Saturday, May 31, 2008


Sketchcasting: Coffee

Wordpress still refuses to let me embed. Sorry:) Argh. I am having some "bail out and go back to Blogger" thoughts lately, but I'm loathe to start over again. It's all just so damn much easier there, and now I own my domain name so I could use it there, just.... blah.

Friday, May 30, 2008

strange skinny

This week an old lover popped up on MySpace. *Snort* The word "lover" sounds so serious. I'm not the type to have had "lovers". I mostly have just hooked up with nice enough partners or been a wife or wife-type figure. So, I usually call this dude a booty call in conversational Daisyspeak, or an ex-boyfriend if I want to appear to have been a decorous and virtuous girl who would refrain from odd, unattached, recurrent sex with interesting gypsie-like people. Or, here, I think I called him a satyr when I blurbed our brief hotness during all the sex posts.

So. I was surprised to see that he's gained a lot of weight. He was boney-angular-I-cut-myself-on-his-hipbones skinny when we had our brief groove thing. Now he's pretty chunky. I was really surprised, because his skinny body seemed very much part of my concept of who he was. Somehow that his body was trim and light, all cat-like and martial artsy, was part of the power I saw him as possessing. His willowy body was proof that he owned his body more than I owned mine- and fundamentally it seemed that his compact, thin body was superior to my loose softness. (It's weird to compare body size with a male- I have never been so conscious about the weight disparity in spite of being with other skinnier guys. You know that thing where a woman will complain her guy is prettier than she is? It was like that maybe...)

It spurred a lot of thought about who I was then, and how I've grown like a star going supernova since then. My body is the same weight and size as it was then- with the new gift of an even softer belly with silver stretch marks. I am so much more in my body, though. I have an increasing sense of unity with it, a knowing that "I am it" rather than "I am in it." I imagined having a partner with that sinewy taut body and thought how different it would be now, that it wouldn't intimidate me. Of course, I am still unsatisfied with carrying more weight than I feel is comfortable. I sense that in a different way- as a health and spiritual goal more than some sort of flaw in my beauty or person. The whole musing was an examination of the relationship between weight and sexual power. I have decided that I'd love to feel an ever-increasing connection with my body's motion. Need more workouts, more dancing, more sex. That's what it's about- moving the body, honing muscle and finding its harmony with bone and balance. The power we exude is in our confident motion, not in some pose in the mirror.

(It was a pleasant little stock-taking. Very nice to arrive at an idea that I've improved myself since that time when I was a mess of a girl. It wasn't even so long ago. I reflected being with Bu most of the intervening years, how my energy with him is infinitely more me than it had been with the satyr. I thought about mom dying, and how that was an instantly, powerfully sobering experience. It was dizzying and nauseating to be flung so quickly into ones own future. It started a profound change deep within me that motherhood has completed. I wish this old gypsie friend well... he has also lost his mother and gotten married.)

Thursday, May 29, 2008

women in the bible

Just in case you're curious why I'm all loving of the Wicca & Goddess faiths and am a Unitarian Universalist, this sums it up pretty neatly. How cool is it that my church sent this out on MySpace?

First, my own quick notes:

1. I'm not sure I agree that all organized religion has oppressed women, but all monotheistic religions seem to have this history.

2. Thoughts on the whole "suffering in childbirth thing"

OK. It hurts, but seriously, it is not unliveable, anaesthesia-necessitating pain. I had an exceptionally hard birth with no epidural and can very confidently say that these pain-relieving measures are unnecessary in a normal birth and the risk factors by far outweigh the benefits- again, for a normal birth.

The pain is definitely affected by the legacy of woman-negative religious teachings that are referred to later in this document· Fear is a huge part of the pain- we tense up and fight our bodies. (Get a midwife and a Doula! They'll help enormously!) I propose that rather than to complain that religious fanatics have denied women anaesthetics, we instead recapture the normalcy and beauty of natural birth.

3. I feel a little need to qualify the whole Freedom from Religion stance here. I deeply respect this viewpoint, in no small part because of these examples to follow. It's just weird though, because I'm pretty much all about re-creating religion in a woman-positive and life affirming way, with a healthy dose of intellectualism and skepticism coming along for the ride.

OK.... enjoy:)

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

commercialism, laziness, and not so much with the weaning

We've ordered a Little Mermaid cake. The Bird is obsessed with Her Fishy-taled-ness lately. I'm cranky. There's a thread on my local mommy board about how many of the mamas shun licensed characters and TV. It brought up some icky feelings. Loving the concept of monitoring all that your kids are exposed to and keeping their childhood as innocent as humanly possible. (Also am very sick of fast-forwarding through the scary bits and feeling guilt for letting her watch videos that are too mature for her. And in less coherent moments of annoyance, raging at Disney for being such a twisted bunch of scary fucks in the first place.)

However: I'm absolutely too exhausted from thinking about every little thing. Also pretty sure that a Disney-inclusive childhood did not ruin me. She has massive mermaid squee and it's hard to ban anything that makes the munchkin that freaking happy. (The video came in a load of hand-me-downs and she was enchanted from the moment she saw the box. A fishy! A princess! A princess who is fishlike! zOMG!)

Is it just laziness that makes me resent the feeling that doing things in accordance with my parenting intuition is a constant uphill battle against everyone and everything in our environment? It's not a real big deal to me, this Disney Princess thingy- I suggested the cake theme. It's just swimming 'round there in my brain, being examined. I'm just sick to death of feeling like I have good ideas but not doing anything about them because it's easier to flow. Swim with the school. Snerk. I just wonder what it means that I take the easy way so often... I'm pretty sure it means

I am very, very tired
and have to cut myself some slack from the uber-granola ideals I have.

To address that, Bu has suggested that I leave the house a few nights at bedtime to let him take over. Maybe I can sneak back in and she'll stay in bed with him. The weaning trend has reversed, and I've had to nurse her to sleep and through the days too. Then, of course, all through the nights. As tomorrow is the birthday, I think Friday night will be a better time to start the experiment. It also happens that a bunch of girls are going to see Sex and the City and have drinks that night, so the timing is good.

The Ariel thing isn't all fraught with commercial anxieties, anyway. I read the Hans Christian Anderson story when I was young and I love it, so there's some sentimentality watching her love the story too. Maybe I'll get her the real version when she's older and I'll feel better. I had thought of making my own illustration and having a non-Disney mermaid cake, but- again- exhausted.

Saturday, May 24, 2008


Stepping back into the light, in an eye-squintingly literal way. I've been sick along with my husband and, to a lesser extent, the baby. I've barely seen the sunlight, cocooning in bed with books and videos and for one day my eyes were actually swollen shut.

When I crawled out of my hole I found an email request from a woman who had seen my piece Motherline, on an old site. She wrote very sweetly to ask permission to post the image on a thread that's like a virtual baby shower for her friend. I think that's such a cool idea and I happily sent her a jpeg. That piece has a lot of good birth mojo- I traded a print to my doula for her services, and a photo of a dear friend was the "model" for it. This updated version (with a huge snafu fixed from the old piece) was in the Motherhood show along with the "Scars" thing.

Happily, before I got crazy sick, I finished up the inside pieces for the magazine and showed them to one of the editors, who- I have to say in the interest of highly ethical full disclosure- is a dear friend:) So now I have to tackle the cover, which is a little more of a complex undertaking. I can't help thinking about layout, because I am also doing their logo. It's hard to separate design brain from "real" art brain. I think I have imagery in mind though.

I'm logging off to sketch until the baby wakes up from her hard-won nap.

Friday, May 23, 2008

greetings from the house of sick

Bu and I have had a lot of quality time. We've both been struck by a wrathful scornful god some upper respiratory gunk and have been laid up in bed for a few days. He's a couple days behind me, so he seems to have pre-empted the really fun part wherein my eyeballs started seeping pus. Sorry, but it's so effin' gross I couldn't not blog it.  Poor little Birdy is staying with the grandies for her protection, as she seems to have escaped our snotly, sore throated, and feverish fate. Also ear-infected. We know how to party. We have been competitive to amuse ourselves, but it's no contest: my fever went higher, and plus the eyeball ick. I suspect that Bu scored better drugs though. We saw different doctors at Health Plus and his name brand samples are much prettier than my generic amoxicillin.

We have just completed Season 4 of Buffy, and have embarked upon a full series marathon of Firefly.

Oh, and remember how I took a "mental hygeine" day Monday? Yeah, I got sick that night and missed an entire week of work. And no, I don't get sick days. We also cancelled our annual giant cookout-beer-garage-band party that would have been tomorrow. We'll reschedule.

Monday, May 19, 2008

mommy propaganda?

I was invited to participate in another benefit show (this one is for Artists Against AIDS later this summer.) The theme is propaganda art, which should be stunningly retro-hip and witty. I'm thinking peace will be an overriding motif, and wonderfully so. I think I should go my own specific little crunchy way and do something about mothering or breastfeeding or something. I'm thinking maybe about how we sexualize babies' food sources, i.e. boobs are not primary sexual organs. Or, I may go the "feminist isn't a dirty word" route and vent some rage against young girls' squeamish hesitance to use that word.

do they have wiccan toddler exorcists?

I'm taking a mental hygiene day, but I don't feel very clean in the brain. Couldn't make my nap work, so I'm swilling coffee. The child has been possessed by snot and some kind of malicious entity that has turned my zOMG sweetest natured baybay ever into a hysterical, rabid little mess. Sleep the past nights has been teh bad.

I have (so far) less frustrated burned-out mom feelings and more heartbreaking empathy and that thing where she pulls my heart out with her tiny fingers and opens it right up and it bleeds all over the place. I cannot stand to see her so raw and freaked the fuck out. I think I'm chill enough to project the idea that one of us is in a place of stable normal function. I am not entirely sure, though. She looks like a feral kitten plunged into ice water, and her big blue eyes that look into my soul on good days are full of this mad, fearful spazziness searching me for answers I can't give.

Her triggers seem to be sleepiness, including the everyday waking in the morning kind, which means that every weekday there is a massive nuclear meltdown on the changing table; bathtime, until I climb in with her and hold her tightly for a long time, and then another one when I take her out; overstimulation, which paired with her cold and naplessness yesterday for the worst freak out to date.

Tactics attempted include:

-desperate boobie offers, rejected out of hand by the child who is now apparently totally weaned during daylight hours but MUST have nummins if she so much as stirs during the night.

-The Dr. "Happiest Toddler" Dude caveman approach. Not working. I might not be trying hard enough to match her intensity. I still feel a little nuts doing it. (The speak Toddlerease thing did, however, totally pwn a tantrum thrown by E, the Birdy's BFF.)

-gentle, hippie mama chanty soothingness

None of this seems to diffuse the worst part; I am unconvinced that anything could. (Or should? Does she need to vent this rage? Is it natural as a hurricane?) After the really bad part passes, I am very good. The aftershock involves a request to "hold" and/or "rock" and songs and stroking and whispered shhh's and all the newborn stuff I was so good at and crave like comfort food. (I seriously will have to get a lapdog or a new cat if she gets non-touchy as she grows up. I am a big cuddly kissy touchy person, and new babies are the best snuggly thing in the world. I should hire myself out as a babywearing nanny.)

I haven't tried ignoring her- shocking, no? I am not sure I am capable but it seems rationally to be a good strategy, if coupled with lots of loving attention during non-tantrum times. Bu wants to spank her. I can't believe we are still discussing that as an option. I can't write about that without coming across as insanely pissy and maybe elitist or something, and spouting terms I hate to use like "redneck" or "white trash" so I'll spare you the ordeal and just say that I take issue with aspects of my husband's upbringing. My opinion is also colored by my brother's being spanked in anger and arguably emotionally abused. I'm not calling spanking abusive across the board but my momtuition rankles.

So, mamas:

Open call for advice! No flames allowed or expected. Suggestions to lock her in a dungeon or duct tape her mouth shut will be considered delightful black humor and dismissed, but seriously... has anything worked for you? Does she just need a Roary?

Saturday, May 17, 2008

work in progress

This is a little mash-up of details from the sketches I'm doing for Weave. I love working within boundaries. Might be that I'm perpetually a student at heart and I like assignments. The zine is black and white (until the world realizes these women are geniuses and they make a million dollars) but the work the editors liked of mine is the new digital stuff so I wanted to stick with collage. I have to keep the stuff fairly simple and high-contrast so it'll reproduce OK, and I wasn't sure how I'd do that, because my Photoshop collage/paintings rely on sort of subtle textures and colors.

So what I have ended up doing is very like my raw sketches but with some additive/subtractive work going on in the layers and some computer text added in. It has a very xeroxed-zine, cut -and-paste quality that I'm loving.

text out of context

Looking at my work, people stand very close. I feel a little uneasy watching them, seeing the way my pieces get more time than other work because of the words. I feel like I am cheating, breaking a rule that says text is for books or emails, and by putting it on a gallery wall I am greedy, pulling people closer and making them linger longer than they should.

(Written in My Scars, digital mixed media collage, 2008 16 X 20 *cough* still for sale)

Am I cheating with content, too? Spelling- literally writing out my meanings. My work is so literal anyway, so narrative and explicit. No mysteries here, sorry. The text drives this home even more. Does it seem like I'm scared to be ambiguous? Is it "allowed" to be so transparent? I have to ask this because the work I love is usually far more abstracted and minimal.

me, standing in front of an Eve Hesse at the Wexner, seeing her rubber as skin. looking at a mountain of glass shards piled by Maya Lin, a cup of fur by Yoko Ono. me, making weekly pilgrimages to see the Anselm Keifer at the Carnegie. mud and straw in the oil paint, an image that might be a snake, hints of things that won't reveal themselves out of the density. tripping on james turrell light at the mattress factory. i look at this stuff and it's church for me. the mystery transfixes me. so why do i insist on the concrete and obvious?

Thursday, May 15, 2008

pandora's aquarium

The Art Walk was lovely. It turned into a girl's night out for two, with the very talented Mia. The rain was a nice spring rain, although our sandals got gritty inside. We wandered through Taylor's, Stray Dog Antiques and Callen McJunkin, the Purple Moon's new space. We lingered longest at the Good News Mountaineer Garage Gallery's “Pandora’s Toy Box: Customs for a Doomed World,” which blew my mind right out of my skull.

The show is impeccably curated with each small piece in an identical plexi box. The toys are formed on one of a few vinyl bases. The dark wit and beautiful execution of the twisted little toys, the pop art vibe, the pop culture vibe, the uber-post-post-modern hipness of the whole thing just trips me. It's amazing to have something so contemporary and young and cool downtown. I'm going in again to gawk tomorrow:)

Here is the Gazz story, here is the curator's site, here is his blog.

This piece, Brainsick by Miscreation (Jeremi Rimel,) is my favorite. It delights my fangirl self by reminding me of Dave McKean's Sandman covers. The skull pieces are so fantastic... I've been doodling a lot of skulls lately and looking at a big trend on Etsy of Dia de los Muertos sugar skull inspired stuff. They're so pretty.

The turn out at Taylor's was OK, given the rain I think. I heard a lot of positive feedback and ran into some beloved art friends. (Discussed possibility of showing at the next Buswater thing = fabulous.) The watery paintings that are in the Annex with the motherhood stuff inspired the aquarium part of my Tori Amos allusive title. I saw one of her pieces (Patricia something... damn) ages ago at the thrift store and I loved its movement. She captures the rhythmic motion of water ripples nicely.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

art walk: tomorrow!

I have art displayed at the Annex at Taylor Books for this month's Art Walk. Begins at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow and continues until 8:00 p.m. Early comers are far more likely to score a free glass or 33 2 of wine. The show at Taylor's features Robert Villemagna*, who is one of my favorite West Virginian artists, as well as the benefit I'm part of for the Kanawha Lactation Association to support breastfeeding mamas.

The Art Walk has an official website.
So does KLA. It's the third Thursday of each month unless otherwise noted. These are the dates for the rest of 2008:

  • May 15th
  • June 26th (4th Thursday Festivall!)
  • July 17th
  • September 18th
  • October 16th
  • November 28th (Friday after Thanksgiving)December 18th

I hope to see you there!

*Edit* Totally lied; they took down Bob's stuff. Is now Motherhood stuff and really pattern-y pretty oils of water and plants and fish.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

this is why i win biggest fuck-up award today

Because I forgot that, as a registered member of the Mountain/Green Party in WV, I can't vote for a presidential nominee. We ain't got any. Apparently. We did... I dunno what happened to Jesse Johnson. I realized this yesterday. Quite a hell of a  lot too late to switch. But OMG did I need to. Read this, from Salon:
"They won't go for a black man, that's just it," R.K. Horton, a retired heating and air conditioning business owner, said of his neighbors. "I don't think it's being racist necessarily, they just don't like black people that well." For that matter, it's not just his neighbors. "The arrogance and all that bothers me more than black, but black is a close second," he said. "Our generation was back when blacks were the back of the bus, and it's hard to change that outlook. I just feel like I couldn't vote for him."

Italics by me, whose head just exploded. There really are other non asshat West Virginians, I swear. Fuck.

dreams and coffee

Every single time I make a pot of coffee, I think of mom. She was, if possible, worse at waking than I am. I remember being trained as a kid to make her coffee. We had a scooper that, filled to heaping corresponded to two cups of water. Because of the silly private language we used, I remember being directed by a sweetly groggy mom: "Three spooks and six bucks!" A bucka fockeee was a cup of coffee, adapted from a younger cousin's toddlerspeak.

I remember the little artist's pride I had learning the exact shade of light brown to tint her coffee with 2% milk or powdered creamer- the cream wasn't important- the color was. (My nod to Dad is my love of black coffee.) Aunt Pea drinks hers like mom.

And here is a post embryo that has been hanging out in the womb of my drafts folder, unfinished:

One of the things I miss most about Mom is the dreams-and-coffee ritual we shared. Like I do, she always had vivid memories of several strange dreams each morning, and we'd swap dream stories over breakfast or in the car on the way to school or work during the times when we lived together or close. (Read: my entire life except for the nine or ten months in Pittsburgh. My two on-my-own apartments were within a city block of my mom's and brother's home base.)

I'm missing it a lot this morning, drinking my coffee and sharing my thoughts with the aether while my babygirl runs wild. Bu doesn't have the intense dreams or the fascination with them that Mama & I had. I should write about them more.

And now my coffee is ready. It's a lazy sweet morning. he Bird has a late morning appointment with Dr. McDreamy (I'm not a Grey's fan but Souster is- he's her pediatrician. Nurse Crunchy is not in today.) The poor boo has the worst diaper rash in the history of the yoni. It caused (I guess?) the tantrum that almost had me googling exorcism last night. FYI, the Wicca-tarian approved method for exorcism: Aristocats VHS tape, volume low, water sippy.

(I was so desperate I offered the nummins, but she refused. She said "NO!!! DONE!!!!" but of course at 4:00 am was not so over the boobs. I think we may have wee hours breastfeeding until infinity. I knew they would be the last to go, hope though I did that the ones I enjoy would hang around longest. Meh.)

hi, there big scary goddess! it's me, doodling.

The thing about art, and me, and art + me is that I overthink it. A lot. Like a pathological amount. I get crippled by the idea of art hovering over my head like a heavy, leatherbound textbook telling me art is Very Fucking Important.

And it is, of course. It is important universally and personally. It's a beautiful thing to create meaning and beauty at once, and to share it.


It's also terrifying. But hey, "It's only art." I attribute this shiny little insight to Keeley Steele (artist and jill-of-many-trades, including the best vegetarian BLT on the planet) although I'm sure she was channeling some ancient knowledge there- possibly knowledge so obvious and natural that everyone knows it but me? But of course: art is just art. It's lovely things or shocking powerful things, large and small things or pixel things even, but art is what it is. It needn't intimidate.

But it continues to, nevertheless.

Art is like God. Well, Goddess. One Goddess in particular, in fact: Kali Ma. Art in my life is Kali, the Hindu Goddess who wears a necklace of skulls and has daggers for teeth and inspires awe in the way that a black hole or the pain of childbirth or death inspire awe.

Art for me is very heavy stuff. Voodoo and term papers, the meaning of life, mud becoming stone at 2300 degrees Fahrenheit.

It fusses around in my head, waiting to be perfect and stinging me like trapped bees. It turns into more fear than art, fermenting in a not pretty way. So the solution is like this, in Yoda's voice, paraphrased: "Do not think; do!"

What happens is, while I'm stewing and worrying and have critiqued into oblivion an entire gallery's worth of art before it even hits the sketchpage, some people start asking for art. I think, Oh! That's art I want to make. Before my brain has a chance to ask what the hell I'm doing, I've already said, "I'm in."

And then someone sees a doodle I posted online, and she wants to know where she can buy my work. Buy. My. Work. So I think, yeah, I should do that. Be buyable.

And then there is a new magazine, with the best title in herstory: Weave. They're blending word and image and crossing genres and just generally digging into the rich, delicious places where boxes stop happening and real creative power lives. And they want me to submit stuff, because they like the things I'm making, and they like that they are poems and drawings and journals and collages all at once. And ohmygods how loudly I just say YesPleaseThankYou.

And that is how I distracted the shaky frightened parts of me, and just jumped headfirst back into artmaking. I spent one evening online grabbing a domain name that popped forcefully into my mind: (No click. Not yet. I'll tell you when OK, nevermind. I set it up to just come here.) and setting up a shop on Etsy. I submitted work to a little gallery in my favorite bookstore, and I have two pieces there now for a benefit show. I decided to start this art blog that'll eventually be part of the new site, and I'm just vaguely dizzy to find myself being an artist after a few years of thinking really hard about how to be an artist and failing fantastically to actually make any art.

Saturday, May 10, 2008


I spent the better part of an hour yesterday talking Bu into the perfect Mother's Day gift: a morning wandering around the East End Yard Sale. (The hipper side of town, i.e. the one I do not live in, has a huge yard sale the day before Mother's Day every year. It is teh awesome.) I won a $10 spending limit, as- yes- we are that broke. I was going to stretch it to $15 though. That was what he spent last year on my iTunes card;)


There were three really strong rum drinks and a (studio cleaning dust necessitated) Benadryl last night, which caused 1) a fabulous night of sleep and 2) a rock solid conviction that at six o'clock a.m. on a Saturday I should be in bed. So it is nearing eleven and the cool shit has been bought by bushier-tailed shoppers. I've been stalking Etsy while I chug my coffee, but the under $10 stuff I found isn't screaming at me. Bu asked my half-conscious self on his way out this morning would I mind finding a little something for his mom today.

So. I am planning a shopping excursion. (Alone: w00t!)

I really want to get her stuff to make virgin margaritas at home. Been dying to do that, actually. OK, truth be told, I'm really dying to get her tipsy on real 'ritas. It's like a mission. I truly believe there will come a day when Papaw is out of town or something and I will make her favorite drink for her. She refuses to drink them in public. It would be unseemly (because they are LDS, remember?) and she's terrified of even ordering a virgin drink that might possibly look like a real one. But chick is jonesing. She mentions it every time we're at a restaurant that serves drinks.

So I think I will get my lazy ass in the shower and head to KMart to see if they have drink mixes and a cheap romantic comedy or drama on DVD. Mamaw lurves her some cheesy kissy face stuff:) Then I may head to the thrift store to see if I can find a treasure there for my own Mama Goddess Day present. Then I will reunite with my munchkin and do some laundry or more launch another offensive into the studio mess. If I shove a few feet worth of floor-cover crap to the side, I could set up the Bird with her easel and probably be productive.

I need to see if Mamaw has a blender, so she can make her yummy drink. What else goes in a virgin 'rita- just ice & the mix? Will have to research.

Friday, May 9, 2008

weekend warrior

Whatcha doin' this weekend? I am inundated with tasks, so am doing the list thing:

  • Brewing more coffee

  • Using the one Fly Lady trick I've stuck with: the timer. I use Time Left, a free app I snagged online. Now, and for 26:55 more, I am allowed to be online;)

  • Drawing/scanning/vectorizing a Grass Ninja. It's not a goat. (It totally is a goat, but the boys DEMAND that it be called the Grass Ninja. It's for Bu's buddy's grass cutting crew.)

  • Planning a meeting at church about earth centered, co-ed scouting group

  • Cleaning the studio. Again. Trying to make room for the colossal art easel and drawers I brought home for the Bird as well as making the room actually function as a studio

  • Starting work on a text/visual something for Weave

  • Hoping to pop downtown to peek at my art on the walls at the cafe/gallery

And the smell of coffee and productivity wafts through the house, calling me to drink and work. I love coffee. Coffee loves me. We are in love, coffee and I.


  • Doing something about the mofo dots. I promise. They are inexcusable

Yeah. Or I could blow all this off to go see Iron Man with Bu. It was good. But the coffee made me have to run out to pee four(!) times. date day. And we did go in to check out my art.

Monday, May 5, 2008

sainthood + baby pagan prayers

Did you know I'm eligible for sainthood? Yes. I am. I'm pretty sure that mothering a child for 23 months, 6 days, 4 hours, and eleven minutes without doing any of the following qualifies one for sainthood:

  1. Losing my goddamned mind

  2. Slapping, spanking, biting, or otherwise hurting the child

  3. Killing, castrating, or divorcing her father

  4. Selling her on eBay

She is in a spitting phase, she has a cold, we did not sleep, she will not eat, she will not be anywhere but my arms or [out]"side."

Speaking of religion... she insisted we say grace tonight before she ate adamantly refused to eat dinner. I did a generic improv thing with generic "Lord and Lady," which always makes me feel so old skool trad Wiccan. Which I am not. But I was charmed that she likes to say a meal blessing- the grandies have taught her.

Google turned this up:

Mother of Plenty, bless this bread
Father of the Grain, lend your seed
Let it nourish heart and head
Let it nourish thought and deed
Let its breaking be a spell
That hungry mouths be fed as well
And let its eating keep us free
As is our will
So mote it be!

Cute. I like. My searches for bedtime blessings yielded more poetry and made me say "aw..." and leak breastmilk they were so precious. (Argh! Where are they? I saved them... Oh. I'm a dork: My Docs->babybookofshadows.doc) OK. Look how adorable:

Day is done, it's time for bed
Goddess bless my sleepy head
Earth and Water, Air and Fire
Bring gentle dreams as I retire
When the morning sun does rise
God will bless my open eyes

Now I lay me down to sleep,
Please help me learn my world to keep.
To guard the air and skies of blue,
The oceans, lakes and rivers too.
Save the mighty forest lands,
The plains, the shores, the desert sands.
Protect all creatures, wild and free,
In air, on land, and in the sea.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

my etsy shop, again. new! with more Canada!

Sorry Gwen:) Didn't meant to slight my beloved Canadian friends, or those from other countries. The Etsy stuff now has international shipping rates. I was just in a whirl to get things set up, and had very hastily guessed at US shipping and called it done. I spent a few minutes researching today and now have fixed the oversight:) *sheepish apology face*

Friday, May 2, 2008

etsy achieved!

I give you my fine art:

At least, I give it to you for now. I might get shifty and remove this post if I freak out about having my name up for real. So bookmark that baby:) Also, marvel at my fetching use of "Etsy Orange" to make my banner look like it regularly meets Etsy's logo for coffee and bagels.

badd: blog against disablism day

Synchronicity swirling around me again, I am having the Week of Addressing Disabilities. My supervisor recruited me to speak about the clinic at a middle school for a diversity workshop they held yesterday. I decided to integrate some talk about myself too, and it worked beautifully. I was able to start with my arm and then use that to talk about visible versus invisible disabilities, and then segued into what we do at the clinic. [Sorry, but I gotta leave some vagueness about work intact for Secret Identity Purposes to protect my beloved work place from being associated with a Radical and Highly Controversial Blogger and Purveyor of Subversive Ideas. *snort* Read: Mommyblogger with delusions of awesomeness who is so undersexed she thinks lists of hot chick crushes is somehow revolutionary;)]

I had dreaded the speaking part, but it was groovy. The kids had insightful, intelligent questions and there were a handful of kids with special needs throughout the day and that plus me equaled a successful discussion of various abilities and disorders that pretty much completely avoided "other-ness" language.

So, I survived my uneasiness with public speaking, which is not terrible, really. Just butterflies and a dry mouth. Then this morning I sat down with my cup of coffee at my neglected computer to read my poor ignored feed reader and saw that my beautiful Soul Sistah Lexie had written a BADD post. Having a bit of extra time this morning, I decided to write a post. Which, it now seems, has been quite overtaken by its own introduction. So quickly, let me repost, again, my sexy self portrait that was my own personal One Armed Sexy Witch Mama coming out party.

Only, wow. I do not have one arm. I completely negate my right arm all the freaking time! I have two arms, and two hands even. Meh... is it just shorthand? Because I could spend all day explaining myself into circles. Seven fingers, one long arm, one short.

And without further rambling, I give you my actual post:
Here is the state of my consciousness regarding my birth defect about a year ago:

It was seriously, asskickingly empowering to create and post this piece. I love that it ended up so sexy. It really was only revealing skin to show my arm off better but yeah. Owning my own image and really synthesizing my arm with its strange look and the sexual side of me was kind of huge. I've always had "sexual being" and "mutant arm chick" as wholly different selves in my brain, until that self portrait. In fact, I think mutant arm self had its very own tightly guarded box that was separate from everything, actually. You can see the entire original post here.

So forgive the indulgent reposting of the portrait, but I offer it in celebration of BADD and badass mutant hot people everywhere.