Last night I had a bout of insomnia due in part to the fact that I have been discouraged by my PT from sleeping in my most satisfying position—on my side, top knee hiked up, bottom leg straight—as it "mobilizes my SI joint" or something like that, in a bad way, so that I wake up stiff and feeling ninety. So this afternoon I crabbed at Stella that Mommy would be taking a nap. (Note: I did wake up this morning far suppler than usual, praise be.)
This is what I get for chasing the dragon of restfulness (yes, with a Sharpie)—
No really, I'm not bitter. I neglect my children even when I'm not tired. For my ART. Bryan wants to get me a hat with blinking lights that declares, "Artist At Work," especially for those nights when I steal out of the house with my laptop to the local bookstore or coffee shop, so that others may know of the Important Work that is being wrought in their midst, because I am that kind of full of myself. But that's, ahem, a blog post for another day. Wait—that was it. It was for this day apparently.
Anyway.
Bryan reassures me that I am present in my kids' lives, a positive entity even, and these days anyway, I mostly agree.
When I first saw Stella all I thought was, I have to take a picture of this. Mildly warped independent creativity touches my heart because I was left to my own devices a lot as a child and I am absolutely convinced that I became an artist (blinking lights) because of this (and other, less savory reasons). If I could, I'd show you the basement walls I slathered with exterior house paint when I was four. I'd take you on a tour of the mountain of Love's Baby Soft powder I created on my spindly antique child's vanity, the floor I stapled sheets to, the capital letter 'E' I scratched into my thigh with a safety pin.
Oh! Here is one thing I can show you—the time when I'd been left alone in the kitchen with scissors. Behold.
Artist at Work.
This is what I get for chasing the dragon of restfulness (yes, with a Sharpie)—
No really, I'm not bitter. I neglect my children even when I'm not tired. For my ART. Bryan wants to get me a hat with blinking lights that declares, "Artist At Work," especially for those nights when I steal out of the house with my laptop to the local bookstore or coffee shop, so that others may know of the Important Work that is being wrought in their midst, because I am that kind of full of myself. But that's, ahem, a blog post for another day. Wait—that was it. It was for this day apparently.
Anyway.
Bryan reassures me that I am present in my kids' lives, a positive entity even, and these days anyway, I mostly agree.
When I first saw Stella all I thought was, I have to take a picture of this. Mildly warped independent creativity touches my heart because I was left to my own devices a lot as a child and I am absolutely convinced that I became an artist (blinking lights) because of this (and other, less savory reasons). If I could, I'd show you the basement walls I slathered with exterior house paint when I was four. I'd take you on a tour of the mountain of Love's Baby Soft powder I created on my spindly antique child's vanity, the floor I stapled sheets to, the capital letter 'E' I scratched into my thigh with a safety pin.
Oh! Here is one thing I can show you—the time when I'd been left alone in the kitchen with scissors. Behold.
Artist at Work.
3 comments:
i sleep like that too! and i love your bangs in that picture. maybe it's because i cut my own and they often look like this...
what a great mom for not freaking out and just celebrating your kids' artsy side.
xo
ooh thanks kristi. i like your bangs. maybe we should let our kids cut our hair??
maybe we could custom make and artist at work t-shirt for you with the font being letters in your cute little stars like you have on your header. stella gave herself a nice sharpie polish on her fingernails. impressive work there.
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