Is It Midnight Yet?

Do we know how to have fun or what?
Originally uploaded by B.E.C.K.

While everyone else is out partying, I'm geekin' it up at home on Flickr's In Numerical Order group. It really is fun. You should try it.

This entire year has been full of fireworks, and I don't necessarily mean the good kind. In January 2004, my son's dad changed our arrangement, and a month or two later he told me he'd "been advised" to take me to court regarding custody and visitation. A year's worth of legal wrangling, arguing, financial finagling and every kind of psychological bullshit imaginable ensued, and my eyes were opened.

Oh, I'm not saying the year was a total loss. I actually got more custody than I'd ever truly had, and I learned a lot about my own strength in the process. I'm strong. Who knew?

Okay, I knew. I did. This year was just another test of the strength I've had all along.

Click those ruby slippers, Dorothy. You've always had the power.

But right now it's mighty comforting to quietly ring in the new year with my party-pooper asleep on the couch. I offered to blow up balloons for him to pop at some-other-country's-midnight, but he wouldn't have it. "Too noisy, Mommy!" he yelled. The irony.

Instead I served him a gourmet meal of fish sticks and mac-n-cheese and we cuddled on the couch, his little hand in mine, until he fell asleep. I can hardly believe he was ever a baby. Last night we were snuggling and he asked me how he would be a little boy again when he's a big man, and I told him he wouldn't be a boy again when he's a big man...and he started to cry. I tried backpedaling, telling him that even when he's a big man, he'll always feel like a little boy a lot of the time in his heart, but it was too late.

I can remember when my mom told me how babies are born and how I cried. I didn't want that fate for myself. I think I scared my son last night.

Who really wants to be a total grownup? Be honest. I want to drive my car and stay up late...and I want someone to bring me mac-n-cheese and cuddle me until I fall asleep.

It doesn't seem at all silly to believe one can have both.

sigh

Two things occur to me now: I have comfy pajamas calling my name and there's a chilled bottle of wine in the fridge.

Wake me for the Rose Parade.

Wishing you love and peace in 2005,
Beth

Why I Want Another Grownup Around the House: Reason #117

We had a big storm last night with lots of wind and thunder. My son swears he heard the thunder, but every time the sound woke me up, he was blissfully sleeping. Anyway, today we were proceeding as normal when suddenly all hell broke loose: "A worm! Mom! A WORM!!" I thought it was going to be another one of those creepy centipede thingies, but apparently a little earthworm had lost its way in the storm and wound up in our living room, a few feet from the front door. It was still alive, so I scooped it up and put it in one of our potted plants outside until I could get dressed and put it downstairs where it belongs. My son's assessment: "Now THAT was EXCITING!"

If I'd known, I would've given him earthworms for Christmas. ;-)

Wishing You Good Things

It's a strange feeling to wake up after a weekend visiting family and having a nice time celebrating Christmas and each other, and turning on the computer and seeing images from the tsunamis. Totally discombobulating...and sad...and a reminder not to take things for granted...

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My son and I drove up to my folks' house on Christmas and arrived at about 5:00. I felt a little bad about getting there so late in the day, but my son had been at his dad's on Christmas Eve and morning, and had spent some Christmas time at my house when he came back, and I didn't want to rush him too much. Also, I had more Christmas prep than I'd bargained for, since I made gifts for everyone this year and it took a lot longer than I'd expected. Yikes.

We had a lovely time with my family and spent the night there on an inflatable bed. This is one of the smartest decisions I've made in a while. Not only did I not have to drive home exhausted after Christmasing, I got to spend all day Sunday with my family, just relaxing and eating and hanging out. Relaxing, eating and hanging out -- all at the same time -- is greatly underrated.

Today we're getting back to normal. My son is playing with presents, I'm fighting a cold (which generously waited until after the holiday to appear, thank goodness), I've got an article due and we need groceries. 'S okay, though. Life is good, and we are grateful for it. I hope all of you got a chance to love your families or do things that make you happy this weekend, whether or not you celebrate Christmas.

Good things...

Is It Christmas Yet? Is It Christmas Yet?

My son rearranges the Christmas ornaments every day. Every day. Up until today, he's been fine with the idea of waiting for Christmas, but today he hasn't eaten and he's crabby. He says it's too hard to wait for Christmas, which I'm sure is true when you're almost four years old. For a while he was thinking tomorrow is Christmas, and he was sorely disappointed when I told him he'd have to wait one extra day. Horrors! He's alternately running around and moping, poor thing. Just now he came in and angrily told me once again how hard it is to wait for Christmas, so I asked him if maybe there was something fun we could do while we're waiting.

"Yes," he said. "We can have Christmas!"

Dawn

The view from my window right now.

It's the Little Things

Okay, I've been up since 3:00 a.m.—not by choice. I thought about going back to sleep. I wanted to go back to sleep. But I couldn't go back to sleep with projects still hanging over my head. Adding to the distraction was the sound of footsteps out on the adjoining deck. My neighbors run a limousine service and are often up at odd hours to make airport runs, so the sound of footsteps outside wasn't surprising, but it was the only sound in the midst of silence and my restless mind couldn't shut it out. After a couple of hours of effort, and after reasoning that I had crashed early (around 9:00 p.m.) last night, after all, I decided 5:00 a.m. was a reasonable time to be up for the day, so here I am at the computer once more, gearing up for work.

Yesterday I took my son to the park for a prearranged playdate with two sweet kids, ages three and six. My son wanted to do whatever the six-year-old did, including balancing on the curb and lying on the bridge of the play structure. It's amazing and amusing to watch the way kids feed off each other's energy; I could watch it all day. Just lovely.

After we came back from the park, the wee one was tired but not in the mood for a nap, so we drew for a while. When he made what he considered a mistake in his drawing, he started showing signs of a tantrum, so I whisked him off to the giant bed for a snuggle. We talked for a while, and after he felt better he rested his head on my belly, gave me a bunch of kisses and told me, "Bless your heart, Mommy. You can keep all those kisses."

sigh

Preschool Fears

Today my son was "reading" a book about colors, and on the "red" page there are pictures of all sorts of fire trucks. He told me that "R-E-D" spelled "fire truck," and I was sort of trying to correct him, telling him it actually spells "red."

"No! It spells 'fire truck'!" he yelled.

"Well, actually, sweetie, it spells 'red.' Remember, when you go to school, the teacher will try to explain things to you and you need to try to listen and learn new things (blah-blah-blah, everything is about when he goes to school)."

He thought for a second, then walked over and, with his arms still at his sides, leaned his forehead forlornly against my hip like a little Charlie Brown, eyes downcast.

"Remember, Mommy, you said you would come to school with me."

Dancin' Fools

Bliss.
Originally uploaded by mcmrbt/Rob.


This morning as my son and I were waking up, I noticed a weird smell. Not exactly bad, but not exactly good. I mean it didn't smell like the neighbors' occasional sausage and eggs. My son thought it smelled like a skunk. Hmm. We went downstairs and the weird smell turned out to be the lentils I'd been cooking in the crockpot. They'd swelled up so much they were pushing against the lid of the crockpot, but they weren't burnt. I removed two-thirds of the beans and added beef, stewed tomatoes, seasoning and water. I'll probably add some carrots later. If I had other veggies in the fridge I'd add those, too, but this will have to do for now. I think I've been spoiled by my first crockpot cooking attempt—beef stew—which turned out wonderfully. The other two things I've tried in the crockpot have been less than great. I suppose if I actually referred to a recipe things would turn out a lot better, but it's fun to experiment. ;-)

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I called my sister this morning to get suggestions on what to do with a package of waterlogged lentils, and the conversation drifted to last night's visit from my brother and his girlfriend. My son had been thrilled at their presence, and wanted to show them "all the things in our house." He put on quite a show, kicking soccer balls in the house, demonstrating toys and all but forcing them to participate in arts and crafts. He just loves having a new audience.

I asked my sister if she remembered the little shows we used to put on for my parents in our basement in Illinois, and she said she remembered them only vaguely. This wasn't the first time something like this had come up. "Am I the only one who had this childhood?" I asked. "You're the oldest, so you have the most memories of that stuff," she said.

She did remember buying a Shirley Temple record with her own money when we were kids. Not that we grew up in the era of Shirley Temple; we're not that old. Rather, it was on sale at Toys 'R' Us and I suppose the money was burning a hole in her pocket. We had lots of records as kids, but nothing popular. My folks liked the old standbys, like Barbra Streisand and the Carpenters, and my dad liked marching band music and show tunes. On weekends he'd crank up the marching music full blast and rattle the windows to wake us up.

We used to put on shows for our folks in our finished basement. Part of the basement had recessed spot lighting, and this made a perfect "stage" for us. We'd raid the dress-up box, which contained odd items like a ladies' turban (!) and my dad's old shirts, and we'd jump around for what seemed like two hours as my parents watched from their "audience chairs" and clapped for us.

We fancied ourselves acrobats and dancers, and we'd cartwheel and hop around with the music. I even had dreams of putting together a gymnastic program we could perform in the public library's talent show, and I had the name all picked out: The Fantastic Elastics. Finding the name was the easiest part, of course. We were limited pretty much to somersaults and cartwheels, not to mention hopping around, and the plan never came to fruition. It sure was fun to imagine, though.

Now that I'm a grownup, I dance for my son. The other night we were watching the "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and the Peanuts gang was gettin' down to Vince Guaraldi's jazzy tunes. I got up to do the Swim and some sort of hopping dance, and my son just watched me out of the corner of his eye as though it's a given that Mommy is a little bit nutso and howzabout we just humor her until she settles down again? The second time the gang started dancing, though, I stayed on the couch...until my son looked at me and said, "Mom! It's time to dance!"

So we did.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

Railing at Buster's Coffeehouse, Pasadena, Calif.
This shot is growing on me.

Not much to report. I have two company profiles to finish, and two magazine articles to edit. I'm feeling a bit in that client-hates-me place I was in a few weeks ago. I love working for myself, despite the money issues, but I need to manage my time better. I love my downtime, but it seems when I'm not working I feel guilty because I should be working, and when I'm working I'm wishing I could play. I wonder if anyone truly reconciles this sort of thing.

Part of it for me is that I enjoy editing so much more than I enjoy writing. In the last couple of days I've had the idea that I should draft a letter and send it, along with my resume, to all the small (and large?!) publishers in my area...and beyond. (I had to force myself to write "and beyond." See, I'm daring to dream big and it's a challenge!) The reason I thought of small publishers first is that they may be similar to the woman I started with, who likes to run her company virtually—that is, work with contractors, without paying overhead and regular salaries. That seems to work much better for smaller publishers, and I wonder if I could get in with some other publishers around here. Okay, and beyond. I seem to recall having read something about small publishers springing up like mushrooms in wet carpet, and one would suppose they're all in need of editors, but perhaps not on an everyday basis.

Okay, I need to finish the work at hand (which includes a kitten-care article to be finished this week) and set aside a day this week to investigate my idea. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

P.S. Apologies to T.S. Eliot for twisting his work to suit my purpose... ;-)

Hoping...

The one on the right is the one I'm going to see.

I'm feeling a bit better today. In a little while I'm heading off to Escondido to look at and (I hope) pick up a bike for my son for Christmas. Someone on Craigslist has been advertising these for a while, and the bikes are still available. One has training wheels, and if it's even close to being a decent size for my son, I'm going to buy it. The kid is a string bean, and if he's not quite big enough for the bike next week (!), something tells me he'll be big enough for it in the next month or two. His dad is 6'2", and the kiddo takes after him physically. I'm sure he'll be taller than I am by the time he's 13.

Anyway, Escondido is about 30 miles from me, but the price is good. Keep your fingers crossed that the bike looks nice and is close to my son's size. I'm feeling pinched regarding Santa gifts this year, and although I know the holiday isn't all about gifts, it is when you're almost four years old. I'd just like to have a couple of nice things for my little sweetie under the tree. If the bike purchase works out today, my next stop will be Target for some extras, like a bell or some other cool attachment(s).

Maybe keep your toes crossed, too. ;-)

Waiting

Originally uploaded by kristaj.

Kinda in a funk today. I think it's the holidays. Having my son away for the weekend doesn't help, either. I got some work done today, but now I'm stalled. I feel lonely, pessimistic about my business. I know these feelings will go away, but right now...as I tell my son once in a while, I wish there was another grownup around here to keep me company and help out. But it's just me. I feel like I have too much to handle right now, and not enough of the things I need. It's hard for me right now to believe that I'm getting everything I need all the time. Right now I feel empty and lost.

My experiment with bento box shapes and watercolors.

Present, Imperfect—Future!

My son's airplane...and other things on our craft table.
He took this photo himself.

Imagine a little wooden airplane, painted all sorts of colors in tempera paint — navy blue, black, fuschia, neon orange, yellow and kelly green.

Imagine the paint dripdripdripping as it dries, and a little boy's panicked shouts: "Catch the drips! Why is the paint sticking up?"

Imagine fixing the paint drips a bit, but not wanting to fix them entirely — there is the rest of life to perfect the process, and besides...perfection is boring.

Repeat this last part: Perfection is boring. Imperfection is perfection.

Come back to peace. It is right where you left it.

Originally uploaded by misscaro.

Can I Just Say?

My sister is a shrink at JPL. Last week the company had a major tragedy, and my sister is one of the people helping the rest of the company cope with it. I don't know how she does it. What a wonderwoman. I would be a mess, I think. My heart is with the people who are suffering.

Doctors, Jobs, Unseasonably Warm Weather

Well, I'm sure everyone will be glad to know my muscle is not twitching today — not as glad as I am, but glad. Heh.

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Last night I took my son to the local craft store to pick up supplies with which to make Christmas presents. We're going the economical route this year, so I'll be calling on all my creative skills and imagination to make the presents look like they cost more than they did. Kidding! No one will care how much they cost. I can wander around craft stores for hours, and last night's trip lasted two hours. My son was a real trooper, but he did require a 99-cent wooden airplane to extend his patience. I told him we could paint the plane, so he's been asking about that ever since we got back from the store. The thing is, today I have Real Work to do, and we have to go to the bank to deposit some checks so we can pay the bills. Busy, busy, busy! I think any plane-painting we do will have to take place after business hours, or tomorrow.

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The heater guys are supposed to call today to schedule a time to take out the new unit they installed and replace it with another new unit. I'm a tiny bit exasperated about this, but I'm betting they're even more discouraged, since this is their busy season and I'm sure they'd like to move on to the next job. Of course, the weather these days is blessedly warm — the highs this week are supposed to go all the way up to 74 degrees F — so at least we're not chilly. Last Christmas season I had the flu, then my son had it, then his dad had it, and the weather was cold. Okay, cold by Southern California standards. We went to Miami to see my son's dad's family, and I left the heat completely off in our absence. When we returned at midnight the house was about 55 degrees F and it took forever to heat it up. I remember bundling up to go to bed and snuggling with my son so we'd both stay warm as we slept — not that we slept much that night. My dad says he remembers a time when our family returned from a trip and discovered the house was somewhere around 32 degrees F; it took 24 hours to heat up again. This was in Illinois, which accounts for the drastic temperature. It made me cold just to hear the story. Brr!

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I'm starting to put my resume online, at least at Monster.com. My business is growing bit by bit, but I'd love to receive a regular paycheck from a company in addition to doing some freelance work along the way. The thing is that I really want to telecommute, and it doesn't look like a lot of reputable companies are exactly looking for telecommuters. The positions I see are "full-time employee" positions. I'm tentatively putting a telecommuting reference in my cover letters, but something tells me that's not wise, so I'll likely leave that out and wait until a phone conversation to bring it up. My son is turning four next month, and although he'll start going to preschool a couple of half-days a week, I want to be around for him. Additionally, I believe I must telecommute in order to protect my custody arrangement. This is what drives me in almost all things these days. I'm trying to be very honest with myself about what I need/want, and trying to have faith in putting it out there so I can receive what I need/want instead of a close second. I figure if I'm honest about it I have a better chance of getting it, but I also know from experience that job-seeking involves playing a game of sorts. Still, one company excites me — Hay House. They had an ad on Monster.com for an opening, and although I'm not yet sure it's a fit, at least I now know the company has a site in San Diego County, and the company in general may be a fit for me. I've read one or two of Louise Hay's books, and my having edited two Religious Science books and and an inspirational leadership book seems to fit the genre that Hay House falls into. If I don't get a response to the application I submitted, I plan to contact them about possible contract possibilities. How cool would it be to work for them?

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My son is wandering in and out of my office, performing various medical procedures on me. The latest — "One, two, three, PINCH!" — is giving me a shot. Yesterday he mentioned that he's been to the doctor before, and I told him he's almost due for another checkup. He cried and angrily "wrote" me a note that he says declares that he will never have to go to the doctor again.

He doesn't know that it kills me to have to hold him and see him cry when he gets a shot, even though he cheers up soon afterward — especially when we go to the store to buy a little reward for being such a big, brave boy. I tried telling him that when he was a baby in my belly I had to get lots of shots, including one in my bottom (RhoGAM shot), and he was momentarily impressed by that: "In your BOTTOM?? REALLY??" Then he was back to protesting all doctor visits, poor thing. I can remember crying when my mom told me how babies are born. I was maybe seven or eight, maybe nine, when she told me, and decided right then and there I would never do that. Heh. I probably wouldn't ever have done it if I hadn't had a surprise pregnancy. Anyway, I can relate to my son's fear — these things are big for kids. I get it. It's sort of like the way I now feel about eye surgery. Bleah.

On the subject of Medical Necessities That Terrify Children, last night my son was asking me how he came out of my belly. I think I'd said something to him about how long it took (3.5 hours of Real Pushing, not to mention all the time in labor), and I told him the doctor had put a special thing on my son's head to try to gently pull him out. I could see my son thinking about this for a moment...then he burst into tears. "Doctors should NOT put OUCHY THINGS on BABIES' HEADS!!" he yelled. I hugged him and told him it didn't hurt him — it just helped him come out a little sooner so he could play with Daddy and Mommy, but he wasn't quite buying it. Ah, he's surely traumatized for life at this point.

Okay, having accomplished that, I must get to work. ;-)

My Vivid Imagination

Early this morning, while I was still in bed, my right thigh muscle kept twitching. At the time, I found it interesting. However, now that's about 12 hours later and the muscle is still twitching, I'm starting to feel a bit freaked out. I think I may have read one too many stories about people with grave illnesses that started with something as seemingly innocent as a twitching muscle. I guess if I turn out to have MS or something, I can write my own damn book.

Of course, maybe I should just sit down and do some stretching exercises.

The Heater Saga Continues

Nothing to report, really. The heater guy came yesterday, spent a couple of hours stomping around on the roof and upstairs, and finally announced that the unit must be defective and would have to be replaced. This doesn't change the price of the job (I asked), but it does mean we have to schedule another day or two this week to be home for another installation. I don't think it'll take as long (I hope!), since I don't think the crane will be necessary, and I guess the heater guys won't need to custom-cut all the pipes that they did last time, since they can reuse the ones they have.

But I'm not really looking forward to this, and I just want it to be OVER.

May I Go Back to Bed Now?

Diggin' the angles.
Originally uploaded by Roskylde.


Funny (not) how my mood can crash a bit after a phone call regarding money I owe. I'm building my business, but it's still in the semi-fledgling stages and I'm not rolling in dough yet. Of course, I have a significant amount owed me by a large company for which I've done two projects. I called my contact there, and she assured me she will handle the matter today. However, her tone said she was swamped and distracted, and I'm not completely convinced she'll follow through.

There may come a day when I need to hire a collection service.

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The heater guys are coming back tomorrow to finish the job they started on Monday. I hopehopehope they find the faulty part and solve the problem. If they don't, I may start charging them rent.

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My son is waiting downstairs for me to drag — I mean TAKE — him to the grocery store. It's pretty quiet down there, though, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's fallen asleep. That might be the best thing, actually. I can take him with me to the store after he's had a refreshing nap. That'll definitely make for a more pleasant trip.

He's Mister Heat Miser, he's Mister Sun...

(Well, he is!)


My son is mesmerized by this guy from "The Year Without a Santa Claus," one of the animated Christmas movies from the late 60s/early 70s, with which I grew up. I can remember being a kid and looking forward to these movies being shown on television ONE TIME EACH during the holiday season. We didn't have VCRs then (I feel so old explaining this to my son), and we had to make a point of sitting down in our finished basement to watch the show from beginning to end. Now, of course, we have cable TV and the Family Channel is running these movies almost every night from now until Christmas. It's crazy fun. Or crazy annoying, depending on your take on things. For us, it's Fun with a capital F, or "F-U-N, fun!" as my sister would say.

I'd told my son about this movie when it was on the first time this season, and apparently he developed a real interest in the Miser Brothers from the film. I like to think it was my rendition of the Heat Miser's (and Snow Miser's) song that did it. I mean, how could any preschooler resist the silliness of Mommy's singing a new, weird song, complete with a little dance (don't ask) and obligatory trombone impression? It's intoxicating, I tell you. He also likes the funky dance I do to "Rubber Band Man," the song currently being used for an Office Max commercial. (I'd thought it was for Circuit City, but since this writing I've seen the commercial a billion times and paid attention.) Most of the time I'm too busy dancing and my son is too busy laughing to notice the name of the store!

Anyway, when "The Year Without a Santa Claus" was on the first time this season, I recorded it and then promptly lost it. I must have recorded something else over it. Then again, if I were the kind of person who labels her videocassettes, I might have been able to find it. Luckily it was on again, and I made a point of recording it for my son, who was pretty irritated that I'd gotten him all worked up about it the first time and then failed to deliver.

So today when my son returned from his dad's house, we sat down and watched the show together. Well, I watched as much as I had the patience for. But he loved it, and he rewound it a couple of times to watch the Miser Brothers dance and stomp around.

Tradition...adapting. ;-)

Superheroes Unite!

Do you have a superpower? Tell your story at the fray.

Mine:

I am Madame Multitasker. I can cut carrots into tiny, preschooler-size sticks, conduct a phone interview for a magazine article, file my fingernails, assemble a wooden train layout on the living room floor, supervise the heater repair and check my email intermittently and inside of one hour.

Most days I am called upon to exercise my superpower several times, such as today when I hung Christmas lights outside, made a grilled cheese sandwich, rewound the Charlie Brown Christmas Special four times, edited a proposal, sent out 270 emails promoting a book, bathed a preschooler, cleaned the kitchen and surfed the Net.

As you can see, I use my powers for good — not for evil, contrary to the opinion of the aforementioned preschooler, who tells me he hates baths. Still, sometimes I find I need to exercise my complementary superpower of Falling Asleep on the Couch While Watching TV, which I will most likely do tonight.

Always Coming Back to Peace

By Sandro da Verscio.


This is all I can tell you right now.

Fun With Cranes

The new compressor being lifted to our roof.


We had a new heating system installed today (well, mostly) and my son had a ball watching the crane lift the new compressor onto our roof. I'm exhausted, though, so I won't post the whole story. My little one is calling...

Talk to Central Casting

John Cusack and Kevin Spacey


Don't ask me why, but I dreamt these two men were sorta fighting over me. I have no idea why I picked these two. I mean, come on -- my conscious mind would've chosen Colin Firth and Hugh Jackman. But I digress. In the dream, John Cusack was in a wheelchair and Kevin Spacey was Obviously Emotionally Injured. Jungians could have a field day with this one.

In real life, I've sometimes thought these two should play brothers. They did appear together in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, but they didn't play brothers. I also think Helen Hunt and Leelee Sobieski should play sisters (or mother and daughter) in something.

Nobody ever consults me, though. ;-)

Shifting Focus

Whenever I think I'm having a difficult year, I remember I'm not Laci Peterson's mom.

Or Laci Peterson.

I don't give thanks for this, since to do so would, I think, somehow mean I take comfort in others' suffering. (I don't, and going into how much I prayed for Laci and Connor's safe return back when they were still missing would take a long time. I don't even know if I could describe the feelings I had back then, knowing that a pregnant woman was missing and had possibly been harmed.)

But I do allow it to shift my focus to what is working in my life.

And there's a lot that works.

No Longer Abstract

My son is learning how to paint and draw cars, trains, trucks...anything with wheels. When we was younger, he'd often ask us to draw these things for him, over and over. I think he was trying to understand how to draw them. I was a little reluctant to draw for him, since I didn't want his concepts to stay limited by what he saw me draw (I'm not what I'd call an excellent sketcher). I really wanted him to develop his own ideas of what things looked like, and how to draw them. He'd often ask other people to draw vehicles for him, so he did get some other versions of the same objects. This is good. Still, he was with me much of the time, so he was largely exposed to my childlike drawings.

One thing I've noticed, and it doesn't show up in the paintings depicted here, is that he's sort of picked up my habit of drawing a few curly lines coming out the back of a truck or car to resemble exhaust. That is definitely a Mommy thing. However, he sometimes draws straight lines behind a vehicle, and says they're meant to show the speed of the truck. I don't know where he got that. Maybe he invented it on his own...? Hard to say.

Speaking for myself, I know I was intimidated by my mom's artistic talent when I was younger. I could never draw as well as she could, so my drawing style is stuck somewhere around age 10. Maybe that's also why I don't want to influence my son too much in the art department. It's not that I draw exceptionally well; it's just that I want him to be himself in his artwork.

It's a fine line, I think, between helping and hindering.

Mommy, Watch This!

That's my boy.


And so began a lengthy display of repeatedly throwing a Hotwheels truck into the air. Not that I condone such things. It was fun, though, until the truck landed dangerously close to my computer and I had to put the kibosh on the exercise. Mommy's such a party-pooper. ;-)

I have deadlines today and Friday, so I probably won't write much here for a few days.

Or will I?