Poop On The Wall

 

This is a story involving a toddler, and it exemplifies our life right now.

Our son is going through potty training and is doing pretty well. But as part of his new found independence, he likes to take his diaper off at random times and run around naked. Usually this is no big deal, except for making sure that after he takes it off we don’t hear “I pottied!” from the living room.

This weekend, he stood in the kitchen and I heard the unmistakable sound of the release of diaper tabs, and when I looked up I saw him fling his diaper. Usually he just drops it, but this time he flung it in an arc around his head, causing it to hit the wall and land across the room with a splat.

Yes, a splat.

The diaper had poop in it. We cleaned him up, cleaned the floor, put him to bed, and decided to unwind with a glass of wine. But I still smelled poop. I cleaned the floor again, sprayed the whole room with clouds of Lysol, and still smelled it.

Then George began to whine excitedly. He was on his hind legs up on the kitchen wall. And that’s when we saw it.

Apparently our walls are painted the exact same shade as toddler poop. Perhaps Sherwin Williams should change that paint color name to Toddler Poop Brown.

Wholeness

This quote was on the internet recently, and after reading it I realized it made me feel calmer. It eloquently says exactly how I feel, and what I have written about on this blog once before. Our society is too happiness-driven.

Of course happiness is great, but why do we have to imply that someone is a failure if they’re not perfectly happy? Pressured by questions such as “does my job make me happy,” “am I doing what I love,” “how often do I feel joy,” and constant lessons from Oprah for Living My Best Life, it seems that we are supposed to make constant happiness our primary objective.

I often think back to issues from my childhood and early adulthood – incidents that make me cringe in embarrassment or regret – and focus on trying to heal or forget them. I want to forget the bad times and move on and become fulfilled and get to a happy place in life. The above quote helps me do that.

Instead of forgetting the bad and trying to leave behind the person I used to be, the idea of embracing those times, and that person – accepting those negative things that make me who I now am – comforts me more than the search for happiness ever could.

Trying to be constantly blissfully happy seems trivial, while encompassing the idea of wholeness gives me a mental picture of taking a big breath and relaxing. Wholeness is a deeper state of being.

So stop trying to be so happy! Are you whole? Relax and let it be.

A Little Crazy

I went a little crazy for my son’s birthday party this year. But anyone who knows me knows to expect that. If I have the motivation and the energy, I will go all out.

We used to be a fairly social couple and liked to have people over for dinner now and then. But ever since our son entered the picture, we’ve just been too tired! Now, if people come over we usually order pizza or just talk while we sprawl exhausted on the couch.

So my son’s birthday is the perfect excuse to go all out one time a year. We invite everyone we know and use his special day as a way to see all the people we now don’t see as often.  

Last year’s theme was ducks; this year’s was Farm. And my new favorite thing is foam core. I painted farm animals on it and cut them out and hung them around the room. I cut out animal noise quotes to put above the seating in the room (see above photo), which made me laugh out loud when I got the idea, and even made a playhouse-sized barn out of it for the backyard. (This foam core came in 4’x8’ sheets and was free and leftover from one of the local convention centers. It was used for signage but was blank on the back; they would throw it away if I didn’t take it!) The food was themed, too, as well as the wine we offered – Dancing Bull, Lucky Duck, Three Horse Ranch, and Rex Goliath.

Jude loved his party. I wasn’t sure how he’d react after his nap when he found the house full of people, but he just stood around for a while, watching everyone, and whenever anyone laughed he would laugh loudly and jump up and down in excitement.

The best part was the rain, which poured down for much of the party. Remember, this is the desert, so rain is exciting! We stood under the patio and watched it fill up the yard, and Jude ran out into it and had to change clothes twice.

That night after everyone was gone, he took one of his new trucks up to bed with him. We tucked it in under a blanket and told it “night night.”  

I’m already dreaming up themes for next year’s party!

Live and Learn



My favorite spot to view the keynote speakers - on the floor in the back where I could spread out.



After this weekend’s conference of the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators in Los Angeles, I am super inspired to get cracking on my book ideas in that genre. My weekend was spent meeting other writers, attending lectures, and getting autographs of authors. 

More than anything, I spent the weekend getting inspired to make the time to write – to work on those projects that are almost complete and just need a kick-in-the-pants to finish. At the conference were 1200 writers anxious to get their first, or their next, book in print. Writers anxious to have just one editor or agent respond to their query letter with an “I’m interested. Let’s talk.”

Sitting in the airport on the way back to Vegas, I remembered a time twenty years ago when I could have started my writing career and could have been twenty years ahead of where I am now.

I had just taken my first job as a professional dancer in Branson, MO, and because I always looked for new possibilities and always had new ideas, I bought a book about how to submit an idea to a publisher. I was working in the glitzy entertainment business exactly when Branson was a super hot tourist destination, and I thought a Branson guidebook with the spin of having insider secrets would be great.

I followed the directions of the How To book as best as I could, and I mailed a Book Proposal to three publishers. A few weeks later, I received a letter in return that said he liked my idea and would like me to send a book proposal next.

A book proposal?  That’s what I thought I already sent! Obviously I hadn’t included enough information.

Embarrassed, the letter went into a stack of papers and was forgotten.  Until now.

I had gotten a letter of interest from a publisher!!! Now I see how incredible that was and wish so much that I’d had the guidance or someone as a mentor or the internet, which did not yet exist, to guide me through the process and take advantage of that opportunity. I know I could have written that guidebook back then, and it would have been good.

So, live and learn. Twenty years later, I’m hoping again for a positive letter in the mail. Wish me luck!

This Is Not a Craft Blog...

...but it could be. If I were so motivated, I could show you interesting ideas for wall treatments, how to make a crazy quilt out of old t-shirts and sweatshirts, how to make your own painting to hang out on your patio, tie-dyed shirts, handmade original gifts, Halloween costumes, and so much more. After all, I am from a family of creative types – artists and musicians – and I’ve made my living in the Arts, so you could say it’s in my blood.

In fact, the photo above is an outfit I made for my son recently. I still have many of the dresses my Mom made for me when I was little, so of course I had to make something for him, too. It’s my duty as a mom in this family. And I like the way it came out. Of course it’s a little big, and I didn’t do it exactly as the pattern dictated, but it’s done, and he wore it, and it’s cute. Success!

Much of my childhood was spent impatiently standing next to my Mom’s sewing machine as she held a crinkly paper pattern up to me to check the sizing. She made dresses and shirts and nightgowns and anything I needed. In high school she made costumes for my high school musicals and dance recitals. Whenever we went shopping and I saw an item of clothing I liked, she would quickly do the math in her head and then declare, “I could make this for less.” So we would head to the store for fabric and a pattern.

Now that it’s even cheaper to buy clothing, the reasons to make clothes are getting fewer, unless I’m feeling creative. I’m not much of a seamstress but I get by. To this day I still don’t know how to change a pattern to adjust for size, so I just make it and then try it on and hope it fits! And if I don’t understand how to do things the correct way, I just do it somehow and make it work. A real seamstress would cringe, but I don’t care. It’s not about perfection.

So this could be a craft blog, but I'd rather keep the pressure off my creations. The idea of documenting every little step and remembering to take photos and declare myself to be an expert would take the fun out of it. It's the same way I sometimes feel when I'm on vacation with my camera, trying to take gorgeous shots worthy of a future expensive photo book. The camera separates me from the moment; sometimes it's better to just set it down and let the images remain only in my mind.

But back to sewing, a skill that fewer people are learning over time, I’m afraid. I hope those who still know how to sew will pass on its value – its connection to a simpler time, and its loving process that is put into each stitch. My son will know how to sew on a button, and if I show him how to make a Superman cape or Star Wars costume, I bet he just might learn how to use the machine. There is value in that knowledge – it opens a whole world of creativity.

I am a descendant of King Tut.

This pic is of Husband and me in 2009 when asked to perform as backup dancers, recreating Steve Martin's King Tut number at the Luxor. (I'm not sure why Hubby's head was cut off!)

“I am a descendant of King Tut.”

Sounds impressive, huh? I certainly thought so at age eight when I told my friend Shawn the news.

“See this birthmark?” I asked, pointing to the perfect triangle on my upper arm that had been there all my life. “It means I am related to him.”

It sounded plausible, didn’t it? How many people are born with a pyramid on their arm? But I carried the story even further.

“Years ago, King Tut and his people traveled right through this area,” I said, gesturing to the Southern Indiana farmland around us. “Maybe if we go out in the garden and dig, we might find something that he dropped here years and years ago.”

So we got out our child-sized garden shovels and rakes and headed out to the garden that had been freshly tilled for planting. I let Shawn dig a bit while I waited in anticipation.

Of course she found artifacts, because I had put them there earlier that morning before Shawn arrived.

I don’t remember if she was amazed or impressed or skeptical. I don’t remember what exactly I put there that I thought could pass for ancient artifacts. Gold plastic rings? Army men? Beads? Jacks?

What I do remember is how fun it was to do this for her. I wasn’t trying to mislead her or play her for a fool. Instead, it was just a good story that I wanted to share. Treasure hunts were fun, right? 

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about make believe, because my son will soon be the age to start learning about the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa, and God – all things we teach our kids are real that they cannot see. Online I see cute ideas for Fairy Doors in the walls, Elves that hide and create mischief during the Holidays, and dinosaurs that walked through the living room during the night and left tracks behind. These are all such fun ideas, but as an adult I have to admit that I feel a little dishonest when imagining “selling” these things to my son.

But I know I have to get over this idea. I never felt anger toward my mom for pretending. Instead, it was a fun game we played. I don’t even remember learning the truth – after I did, I still pretended because it was more fun that way. Why state the truth out loud and lose the magic?

So, soon I will jump enthusiastically into the world of make believe. And maybe one day Jude will also see how fun it can be, and he will also regale stories of his great Egyptian lineage.

Have a Nice Life

Relaxing at Starbucks last year

Jude fell asleep this morning in the car, so I went through the drive-through at Starbucks instead of going in and letting him run around and rearrange the merchandise displays. After I handed her my money, the woman at the window leaned out to look at him sleeping in back, and then said, “This may be the last time I see you. I gave my two-week notice today.”

We are virtually strangers, yet have been a familiar part of each other’s day for a while now. She took my drink order when I was alone every day and sat to write on my computer at the corner table. She oohed and aahed the first time I walked in with Jude in his little carrier and then marveled at how fast he grew. And she knows if George is with me we need a tall water with no ice.

I don’t even know her name, but I always appreciated her remembering mine. And now she is retiring and I will probably never see her again. Not a momentous thing, just interesting. There are so many people who pass in and out of our lives, some in good ways, some in bad, each impacting us in their own ways and marking a phase of our lives with their presence.

Her final words to me were, “Well, have a nice life!” Such a profound wish, honestly said. It’s not every day that you say goodbye to someone forever. I am honored that she felt the need to say goodbye. I hope she has a nice life, too.