oh, rikki, you're so fine.

Today's paintings are in honor of Rudyard Kipling and his creations, Rikki Tikki Tavi and The White Seal. I can almost smell the 9 grains of popcorn on a brown paper towel on my desk as I settled in for a 4th grade movie. Ahhhh. The 1980's were good, and I am old.

Which brings to mind a bad joke.

Man: Do you like Kipling?
Other man: I don't know. I've never kippled.

HA HA HA HA HA. British people are funny!

So I'm brain dead, and I have a question.

I've got 10 or so paintings thus far, and I can't quite figure out what to do with them. Save them for a show next year, or start selling them in my Etsy shop? Or should I save these for the show, and do something more marketable in the same style for the Etsy shop?

Or, maybe I should first ask... would anyone want to actually buy them, and how much would you pay?

I'm not looking for commitment here, or even compliments, although I wouldn't turn 'em down. Mainly, I'm curious if they would actually sell. My last foray into "make something to sell on Etsy" was a major failure, so I clearly can't anticipate the industry. Maybe I should do some woodburnings of Edward and Bella? I don't know.

I'm good at making art, but I suck at selling it.

And now I'm either going to go bake cookies or take a bath. But not both at the same time.

That's just silly.

reel big artist

Hello, Blackberry and Keharr and nice new box of pastels. Have I ever mentioned that Watership Down was my favorite book in second grade, and that it continues to capture my imagination as an adult? Nothing like a bunch of British bunnies to warm my cold, black heart.

And I thought you might like to see little snippets of my studio, along with the paintings. I remember when I was young, and I thought that an artist's studio was upstairs and tidy and full of light and empty canvases.

Ha.

Your studio is wherever you can work. Mine is almost always messy. When I'm creating, I'm not cleaning up behind myself. In fact, at my first post-college job, that was the boss's only complaint about me: When she's creating, she's messy. Ten years later, and that review still rankles. But it got me a raise-- I made a whopping $25,000 a year!

Which is more than I make now, but still... in today's market, I could make more flipping burgers. Back then, I paid $650 a month for a one-bedroom apartment next to an old drunk who knocked on my door at 3am to give me lamps and then peed on my car.

I've come a long way, but I'm still a messy artist.

But that's okay, because my boyfriend still loves me.

Oh, you didn't know I have a boyfriend?

Shh. Don't tell Dr. Krog.

He's good-looking and well-made, and he hugs me in all the right places, and I luuuuuuurve him.


That's right. My new boyfriend is a baby carrier, the Babyhawk Oh Snap! that I'm reviewing for www.coolmompicks.com. Tomorrow is our first date. I'll let you know how it goes, probably at great length, whether you like it or not.

Because when it comes to carriers, I do kiss and tell. Not Krogs, though.

That's personal.

some pig

Somehow, they're much more impressive in person. Wilbur is just the most lovely rose, and Charlotte is like the shadows on an October leaf, shimmering rust and umber. Wait until I get 'em coated in shiny epoxy. Then you'll be like, "She was right! That's Some Pig!"

But perhaps I should be more Humble.

I suppose that for a while, unless I have totally amazing pictures of my kids*, I'll just show you the day's paintings and then start rambling. Ramble ramble. Um, Super Bowl?

I don't know. I went on a cleaning kick today and disassembled my house, cutting my thumb nearly in half in the process. Okay, not in half. But it stings whenever I apply lotion. I changed all the sheets, tidied up the studio, cleaned out my room of Rock Band gear. Matching all the DVDs and VHS tapes** to their cases and sorting through them took nearly an hour. And Dr. Krog has apparently been collecting dry cleaning bags as part of a massive conspiracy to.... um... cover things with plastic bags.

Also, I had asparagus for supper. But that's not really important.

On that note, I'm going to go apply a facial mask, read some Ella Enchanted, and enjoy a cup of tea, because I can't seem to complete a thought. Do you ever have a day like that? If you have children, you do.

I did.

Wait, what?

Yeah, that's what I thought.



* Because there's nothing more interesting in the entire world than pictures of my kids. Unless you'd like to see this slide show of our trip to the Recycling Plant? I have a very informative speech on the Nitrogen CyZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzz.

** Yes, we are the only people in North America who still enjoy VHS tapes. What are we supposed to do-- go buy the DVD versions of Can't Hardly Wait and Austin Powers, The Spy Who Shagged Me?***

*** Stop laughing, please. We own worse stuff. But I'm not sayin' what.

****On an unrelated footnote, have you watched Blazing Saddles lately? Wow, that is one racy but hilarious movie. They couldn't remake it now, but if they did, I think Alan Tudyk should play the Waco Kid, and Reese Witherspoon would be great as that burlesque chick who can't pronounce her R's and is so tired all the time.

this one's for charis.

And now, a confession.

Today was one of those days where I feel like a downright crappy mother, housekeeper, and human being. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was hormones, maybe it was the starlit dance of the planets spinning through the heavens, but the end result was simply that I felt like a complete failure.

Funny thing is, not a single thing has changed since yesterday, when I felt invincible and manic.

Luckily, my brain can remind my heart of this discrepancy, and my fractious 3 year old can go spend the night with her grandmother, and my teething baby can go to sleep, and I can reclaim my humanity, bit by bit, through words and paint and wisps of smoke on wooden board.

*

*

*

Wait. Why are you still here?

I'm out of art for the night.

Oh, you want another confession?

Fine.

I really like the video for Lady Gaga's song Bad Romance.

I think it's just as pretty and weird and random as the videos of the early 1980's. I like it just as much as Total Eclipse of the Heart. I don't know a thing about that chick, but she's fascinating.

Seriously, go to bed.

CRE8N 4EVR

First I was an artist, and that was pretty cool. Then I went to art school, which was mostly lame. Then I worked in a gallery, then a garden, then a gallery, then a cube, then a worse cube, then a gallery.



Then I had a one-woman show while pregnant, had a baby, quit painting, got pregnant again, started painting again, had a baby, and had a one-woman art show while carrying around a baby and looking like a puffy rhino.


So that's easy to keep up with.

Then... I started writing. And I quit painting. And I wrote two books and a short story and started two more books. And as research, I started reading again, and I started falling in love with characters and creatures.

And now I'm back to painting.



And still writing. But I'm going to try to do 1 little wooden painting every day until February 2011, when I hope to have an exhibit at The Art Place - Mt. View again to celebrate Children's Book Month. I did one in 2004 and covered the back wall in an 8-foot tall mural.


It was a lot of fun. We had the librarians from next door come over to do readings, and elementary school kids walked over from class, and all the kids at the reception got to help paint a stand-up cut-out of The Library Dragon.

So, I'd love to hear everyone's favorite characters from kids' books.

But not necessarily picture books, because if I try to sell a painting of Olivia, they'll sue the pants off of me, and I like most of my pants these days.

Plans thus far include all of the rabbits from Watership Down, Bunnicula, the Jungle Book critters, characters from The Phantom Tollbooth, that sort of thing.

Ready... go!

grouchy virago speaks

I hereby proclaim myself a grouchy virago this morning.*

I'm still behind on sleep thanks to Monday's norovirus. For the record, I may never ingest baguette with ham and cheese again. Or dog food, apparently, judging by what appeared to be a lone kibble.

We mothers develop stomachs of iron. It feels perfectly natural to sit in a crowded restaurant with a baby in your lap discussing the colors of bowel movements and the smell of spit-up. It's just shop talk, like Dr. Krog discussing people he choked unconscious. It's what moms do.

I remember when I was younger, and I didn't mind getting sick. Hell, sometimes, I welcomed it. Getting sick meant sleeping in, watching TV, and having my mom bring me whatever food and drink I desired with just a ring of a bell. It was like a slightly achy vacation.

Back then, as my mom fulfilled my every request for ginger ale floats, I had no idea how horrible illness is for caretakers. Caring for the patient is like having a 7th job, and after all that, there's a 90% chance that Mom will get sick, too, because she has been bathed in gummy, germy kisses.

And when a mom is sick, there is no rest. No naps. No homemade chicken soup.** Being sick is just another job, and when you recover enough, you get to clean up the mess that accumulated while you were sick, all while on a worse sleep deficit than usual.

I sometimes want to start a website to halt teen pregnancy called www.dontgetpregnantyo.com, and I would post a picture of me at 4am on Monday, nursing a screaming baby while dehydrated and covered in barf, with my face covered in blotchy, burst blood vessels. I'd alternate that sort of picture with STDs and stretch marks.

And then I'd buy stock in GlaxoSmithKline and watch the dollarz roll in, yo.




* Note: This is a rant against illness, not against partners and children. In my family, Daddy works hard to take care of the family and can't stay home to watch the kids and make homemade chicken soup, and I don't expect him to do that. I'd rather he keep his job so that I can stay home and eat bonbons all day.***

** Dr. Krog brought me McDonald's when I was able to eat again. He's very fine.

*** I don't actually eat bonbons, but you know what I mean.

aye, sorr. still womitin'.

(I know I'm doing lots of conversations lately, but... well. I just am. So there.)

me: (5pm yesterday) I had forgotten what awful indigestion I get from hot Krispy Kreme donuts. I must be getting old. Or more bilious.

me: (7pm yesterday) HERBLAUGH!

me: (9pm, 10:30pm, 12:30pm, 2:30am, 3:30am) HERBLAUGH!

t.rex: (7pm to 4am) OE! MY MAMA WON'T TOUCH ME! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY WALKING CHEESEBURGER MACHINE? DADDY PALES IN COMPARISON!

t.rex: (4am) Uh... is someone stepping on the hose, because my cheeseburger machine appears to be running dry. And stinky.

me: I stink, I'm dehydrated, and I got two hours of sleep next to a pissed off baby. Now that it's 7am, I will pay one million dollars for a bottle of 7Up or any greenish beverage. Any takers?

my mom: Why, yes, I will leave my job in the dark of early morning to bring you not one, but three different greenish beverages, because I am a freakin' hero.

me: GLUG GLUG GLUG. Gee, I hope I'm not going to womit again.

the Biscuit: Mommy, I need some milk. Mommy, I need some more milk. Mommy, I have manners, so please can I have some chocolate milk and a raspberry cookie and then I can see the snail and also paint? Mommy? How about some nice oatmeal with blackberries, but don't stir it up, because really, I just want to eat the blackberries? How 'bout that? What are we doing today? Can we go buy another snail? Or a cat? Or go to the playground?

me: UGH.

t.rex: Seriously, is there some button I'm missing on the cheeseburger machine? My milk cow has apparently run dry, and these crackers aren't going to moisten themselves.

me: UGH. But now I can eat toast.

me: (1pm) UGH. But now I want some McDonald's, please.

Dr. Krog: I'm starting to feel a little UGH myself, but I will bring you McDonald's, because I am a frickin' hero. Huh. I didn't finish my cheeseburger. That's unusual.

Dr. Krog: (4pm) HERBLAUGH!

the Biscuit: WAH!

me: What's wrong, sweetheart?

the Biscuit: DADDY TOLD ME TO GO AWAY!

me: Well, yes, people who have the stomach flu don't really want to be touched or talked to, really.

the Biscuit: BUT I WANT TO SEE IT!

me: You want to see what?

the Biscuit: WHAT DADDY IS DOING!

me: He's vomiting. That horrible noise that sounds like a wormhole to the zombie apocalypse is your father barfing.

the Biscuit: I WANT TO SEE IT!

me: Why on earth do you want to see Daddy's barf?

the Biscuit: I WANT TO KNOW WHAT COLOR IT IS!

me: Um... it's a really noxious sort of brown. A pukey brown. And it reeks. I speak from experience.

the Biscuit: BUT I WANT TO SEE!

Dr. Krog: (weakly) She can come see me, if she wants to.

me: She doesn't really want to see YOU, sweetheart. She wants to see your puke.

Dr. Krog: I already flushed it. It reeked.

the Biscuit: THEN I WANT TO SMELL IT!

me: Okay, honey. You go right upstairs and smell your daddy's vomit, if it'll make you happy. But don't expect a big Christmas.

*

In other news, if you saw me on Monday, please go take a bath in bleach.

It's for your own good.