Hamish continues to amass collections of discarded and sometimes disgusting detritus atop his paint-peeling bookshelves. I've finally named them even though Hame is the king of naming in our family. Currently he's naming his Bakugon collection, but the only name I can remember is "Radiation," for one of the hinged arms of his biggest transforming ball of plastic. Very esoteric around here. I haven't shown him these photos yet, because if I did, he might balk that I'm throwing the stuff away, or he might want to take over the project, but I like arranging his garbage bits, documenting them and sharing them here, and I'm not sure I'm willing to collaborate. Prices start at $250 for a print created using archival pigment inks on 100% cotton rag paper with a luster finish. Yes. I'm talking out of my A$$.
Disney Chase Visa (below) was created using feathers from a Room & Board sofa, a popped punching balloon (a recent gift from the Odland family), dried up bits of soy sausage, booger flecks, a dried leaf, and a cardboard promotional credit card.
Smarties (below) consists of a candy wrapper, pistachio shells, used tissue, untwisted twine, pulled fringe from poorly constructed Crate & Barrel throw pillows, a twig, and sofa cushion feathers. And maybe a fingernail clipping. YUMMO!
Otherwise things are different around here. For one thing, Hamish and I aren't bawling our eyes out at kindergarten drop-off anymore. We're getting used to the hoards of khaki-clad, Keen-wearing families, the corporate-sponsored institutional cheer and the snappy pastel brochures defining words like "multi-cultural." No really, it's a great school. And I have even signed up to volunteer this year. I don't know what's come over me. I think I might be growing up. They have a kid-publishing program, and kid-writing, both of which involve sitting one-on-one with students to help them craft pieces of writing. I am stoked, not only because I am a vain published author who thrives on external validation of my skills but also because the school's writing scores need to be improved and I want to help raise them in any way I can because writing has done so much good for me and I believe it can do so for anyone.
Stella finally started school today at her old preschool, five days a week, woohoo! She slid right in there, met her teachers, sat at a tiny table and molded that homemade play-dough like it was any other day. My fearless little princess does not ruffle a feather. Thanks be to God. I'm sure she'll get me in some other horrible way. Say when she's fifteen. I wonder if she'll love robot-princess-pink-pigs then.
You'd think I'd have all sorts of crazy time to myself now that the kids are in school. From nine until eleven-fifty. Three hours! What will I do with myself? No. The only reason I get any time to do my own thing is because Bryan picks the kids up and then takes them until three, until it's my turn. He's my loving and cute after-care specialist. We see each other at the kid hand-off and let's just say that I've learned to talk really fast. Otherwise we don't get a chance to connect until the weekend.