A Change is Gonna Come

Dear friends and family, after 19 years Dan and I are splitting up. This is very difficult for both of us. Together, we decided at the end of this school year, the children and I will move back to the Midwest. We know it is better for them to be near their extended family. All of us are looking forward to new beginnings and happier days.

Deviled Dish

I noticed yesterday Jack would only eat fruity Cherrios if they were lined up in a row.  He likes his food to be orderly.  Today at the resale shop, I picked up the best dish ever, for .49¢.  He ate everything on his plate.   

Remind me later to add this to my resume under "Can solve difficult problems efficiently and in a creative way."

Living in Toddler Land

While everyone else is drinking beer and cheering on our home town Hockey players, I am in the lobby holding a sugared pretzel and the hand of my son.  To his squealy delight, we are riding the escalator for the fifteenth time and flirting with the ushers on two levels, flashing them tiny smiles and bashful waves.  I can hear the crowd cheer for fisticuffs on the ice and I am getting a high five for successfully jumping at the end of the moving stair-ride.  It's odd to exist in an alternate parallel universe and when I see other parents on the same plane as us, we smile at each other in exhausted recognition.

In Toddler Land, loud noises are scary, anything mechanical and near the floor demands ample time for inspection, there are only a few good foods (cheese and macaroni and cheese,) you never have a clean shirt, and nobody speaks the language.  Time is fluid in Toddler Land; a simple wait in line at the grocery store is long enough to attempt to juggle a TV Guide, Bubblelicious and Carmex into the cart, cry about the grapes going into the bag, get tangled up in a purse strap, make new friends and wipe something sticky on the lady behind you and demand to hit all the buttons on the check out key pad.  A single stop light can last five years if there is crying involved and alternately; seventeen  hours can't possibly be enough time to play trains, nor is three months enough time to hear that one song.  Luckily the free flowing Gift Economy is solid and fueled with sticky kisses, pearly smiles and tight hugs which is why everyone in Toddler Land is rich.

Saturday Roller Derby Recap

Via Kiki @ I Still Hate Pickles.  I'm in there!

Cartoons

Go see THIS and THIS. I have art there!

day three

The real hair-do test comes the first day you don't have the stylist's magic and the expensive potions in your bathroom and you don't have time to blow dry.  So here it is air dried, like it would look after the pool or at the beach or any busy morning.  Yay for genius stylists.

The Kilted Coiffeur

A guy at the copy shop said to me, "Wow you have such long hair, let me guess, your husband won't let you cut it."  I took immediate offense as I realized I looked like a person who had no control over how I wear my hair.  I replied "No, I'm just lazy and haven't had it cut in three years."  I started looking at it in the mirror, all the heavy locks that I usually just put in a bun every day.  The same long, heavy, dark mane I had in college.  I once read that people keep their hair in the style they had when they had the most fun in life. I think about this when I see women with the big bouffant feathered hair from the 80s, I think about it when you see comb overs and mullets and I was thinking about it looking in the mirror.  Just six years ago I had a pixie (see profile picture on the right) so clearly I'm not hanging onto the past.... or am I. "Oh no" I thought.

So, I looked online for a hair cuttery close to home, I read reviews and perused a few websites before I found The Kilted Coiffeur who said "Love Your Hair, Every Day"... Nope I didn't love my hair, not any of the days.  Sometimes I loved it just after I blow dried it and flipped it upside down and was standing in a certain light, just slightly to the left, but only for about five minutes and I wanted to love it every day now that I thought about it.  I stalked The Kilted Coiffeur on Facebook, carefully looking at all the hair and eye-balling the stylist to see if it was someone I thought I might want to talk to while being coiffed.  Dark thick nerdy glasses, asymmetrical hair cut, standing next to Rachael Ray smiling - yep, that was the guy.  That was the guy I wanted to save me from being a dowdy housewife, the guy I could trust to figure out what I needed.  I called him, he was out of state teaching a class solidifying my choice.  I booked an appointment online.

On this St. Patrick's day morning I got up early and ran out of the house while the children slept, not knowing what I wanted my head to look like.  Michael, quite literally, Thee Kilted Coiffeur, walked in for his first appointment (me) wearing an actual kilt and carrying bagpipes slug over his shoulder, no I'm not even kidding.  He has an event tonight where he'll play bagpipes, but I like to think he wore the kilt in recognition of my new do.  We talked about my hair and I explained the last cut (years ago) wasn't my favorite and how I'm scared and hyper critical now.  I think I mentioned I was going blog about it too so really no pressure at all (haha!) Michael made his suggestion and I said "do it." I trusted him. He chopped a big hunk off the bottom and held it up like a savage Celt who just got a rabbit.  I was happy to see it go.  Then scissors were flying.  I felt the weight coming off and off and off and off and finally an hour and a half later...

What I'm not sure you can see is how freaking soft and bouncy my hair is.  Get ready for the slew of photos of my head so I can show it off and try to convey how awesome it is.  I keep shaking my head like some kind of Prell commercial just to feel it move.  On this day I love my hair and I think probably I will tomorrow too and when I'm not feeling the love so much, I'll just call Michael again.  

The Kilted Coiffeur Studio Salon

12010 Jones Road Suite 105

Houston, Texas 

713.518.2173

KiltedCoiffeur.com

Two Wheels!

Not to be outdone on milestones this week, Ella and Grandpa perfected bike riding on two wheels!

Curls

I was afraid to get his hair cut because I didn't want his little curls to go away so I just cut the bangs hanging in his eyes.  Then someone mentioned "his cute little mullet" and that was the straw that broke the mother's back.  I took him to the hair cuttery while Grandpa is visiting.  Sitting in the little car went a long way and the barber was fast and efficient.  She was used to getting her photo taken and said often times she has the whole extended family circling and taking photos like paparazzi.  She did a wonderful job, the curls are still there and Jack looks less like a chubby toddling baby and more like a tall scrappy boy.

Woman

Happy International Women's Day.  On this day, I propose we redefine feminine. Let's get rid of ridiculous societal gender constructs, it would solve a lot of problems.

currently:
fem·i·nine/ˈfemənin/

Adjective:	Having qualities or appearance traditionally associated with women, esp. delicacy and prettiness.
Noun:	The female sex or gender.
Synonyms:	adjective.  female - womanly - womanlike noun.  female

I propose:
fem·i·nine/ˈfemənin/

Adjective:	Having a vagina.
Noun:	The female sex or gender.
Synonyms:	adjective.  female - woman  noun.  female

Just Words

It is believed if you know the name of a demon, you have the power to summon it with a simple utterance. We wait with tender hearts over our babies singing and cooing until they call upon us with one sweet word.

We pledge our allegiance; we pray; we vow; we debate, sway, teach and command; we change the world with words.

Mr. Limbaugh let slip his loathing of women by flinging around the word "slut", with such ease that he mistakenly used it. He assigned this word such little importance, it accidentally fell from his face, as if he, who makes a living on the backs of words, didn't understand its power.

The ease of which profanity slips from swirling frothy hate filled mouths like fouled laundry slopping out the front of a broken washing machine door, offends humanity.

Some words come with a history, they are sacred or profane and if your business is words, then you should know which are what, like any decent preacher, legislator, poet, or tattoo artist.

What About the Mens?

From Bill modeled after similar legislation to help women make informed decisions

"..."By implementing more intensive screenings before prescribing the medication and requiring outpatient educational services, we can do more to prevent the potential side effects linked to PDE-5 inhibitors," Senator Turner explained. "We must advocate for the traditional family, protect the sanctity of procreation, and ensure that all men using PDE-5 inhibitors are healthy, stable, and educated about their options--including celibacy as a viable life choice. This legislation will do just that."

more posters at Strollerderby

GOP's War on Women

Every time I start to write the post I end up sputtering a string of expletives and there are so many that have said it far better, so for now, I defer you to where my art is on the subject.

photo

SPARK 15

In the midst of moving and all the children being ill and having a house guest, I decided to join a new art project that had a deadline.  Because I was feeling relaxed about my days and thought I'd ratchet up the expectations.  Actually it was super fun.

Spark is "Open to writers, musicians, and visual artists of all kinds, SPARK is a participatory creativity event that takes place four times each year.

During each 10-day project round, participants create a new piece of work using someone else’s art, writing, or music as inspiration. All resulting work is then displayed online, alongside the piece that inspired it."  

I sent in a little ink from a few months back and received a poem from Amy Moffitt. The pieces are starting to get posted this week, I just put mine up today and am excited to see everyone's work. I find it interesting to see what inspires people and try to understand what their process is. 

go see SPARK 15  and leave a comment.

Calling In

I totally don't feel like doing anything today.  I don't want to unpack any more stuff, run any errands, do any physical therapy, wash, brush, clean or cook anything.  I just want to continue sitting in front of this screen with my fuzzy little dog at my feet, while one baby sleeps and the other is at school.  I want to stretch this morning out into a whole day of eating Girlscout cookies and drinking French press coffee while reading blogs in my pjs.

Almost There

We're almost settled in.  I have all the pertinent items for everyday living unpacked and today I moved on to artwork and serving plates.  We finished another ten day round of antibiotics and the children are ill again and I want to say to all of the parents of sick children in the world  "Keep your little pie faced germ factories at home like the rest of us sensible people.  For serious. If I hear that you have taken your children out and about, even to the Walgreens to get a prescription, allowing their plague ridden sticky fingers to touch the shopping cart my son will later lick, I will kick you in the shin. Hard."  That is all.

Pics of the new house to follow.

Found

We're moving again, just up the road this time.  Our lease was up, the landlord decided to sell and we have to get three years away from our short sale* (June 2010) before we can get a home loan again.  We are staying in the neighborhood, switching grade schools and moving to a bigger place (ART STUDIO!)  Today is the day we are packing up dishes and the very last bits before the movers come in the morning.  I keep shoving things in my pockets that I find around the house.  When I started packing I was finding hair ties and hot wheels all over but now I'm really digging into the corners of our lives and today's haul of pocket novelties for your consideration are; a tiny nickel belonging to a magician, a brown penny from 1969, an orange paper-clip, a die, a paper hedgehog, a pink Lego flower and the bebe from last year's Mardi Gras King Cake.





*I want to explain we sold short but were not underwater.  What does this mean? The house sold for less than we owed after the bank agreed.  After making two house payments for a year, it was better than us just walking away from it.  The house was appraised for double what is sold for, it was just such a depressed market, nobody was buying.

Are You in an Abusive Place?

We know that people stay for a lot of reasons—for financial reasons, out of love, because they feel pity, because they’re too afraid to leave, because they can’t afford to leave, because they have children, and so on.

Have you heard yourself say any of the following phrases?

• "It's not Rockford's fault."
• "Rockford is trying to be better."
• "There were some bad choices in the past and we're working on it."
• "It's a good city in it's own way, really."
• "Stop criticizing and and ease up, Rockford is trying hard."
• "It's not that bad, at least we aren't Detroit."
• "Rockford is actually really creative and misunderstood."
• "I don't know what I'd do if I moved."
• "It's better for the kids to stay."
• "You don't understand the way it is."
• "Being in Rockford is tough, but a few times a year it's wonderful."
• "It's hard to get Rockford to see that anything is wrong."
• "I'm strong enough to weather the tough times, I belong here with family." 
• "It's up to me to make it work."
• "It's my fault, I just need to try harder."
• "It's just a small problem with drugs and alcohol."
• "It's not really that violent."
• "It's fine if you just stay away from Rockford's bad side."
• "You should've seen Rockford back in the day."

(Yes, I know I still choose to visit a few times a year.  Rockford, it it weren't for the people I love still there, you'd be history!)

Where I'm from.


****


In all seriousness if you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship there is help.

Where I'm from

Forbes Magazine: Rockford is the 9th Most Miserable Place to Live

Rockford in the Top 20 Most Dangerous Cities

Rockford 15th Highest Jobless Rate in the Nation

Rockford Register Star Responds: More Than a Set of Statistics

Our City Our Story - Rockford, IL

When I was fifteen, I went to the hospital for my appendix, upon release the next morning I discovered someone had stolen my boots.