That art gene and flying

H took this picture yesterday. I came downstairs and she nearly knocked me over saying she needed the camera. Now! She went outside where J was also taking pictures, and set up her shot. She asked to see it in the back of the camera 5 times and asked if I could print it out, she wanted to frame it.

J and H had been sitting outside talking, before the sky changed and hustled the photographers into action. H told J she wanted to be an artist when she grew up. Then a scientist. What got me though, was when she told J that she wanted to fly. She wanted to be a pilot. She said she'd have her own plane, so she could fly us places. That she'd also have a dog plane so Ruby and Mayo could come. (Why can't I just enjoy the idea of a dog plane? I do, very much, but I had to stifle my questions about who would be flying the dog plane. This would be in the future, maybe there will be tow planes by then. Planes with hitches.)

This is what you want for your kids, that they'll want to fly. That they'll do things that scare the hell out of you. That they'll make you question why exactly it is you, yourself, are so afraid to fly.

Big print

But wait, in all my disclaiming about how I'm not doing enough printing, I forget I actually am working on a print. One day I will have an art blog separate from my minutia blog, but until then, I give you a really bad picture of my really big print to be.

Its the largest print I've attempted and its already driving me crazy. Its too big to photograph, for one thing. Its made up of 4 blocks. I am trying to decide if I am going to attempt to do do it in color or not. There are monarchs in there, and I'm thinking there needs to be orange. Maybe spot color? I don't know. I am going to try and document the progression of this one.

Fashions

I woke up this morning with my right eye stuck shut and in the worst mood ever. I don't feel sick, but am so irritable. S is getting her 2 year molar, I think, and isn't feeling well on top of it. The girls both have the kind of coughs that don't sound that bad until yoy take them out somewhere and they start hacking. Time stops, heads swivel and you feel an ocean of blame for letting them get out of bed. But you also know theres no way they'd stay in bed anyway, so you may as well be wherever you are anyway.

I found a bathing suit for H this morning that is 2 piece and not a string bikini. The caveat: the bottom is black. But. It has a small pink butterfly (kinds like a tattoo, come to think of it) The top is bright and flowered. Will it pass? The tags are not coming off for a while.

When my sister was here, she commented on one of H's practises that is so normal to me I don't see it anymore.


This is how H lays out her clothes before she gets dressed. Please note the headband. She has been very aware of what she wears, probably forever, but has let me know in no uncertain terms since was 2 what it is she will be wearing, or not wearing.

And speaking of fashions- I finished the dress I was knitting for H and got it sewed up in time for meeting yesterday:


Can't say that I envisioned it paired with leopard spotted tights, but again. I choose to nurture this fashion sense. I've gotten to where I really am excited to see what she'll come up with next.

True confessions

I'm having Tastykakes and Dr Pepper for lunch.

I expect them to fortify me through the afternoon.

I know they won't.

Sprung

There are many harbingers of spring. Yeah yeah, the robins, the crocus. For me the real sign of spring is finally getting out to the garden. First the marathon cleaning up of dog poop. Then the tackling of dried plants from last year that should have been removed during the fall clean up that never happened. I will inevitably decide I have to prune the roses NOW BEFORE ITS TOO LATE and get into that bubble where I just go for it, get scratched by evil rose thorns through my gloves while working fast to try and make sure neither the girls or the dogs need my attention or try to get through the rose barrier while I am stuffing thorny rose canes into a trash can and wondering why I never tipped the trash men over the holidays.

I usually need to reposition something big and hard to move. Today it was an arbor, which wasn't heavy, but big, sunk in the ground, and tethered down with dead vines. It also had a large rose climbing through it, which is what brought on the pruning. H is getting over a cold, her ears are stuffed up and she can't hear which is making things interesting. She yells everything for one thing.

H: "Whats THAT?"
me: "An arbor"
H: "CARDBOARD?
me "AN ARBOR"
H: "WHATS AN AR DOOR?"

This went on, loudly, forever. I don't know if H knows what an arbor is or not. I tried, and ended up with "An arbor is this big thing! This big thing is an arbor! Things grow on it!" She asked if the ar door made things curly, it had last years dried up tendrils from something on it. I had to stop there.

The girls watched me warily, knowing to stand back a bit. I can see them finding words for this when they get a little older. Oh great, there goes mom into the garden again. Today we worked on H's garden. Which is to be known from here on out as H and S's garden, as H shocked me yet again with her generosity toward her sister and volunteered to share her prized garden with S as S didn't have one yet. We planted seeds for peas, H mixed up a bunch of different varieties- I have no idea what we'll end up with. Seeds for salad greens, bok choy and brussel sprout plants. And pansies.

I said to H, as she was pulling plants out of their plastic pots, "be careful with the roots"
"WHAT?"
I repeated it.
"THE RULES? WHAT ARE THE RULES?"
"No, the ROOTS"
"Oh. BUT WHAT ARE THE GARDEN RULES?"
"There aren't any."
"WHAT?!"

It was great to be out digging in the dirt.

melt downs R us

The plumber came. Fixed the sink. Charged the requisite arm and leg. S is having a tantrum day- every day is a tantrum day, but today is one of those incredulous tantrum days, where there are screaming fits about where one eats breakfast, about me not letting her hit the delete button while I check my email (I have no idea how she knows anything about a delete button, but she does) about me forbidding a third granola bar in the span of 10 seconds. She was screaming so loud when the plumber called we couldn't hear each other on the phone. Luckily, he told me he'd call when he was on his way, so we both knew why he was calling and didn't have the need to hear each other. The whole time he was fixing the sink, she was screaming. I wanted to crawl under the table. Finally, when the plumbing was almost done, I put the tv on, S lay on the couch, demanded covers and put her head on a pillow. As the plumber left, he said "enjoy nap time" yeah, no shit. But he paused on the way out, looked at S on the couch and said, "I really miss those days. Man, I really miss them." And then I not only wanted to hide under the table, I wanted to cry under the table.

S will be 2 in a few weeks. She is such a maniac right now. I seriously don't know what to do with her a lot of the time. I refuse to tip toe around her volatile mood, but it sometimes takes all I can muster to stomp around doing what I know is right. She fights for her way like nothing I have ever seen. She fights for equality. We went out to dinner last night, and ordered the girls chocolate milk. The waiter brought H's, but either heard us wrong or forgot S's. We mistakenly said it could wait until after we ordered. Well. S yelled so loud they turned up the music to drown her out. Then the lip came out, and the tears sprung out of her eyes. That poor waiter ran to get her milk. And only then we could order.

We were watching CNN last night, after Obama's news conference, and they had this ridiculous collage of words that were used by Obama and the reporters- the more often the word was used the bigger it was. (Really? This is what we've become? But that's not my point) If I had one for S, and assuming wailing is not a word, the biggest would be NO, followed by MORE, AGAIN and LET'S GO.

Doctors and plumbers

I'm keeping H home from school today. I have to stand up against ever fiber in my being to do things like this- its bad enough that I don't like to admit I'm sick, but now my kids have to never be sick too? I don't think she's all that bad (see?). Now we glide in to my problem with doctors. Not with doctors, but with going to the doctor. I don't think she needs to go to the doctor, because I don't think shes all that sick, all in the house that Jack built.

Growing up we never went to the doctor and never took anything stronger than aspirin for pain or discomfort, and that (one) aspirin was reserved for severe bodily harm. I know that's one of those cycles I should break, but its hard to reprogram myself. In fairness, I do take H to the doctor as often as needed often take myself off the board of those who decide if she should go to the doctor. J one the other hand thinks one should go to the doctor for a hang nail. I like to think we balance each other out. That our extreme doctor philosophies meet in the middle and we go, and take the girls, to the doctor as needed.

Now I'm wondering if plumbers have seeped into my doctor indecision. Our kitchen sink drain pipe has essentially fallen off at the top, and is leaking in the middle. I have screwed it in a few times, but it doesn't take. I know its an easy fix, but I don't really know how to do it. Do I research it, go buy the parts and then tie up the children so they don't crawl under the sink with me? What I really want is for J to do it. Hasn't he read the manual? He is supposed to fix these things. He said, after I said to him "just fix it!" that his time would be better spent doing what he does which pays him, rather than running around trying to figure out what parts he needs to fix the sink. Then he made his point that it would make him much longer to fix it than someone whose job it it to fix pipes. Like a plumber. I know that since I'm the one who doesn't want to call the plumber, that it falls on me to learn how to fix the pipe. I am feeling over extended though, so I may call the plumber. With my tail between my legs.

***
What the hell is a p trap? I'm calling the plumber.