual wellness that I incorporate ice cream into my diet every day; until the container is finished, Blue Bunny Pistachio Almond is actively helping me maintain my girlish figure. Dairy products are good for my complexion, and nuts are nature's power snack. Very high in manganese, don't you know. I try to maintain a healthy concern about the formation of my connective tissue, bones and blood-clotting factors; I need all the help I can get as far as normal brain and nerve function go. The occasional banana thrown into the mix keeps the free radicals on their toes; rainbow sprinkles have no trans fats, which remains a relief given my heavy-handedness with dessert toppings. Thrice Yum is my tribute to the triple scoop. Sugar cone vs. waffle cone... you decide.

Dress for Success

2008-08-28T12:39:00.000-07:00

Come and listen to a story 'bout a boy named Des.
He's a real good kid, doing what his Mommy says.
Then one day, he tried on his clothes for school.
The pants were too snug, and it wasn't very cool.
Private school, dress shoes and a belt.

Yikes! Desmond Henry's uniform trousers don't fit! With a scant two weeks left before Kindergarten begins, I had to get over my bad self and get on the good foot with the nice folks at Flynn & O'Hara. C'mon now, D.H. is large and in charge, with the makings of a real man of distinction (just like his dear old Dad). Don't want him looking like Jethro Bodine from the Beverly Hillbillies now, do we? High water blue jeans and an old rope for a belt. Crisis averted, I reckon; reordered just about everything, one size larger. With the holiday weekend coming up, I hope everything will arrive on time. The Big Day (back-to-school) is September 5th!

Bubbles, 1997-2008

2008-08-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

Last night at supper, Desmond spit out his bottom incisor while he was enjoying his dinner side dish of Cheezits. When the Tooth Fairy stopped by later in the evening, she left a little something under his pillow. This time, however, she took Bubbles, The Dog with her back to heaven or whatever lovely place the Tooth Fairy comes from. It's true. Old Brownie Brown passed away yesterday. Her death was unexpected; as far as we could tell, she wasn't sick. Granted, she was eleven years old and getting pretty rickety. When the boys and I came home from shopping around lunchtime, she was behaving strangely and had made a mess in the basement. She didn't even want her afternoon cookie which was extremely out of character. After the guys went to sleep, I went downstairs to do some laundry. There she was on her pillow; she looked like she was sleeping. I called her name, but she was gone. Bubbles was a sweet pooch; deceptively hairy, but super sweet. David buried her in the backyard this morning; we'll plant some flowers there. Hey, maybe a Dogwood.

The Shirley Temple of Youth

2008-08-23T11:56:00.000-07:00

I haven't been to the gym in over two weeks. We were away at the seashore, among other distractions. So I went back this morning, and I was happy about it. I always have a good time when I'm there. My body is, after all, a temple. A temple with a fountain in front. A fountain from which bubbly brown soda flows, first thing in the morning. That's how I wash down my vitamin. I don't really watch my weight, and I guess I probably should. I can't eat pizza boxes like a billy goat, the way I used to when I was just a kid. Still, I love all the foods. When they're together in groups, it's so cute. Peanut butter, tomato and raisins on a hamburger bun: that's my favorite. Triple scoop ice cream in a waffle cone.

Fruit's okay, lettuce and tomato. But it's not cheese or ranch dressing. So I go to Spa 23 and have a little workout; it does make me feel strong. I ride the bicycle and lift weights; I like the clothing: very sporty. For 55 minutes, I feel and look the part of a conscientious, casual athlete. Then, I get kinda bored and sweaty. I cool off in the car and drive to the bakery, where I also have a membership.

The Loneliest Runner

2008-08-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

The clothes dryer is broken; that makes me sad. I am a woman easily rattled when my major household appliances go on the fritz. The washing machine, vaccum cleaner, coffeemaker - I love them all very deeply. Dreamy central air-conditioning; I move swiftly through the rooms of my feng shui inspired home, dustrag in hand and Windex on my hip, enjoying all of my equipment at a crisp 71 degrees F. Don't get me wrong; I like nature, and I watch the weather channel. I'm aware that seasons change; I buy pumpkins and string up lights when called upon. I use an umbrella and dress us all accordingly, in colorful ensembles often still warm from the dryer. As a matter of fact, I have a lively coffee cup collection that I match to each day's outfit. That's how completely jazzed I am about my life in a modern world. Sure, it may sound a bit excessive... Perhaps. I'm not hurting anyone, as long as the coffeemaker still works. Besides, those happy days are gone now that the dryer is shot. I called Sears and made an appointment to have the repairman take a look at it next Friday. Next Friday! This afternoon at the height of my despair, I draped the boys' wet underwear over the backs of patio furniture in the yard. It seemed indecent, but I needed to take advantage of the afternoon sun to get those briefs dry. Does anybody remember Lance Kerwin (James at 15 and again, at 16) in The Loneliest Runner? It's the story of a 14 year old bed wetter who runs home from school every day to retrieve the wet bedsheet his mother has hung from his bedroom window to punish him. He races to get there before any of his friends pass the house. This enforced training prepares him to become a competitive runner, and he grows up to be Bruce Jenner. The moral of the story: Don't humiliate your kids. Also, not everybody likes sports or housekeeping, for that matter. I don't. I do, however, love wearing clean laundry and maintaining harmonious surroundings that enhance the balance of my yin and yang. So every morning after I pick out my clothes, I eat my Wheaties and make the coffee.

Teeth. It's What's for Breakfast!

2008-08-19T07:56:00.001-07:00

Somebody swallowed his tooth with his Golden Grahams this morning. We wrote a note to the tooth fairy, explaining what happened. Desmond remains optimistic that she won't stiff him on the goods, even though he's misplaced his receipt.

Breakfast in Bed

2008-08-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

It probably gets rocking loud at Angelina Jolie's house these days, what with six kids under one roof. Granted, there's probably an au pair or two on staff; I read that Brad Pitt's parents are in town, helping out. That's nice. I betcha lots of noise gets absorbed by the velvet drapes in the spacious rooms of their sprawling French chateau but still, it's gotta be pretty nuts in that household. I wonder what mornings are like, in particular. Where we live, boys wake up roaring with energy. Their eyes and mouths snap open simultaneously, and the full throttle action begins! Doors are flung wide and bladders are emptied, high-tech toys are selected. After that, they're ready to punch the clock, taking on all the biggest issues our fast-moving, ever-changing world has to offer! This morning, they had some banking to do first thing. Getting their financial affairs in order entails trying to remember how to untwist Scooby-Do's bottom, shaking the money out, then fighting over the change. I woke up with a dime on my eyelid, which is physically unsettling and not a very generous tip, given my years of loyal service. Additionally, time travel arrangements needed to be firmed up, plans that involved a Power Ranger wristwatch, three Pokeman cards and a small plastic globe. I tried to explain to these boys that if you still need Mommy's help to put on your jewelry and point to where America is, postponing your trip indefinitely is probably a wise decision. I flipped on TV to get the morning news. Apparently, Kraven the Hunter was in New York at the Natural History Museum to unveil his recently captured prehistoric animal exhibit. While the presentation was taking place, the dinosaurs escaped. As Spiderman and his Amazing Friends attempted to recapture them, Kraven’s real motive was revealed, and just as you'd suspect, it was villainous! Get this - Kraven was planning to seize control of New York by hatching a dinosaur army under his command. The nerve! Amidst the chaos, a rogue dinosaur egg was transformed into an enormous Tyrannosaurus Rex. Oh, and big surprise, Firestar was kidnapped. What else is new? Let's face it, her friendship gets less and less amazing everyday; such is her tiring neediness. Anyway, Spidey and Iceman located Kraven's lair where Firestar was being held captive, forced to perform unspeakable acts on God knows who and who knows what. Luckily, the team managed to save her from herself, yet again.

After a brief awkward silence, they helped collect her clothes and boots, sheepishly dusting off what was left of her dignity. In amazing fashion (as is their way), the friends lured the giant T-Rex into a tar pit and handed Kraven over to police. I thought about calling David to see if he had any trouble getting into work this morning, but I figured he would have called if the bus hit traffic.

Lucky Punk

2008-08-03T19:04:00.001-07:00

I feel really lucky when I get to start a new art project, book and movie all on the same day. Today is one of those days! Five new boards are sketched out, just started reading I Was Told There'd Be Cake (by Sloane Crosley) and rented the second season of Nip/Tuck. I dusted off the two art tomes I own, so prepare to be threatened with dazzling new techniques.