Now Showing....

A slide show of some installations we are working on at home. These are all works in progress, but still the artist, Grand Slam, feels it's important to draw from your roots when expounding upon an artistic vision. This work was inspired by embellishing his mother's things and adding his own 'toy le faire' style with which he has become so known for on the playground. These are all entitled "'Wild Beasts" and explore themes of hunger and hiding. They are currently on exhibit at Spatula Ranch Art Compound. Enjoy.

Bodily Fluids

Short stack has some wiring in her body that makes her throw up if she has too much mucus. Whoever heard of a kid not having too much mucus? Or mu-kose as it's referred to in our house.

So we're going on day 7 of rapid fire vomiting in her crib right as she is falling asleep. (that's the killer, OMG) Tonight was no exception except that she and Grand Slam were allowed to try and sleep in the same room tonight. Here is some vintage dialogue I heard:

GS: So, what shirt are you wearing tomorrow because I like green.
SS: Oh. I like pink.
GS: Yeah, bunny and giraffe are going to wear blue. And lion is going to wear blue. That's fierce.
SS: Oh. Well brand new baby is going to wear nekkid.
GS: Oh. Yeah. But sweetie she will be really cold.
SS: But brand new baby is going to wear blue. But brand new baby is going to wear pink.
GS: But I am going to wear green.

And this went on and on.....

Then I hear, cough...cough. I know what's coming. I race into the room and yell, "Are you going to throw up??!!" No. Uhghhhrrrrrllllll. (sound of the upchuck)

I pick her up as fast as I can. But I am not fast enough. The hurl rages against the windows and far walls only to be stopped by train table with a barnyard full of animals sleeping on their sides. I rush her into the bathroom and hold her head over the toilet. She goes and goes and goes. It's funny how timeless holding someones head over the toilet is..I mean I've done it for countless friends, myself, my husband. I think of my Mother doing it for someone and her Mother and on and on. But never did I dream I would be holding my 2 year old daughters head over the can to vomit. We are related though.

Most of it goes down her front. I can tell it's all over the floor. She's shaking and scared. But quickly she's smiling and experiencing that post hurl euphoria. You know what I'm talking about. It's such a crazy ride to feel so miserable one minute and so utter fabulous the next after you've thrown up. I'm about to start the triage when she suddenly throws her arms around my neck, slamming her body into mine and whispers, "I wuv you too, Mommy." And there we are. Hugging. Giggling. Making a double stuff puke Oreo. And I'm happy.

I'll never understand why she said, "I wuv you TOO, Mommy." But I guess, you know, on some level she knows that holding your head over the toilet is as close as it gets to knock down, drag out real love. So she just answered me back.

I wuv you too, Short Stack.

Old and New

So I went to the Eye Dr. today to pick up some more contacts. My prescription was expired so I found myself 15 minutes later in a dark room having some nurse shoot puffs of air into my pupils. Next comes the Dr. who is quite perky and oddly nervous for a Dr.... but what the hay. She starts off, I mean the first thing out of her mouth is...."so, have you started wearing reading glasses yet?"

Long pause.

"Um...you mean the glasses they give you when you go see movies like Avatar?"

Nervous laughter, "No, no! You know! Reading glasses! You are of a certain age for them."

Again. I can't understand. "You mean, like, the glasses I walked in with? What do you mean my age?" as I took over the nervous role and slyly glanced down to see what gravity was doing to the girls these days.

I really couldn't believe I was sitting in a medical chair being counseled about my ancient corneas. Reading glasses? Like, my Grandmother????

Then I started in with the questions...So does everyone need reading glasses at some point? yes. What about me? yes. Do women have to get reading glasses before men? No, every one's the same. What if I eat more carrots? Or better yet, grow my own organic carrots and juice them in high quantities? Everyone has to wear reading glasses around this point in their life.

Luckily, I didn't need them today. But maybe because I kept talking and talking and she kept examining and examining she did find something funky. Turns out I have a freckle inside my left eye. Kinda cool. Okay mostly weird. Proving once again my Anglican ancestry knows no bounds. They took a bunch of pictures. Called in the head Dr's to get opinions. Telling me not to worry and yet doing everything possible to make a sane person freak. The words melanoma were throw around. And for a brief 20 minutes of my life I went into the death zone.

The first thing I always do in the death zone is imagine my funeral. Sometimes there are hundreds, thousands of people in attendance. Crying. Singing songs I've written. People I've known all my life and those I've just met squeezing themselves into some church I don't belong too because I brought them a sour cream pound cake when their baby was born and they've never forgotten my thoughtfulness...

Or, the Mary Tyler Moore Party funeral. Where nobody shows up but a few people because everyone else figures hundreds of others "were much closer to her" and nobody would notice if they went to the movies instead.

But then the shenanigans turned to my kids. My kids. My little tiny just starting out in life kids. What the hell? They already had to deal with a Mom wearing reading glasses to the school play and now she dies on them??

Both my Grand Mother's are still alive. Both are 93. Ninety three. These woman are the strongest, funniest, shrewdest and most colorful women I have ever known. Momo (my Mom's Mom) taught me how to walk like a lady (with my toes pointing out..?) and dance the Sottish in her blue bedroom one day and shoot a rabit bobcat comin' down the hill the next. Emmadean (my Dad's Mom) could cook a meal for 40 by the age of 4 and hasn't stopped since. Now they are alone. Both sitting in very old houses, filled with possessions of loved ones that have died, nearly all their friend's gone and too tired, blind, forgetful and sad to do much but just pass the days.

The Dr's made up their mind that I was fine. Just fine. We'll just monitor things. And schlooop! I'm back from the death zone. Thinking about how long I have to exchange something at Target before picking my son up.

Here I am in the middle. Not young like my kids. Not old like my Grandmothers. Just middling. So much behind me. So much to go. So much to see.

Better get the glasses.

Bag the Bear

Who is responsible for bringing Build A Bear Workshop into our lives?

I just....I just don't think I can say anymore today.

The Guilt Factor

Today I almost took a bite out of Short Stack's cheek.

She wakes up from her nap all flushed, troll doll hair swirling up like the top of a Dairy Queen soft serve cone. She doesn't talk much when she gets up, like her Mama. And unlike my son, she'll climb onto my lap, put her head against my boobie (her word, not mine) and just be. Who needs a kitten? She's so warm and squishy and her cheeks are all chunky and smooth and before I know it- I've almost bitten her. It's like I can't get close enough or near enough to her. I want to just roll her into a ball and stuff her into my shirt and then I realize that I didn't even like that when I was pregnant and I calm down.

I've heard authors use the phrase 'I loved them so much I wanted to devour them.' And of course that's what I'm getting at here. But really, why aren't there words or phrases or even great works of art that sufficiently describe HOW that love feels? I want so badly to be eloquent and original enough to explain- I don't even know to who- how it feels to love your children. And why I've made certain choices.

I put my life/art on hold for three years to be with these amazing creatures full time. And all the time I justified it as something I was doing for them. The fact of the matter is, it's been for me. I never in a million years saw myself as a stay home Mom. Even writing that gives me the willies. But when it comes down to it, I just couldn't leave them. I think I am the only Mom who sent their son to preschool and never left the classroom. Or if I did, I would crane my head around some bush on the playground and watch for some sign that I shouldn't go. I am convinced my cell phone will die right when Sasha the gerbil becomes rabid and attacks only my child. Lately Grand Slam has started to turn to me when I drop him off and say, "Mommy I'm ready for you to go now."

I guess I'm writing about this because of the guilt. They say you can't escape the Mom guilt. It wakes me up sometimes. If you work, you feel you should be at home with them. If you're at home, you feel you should be doing something for yourself. But often when I'm home with them I'm checking my iphone compulsively. And I've canceled countless artist dates with myself because I thought the kids "needed me too much to go." Of course the answer lies somewhere in the middle. Or is it?

Personally, I've always felt balance to be overrated. I mean what brilliant art or thoughts or acts of courage came out of coloring within the lines? So, bring it guilt. I ain't skeered a you. And I'm gonna keep loving the guts outta my kids too while I'm at it. Shamelessly. Endlessly. I'm destined to be the Mom that wears big hats and sings too loudly.

And if you see my daughter and she's missing an ear- you'll know why.

Mindless Mommy

SafePlace

Today I went and taught a music class to preschool and infant kids at SafePlace Austin. SafePlace is shelter for abused mothers and their children. I brought Short Stack along not quite knowing what to expect. She found her first 'play with Barbie' experience and subsequently didn't have any use for me or my culture ploy.

Of course I'm lucky. Of course these kids are a joy. The teachers, mindbogglingly inspiring.

Today I am reminded of the words of the immortal Gena Rowlands- there is always someone prettier and always someone not quite as pretty as you. To which I add- there is always someone more fortunate and someone not as fortunate as you.

Get over your artisitic blocks if you have any today. Girl, you got it pretty good.