Found Some Old Suitcases In The Closet

So my daughter and I went up to the foothills to take some pictures. Anything is a diversion these days. And everyday is a holiday, just look at Happy...she was thrilled w/these old cases filled with costumes (black glittery pants w/a tail sewn on the butt!)and crafty materials....Yesterday was Happy Tuesday anyway, as is every Tuesday. It means Happy and I get to play dress up and have fabulous photo shoots. We make a weekly treat out of the whole affair. It's almost always a race home so we can upload the pics and see what we have. In this one, I think Happy looks like she is waiting for a wayward bus in a Steinbeck novel....

Pop-pops Just Wants To Be Outside!

She Used To Want To Be A World Traveling, French Speaking, Photographer/Marine Biologist's Assistant

Until her brother stopped wanting to be a marine biologist. Now Happy, my best girl, wants to be a World Traveling, French Speaking, Photographer/Pin-Up Girl. My camera loves her. Ever since she played a young Natalie Wood in the Wax Museum (3rd grade) she has had a love affair with Old Hollywood. And an eye for beauty. But I think maybe she was born with that.

He Used To Want To Be a Marine Biologist When He Grows Up

Until he realized he doesn't like the ocean and fell in love with music. He's been in the school band since 6th grade. Also reading at a PHS ( I had to ask him what that meant: post high school) level since the 2nd or 3rd grade which is a minor BFD because come on now, I read at a PHS level and for me that's Everybody Loves Elmo- 6 times a day. So currently G. is in marching band, Jazz Band and Honor Band and wants to be: A Professional Jazz Musician.

Still kicking some ass! And here it is Tuesday. This closet I am cleaning is also turning into an art studio! So of course I am building shelves and moving furniture in there, finding bathing suits from 6 summers ago and realizing what a communtity walk in closet this packratted out little space really is. I threw out all kinds of stuff! Thrift Store Cycle. Rinse. Repeat.
This is actually kind of fun. The part where I stop cleaning out the closet and do a little dye-ing is anyway. I probably don't even need to tell you that I bit off way more than I can chew. Good thing I was hungry. Hungry for some Change. I've never had my own art studio before, besides: All my artsy fartsiness is stinkin' up the whole house. High time I did something about it...Well guys and gals I better get back to it. I just came out for some air. I was starting to smell my own craziness in there! Foochie!!

LICKETY SPLIT ASS KICKING SERVICE!

I hope whoever reads this kicks some ass today.
Even though it's Sunday...the day of rest and worship and reading extra thick newspapers....I plan on cleaning out a walk in closet. And do a little dye-ing while I'm at it. I hope these two shirts that I am making are kick ass. And I bet this clutterfuck of a closet is going to kick My ass. We shall see....I plan on flying like a butterfly and stinging like a bee...

More Art Therapy

Or mayhaps I need a new toaster

Tidal

I 've always wanted to live in Shell Beach....only I am worried a tidal wave will come. In school I learned that a tsunami would never hit the central coast because our coast curves inward....the biggest part of the deadly wave would crash further out. Or maybe I made that up. Mostly I just dream about tidal waves. I know what it will feel like right before it crashes....at least when it crashes in my dream. I'm easily overwhelmed.
And not just by the ocean.

ART THERAPY! or touchy feely people of the world unite!

Did you know there is a place called Esalen in Big Sur, California where you can go to workshops and learn shit like stone carving for the soul and how to use finger signals to tap the wisdom of the inner mind...finger signals... hmmmm. Or learn how to Free Your Breath, Free Your Life. What kind of a whackjob would pay to go to these classes?? Me! That's who....probably scoffing the whole time (and I suck at scoffing). Let me just say I really do believe in Art as Therapy. Disclaimer: I also believe a little too much beer is good therapy. So when I burnt the crap outta my toast I was very Pissed Off! But then, after immersing myself in Kindergarten Craftery.....Voila! I was once more at peace with myself....

Pop-pops Babba Loo! In the Garden of Changapeluda

Lickety Split Cleaning & Woodpile Service

A Tadpole in My One Summer Squash Garden

I have the same delusions of grandeur as the next guy so maybe it's more just a plant in the big back yard. Only I weed it. And I rolled those eucalyptus stumps all the way from the front side yard (felt like a little kid, pretending I was on Survivor and kicking and rolling those stumps into submission :0) My mom's cousin owns a tree cutting business and talked her into letting him store cut up trees on the property. With a piece of shit promise that he would be back to split the wood and the profit with us....only he never came back. So we got blessed with all this wonderful cuts of gorgeous wood piled right out in the front. I love it. I've actually learned how to use a splitter and got all lumberjackey....it was fun! I enjoyed myself. Also I've gotten a lot of artsy-fartsy wood sculpture pieces and great cuts to paint on....all in all that big-ass woodpile has been good to us.

All We Are Saying

I Can't Help It

My lip curls in disgust. It's an automatic repulsive reaction. When he addresses the union, I immediately want to throw something at the TV. He doesn't even finish speaking and I am already bashing what he said. I am embarrassed and ashamed that he is the president of my country. Puro Dixie Chix down, aye. He's so fucking smarmy and snide and cocky and assholey. Like one of those cruel smartass bullies from the playground. And that face, that mug of his: pure fermented gorilla ass. Sorry if I am coming off as a bit shy in my opinion of this dumb fucker bitch. What's a girl gotta do to start the impeachmnt process? And don't even get me started about his limp dick of a running mate.

Okay, I'm glad I got that off my chest. Hope everyone's having a great weekend!

If I Had A Fucking Dime For Everytime Someone Called Me A Weirdo, I'd Be A Gazillionaire

Every family's got one, and I'm it. I don't say that to be self-deprecating or negative. I like my weirdness. Only maybe in smaller doses. The other morning I looked over at my two sons (Happy, my sullen girl teenager, was slumbering as usual, it was morning, afterall). My big son was making his own bookbag out of old corduroy...dreaded to beat the band. The smaller one was running around in nothing but a diaper and a tie-dye t-shirt...with two little wispy ponytails. I had just come in from watering my summer squash and got an overwhelming hippie vibe. Too hippy. So I started to think of all the non-hippy things I could do for the day. I tried to think of "normal" activities. Then I said,
"Fuck That!"
And carried on.

Pop-pops needs a haircut!

Didn't Want to Lead You to Believe He is Anything But a Treasure

Albeit, a tittymonger! Why did I put that Landfill title above my most precious munchkin's picture and how do I get it OFF?!?
I'm always a little antsy to click on Publish Post. Because that means it is Out There and I can't take it back. Or can I? I don't know how this thing works. And I find that I care about what you think....and I don't want yous thinkin i got a visit from the Dump Fairy. So that dubiously being said, I would like to introduce to you:
Pop-pops my smaller son.

On My 3rd Trip To The Landfill

Gathering handfuls (wheelbarrel sized) of tasty morsels for the Dump Monster. Being an eating, playing, shopping, consumer/American Family Woman, (w/more than her share of scrap/building material) is a Messy Job. The kinda job you need to rent a trailer for. The kinda job that stinks.
It's also rewarding and results oriented and all that bullshit. But right now, in the middle of this hotter than a jalapeno's coochie afternoon, I'd rather be blogging! My little fledgling will be ignored no longer.
There's something I gotta come clean about: I'm a bad weaner. See that little kid at the top of this post? Were you wondering what that toothy liitle fellow had to do with yardwork? Nothing, other than it's his yard and he's my youngest yard gnome. I can't figure out how to put the pictures in the body of the post....so back to my Bad Weanery: dontcha think he's a little too big to still be nursing? He looks about 4 yrs old in that pic, but he'll be 16 months next week. 16 months is a long time to be letting someone suck you dry and quite frankly, I'm getting real tired of it. See? Now that I've admitted I have a problem, I'm one step closer to solving it.

here we are mid-twist

No longer residue free & blowin in the wind like the previous bush-post!

sectioning all of it into one inch squares was challenging. and by challenging i mean a bitch.

And by bitch, we got it done! He won't be losing/using his brush Any more thanks to these waxy rolly snakey knotty nappy dreads of goodness.

We Were Actually Looking Forward To Dreading This

i won't go any further than my own backyard

Lest I forget (as if i could) what I wanted to come clean about the most, why I even started this blog. It's important for my family, important for my mental health, important for the future of said family. This is a biggie, are you ready? Mkay, pretend (if you will) I am using the same tone as the Tin Woodsman when Dorothy asked him why he was standing there, rusted solid.

Well, a long time ago....my poor, dear mother's roof leaked. Then, of course, her ceiling came crashing in. So she moved in with me and my two small children (my shortest munchkin had yet to be born). I must have wandered thru a field of poppies when I came up with The Big Idea to fix up her house. I thought I could do it in 3 to 6 months. So we left our beautiful exorbitantly rented house during the summer while the kiddies were out of school. We moved into a tipi in the backyard. For real. It was magical, living in a rounded space, we all loved it. Especially Zoe, our beautiful White German Shepherd.
My father, the great and powerful rough framer, (taught me a few tricks of the trade) was by my side as I arched many a square opening, gutted, re-insulated and put up a new lid. A whirlwind tore down walls (good thing I had carpenters to rescue me), even a weight bearing wall. They called me Sister Sledge. We moved out of the tipi and into a one bedroom half a house. Happy and G.( a girl and a boy) not only had to do bunkbeds, they also had to share a room with their Nana. I have since opened up the other part of the house, built my mom a walk-in closet and a few recessed bookshelves, arched, of course. So This is where I come clean: I've been at this for 8 years. And I'm still here. I've run out of steam. Lost my mojo. I wish I could either cast a spell or click my heels together...I still live with my mother. And she's a Great Mother (which gets me just a tiny bit closer to Loserville). Plus, I'm at the part where I need to know about gas lines and plumbing. And perseverance.
So there it is.

First I must come clean about how nervous/almost scared I have been to do this first post. I'm afraid this is gonna suck. I've built this up too much in my mind. So my hat is off to all of you people that I have been reading. I think you are all very brave, just like The Cowardly Lion. It is also important to me to thank this really cool bohemian chick who designed the artistry you see above. She did such a fine job that I don't want to fucker it all up with a silly post.
So instead of posting I have:
1. Taken my mom to the Olive Garden for
lunch.
2. Dreaded my 16yr old son's hair (for 2 days)
3. Sealed a tile job.
4. Gone for walks.
5. Read everyone else's blogs
6. Commented on quite a few
7. Treated diaper rash

After the rash I thought I should not procrastinate any more.