tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15130737360016673972024-02-18T23:24:06.666-08:00fingerpaintEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-86522696338174104112014-05-14T14:00:00.001-07:002014-05-14T14:00:39.109-07:00free wonderfulProject beautification-with-zero-money is rolling along nicely. I am pretty stoked on my new spring/summer wreath, not least because it was made with these crazy weed things that grow on the hill behind our house, and also because they dry to a straw-like texture, which should prove relatively sturdy and also pretty and golden. And big, at about 2 feet in diameter!<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWe3b28WfYnctWleTc7P_m64u9NLEosHXC2CVhnSI4b4ruqFuDRNJvg3ygUYcA9d4jjZOfZMuh_95LqeYhZGyWuIkhjYc75IR9oq1dEh5MXtSTDdAUhsQo0JyL9f9r7ILIbChKcY715s9/s640/blogger-image-741355381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWe3b28WfYnctWleTc7P_m64u9NLEosHXC2CVhnSI4b4ruqFuDRNJvg3ygUYcA9d4jjZOfZMuh_95LqeYhZGyWuIkhjYc75IR9oq1dEh5MXtSTDdAUhsQo0JyL9f9r7ILIbChKcY715s9/s640/blogger-image-741355381.jpg"></a></div><br></div>I trash-picked an ugly, crappier-than-ikea-laminate shelf, ripped off the back, and it's currently on the porch, awaiting the day when I can replace it with a beautiful weathered wood piece. But it can still hold pretty things. Like a wonky frame that is too crooked to hold glass, but likes sticks just fine. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1OQ-AgIy6Kl34iRVz3S4scZGfkBVyMtpPna1ImhqBGdIqrkfyN0qDl93ACyab0Rwu0LVyX7TnHZsw_r41dJw8_URObiJSwdCeFzTBzvw9u_i8sCqmQiX0xzhe6ljf5E8zVB5Ksma656n/s640/blogger-image--1141713092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1OQ-AgIy6Kl34iRVz3S4scZGfkBVyMtpPna1ImhqBGdIqrkfyN0qDl93ACyab0Rwu0LVyX7TnHZsw_r41dJw8_URObiJSwdCeFzTBzvw9u_i8sCqmQiX0xzhe6ljf5E8zVB5Ksma656n/s640/blogger-image--1141713092.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>And a miniature fern (Mother's Day gift from my sister), some moss (from the yard) in an extra pot, and a makeshift terrarium in a mason jar. All gathered here in the woods behind our house.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxq8XcTQnfvoBwF__mYTw9VxKKD35lLXG9Y7EbSGQ6Rl2Mn45px81FF2RqY54-pToUulAAIIr0DTcwf5tPsTyR4iJRfYxJqlleHaj5z_dATlTUX4DIK8LFFOlEF5s5n8o6wwTxRj1jV4bl/s640/blogger-image--1459857454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxq8XcTQnfvoBwF__mYTw9VxKKD35lLXG9Y7EbSGQ6Rl2Mn45px81FF2RqY54-pToUulAAIIr0DTcwf5tPsTyR4iJRfYxJqlleHaj5z_dATlTUX4DIK8LFFOlEF5s5n8o6wwTxRj1jV4bl/s640/blogger-image--1459857454.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Along with other assorted twigs, barks, stones and ferns that sit in pots in the shade of the porch. This is fast becoming my happy place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoyOUTuThTUaJauYimrk77oAznqXF6qWH2-HQmdQjESJsoZRHq8lx7gwLIeP9VFA4-fcv2pPFa8L8RlHPVbp94F4rSFxVFlBTtc57WO0dqLQiHk_dHiizFGtWlvu4i7Ti2fPpRY2HAuRf/s640/blogger-image-1886202241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoyOUTuThTUaJauYimrk77oAznqXF6qWH2-HQmdQjESJsoZRHq8lx7gwLIeP9VFA4-fcv2pPFa8L8RlHPVbp94F4rSFxVFlBTtc57WO0dqLQiHk_dHiizFGtWlvu4i7Ti2fPpRY2HAuRf/s640/blogger-image-1886202241.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Use what you've got! A rusted out pot filled with spiky balls, or a wooden box with acorn caps and twigs are a textural feast for the eyes, as well as a nice contrast to the greenery.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZGF_xH24LTUpBO88TqgIuUir-YMAVhDVfl_lpe5VGlGLVbssctlyPGVMjJODAza_M5pU6nwKQa15MBeoY36YfIHX0gwnh1-insSuzoGShO17GM6uG8LrVMFtrSnmUFjMusGD2VmqaYJ6/s640/blogger-image--816865670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZGF_xH24LTUpBO88TqgIuUir-YMAVhDVfl_lpe5VGlGLVbssctlyPGVMjJODAza_M5pU6nwKQa15MBeoY36YfIHX0gwnh1-insSuzoGShO17GM6uG8LrVMFtrSnmUFjMusGD2VmqaYJ6/s640/blogger-image--816865670.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0TG4Diyj-blyYLIW_A7apHQiU6B0WrSBi1tLCAoZ_3MqRyHAkcbsjKu0SjUVtWgYK3uSjarmyB1C8OAZP8XnN2FRmHO4V-ufRJSXr9tuQK2jU-UPoEOCLCA82KaQFGSOqfXAoRacHAL1/s640/blogger-image--144339243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0TG4Diyj-blyYLIW_A7apHQiU6B0WrSBi1tLCAoZ_3MqRyHAkcbsjKu0SjUVtWgYK3uSjarmyB1C8OAZP8XnN2FRmHO4V-ufRJSXr9tuQK2jU-UPoEOCLCA82KaQFGSOqfXAoRacHAL1/s640/blogger-image--144339243.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All beautiful and all free! Yay!</div>Plus it's a fitting setting for our fairy village. But I'll save that for another post.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'll leave you with this revelation that came to me this morning: use gardening gloves, and you won't have black fingernails! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I know, I know. It's revolutionary.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">X</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-82961874904928060442014-04-30T08:50:00.001-07:002014-04-30T09:01:07.746-07:00beautificationLately, I've been trying. Trying. Trying. Trying a lot of things, with varying degrees of success. But mainly I've been tying to breathe some new life into our home without spending any money. <div><br></div><div>Spring is that time when, along with some spring cleaning, I get super antsy for new stuff. Stuff being the point. We need less stuff, not more stuff, but being the visual person that I am, I want change and newness and brightness. Spring is "penetrating... (my) dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing".</div><div><br></div><div>That's a quote from the beginning of Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows. Pretty perfect. I'm the mole. And just like him, I tend to want to both whitewash frantically, and also run outside and ignore the housework. But today it's raining, so I'm wanting to brighten. And buy new stuff. So I'm solving a problem, and repurposing some old stuff. Today's little project: wooden blocks.</div><div><br></div><div>Several of the windows in our very old place have broken sashes. Meaning that our enormous, ancient, ridiculously heavy windows don't open and close, but must be propped with something very sturdy if we want any fresh air. Enter the old wooden blocks that I recently dug out of a box of college things in my parent's basement. These were an unfinished project that I started, it doesn't even matter what for any more, but I had an idea. These wooden blocks were perfect window props. But they needed to be pretty.</div><div><br></div><div>So I dug out some gesso, slapped a coat of it on the blocks, and looked up some design inspiration on good old google. I used some vintage wrought iron scrollwork patterns as my starting point, used a gold paint pen to draw the designs, then brushed more gesso overtop. All in all, it probably took about an hour at the most.</div><div><br></div><div> Here are my 6 blocks:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2B3o_e8-n8_tT08hIOpHkkRpLN31Sm0L3Yg4n7RhZsawr9FvuW9uT8YMPVypAn-MFAdGniQoNQrAZM1zb6LSp10ba3asqX6xHf5vvGErMi-czCU7Hlmv16KQmrP2CN08ImfpErYWHqSoQ/s640/blogger-image--1330907680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2B3o_e8-n8_tT08hIOpHkkRpLN31Sm0L3Yg4n7RhZsawr9FvuW9uT8YMPVypAn-MFAdGniQoNQrAZM1zb6LSp10ba3asqX6xHf5vvGErMi-czCU7Hlmv16KQmrP2CN08ImfpErYWHqSoQ/s640/blogger-image--1330907680.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>And here they are propping the kitchen window...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDFhJ0JOqyS1MVAWfD5_Gmei2fZef1u5Pt0xfxTQKOBbXjImjVQfTH32tF-FT4V_Kacxe32NQOEZLzv4ZeUuTyZci4pl_F1ufELrRF47KJVXmqtbkbHrbJfXCFp3MpWt1xhR_lARLj8dm/s640/blogger-image--320582324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDFhJ0JOqyS1MVAWfD5_Gmei2fZef1u5Pt0xfxTQKOBbXjImjVQfTH32tF-FT4V_Kacxe32NQOEZLzv4ZeUuTyZci4pl_F1ufELrRF47KJVXmqtbkbHrbJfXCFp3MpWt1xhR_lARLj8dm/s640/blogger-image--320582324.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>And awaiting use in the bathroom:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNwrGFqFZlZSIOPRM0k2KAiIUemoTM_kLazCU6BZQzfkJ18vXRG3gnumppjoN_oOVetZV0WQ1lKLHln6fi_vRzO3C82OigkZxHh7F0xKgD5CJHVe6xRmgrDSJapE5-OYi6vIKNJ3W5nNY/s640/blogger-image--792696101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNwrGFqFZlZSIOPRM0k2KAiIUemoTM_kLazCU6BZQzfkJ18vXRG3gnumppjoN_oOVetZV0WQ1lKLHln6fi_vRzO3C82OigkZxHh7F0xKgD5CJHVe6xRmgrDSJapE5-OYi6vIKNJ3W5nNY/s640/blogger-image--792696101.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>They would also be fun on the newly decluttered and restyled bookshelf, come winter:)</div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-51074706031413849452014-03-29T09:00:00.001-07:002014-03-29T09:29:04.852-07:00weakness. honesty.Oh man, I'm such a better parent when Dan is with me! This partnership thing is no joke: when I'm a CrankyMomma, Dan swoops in and saves the day. He gives me room to breathe and gives the smallies the gift of patience that I was unintentionally withholding. When he loses his mind, I can somehow find some extra grace and calm, and balance things out. It's like we hand each other the gifts of otherness, and don't judge the areas in one another where we may lack. <div><br></div><div>But man, on Friday, when I've been doing the bulk of the parenting for a few days, I am one touchy beast. I'm so glad it's Saturday. Saturday makes me feel like I've been to the spa. It's that refreshing to see my sweet little beans through he eyes of their Daddy, who's been missing them all week! I get all emotional at how cute and funny they are, because my best friend colors all I see. And because they really are pretty awesome. <div><br></div><div>Collaboration with Jude: thunder and lightening. Graphite and marker. It's all practice. And it's all the real thing. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1sl8GuF-SD_ILxPrK993vpxVA9BFwCkt7uy3VOqzs7dGfnVZeRI_hb2RmYsAGw-JtZghgKXa7wt-Jpsq4Zedo8eb7Eadioe5r-31WsvZOsZNo_U-1_Wuv9sebsSUxdBLP3Q9zlfUM_Va/s640/blogger-image-427722762.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1sl8GuF-SD_ILxPrK993vpxVA9BFwCkt7uy3VOqzs7dGfnVZeRI_hb2RmYsAGw-JtZghgKXa7wt-Jpsq4Zedo8eb7Eadioe5r-31WsvZOsZNo_U-1_Wuv9sebsSUxdBLP3Q9zlfUM_Va/s640/blogger-image-427722762.jpg"></a></div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-81375454420786283922014-03-26T10:18:00.001-07:002014-03-26T10:23:08.492-07:00what am I trying to do?I'm having a rough go of it, artistically. I feel as though, when I am really pleased with something, it's just an echo of something else. A copycat of something I admire. I'm trying to use the painters I love as inspiration, but it keeps on feeling like plagiarism. I ought to have a style at this point. I should commit, but I can't. I love quirky, off kilter drawings that come from my mind. I love color field paintings, I adore fauvism. I want to make book illustrations that suck you into an alternate universe, and I want to do it all with the believability and mastery of realism. That's all, really. Oh to make it interesting, lets throw in a distinctly arts and crafts feel. Ok? <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFnpXHEEpFckc7N3xecZGtdQdqgzJwNfOVZQ1d00trafZov9TcYgz-iKvybQ7X0vg0lmul5OS5Zz-QibFGKK02Wq_nW1L-y8D4NbgAAMNSBOcVLVCpVZZiE6h_q6Vm37tMceshldYDGW1/s640/blogger-image-408129952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFnpXHEEpFckc7N3xecZGtdQdqgzJwNfOVZQ1d00trafZov9TcYgz-iKvybQ7X0vg0lmul5OS5Zz-QibFGKK02Wq_nW1L-y8D4NbgAAMNSBOcVLVCpVZZiE6h_q6Vm37tMceshldYDGW1/s640/blogger-image-408129952.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div>Yeah, just working through some stuff.</div><div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-25333186635909769112014-03-05T16:51:00.001-08:002014-03-06T04:53:11.727-08:00quick oneThe kids are all in my bed watching a movie(with the unfolded laundry), so naturally I am in Jude's toddler bed, blogging. Yep. That's me, scrunched on a crib sized mattress with my feet up on the daybed sides. Because that's what makes sense to my brain. Is it possible to have developed ADD in my twenties? I mean, for the love of Pete, I really make some nonsensical moves, all based on my inability to put off whatever hairbrained scheme has popped into my mind. I should stop reading the symptoms of adult ADHD online. It could just be extreme left-brainness.<div><br></div><div>Today, I drew a quickie in the car line, waiting to pick up the fairie-elves that I call daughters. Five minutes on a grocery receipt, with a pen I 'borrowed' from the bank. Eh. I like the crinkly paper most. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoSqGQCQHz6qi5S4AK67gLbexhWAKzFivJonE5lwcEREzkR8-Nl5tYF2AHX29BkXw8lNprVfCR2uJzP1Ek8aZf7sKN7MuWr6djj7gejfhYR3bFP5mFJXpiRcD_GUyQCzedbx1UrncAAv_w/s640/blogger-image--1934244240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoSqGQCQHz6qi5S4AK67gLbexhWAKzFivJonE5lwcEREzkR8-Nl5tYF2AHX29BkXw8lNprVfCR2uJzP1Ek8aZf7sKN7MuWr6djj7gejfhYR3bFP5mFJXpiRcD_GUyQCzedbx1UrncAAv_w/s640/blogger-image--1934244240.jpg"></a></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-5442671413883825082014-01-29T04:12:00.001-08:002014-02-18T17:36:18.427-08:00the grace I needed.While wrestling mentally with how best to respond to my kids behavior, a freeing thought occurred to me. <div><br></div><div>It doesn't matter. </div><div>Not in the way that I often feel it matters. I'm never going to be a perfect mom with the answer to everything. But as long as I respond in truth and love, I can't miss the mark too badly. Whatever the consequence(within reason), whatever the issue, if I respond with love as the foundation, no matter what, I'm doing ok. </div><div><br></div><div>A loving warning, a loving reprimand, a loving chance for them to work it out for a few more minutes, or a loving, "sorry, beans, but this is not acceptable and this is the consequence". There might be varying degrees of success, but the love is paramount. So, deep breath, they're just kids, but mom up. They need loving boundaries. It's not loving to ignore behavioral problems, nor is it loving to flip out and have a Mommy tantrum. Between these extremes, there is a lot of room. Room for trial and error, room for communication, room for trying new methods, room for growing, all of us together. Maybe it's not earth-shattering, but it was the grace I needed.<div><br></div><div>Also, in cleaning out some long-neglected nooks and corners, I found this. An old self portrait in oils. It was oddly reminiscent of the last post, so I threw it up for comparison.</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWoy682N5ZqRjF3HIeYZLMiiKX12jvQGTmRiac9qbpW7YF0cL88T68biFi128cu-wcvi9c1H98P1QQRogF1WsaBSbcjbI6zf4lPwOEIT8iFWFoE6OYgd98R7ont5yNiCrrE5bAeg9bOvu/s640/blogger-image--1047446338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWoy682N5ZqRjF3HIeYZLMiiKX12jvQGTmRiac9qbpW7YF0cL88T68biFi128cu-wcvi9c1H98P1QQRogF1WsaBSbcjbI6zf4lPwOEIT8iFWFoE6OYgd98R7ont5yNiCrrE5bAeg9bOvu/s640/blogger-image--1047446338.jpg"></a></div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-68502990659090936552014-01-15T19:19:00.001-08:002014-01-15T19:21:51.020-08:00I've got pastel on my face.Well. I'm not even going to get into it. I got derailed in October, and just never got back on track. Ah, we'll, I'm actually pretty happy about the past year's worth of posts. I really got back to basics, knocked out a ton of work, and filled my soul. And yet, I forgot how happy I am when I smear colors around on a surface. How do I forget? Whatever. Now I've remembered. I needed a subject, because my brain is tired, so I used my niece, Anna. She's easy on the eyes. I was thinking about her while scratching away, and guys, she's so great. She was born my senior year of high school, and she is now a senior in high school. What. WHAT. Yup. I'm old. I was thinking about my life 18 years ago. Often, I don't feel so much older than that, I feel like I still have plans for when I grow up... <div><br></div><div>...life is playing a joke on me, and how is it that I have been married for almost 14 years, and where did these kids come from? But at the same time, I know that there is a vast difference between that girl and this one. And this one is happy with the direction we are headed. Obviously, I'm making up for lost time, jumbling a few months worth of rumination into a post. I'm sorry for that, truly. But life is good, grey hairs and all, and Anna. back to my subject. This girl is a bundle of wonderful. Talent, sweetness, beauty, and love. She's got her head on straighter than I ever did at that age. </div><div><br></div><div>30 min. Pastel on bristol.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HOFO88C2tDR7UMi8FFHRAWRdjNUaYKdRsMgrgyXUr9jD6iLceGY1zxY3vffOZRnuELqrwno3TErMo62TOIPJ3lJykQYpXJWy9rRYQu9XkMh1fjxoMmV-h_7FeSZzzPa36sWUtZ9edqb4/s640/blogger-image-691516098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HOFO88C2tDR7UMi8FFHRAWRdjNUaYKdRsMgrgyXUr9jD6iLceGY1zxY3vffOZRnuELqrwno3TErMo62TOIPJ3lJykQYpXJWy9rRYQu9XkMh1fjxoMmV-h_7FeSZzzPa36sWUtZ9edqb4/s640/blogger-image-691516098.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-40220131645300179132013-12-10T05:44:00.001-08:002013-12-10T05:44:00.396-08:00WhiteThere are many unbelievable sights of beauty in this world. I haven't seen them all, not by a long shot. But my soul is filled by the sight and sound of a new snow. It lovely, and transformative, and maybe it's in the transformation that my heart overflows. Nothing like a new dress on naked branches, a light and perfectly graceful wrapping. The hush that falls when all is blanketed in a sound-absorbing dust that slowly grows. The knowledge that this growth is made up of uniquely individual bits, glorious like the finest lace, that combine to a visually stunning but uniform coating. I can't draw this. I don't even want to. But I am happy about this white stuff. I love it. A black and white world that brings to the few remaining colors a new glory.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONp6QZFJeAXidJsU5dpilIdFTeWmEh0QIaHaWHuUgN3vWO3Wr2nODF4kqz74-RlgZHV7OWFvGhxzp8WV3L2HVMHv3vrrbBwF7t0cKdu8gB-YV0cq-VwOTRbVqPtY1M-i3N_81r2PLllvb/s640/blogger-image--958983210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONp6QZFJeAXidJsU5dpilIdFTeWmEh0QIaHaWHuUgN3vWO3Wr2nODF4kqz74-RlgZHV7OWFvGhxzp8WV3L2HVMHv3vrrbBwF7t0cKdu8gB-YV0cq-VwOTRbVqPtY1M-i3N_81r2PLllvb/s640/blogger-image--958983210.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-22339100854048111242013-10-14T20:52:00.001-07:002013-10-14T20:52:43.504-07:00cloud catchers: random notes and an unrelated sketchPumpkins have far too much power over me at the moment. They are out on the porch making me happy just now.<div><br></div><div>Also, I am on my third cup of coffee. Don't look at me like that! I need it. I burnt the inner part of my upper arm ironing, and it's seriously bothersome. I simply cannot be spoken to while ironing. My distractibility is legendary.</div><div><br></div><div>My Genevieve came stumbling out of bed about an hour ago; clearly she'd been asleep, but she was babbling about suds and cleaning and making absolutely no sense. These Costas talk in their sleep like mad. It's pretty adorable. </div><div><br></div><div>A sketch I'm fairly happy with: wrapping a blanket about a cloud.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oi_9VYd6aP57ryetamrXqstdZFQwFENOywry8cblLLN_uXXLTLZBiNCgktubTZnr2yJINuMtpVdz0J8_uF73Ya0U2_mbEO7Ql7cR__jF8Avz439OTDiXMNEjt6fxUMuuGs6SOeWiBfEi/s640/blogger-image--974867947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oi_9VYd6aP57ryetamrXqstdZFQwFENOywry8cblLLN_uXXLTLZBiNCgktubTZnr2yJINuMtpVdz0J8_uF73Ya0U2_mbEO7Ql7cR__jF8Avz439OTDiXMNEjt6fxUMuuGs6SOeWiBfEi/s640/blogger-image--974867947.jpg"></a></div> </div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-49959799856824563222013-10-09T18:17:00.001-07:002013-10-09T18:17:03.869-07:00Oh so goodTonight, I pored devotedly over a Lego book with a four year old in his skivvies, who kept one arm protectively around me as he grilled me with questions: is he a good guy or a bad guy? Where's the ninja? Do you see a storm trooper?<div><br></div><div>Not my cup of tea, but you can understand the appeal anyway, I'm sure. </div><div><br></div><div>I rubbed the backs of two squirmy first graders, who covered my face with kisses, and told me little tidbits about their days, both good and bad, and showed me their delicate, steely strength as they wonder why another child would be deliberately unkind, but shrug it off as a mystery and move on. I'm proud of these little ones.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGDXdaRot_L3Gb_Ghtg2VJlekhkad6rVxPHzM2TG4jo0us5S5eIxFRsQG9hIBxInJFL7h8FOx6Qgucom4U6fd0rWwwAFRWMwmuel36WPPc4fRjJuF0y2z3IUj1LptDWIjYqV1Hop6mzcY/s640/blogger-image-750601885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGDXdaRot_L3Gb_Ghtg2VJlekhkad6rVxPHzM2TG4jo0us5S5eIxFRsQG9hIBxInJFL7h8FOx6Qgucom4U6fd0rWwwAFRWMwmuel36WPPc4fRjJuF0y2z3IUj1LptDWIjYqV1Hop6mzcY/s640/blogger-image-750601885.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-52965665885684408042013-10-07T09:19:00.001-07:002013-10-07T09:19:14.816-07:00slow start. good beginning.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>We got up soooo late this morning. I have a vague memory of a Ben Harper song playing... And suddenly I look at the phone, and it 8:17. Um, at this juncture, we should all be in the kitchen, three kids eating and me packing lunches. All dressed, shoes on. Instead, we are struggling awake, glaring at the gloom, because it's the gloom's fault that we all thought it was still 6:30.<div><br></div><div>This is where I normally go into crazy mode, fighting the inevitable tooth and nail. The inevitable being lateness, and having to walk the girls into the school office, sign them in, and write a note explaining our lateness. Once again. And wondering what the nice ladies in the office think of the perpetually late Costas.</div><div><br></div><div>Take a deep breath. We are doing better lately, and it's just one morning. I did forget to set my alarm, and it's raining. It's not the girls' fault. I can hear them chatting together, and I find them wrapped up in quilts, in the bottom bunk. Little Girls. Sleepy. Completely unaware that it's Monday. I love them. So I manage to take it easy, while making it clear that we do need to get moving. We stumble through our routine, and into the school office, hair in unbrushed ponytails, but otherwise pretty presentable. I almost leave my coffee in its chipped mug on the school office desk. </div><div><br></div><div>Jude and I head back home, where we pass Dan, on his very late way to work, and he thanks me for handling the morning with grace. I love that he knows me so well. He knows I wanted to rush around, screaming "Hurry Up!!!" And making everyone tense and miserable. He knows, and he appreciates that I let go of the crazy. It wouldn't have sped anything up. Little victory today. But it means a lot to me. So I came back home and drew a picture. Ink on wood.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheef6WBBWKVNd5pBuCK6D4V-sLfLVUqZfuXPnbbWIgYpSR7t-YilAbPIjS2sc0pcpT8-KLa1HguvQbhPv9U65UK8TkIHqwoWRf3YbjJ7Xp-1-rKnZ5DlC2VBBC9r3koVNhsGRBndJ6x2jK/s640/blogger-image--965132005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheef6WBBWKVNd5pBuCK6D4V-sLfLVUqZfuXPnbbWIgYpSR7t-YilAbPIjS2sc0pcpT8-KLa1HguvQbhPv9U65UK8TkIHqwoWRf3YbjJ7Xp-1-rKnZ5DlC2VBBC9r3koVNhsGRBndJ6x2jK/s640/blogger-image--965132005.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-88921525111804658302013-10-03T20:35:00.001-07:002013-10-03T20:37:53.080-07:00and the next...So, rolling right along. Here are some bird sketches, also for the same story. I was simply playing with different flying positions and bird species, on one big board, and then decided to attempt to pull them together as an actual illustration. Didn't work too well, but it helped me to work through some ideas for the next one.<div><br></div><div>Incidentally, I am feeling as though the adjustment period is smoothing out a bit for all of us here. Which is really good.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNDrgHfLTEzPMl3Q2OtGa6WnO0pvgeoIhE8HfMdB2_k6rsUVhFxJoLPWRnpa6rgp7U0el7uEIUDu_5ZvNeutNISisVT8G-jgc1SHV1olA8pDnbgdYzEdNab5Zd4ogbWeG-e8NrWWrMOtg/s640/blogger-image-1078763069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNDrgHfLTEzPMl3Q2OtGa6WnO0pvgeoIhE8HfMdB2_k6rsUVhFxJoLPWRnpa6rgp7U0el7uEIUDu_5ZvNeutNISisVT8G-jgc1SHV1olA8pDnbgdYzEdNab5Zd4ogbWeG-e8NrWWrMOtg/s640/blogger-image-1078763069.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-8423077677773800192013-10-02T06:56:00.001-07:002013-10-02T06:56:44.224-07:00October, lets do this.Clementine stood in the middle of her room and looked up. The cloud began to cry.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5krJ8JA3jdSg_XMTLnrsAWBWybnuy2S1RMajAdD9TNojRW8RzgQLQXE9a-4129tYHjtudgRzA3pBiFA4R6VoVqWU_y7fzzXAkO21b3e2fz_dVW38KDuJY1LTMI6eWaJ5kKsscdaceXhDk/s640/blogger-image--65853725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5krJ8JA3jdSg_XMTLnrsAWBWybnuy2S1RMajAdD9TNojRW8RzgQLQXE9a-4129tYHjtudgRzA3pBiFA4R6VoVqWU_y7fzzXAkO21b3e2fz_dVW38KDuJY1LTMI6eWaJ5kKsscdaceXhDk/s640/blogger-image--65853725.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-28395351700006142732013-09-25T16:32:00.001-07:002013-10-01T10:27:23.932-07:00September's post.Aw, shoot. <div>I thought August was bad, I only posted four times. And now, here we are, the lone post for September. </div><div><br></div><div>I don't know, I just don't feel inspired. Which is not really a valid reason, since this is supposed to be a discipline. So lets call a spade a spade and just say that I have, once again, choked and not followed through. This was supposed to be my accountability, but like anything else, you stop worrying about it once you've waited long enough.</div><div><br></div><div>I've been a bit of a mental case this month. Trying to adjust and help my kids adjust to first grade and pre-k. All three playing soccer for the first time. Wanting so badly to redo my whole house, to make everything new in here, while everything about our schedule is also new. Knowing that as far as new goes, this is just the tip of the iceberg. But still, I spend a lot of time in here, and it's really feeling stale. </div><div><br></div><div>Oh, so I never actually posted this, and today is October 1st. So thumbs down to September, and here's to moving on.</div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-57394338308954026162013-08-30T14:48:00.001-07:002013-08-30T14:50:21.695-07:00now it's real.Oh crud, I've been avoiding you. Honestly, I have. I think that it's because I have a job to do and I am freezing up a bit. So I've been busying myself with autumny things like knitting slouchy hats for my offspring...<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5WEv4tBmmByhlYk8_xgarE8LBM4Fd1InuRmoYPwLCnDt6giQpY1CL3xd9p4cO37qJJ7tSGY-u90SV_Hk_-iLsWdYIXki2AhadEBN5xC-HBbujSRrjbwoLT6wM89KgppAXE4QKv7x_zCT/s640/blogger-image-692353044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5WEv4tBmmByhlYk8_xgarE8LBM4Fd1InuRmoYPwLCnDt6giQpY1CL3xd9p4cO37qJJ7tSGY-u90SV_Hk_-iLsWdYIXki2AhadEBN5xC-HBbujSRrjbwoLT6wM89KgppAXE4QKv7x_zCT/s640/blogger-image-692353044.jpg"></a></div><br></div> </div><div>And cutting out felt bits to hang on the porch.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGA40xR3L3XcU-alukPuEtsQHpti5uI5oJ1DyqBiEAIZ6cqwwen-MIR8xUWjABBBCJzY10QEBcAjwbZHxr0SpM3gX3Sti58RjUCkeP7908wFlOKCVhdhyODjFcPKRvDxFCW93cDkVWAQn/s640/blogger-image-2124333258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGA40xR3L3XcU-alukPuEtsQHpti5uI5oJ1DyqBiEAIZ6cqwwen-MIR8xUWjABBBCJzY10QEBcAjwbZHxr0SpM3gX3Sti58RjUCkeP7908wFlOKCVhdhyODjFcPKRvDxFCW93cDkVWAQn/s640/blogger-image-2124333258.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The kids are starting school on Tuesday, so it's officially fall in my book. Bring on the pumpkins!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But I also promise to get back to drawing. Not just doodles, but the illustrations that I need to be doing. There. I've said it. Now it's real.</div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-44954250376699650762013-08-14T09:47:00.001-07:002013-08-14T12:25:51.036-07:00delugeI have allowed my time to be sucked up by a book again, I'm afraid. And what's worse, it's the first of a series. But it was pretty terrible, and I'm not going to continue. Ugh. I finished "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley, and then marched right into he first of the Mortal Instruments. Honestly, what was I expecting? I would like to go to the library, but my house needs a good cleaning. Apparently I cannot handle the completion of housework and the temptation of a book under the same roof! <div><br></div><div>But these stormy, flash-floody days have me a bit inspired to draw. So that's good. Deluge; oil pastel and pencil.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchF1MsyYPSPFtLkMDdi_jUVJBBhVY4QhUwHwiLeewm1ztwCKxdPqbq0pz9TL77LYRlHZAE0qiJFLlCJdR7tKtLAOOPKvid3XRrGCMn6O75c7GmnpJDqyg6erBz5FXVy_GNWuLgwREuIuH/s640/blogger-image-1311890580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchF1MsyYPSPFtLkMDdi_jUVJBBhVY4QhUwHwiLeewm1ztwCKxdPqbq0pz9TL77LYRlHZAE0qiJFLlCJdR7tKtLAOOPKvid3XRrGCMn6O75c7GmnpJDqyg6erBz5FXVy_GNWuLgwREuIuH/s640/blogger-image-1311890580.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-39912162837504576202013-08-12T08:07:00.001-07:002013-08-12T09:44:22.234-07:00simpleOk, yes, August has been the worst blogging month yet. I have not even remotely attempted to draw every day. Not even remotely. I have probably thought about it every day, but that is nothing new. It's the practice, the discipline that is supposed to be happening. In my defense, I have actually been knitting, and crafting in various ways. But still, not every day. I'm still trying to work out how to make it happen. <div><br></div><div>I think, for me, the summer was tougher(on the drawing end, not in a more general sense), because we have more family time, and less structure. And I have had my Dan around in the evenings, which is special and important, and its about to end. The school year is beginning, and with it, his directorial duties. Sigh. But it's a blessing for us to be here. Unsigh. <div><br></div><div>All these mixed emotions are tumbling about in my head, making my brain feel like a dryer full of shoes. One thought bumps another, roughly, loudly, and I can't focus on any one thought for very long. Transition has me a bit skittish, and though transition has not yet arrived, it's shadow is edging in on my consciousness. A strange greenish light, an impending storm. </div></div><div><br></div><div>Kids going to school, me trying to illustrate a book, feeling like a fool for trying, knowing that I must, that it's obedience. Dan working hard, doing so well, as we try to figure out how to be responsible, how to not just be mindless consumers. Really truly attempting to make moral decisions with our money, wanting to live rightly. To not be stingy with all that we have. Time is precious, but we have to give it away.</div><div><br></div><div>Simple. Right?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcISTn1TJcjIaymjIPymsQt7_kcdr7Vb6mprdWXbg8Qs6xcpXCJyPgqB6JUvQCvWUzbdDsc-UB_2JHdWK0xajKmZslotGuTXzHpwHVoP05GU4X4HqVqgjqsr4T2RLqhDdgjNs81Zz-SQzX/s640/blogger-image--2126890327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcISTn1TJcjIaymjIPymsQt7_kcdr7Vb6mprdWXbg8Qs6xcpXCJyPgqB6JUvQCvWUzbdDsc-UB_2JHdWK0xajKmZslotGuTXzHpwHVoP05GU4X4HqVqgjqsr4T2RLqhDdgjNs81Zz-SQzX/s640/blogger-image--2126890327.jpg"></a></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-24155009859797466892013-08-07T11:29:00.001-07:002013-08-07T11:29:17.510-07:00PeaceSo here is my drawing for the day, for a friend. I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjpm2E_27Vv5EmnePJnJ_845YthdbP3qQ1F2Jp35lANxo1epVBEXIIjNGO9zhMSrV4yk-3sE-qgq9qQLu7w2hmHkpzkw2EpoyaVkGQutDIb8np53-M9m361UccZV0N41XD2Ng0_p7zlYd/s640/blogger-image--1064314054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjpm2E_27Vv5EmnePJnJ_845YthdbP3qQ1F2Jp35lANxo1epVBEXIIjNGO9zhMSrV4yk-3sE-qgq9qQLu7w2hmHkpzkw2EpoyaVkGQutDIb8np53-M9m361UccZV0N41XD2Ng0_p7zlYd/s640/blogger-image--1064314054.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Dan and I just had a couple of days away together for our thirteenth anniversary. This was such a blessing, as I honestly cannot remember when we last had that much uninterrupted time together. We had a great time, but man, that much eating out can really make you feel gross! But we were spoiled by a lack of schedule, and were indulgently in charge of no one but ourselves. </div><div><br></div><div>Marriage is hard. It's a constant battle to put myself second, and my husband and marriage first. It doesn't come naturally, but nothing could be more fulfilling. Because when we are both doing that for each other, we find our needs met in a way that we could never have anticipated. It's hard as a mom, also, to put my marriage ahead of my kids on the priority list. Some of you may not agree, but I truly think it's important. It is my natural instinct as a mother to care for my little ones, and let my husband fend for himself. Because they are small, and they need me. But Dan needs me, too. He needs to know that he is on my mind and in my heart. He needs to know that he is being cared for, as he works hard, at two full time jobs, that I notice, that I want to help out, with little actions, and with words, with gestures of affection, and taking care of small tasks that he's asked me not to forget. With purposeful connection, even when I'm tired from a frustrating day. He needs to know that I love him, that he's my best friend, and that I'm IN love with him, that just because we have children, we are not parents only, but lovers. And I need to know that as well.</div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-51497398314747402782013-07-30T10:18:00.001-07:002013-07-30T15:09:05.042-07:00light for an adjustmentI'm having one of those days where my kids can't do anything right. You know, where they are just bad and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I'm cranky and preoccupied...<div><br></div><div>Right. Since, as the sole adult in the house while Dan is at work, it's my job to set the tone, you all know that I'm full of crap. Full up. So, what better way to make a switch in my soul than to shine a light on it, and really see what a jerk I'm being. </div><div><br></div><div>Hopefully after a pile of toast (for real, I think toast might be the most perfect food), and some more coffee, not to mention a little quiet reflection on my cranky affliction, there shall be an adjustment.</div><div><br></div><div>Adjustment maintained, sort of. I'm not going to make a whole new post for the mural today, so here's an edit/addition to today's text. Bird on a branch.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGNv7Lbkjdc-0qRRONFAH49TX15S7YGxS4aBnIZBPCEjzc-g1kRu4MQM2zCtrJYEnNoS2JlTubn1RXB8w5bGdGNL0vO-k7CP8iB436n-rETAo2pdX24qmrr1rbRFl6DYmxNDHtuQouMjx/s640/blogger-image-1914017162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGNv7Lbkjdc-0qRRONFAH49TX15S7YGxS4aBnIZBPCEjzc-g1kRu4MQM2zCtrJYEnNoS2JlTubn1RXB8w5bGdGNL0vO-k7CP8iB436n-rETAo2pdX24qmrr1rbRFl6DYmxNDHtuQouMjx/s640/blogger-image-1914017162.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-10905148127564031132013-07-25T20:55:00.001-07:002013-07-25T21:02:11.629-07:00bitsWatching Dead Poet's Society, and it's still so good. A lot of old memories are popping up, which is funny, but to be expected. <div><br></div><div>I feel cranky in an unrelated way. I have been struggling with a fairly bad attitude for the last couple of days, not with life in general, just with some judgement in my heart. Even now, I'm justifying my feelings to myself. I'm right, I know how people should act, etc etc etc, but sheesh, it's not really my job to hold on to these things. Let it go, right or wrong, there's no room for this silliness. Life is too full of bike rides and giggles and shiny clean stove tops, and pretty trees and snuggles. </div><div><br></div><div>And trees to scribble.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLwYYqWsCoJApzaWiOsNKHF9Di-X7qae4nFSWprucL7gX_bUcZkc0IlYXlylqyPap3w2qRvdytBr1o2Z_syNBqDrU1zXX4kPl9gJptS5fUTdEBYp_pDR79ZuLUW8PnzqOvtQHDi7Xe_A7/s640/blogger-image--501681677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLwYYqWsCoJApzaWiOsNKHF9Di-X7qae4nFSWprucL7gX_bUcZkc0IlYXlylqyPap3w2qRvdytBr1o2Z_syNBqDrU1zXX4kPl9gJptS5fUTdEBYp_pDR79ZuLUW8PnzqOvtQHDi7Xe_A7/s640/blogger-image--501681677.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-69280358275913931372013-07-23T08:30:00.001-07:002013-07-23T08:48:23.235-07:00Bird, Vacuum, Baby. not what you'd expect.I'm pretty excited about the fact of Imagination. Without it, three kids wouldn't combine the influences of The Incredibles, Wild Kratts, and Word Girl into three super hero alter-egos named respectively: Bird Lady, Vacuum Man, and Baby Lady. <div><br></div><div>Mm-hm. Bird Lady, somewhat predictably, can fly, but she also dresses like a bird. I think she tweets too. Vacuum Man, now he vacuums fast, in fact, he vacuums up the mess left by bad guys 'in a snap'. Meaning he's really that fast. Faster than the speed of light. And Baby Lady. Yes, I left her for last on purpose. Now, don't judge my kids, people, their understanding is limited, and they don't quite fathom the implications of this superpower. Baby Lady shoots out babies at the bad guys. Like missiles. Maybe they are baby-dolls, maybe they are real babies. I didn't ask for clarification. But there is a picture of a baby on the belly of her suit, from whence the babies fly out. There really isn't any more to say about it, but Laser Duck has company. </div><div><br></div><div>So, Imagination. Without it, I wouldn't be laughing so hard the tears stream down... </div><div><br></div><div>Quick sketch of European weeping beech... This tree makes me scribble, as you've seen. Ballpoint pen on Bristol.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDTUWJbDUU0bo-NBKodZy2NsXforFOi5nJpcWHF7rx18OdnjC_L5pVJ80eC05MlUOVMUhnkC3dmbnEWChI1giS9YAV4BoBO2_nJvKjhbcNec0-RdN5vVlVJTH10mIn6RcBOwLATeh12MY/s640/blogger-image--759126073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDTUWJbDUU0bo-NBKodZy2NsXforFOi5nJpcWHF7rx18OdnjC_L5pVJ80eC05MlUOVMUhnkC3dmbnEWChI1giS9YAV4BoBO2_nJvKjhbcNec0-RdN5vVlVJTH10mIn6RcBOwLATeh12MY/s640/blogger-image--759126073.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-38256097829271754312013-07-15T16:59:00.001-07:002013-07-18T08:10:10.250-07:00books and a tree I don't read healthfully. I devour books, live and breathe them, and grieve their loss when I am finished. It is hard for me to function in real life when I care about the well-being of a character. It is ridiculous. I love to read, but my addictive personality can't seem to pay attention to both book-world and reality. <div><br></div><div>I really hate the feeling of knowing that I need to do something, like make dinner, or put the kids in the bath, but there are two more pages in the chapter.... and just five more minutes won't hurt, right? </div><div><br></div><div>I begin to begrudge my real life the attention it needs... "So much of what I see reminds me of something I've seen in a book, when, shouldn't it be the other way around?"</div><div><br></div><div>So I am trying to set myself realistic goals, and reward myself with a chapter. Clean until lunch time, then sit down for some book time. It's working pretty well this week. We're always seeking balance, aren't we? Or not seeking it, and suffering the consequences. I don't think the achievement of balance is even possible, but in seeking it, and being aware, we get healthier. And it gets easier. A little.</div><div><br></div><div>Little leaf linden. Pastel on Bristol.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggq9X4xiCIaz5tgNhKKhO_nNk9FUOI3xM4z4iPOdKFuZLIJ92tzh18cejbcgDXBe124usEfkA3YGwIidv3S4tnzbrsDTshZErqtUsH668wT-EFxXS_eKHUtQdnmAHNYh9a9wH7i2J1Blyo/s640/blogger-image-2055871184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggq9X4xiCIaz5tgNhKKhO_nNk9FUOI3xM4z4iPOdKFuZLIJ92tzh18cejbcgDXBe124usEfkA3YGwIidv3S4tnzbrsDTshZErqtUsH668wT-EFxXS_eKHUtQdnmAHNYh9a9wH7i2J1Blyo/s640/blogger-image-2055871184.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-58197687837656847932013-07-11T18:59:00.001-07:002013-07-11T19:05:05.219-07:00the gorgeous ordinaryDan's been checking the blog for new posts every day, and I believe he is getting annoyed at my lackadaisical attitude. But let's face it, I am tired. And lazy. And I feel guilty when I take time to draw if the house is a mess. And the house. Is. A mess.<div><br></div><div>But I knocked out four hours on the second mural today, and that I can feel good about, because it's big, and I made progress, and it's for someone else, and there's that small matter if it also being paid work. So no guilt there. </div><div><br></div><div>About the house. I am ok with general upkeep on a regular week. But change up the schedule, send me away for a weekend, put my kids in camp, add on extra laundry loads, and I am thrown for an awful loop. I'm not sure why. I get overwhelmed and cranky, and I think a bit depressed. If it's actually depression, though, it's mild, because I can get out of it with a bit of effort, loud music, and some headway made in housecleaning. </div><div><br></div><div>But its so very easy to slip back in. I'm cranky with my small boy, who is just asking me annoying questions to keep my focus on him, to engage me in conversation. He doesn't mean to be annoying. And really, he's not, he's just four. So while I'm driving, I reach behind me to his little leg, and squeeze it, and let him know that my focus is on him, and I love him, and I'm trying again. He takes my hand in both of his, and presses his honest little lips to my palm. I can feel his unbelievable bouncy cheeks on my fingers. And just like that, I'm back in the moment. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm tired this morning, driving the girls to horse camp. And Viv tells me that provolone cheese is "one dimensional". What? This starts a good conversation about one dimensional versus two-dimensional, and I am impressed with both my six-year-old's recall, and her awesome Kindergarten teacher. Back in the moment. Why would I ever leave it?</div><div><br></div><div>Rowan gives me a super long kiss on my cheek at bedtime tonight. I ask her if she thinks longer is better, and she explains that it's like a gas tank, and she just put in lots of love. I'm not sure if my heart just constricted or grew a grinchy size, but I'm back in it. Now to just stay in it a little longer, clean the kitchen, and watch a movie with my best friend. This won't be hard. These moments are a gorgeous strand of ordinary, dazzling beauty.</div><div><br></div><div>mural detail. Long shadows, clasped hands, dancing feet:</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWo1Gq4Z_1fK3Id0pfhjpH7GvE3xvFNlE7lJq-ryqMqTuq8MySEzPTU1LW5ca_W88EzHRWOOtlEdpdZDF79bJAGWVKcM5AGBcrKUPNsdTEl7q0bfv8NzCQkUfDJeiX9-iUdjRBQNxjFO-y/s640/blogger-image-870245524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWo1Gq4Z_1fK3Id0pfhjpH7GvE3xvFNlE7lJq-ryqMqTuq8MySEzPTU1LW5ca_W88EzHRWOOtlEdpdZDF79bJAGWVKcM5AGBcrKUPNsdTEl7q0bfv8NzCQkUfDJeiX9-iUdjRBQNxjFO-y/s640/blogger-image-870245524.jpg"></a></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-3078438974531849782013-07-05T10:24:00.001-07:002013-07-05T10:34:00.697-07:00Things that kill me. In the best way.In no particular order:<div><br></div><div>When Genevieve makes slow swimming motions coming out of sleep.</div><div><br></div><div>Jimmy Fallon</div><div><br></div><div>When Jude chirps at me in passing, communicating that he would like a kiss before I continue doing whatever it is I'm doing.</div><div><br></div><div>Grunty newborns</div><div><br></div><div>Rowan's subtle lisp that developed upon the loss of both top front teeth.</div><div><br></div><div>The Civil Wars. Oh, listening bliss.<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=MnkM_ebv9BI&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DMnkM_ebv9BI</span></div><div><br></div><div>Listening to music like that while drawing, and feeling deeply right and moved and happy. Kills me.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOf3-mJlSP53ZIyR3dL2oLXAg1_3HgGanVQ9ZarCVH5G8V9i2NBX5F0RZFosxTz8-gyF8tKpAMZvebCSP_gBclAAyIwP6dn_xkKa9flW7dHuf6YxfBSN9kiXpFOprWrT8hyphenhyphenrPijLZh62a-/s640/blogger-image-45175668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOf3-mJlSP53ZIyR3dL2oLXAg1_3HgGanVQ9ZarCVH5G8V9i2NBX5F0RZFosxTz8-gyF8tKpAMZvebCSP_gBclAAyIwP6dn_xkKa9flW7dHuf6YxfBSN9kiXpFOprWrT8hyphenhyphenrPijLZh62a-/s640/blogger-image-45175668.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1513073736001667397.post-50935682102989946842013-07-02T12:03:00.001-07:002013-07-02T22:02:15.300-07:00struggle with balance<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is what I would draw, if I could manage it...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXKxNLCOJxmoQZtH9NJx4NFjlV-sNXRE75IeDRIFesuYSy8v2EvthGFfX8ODcdfqFLo0KdQqVOBVgqJ9T_lPA3jXDWVJF1LEhemUTQPhyne_2irjt4k8sl10VqlopA5advYBxPMCGWu1J/s640/blogger-image-1095577904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXKxNLCOJxmoQZtH9NJx4NFjlV-sNXRE75IeDRIFesuYSy8v2EvthGFfX8ODcdfqFLo0KdQqVOBVgqJ9T_lPA3jXDWVJF1LEhemUTQPhyne_2irjt4k8sl10VqlopA5advYBxPMCGWu1J/s640/blogger-image-1095577904.jpg"></a></div>Today is a day of struggle. Mental wrestling, of trying to be the person I want to be, but also minding my own business. I can't tell people how to run their businesses, right? I can't do much about their choices, except to offer suggestions, an even then, unsolicited advice is not always a great way to go. I can't control the things that I want to control, and I need to let it go. Although I do have to sometimes speak up.<div><br></div><div>Oh, balance, where are you? I'd like to get my grubby paws on you. Why do I feel so selfish when I want to paint or draw? I really do. We've been away for the weekend, and now the house is filled with camping gear, needing a home. My mind is pulled in a bunch of directions, and I can't seem to focus enough to dash off a drawing. With my grubby paws. And now midnight has come and gone, and I'm looking at 1am. Not good, not when the shorties will be all over me in the morning! Off to bed I go.<br><div><br></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15767367335979581217noreply@blogger.com0