Christmas BOT

We walked over to our neighbor's house for Christmas dinner last night, and it was a wonderful antidote to my cabin fever. Food and friends were great, and TwoBoo settled down after being cranky most of the day. The Boy was mostly bored, of course, being the second-youngest guest. But then he got three M&M's, made friends with the neighbor's dog, and ran around like mad with The Husband for about 15 minutes. So he was happy.

As we got ready to leave, the Bluebird of Testosterone made a quick visit. Check out the exchange between The Husband and The Boy while zipping up The Boy's jacket:

The Husband - Do you need help?
The Boy - No thank you, I can handle anything.

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad...

I didn't used to understand how people could work on more than one art piece at a time, but it's clearer to me now. I have several ideas bubbling in my head, and I don't want Ideas 2 through 4 to disappear because I insisted on finishing Idea 1 before I started another.
Plus, life tends to intervene and slow down the arting. You know. Or maybe something in me wants to work under stressful conditions. Must be that "suffering for my art" crap.

Continuing work in the Fears book... I finished up this page tonight.
The gate I stamped on a transparency scrap and adhered with mini-hinges.
The lunatic asylum page is also attached with hinges. That's all one stamp, from the dearly departed Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers Stamps. (They went out of business and sold their stamp designs to Stamp Francisco.)

I used it on paper my in-laws brought me from a Kenyan safari. I'd tell you what the paper's made from, but somebody I know would never read my blog again if I told you here. (Email me if you gotta know.)
Yes, I do love lace paper. Sue me.
Misjudged the depth the hinges would need in order for me to be able to close the book. But hey, that's what box cutters are for -- to remove the pages beyond the one I just altered!

Snowy weekends are hard.

We did not bury any children in the snow this weekend. Had moments during the incessant snowfall when it seemed like a good idea, but we did not follow through.
I hadn't been outside in two days. So today's big adventure was not going to the market or even driving on our street, which is not big enough for the county to send a snowplow to clear. I picked up some very nice holiday cards after a cautious walk to the mailbox. Whoo-hoo!We have learned valuable lessons:
-- It is possible for snow to fall for more than three days per winter in this area.
-- When snowbound (so to speak), you are your child's sole source of entertainment. For 12 uninterrupted hours per day. Plan accordingly.
-- Baking cookies with a three year old is a great snow day activity. Dealing with a snowbound three year old who's coked up on chocolate -- not so much.The Boy's day care opens at 6:30am tomorrow morning. I bet The Husband clears a path into the car in record time.

Oh, it doesn't show signs of stoppin'...

Usually we get about three days of snow, a little heavier than the folks just 20 miles south of us. And during those three days everyone loses their minds behind the wheel because they just can't remember how they managed last winter. Or the last time it rained. Geez, slow down!

But we've had snow pretty much the entire week, and it snowed all day today. All schools closed in our county, so half of the kids were probably at the mall today. TwoBoo and I opted out of a mall walk like we did yesterday.

The Boy's day care was open, and it's only 12 minutes away, so he went (Oh yes, he did!). But he came home this afternoon before the sun went down. And aggravated The Husband no end by obeying requests -- for a second -- to stop acting up. Good thing it's bedtime for The Boy right about now. TwoBoo, of course, has many bedtimes.

Chaos

Yes, I realize the irony of this post, coming from someone who chose to have more than one child. Tally and Catherine, you can stop laughing now.

Finally thought of a few other ideas for the book I started in LK Ludwig's "This is Me" class at Artfest 2008. I did finish the pages she taught us how to do, didn't worry about finishing the project. But the downside of that positive attitude is that I didn't feel pressure to finish it... and I got kinda stuck.

Then I got some silvery tissue paper in a gift during my baby shower. (Which I still need to send out thank you notes for. Gah.) And suddenly I thought of the black lace paper in my stash, and it made me think of stars struggling to be seen in the night sky of the city.
And I thought of chaotic times that have turned into something worth the agony, much like, oh, childbirth.
That's my dad and mother-in-law dancing at my wedding. Don't you hate it when you say to yourself, "well, that'll never happen again" and you're right?

LK's class encouraged us to fiddle with our photos as a way to explore self-portraiture... paint over images, use them to create silhouettes on metal mesh, etc. So I used an iridescent acrylic (can't look it up right now, baby sleeping on chest) on the focal photo.I usually stay away from anything that reminds me of gold or silver lamé -- gives me flashbacks of old women in Palm Springs -- but this worked for me.

Ba ba ba ba/ Ba da ba/ Ba ba bada ba...

Two nights ago, as I was burping TwoBoo, I watched part of the movie "Billy Elliot."




Since then, the song "A Town Called Malice" by Jam has been running through my head. The part I've been thinking of happens just before the lyrics "Struggle after struggle, -- year after year." As Billy does the hand-over-hand choreography on the steps, the singer scats:

Ba ba ba ba
Ba da ba
Ba ba ba da ba
Whoa
Ba ba ba ba
Ba da ba
Ba ba ba da ba

So I thought I'd post about it for LK Ludwig's invitation to blog a Day of Sharing Song. Here are the lyrics:

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life - cos it's the one we'll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus - cos those rosey days are few
And - stop apologising for the things you've never done,
Cos time is short and life is cruel - but it's up to us to change
This town called malice.

Rows and rows of disused milk floats stand dying in the dairy yard
And a hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts
Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry
It's enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious
In a town called malice.

[Singer scats here]

Struggle after struggle - year after year
The atmosphere's a fine blend of ice -
I'm almost stone cold dead
In a town called malice.

A whole street's belief in Sunday's roast beef gets dashed against the Co-op
To either cut down on beer or the kids new gear
It's a big decision in a town called malice.
The ghost of a steam train - echoes down my track
It's at the moment bound for nowhere - just going round and round
Playground kids and creaking swings - lost laughter in the breeze
I could go on for hours and I probably will - but I'd sooner put some joy back
In this town called malice.

I had no idea the lyrics were so dark! But it's in keeping with Billy's worries, though, since his miner father is losing money every day while on strike, and his mother is dead.

But I like its "you might as well be yourself amid the misery" tone. Especially this part:

stop apologising for the things you've never done,
Cos time is short and life is cruel - but it's up to us to change

I might have to tattoo this part onto my forehead, backwards, so I can read it in the mirror every morning.

Some of the lyrics work for my life right now too, what with the Economic Meltdown.So I started another book to help me deal with some of my fears about risk and the future.You can probably figure out the financial situation I've been dealing with. It came agonizingly close to falling apart just before I had my c-section. Thank God I'm not in such dire straits as Billy Elliot's family... but everyone has their troubles. And it's fuel for the artistic engine, I guess:

“Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have.” -- Edvard Munch

Oh. My. God. part 2

See, I didn't lie. You can buy sweet love at the local market.
The Husband had the camera with him when we went back to that market up the street from us, so I got some quality time with the laugh-out-loud labeling.The Boy said this was "spitting out sauce." I swear I did not prompt that comment.
"Foul" mudammas? Then why would I eat them? (I know, I know. It's pronounced "fool.")
Target audience: people who buy sweet love rolls.
I had no idea Spam wasn't limited to "pork" flavor. I'll remember that when I travel.

The market also had "oyters" and "homo milk" for sale. Just let me know if you want me to pack and ship some to you.