What better way to celebrate Michelangelo's birthday on Monday than by some good old-fashioned driveway chalking?










The note we left for others (Paul's students coming for their lessons) to draw too.

Today, March 6th, is Michelangelo's birthday! To celebrate the birthday of one of the world's most inspiring artists (and my personal favorite!), I invite you to participate in this project.



What you do:
1. Do something creative today. It can be something you love to do, something you've forgotten how to do, something you've never done and always secretly wanted to try. Here's your excuse! Some ideas are:
- paint/draw/collage
- sculpt (like the master)
- write a poem, a short story
- take a photo
- visit a museum or art gallery
- sew
- cook something exciting you've never made before
- see an art film, foreign film, or movie about an artist


2. Come back here and share your experience!
Post a link to your creation, write about your trip or creative process - share your creative story with others. How creative can we get?

3. Link back with the above graphic if you've written about it on your site.

4. Have fun, for goodness' sake! This is not about being perfect or creating the best piece of art. It's about embracing your creative side in whatever form it happens to take.

Extreme closeup of a butterfly.

ps~ Today is Michelangelo's birthday. If you're coming here from Illustration Friday, click to see how you can get extra-creative today.

Petey and Angela from waaaaaaaaaay back in the day.

Peter and Angela turned two today! (For those of you who are new to all this, Sophie and the twins are one year and 5 days apart.) They are tremendously fun and endlessly entertaining. I love 'em like crazy. I will have a full Petey and Angela report soon, but for right now...

I have been spending every spare moment on projects for them - painting, glueing, wrapping, writing, staining a rocking horse for the three of them - many tales of angst go along with that, including me putting a final coat of paint on yesterday afternoon, in the basement, during a blackout, holding a flashlight. If that ain't love, I don't know what is.

I have also been painting for ME, although they're too big to scan, and we're still having the can't-get-them-on-the-computer issue, which better be resolved this weekend so I can put up a gazillion party pictures. (Three kids. One party.) Anyway, I'm loving the paintings; I have them propped up around the house so I can keep sneaking fresh glimpses at them and deciding what to do next.

Besides napping, that is.


ah, memories:
Peter and Angela's early photos: they're 76 days old, but considering they were preemies, by the time they got home they were just the right size. :) "I asked you for a PONY!" is one of my all-time favorites.

Daddy's report on what happened that night...and what a long, strange (and wonderful) trip it's been.

Sophie's birthday was Sunday. Hard to believe my little one is three years old. (note: an adorable photo would normally accompany this post, except that I can't get any of them from the camera to the computer currently. Hopefully fixed soon.)

We had a fun day, which included Sophie being serenaded at church (and did she ever eat it up!), a huge Ernie balloon, and strawberry shortcake for desert. I was on my way to grab her pajamas out of her room when I did a quick email check and saw my update from babycenter. This time it said "About Your Three Year Old" and when I opened it, the header said "Your Preschooler This Week."

Not your toddler, which is what it usually says. Your PRESCHOOLER.

I completely broke down in front of the computer. Everyone is fond of telling me, "Oh,they grow up so fast, enjoy them while they're young, blah blah blah." I said to my mom only last week that I would like to buy my kids a fast ticket to kindergarten and that I wished everyone would shut up about enjoying them while they were young.

Now I get it.

My Sophie is never going to fit in the crook of my arm again. Never going to curl up in my lap for a midnight feeding and be rocked to sleep. She's running, leaping, jumping, twirling. I don't MISS the constant care she used to need, but I do remember all those things and how far she's come.

Sophie is sheer delight, incarnate. She feels so passionately about everything. She makes up songs, has an incredible imagination, and can I brag here, the girl is READING. She actually taught herself to read. She is the neatest three-year-old I have ever met and I love her with all my heart. I am so fiercely proud of her and I can't wait to see what's coming up for her in the year ahead.

It used to terrify me that if I died today, my children wouldn't have any memories of me. But the fact is, it doesn't matter. I have enough memories for all of us.

Tea is a magical potion even to humans; is it any wonder that unicorns find it so enchanting? I very rarely drink tea alone. It seems that whenever I begin to brew a cup, another tea drinker turns up. I had just poured a cup when I felt what I thought was steam upon my cheek. I found the soft muzzle of a unicorn inches from my face, inhaling the aroma of herbal mint tea, and hinting strongly that she'd like a cup. In this case I had to make a bit more than usual, but luckily I had a teacup big enough for my friend. We spent a quiet evening with our tea and a handful of cookies. The cookies, of course, were chocolate chip and were long gone by the time this picture was taken.

(More pictures of my adventures with unicorns are here. And yes, I need to rescan them all, larger.)

If anyone's planning on attending the NY Comic-Con this Saturday, I will be representing Mutts Comics along with Patrick and the rest of the gang. I'll also be a part of this talk, actually - um - talking. I'll be the one with the big hair and the Mutts shirt. See you there!

Wouldn't it be the coolest if you actually could make your singing visible, like the picture? I barely shut up as it is, there would be no stopping me then!

In my day, I've sung with select choirs, madrigal groups, done songleading and solos at church, and had many amazingly wonderful fun years with these ladies (play some tracks, I'm on there) that had me singing at New York night clubs, on CDs, in a PBS Christmas special, and flying across the country.

I won't lie, I miss it.

But nowadays I have something way more my speed: my church's choir director lets me sing whenever I feel like it. They leave a mic set up in the choir area and email me the song list for the month. I sing harmony, whatever harmony I want, along with the songleader in front of the church. If I don't like the song, I skip it. (HA!) If we show up late, I jump in whenever I can. The whole family sits with me, and is getting used to the fact that sometimes Mama's going to go stand over there for a minute, and if you know what's good for you, you will not make a peep until she's done (that mic picks up everything!) Everyone seems to like it, and it makes me so joyful to sing again in public but not have to sweat the small stuff or worry if I'll faint in front of everyone.

At Christmas, Paul (I met him in the choir, you know) and I sang a duet together. We first sang it 10 years ago when we began dating, and have sung it almost every Christmas since. As we sang it this year, I looked over at him, and thought, If someone would have told the two of us then that 10 years later we would be still singing it together, each with a baby on our hip, and our oldest twirling around in front of us, we never would have believed it.

Then again.... maybe we would.

If you remember this:



or the beauty that is this:



Do yourself a big old favor and get yourself here . (Sigh) Back when Sesame Street was hip.

p.s. And while you're checking things out, make sure you watch my super genius brother's animations too. 'Specially this and this.

Click for a bigger pic.
More of that lovey-dovey stuff here.

I've been doing lots of reading lately... and one book that's resonated deeply with me is the Dance of the Dissident Daughter (thank you, Jill!) There will be lots more about this later...

I absolutely loved the parts about being connected to nature, and the whole world, which I suppose is part of why I'm so interested in organic/sustainable living - I have been crying/feeling deeply and passionately about so many things lately, and I would blow it off by thinking, gee, I'm being awfully hormonal today. And now I think, NO! I'm not hormonal: I'm being a woman. I'm feeling and caring that children in NJ need foster homes (a commercial that makes me cry regularly), or that the sun shining through the trees took my breath away on my morning walk, or that a family member or friend is going through a hard time and I would do anything to help them. That's not weakness, to feel so deeply about things like that. That's strength.

I wondered why I've felt such a need to go for a walk every day, even if it was freezing and I did a quick jog around the block with my hands jammed in my pockets and tears streaming down my face from the bitter cold. Why I felt compelled to pick up stones, acorns, leaves - not even pretty ones sometimes! - and carry them around with me or put them on my desk to look at all morning. That's being in touch with myself, and with God, through nature. And I never had a name for that before.

I learned on my last mother's retreat that spending time in nature/noticing it/painting it is a prayer. Taking a walk once a week, or painting once a week, isn't enough for me any more. I have to do it every single day now to fill myself up as a barrier against the stuff I deal with in the rest of my day, or something's lacking. And I love knowing that about myself too. Living that feels right and true to me.

A couple of weekends ago I actually left my house (gasp!) and went to a concert (gasp!) with Snowflake and Lucky. It was for one of my all-time faves, Christine Lavin. When I heard she had an opening act, I thought, eh, who can be as cool as her? But he was fantastic - David Ippolito, who makes a living playing the guitar in Central Park.

He had a great song that keeps running through my head, about how one day you may be down, and I'm here for you, or you may get inspiration from something I say. And when I need help/a vote of confidence, you're there for me. It's a good way to be.

And so here's my official thanks, to anyone who reads this blog and has ever gotten anything out of it, or written back. Thanks, angel.



We take turns being angels for one another
'Cause there's never been a day when we both wanna stay
Under the covers.
I guess we're both just lucky that it works that way.
And, thank heaven we're not all crazy on the same day.

Listen to the song here.

I was asked recently by David after reading The Mermaid Chair, how I would illustrate it.

So here are three sketches, because no matter how much I read over the book (I went to the bookstore just to look it up since I had returned my copy to the library), I couldn't get a clear image of exactly WHERE the mermaids are on the chair. So: based on the fact that I felt the chair would be very very old and carved out of wood, the largest one on the left is how I felt the chair would appear. Or how I felt MY chair would appear. I would want to be sitting between the two mermaids.

So if you've read the book (and even if you haven't) which one speaks to you? Which one would you want to sit in and pray in?

Those kiddos have now been sick for going on three weeks (flu, then colds, now hacking coughs), and I have been making myself paint through it all. I say "making myself" do it because I know that the only way to be a better artist is to work through the crappy paintings. What I need to do is show up and let whatever happens, happens.

So, when I paint things I feel less than fantastic about, I try to find pieces I like about it. So here's what I like:

* I like the eyes.
* I like the color of the butterfly (which was not the color it started out as).
* I like the way that I resisted being anal-retentive about the details on the flower and just sploshed the paint around.

I don't think the whole thing hangs together, but there are certain parts I do like. Click here to see the whole thing. For some reason, this reminds me of George Harrison. Or something hippie-ish from the 70s. Or the paintings of where the eyes follow you around.

And for some odd reason, I really like all my paintings upside down. What the heck does that mean?

This is about as glamorous as it gets around my house. (I didn't realize till I was finished painting that I had channeled Really Rosie!)

lots of watercolor, in about an hour or so, last night.

I've been feeling lately like nothing I do matters to anyone. Like nobody cares about my artwork and I'm basically unnoticeable, unremarkable. I got a very strange rejection for an illustration job that made me question my work. I've also been feeling REALLY jealous about creative successes good friends are having - I'm thrilled for them and at the same time, thinking, "Hello! What about me? When will it be my turn?" I didn't doubt I was good enough, I wondered how long I wanted to keep throwing things out there and hearing nothing in return.

But you know what? I'm truly okay with it now.

One night after crying about it to Paul, I went upstairs to my studio and started messing around with my digital version of the Owl and the Pussycat picture. I changed the drop shadows on the owl's wing - and saw a setting I'd never touched before that made the wing look like I'd outlined it in charcoal, which was exactly what I wanted to do. And then I got such a rush of what can only be described as creative joy that totally eclipsed the feeling of invisibility I'd been battling. The feeling was so strong that I had to run downstairs to tell Paul what I'd realized: That it honestly didn't matter if I never got another comment, email, request for work/whatever again, because they will not change how I work or what I do. That I was painting and illustrating for myself. I'm painting to be better at it, to learn new things. To explore. Not to seek approval. Don't get me wrong, approval is nice, but in the end, I will paint because I need to, because it's a hunger inside me. And the successes will come in time, if they're meant to.

And... along those lines, I have to question how much pushing of myself I really do. Not just pushing artwise, but pushing marketing-wise. Charlie Brown looked into an empty mailbox and was depressed nobody invited him to anything, but how many cards did he send out? I think I've been (sort of) content to wait and see what came my way.

I think it's time to get off my butt.

Sometimes I paint better when I'm exhausted. I can't seem to get a break this week, so I drag my sorry self up the stairs to my studio once the kids are in bed so I can paint. When I'm good and tired, I don't care as much as making it perfect. Perfection? Bah! Who needs it? Overrated.

In the past week, we've all had stomach bugs, a trip to the emergency room (Paul, diagnosed with kidney stones), and many, many sleepless nights. People have said to me, "Lucky you weren't sick!" but I was, and it didn't matter. I still am drained, but at least I'm back at work. Yay.

The one thing that kept me from hyperventilating at the hospital, waiting for Paul's results and operating on 3 hours of sleep, was the thought that no matter what happens, God will watch over us, and not to be consumed by worry (easier said than done). This song's refrain, in particular, was a great comfort.

The universe is vast beyond the stars
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls,
And mindful of the anxious thoughts
That find me, surround me, and bind me...


I have been bound by my anxiety... the painting is what gets me through it. I'm going to try to post more paintings and sketches - as I can't seem to stop painting, I may as well share them.

Sketch of the amazing Spackle the Wonder Cat, who lives next door to us but will come over and meow at the door for Paul to come out and pet him.

Every week when I make the shopping list, Sophie insists that I make her a "Sophia is Great" list. The same elements must be present each week: the letters in block type; the cat at the bottom; and lately, the cat must be holding his finger up with Little Cat Z (who is so small you can't see him) on it, who is taking off his hat and releasing VOOM! into the atmosphere. (Sorry if you haven't read the book, I just ruined the ending.)

The cat also must be singing the Kitty Cat Dance song, which is a huge favorite at our house. Go figure.

Our kids like to look at the mail. A while ago, Sophie picked up the Victoria's Secret sales catalog and started reading it like it was the great American novel.

"Look at all the mamas!" (Mama is her word for any woman older than her babysitters, but younger than the librarian or checkout person at the supermarket. Those are "ladies".)

"Here they are all out in the snow." She turned a few pages. "Ooh! Here they all are at the beach! They went to the shore for the day." Flip, flip, flip. She gets to the underwear section. "Now they are having a slumber party!"

She then looked up at me and said, "Wow, that's a lot of mamas!"

My friends, if that wasn't ever a reason to always have the video camera on hand, I don't know what is. Sadly, I missed that one, but now I know better.

and an update from last week.... Here's more of the digital version of the Owl and Pussycat picture. You can get great effects just by messing around with the drop shadow settings in photoshop... all the charcoal-y looking effects are from making the drop shadow grainy.

(Click to see it bigger - don't go blind trying to read that teeny type!)

Giving a little insight into how I work (on three things at once, on the floor) and what the thought process is.

Work in progress for "The Owl and The Pussycat".


latest iteration, flat color in photoshop. watch this space for updates of texture and shading and such... (and I may do it in watercolour as well, just because.)

original sketch

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Read the whole poem - which we sing a lot at my house - here!

ps ~ 2 more days of Bloggies... nominate me for "Best Tagline" and "Best-Kept-Secret" if you feel so inspired!

It's time for the 2006 Bloggies ! If you feel so inclined, I'd love it if you wanted to nominate this one. (hee!) So far I think my best bet is "Best Undiscovered Blog" and "Best Tagline" but hey, who knows? :) And don't forget to vote for your other favorites as well!

ps ~ Thanks for all the butt-kicking, please keep it coming! I hope to have a fresh illustration up this weekend. In the meantime, I finally compiled all my Illustration Friday paintings into one gallery... check 'em out!

I have artist's block.

I am slooooowly working through it (as you can see by the fact that I did a new sketch, something that would have been nigh impossible a few days ago) with journaling, doodling, and a walk every morning. But darnit, I need a kick in the butt to get me moving.

Jill and I talked last night about ways you can be blocked - how sometimes it takes the form of overplanning ("I can't start this painting without getting new supplies and pricing out frames and seeing what other artists are doing...") or, we identified for me, pressure to perform: the kids are in bed, here's your only time of the day to paint, GO! Be fantastically creative! "The problem," I said to Jill, "Is that that pressure has always worked well for me before." Hmmmmm.

I had a week off for the holidays, and planned to paint every night, redesign my whole site, go for long walks... and instead every afternoon I had to take a nap, and every night I fell into bed at 8 because I was so exhausted. My body hijacked me! So once I was caught up on sleep (um, around Jan. 2) I was staring at blank paper, actually arguing with myself because I was afraid to put anything down on the paper because I might mess it up. Phooey.

So here's where you come in, if you're still reading this far: please, for goodness' sake, give me a kick in the pants to get me going. If you have a tip for getting through a block, please share it. The only way I know how to do it is to paint and give myself permission to throw it in the fireplace if it stinks.

Any words of wisdom?

UPDATE: I have been a creating fool... this weekend I cooked and baked up a storm, and am working on three pictures at the same time. It's working! I'm working! Will post pics soon.

Imagine all the people living life in peace...

Wishing everyone a blessed Christmas and Hannukah, and a joyous New Year filled with abundant peace. (Hey, you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.)

This is why you have to always have the camera ready... you can't script stuff like this! Of course, if I had PLANNED to make a movie, the dishwasher would have been closed and the living room wouldn't have looked like the toy box threw up. But what can I say, this is real life! Sophie, by the way, will be 3 at the end of February.

Click here to see the movie. UPDATE: Link's fixed! Watch it right on the screen.

I got the biggest surprise of my life on a morning in September about two years ago.

I was songleading again at church for the first time since Sophie was born. One minute, I was standing in front of the congregation, singing; the next, I passed out cold and took the podium down with me. After several tiny cups of orange juice and "I'm not diabetic, I think I'm pregnant"s later, the EMTs decided to take me to the emergency room since my blood pressure was amazingly low. The only way out is up the aisle during the next mass. "We're NOT." I beg. "Close your eyes." I'm told. The hush that comes over the church as I'm carried out on a stretcher, oxygen mask on face, makes me squinch my eyes shut even tighter.

Paul and Sophie follow us the hospital and my parents are phoned. Nobody will let me eat on the off chance the pregnancy is ectopic and they have to operate, which makes me want to throw up just thinking about it. Starvation and nausea duke it out. Starvation wins. While they're getting someone to do an ultrasound, we urge Paul to go eat something at the cafeteria; they'll page him, maybe he can smuggle me back a burger or something. Anyway, I just went through a year of ultrasounds, so this is old hat. So when they tell me 15 minutes later to go in, I figure we'll start without him.

I say hello to the technician in the darkened room and get ready to be told the worst. Or at least, the usual. "Is everything okay?" I ask as she starts poking around.

"Fine. Everything's fine."

"Oh, good." I breathe, finally. "As long as it's not twins," I joke.

She doesn't say anything.

She has the screen turned slightly away from me but I know enough to know that what I can see definitely does not look like Sophie's sonograms did. There are two sacs. Two little dots.

"It's not twins, RIGHT?"

"Let's just wait until your husband gets here, and we'll go over things, okay?"

"It's TWINS, ISN'T IT?! Oh, my God!"

I continue along in this vein for about 60 more seconds when blessedly, Paul walks in the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness, 7-month-old Sophie on one arm, her backpack on the other. The poor man immediately gets hit with, "Look at that screen! LOOK AT IT! DO YOU SEE WHAT'S ON THAT SCREEN? TWO! TWO! TWINS! WE! ARE! HAVING! TWINS!" And I can see the look of absolute terrified shock that comes over his face that I know must be on my own. The poor technician takes this opportunity to point out the nicer points of the ultrasound; they're probably fraternal, they don't share a sac or a placenta, and all I can think is THERE ARE TWO OF THEM IN THERE OH DEAR LORD.

It took me a looooooong time to get used to the thought. Peter and Angela were a surprise, as defined on Roseanne back in the 90's. Her son asks if he was a mistake. "No! You're a surprise. A surprise," she tells him, "is something you didn't even know you wanted until you got it."

Surprise. Their sticky kisses, the way they yell "Mama!" when I walk into the room like I am the greatest thing EVER, their belly laughs, the way they shake their little butts and dance when we play "Linus and Lucy" for them and Angela yells out "Chaba-Shoopy! Chaba-Shoopy!" (Charlie Brown and Snoopy), the way they worship the ground their big sister walks on - nobody is more surprised than I am at the way my heart is so amazingly wide open to overflowing with enormous amounts of love. They've multiplied my capacity for loving and caring and feeling, exponentially. It's been a long, hard, exhausting road to get here, filled with surgeries (mine and the kids'), months in the NICU, monitors, medications, and therapy, but I can actually say it's all been worth it.

Surprise.

My mom photocopied this article and gave it to me. Reading this along with my new find (How She Really Does It: The Secrets of Success from Stay-at-work Moms) convinces me that things in society need to change, and soon.

Did anyone see Desperate Housewives last night? Lynette said "I'm a good mother" and the other mom said, "But that's not good enough for me, I want to be a GREAT mother" (so she won't put her child in daycare or let anyone else touch her.)

Why do we buy into this crap? Why do I have to APOLOGIZE for needing to work so we have health insurance? Why is it that a man can have three kids, work, and travel, and be considered a good father because he's such a good provider, but if a woman does it, she's an awful mother for neglecting her children, even if her husband stays home to be with the children full time?

Why is there such a divide between mothers? Mothers who work, mothers who quit their jobs and stay home. Mothers who make everything from scratch, mothers who order a pizza so they can spend another hour having one on one time with their kids. Mothers who nurse, mothers who can't or won't. (There's nothing that makes you feel worse than having another mother say to you, "Well, as long as you know that formula isn't the best thing for your baby." I was so tempted to say, "Formula is better for them than a mother in a mental institution right now." but I held my tongue.)

Listen up:

Mothers need to stop letting others dictate what being a good mother means. Not Martha Stewart, not that horrible nazi-esque What To Expect series of books, not the super-mom at the park or playgroup, not anyone you see on TV. This is seriously one of the most important things I've learned about being a mom. What works for me may very well not work at all for you. We've been blessed to have hours where one of us can be with the kids all the time, in our house. Not everyone is so lucky. I work, not only because I need to, but because I want to, and the fact that I have my family's and employer's support is wonderful. I try to cook as much from scratch and organically as possible. If you open a can of Beefaroni in front of me, I will say absolutely nothing about it, because obviously this works for you. That doesn't mean I won't try new things, or ever stop learning, because Lord knows these kids are growing and changing and hopefully, so am I. But can we please stop being so critical of each other, and maybe join forces to make this world a better place for our kids?

Sophie is obsessed with the Count.

Every morning, when we sit on the futon in my studio and watch Sesame Street, Sophie waits with bated breath for the appearance of the Count. When she hears the first few notes of his theme music, she starts to hyperventilate and has to half-hide under the quilt. She talks like the Count, she loves numbers, and she pretends she's the Countess almost every day. Peter and Angela now think you're supposed to yell "Ah ah ah!" after every number, and don't even get me started on what they all do during a thunderstorm.



My brother saw this hero-worship in person when we were all watching a Christmas special at my parents' house and the Count made a surprise appearance. Sophie immediately laid prostrate on the floor and covered her eyes - she wanted to look at him, but she couldn't bear it. My brother couldn't believe it.

"She can't even look at him!"

"Well, that's because she loves him so much."

"I swear to God, it's just like a teenager seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show!" he marveled. He grabbed the remote and rewound it so we could watch her grovel again.

We even made her a Count poster to put stickers on when she uses the potty:



I've had these images for quite a while, but it was Dooce's sidesplitting commentary that made me finally post them... thank you, my little Sachertorte!

"The tiny seed inside split open and began to sprout and grow." A page from an unfinished story I've been working on.

I have a necklace I wear almost every day. It's not impressive looking at all. It's a tiny globe of glass, and inside is a mustard seed. The story of the mustard seed is one of faith; you're not required to have the hugest, most impressive, earth shaking faith. All you need is to begin with something small - faith the size of a mustard seed. And in case you didn't know, from this tiny seed grows a huge, flowering plant.

I try to keep that in mind for everything; I don't have to have huge ideas, enormous inspirations, the biggest and best plan. All I need to do is start with a small seed of thought and let it grow and flower from there.

"If you have faith no bigger even than a mustard seed ...nothing will prove impossible to you" —Matthew 17:20 and 24.

Apparently Target is having a 2 day sale after Thanksgiving, and you can register on the site to have Kermit give you a wakeup call! My shopping is 99% done (#22), but we're having Kermit call us anyway!

You can see the commercials here (the banjo one is my favorite - "My grandmother plays faster than that!")

And see Kermit singing a lullaby here.

Back in June when I first posted this painting (in the middle of The Artist's Way. ), I asked you what you thought it meant. Now I'll tell you what I think it means. ;)

The red bird is the girl's heart. It's got a safe and comfortable place to be, a place that's got green leaves on it that are starting to grow. The blue bird is singing to the red bird that it's okay to come out, to fly, to try new things and new adventures. It will always be able to return to that safe place, but it has to take a chance.

The girl? I think she's a little ambivalent. She's nurturing towards the red bird - she's almost cradling it and trying to shield it, but at the same time, she's holding the blue bird right up close so they can talk to each other. I think she knows it's time for a change and is hoping the red bird will make the right decision and fly away, free.

...when I deal with the boy who needs to wear pajamas backwards to bed, because if he doesn't, he'll take off his diaper and decorate the crib, the walls and himself with the contents. Trust me, it's not pretty.








...to be patient with the girl whose latest trick is emptying her milk into her tray and seeing how high it can go when she smacks it. And more strength to be patient for the way she laughs in my face when I yell not to do that.


















...when Sophie treats the church to a rousing rendition of 'The Muppet Show' theme as she marches up the aisle after church.

Thank you for giving me: a sense of humor, wisdom to learn from my bazillion mistakes, and for such nutty children. If they were normal, I wouldn't know what to do with them.

A little painting I did when Sophie was teeny.

Nighttime is a wonderful time of the day for me. It's when all the babies are in bed at last, and I have a few hours for myself. After a full day of cooking, art directing, chasing the kids around the yard, reading/singing/dancing, baths, and prayers, I savor having time to create and make my own messes. (Currently, I'm making sock monkeys for the babies, and writing Christmas cards - I plan to mail them out super-early, like last year.) And some nights, I actually just go to sleep. ;)

ps ~ Get cards (and prints) for yourself, here.

Whilst channel-hopping last night, annoyed that ANTM was a recap, I stumbled upon Trading Spouses. An over-the-top Christian mom switched places with a new-agey mom (with hair uncannily like mine). It looked like there was a fight a-coming, and of course with the magic of editing and creepy music they can infer all sorts of tension. But what really got me upset and was so not faked was this; the new-age mom meeting the other mom's best friends for the first time. It went something like this:

Friend: So, what do you believe? What are you?

New Age Mom: (Completely taken aback) Well, I was raised Catholic, but now I'm Unitarian.

F: Oh... so what does THAT mean?

NAM: Well, we're all one, you know...

F: Oh, so do you believe in God or some (does quote thingy with her fingers) "Higher Power"? (smirk)

NAM: I believe in God, if that's what you're asking. (Thinking, hello, I just met you!)

F: But would you call yourself a Christian? .... No? Oh, I see. (Turns her back on NAM, goes to kitchen and greets other friends loudly.)

I had to turn this garbage off, I was so annoyed. Not only am I thinking, this is a crappy way to treat anyone, but it's especially rotten if you call yourself a Christian. I pictured Jesus sitting in His armchair throwing the remote down in disgust and going, "No! You guys keep getting this wrong!"

Go on, see the rest of them. You know you want to.

One of the main concepts of The Artist's Way is that work doesn't come from you, it comes from the Creator and you're just the conduit. I really have absolutely no problem accepting this concept - I mean, look at the simple joyous abundance there is in all of nature! There's not just one kind of flower, or animal, or fish, there are a bazillion of them. God is supremely creative, and the concept of me as God's vessel makes perfect sense to me.

Now... giving up the control and letting God work through me - that's something I need a heap of work on. Lord knows, I'm trying.

This movie makes me want to grab my camcorder, my puppets, and my brother and go to the playground and make a video. I love this.

I'm thrilled to announce a brand new special on my holiday cards:
Choose 5 card sets and get an 8" x 10" print FREE!

Whether you're looking for something deep and thought-provoking, or artwork to just plain make you laugh, this special's for you! These two paintings are the ones I've gotten the most mail about: the thoughtful girl with a tree and two birds; and the one we like to just call "Fishies." Choose any combination of 5 card sets to send out and pick a print for yourself! Each print measures 8" x 10" and is printed on glossy stock with quality inks. Just let me know which print you want in the field marked "Additional Information."

All cards are professionally printed on glossy stock in full, luscious color. And each card shows one of my original watercolor and colored pencil paintings. Or if you just can't decide which to choose, there's an assorted multi-pack so you can have a little of everything.

Go see the cards, read the stories behind them, and check out those prints right here at the French Toast Girl Shop.

Nothing says "cold" like a naked figure playing piano in the snow.

This is the new CD cover for the Winter Recordings at Paul's studio. Little did I know years ago when I did the first cover that it would become the Summer Recordings and we'd need another one. Trying to figure out a companion cover that was seasonal, but not pertaining to any religious holiday; that had plenty of room for text (the student's name, date, etc.); that featured a figure suitably ambiguous that it would be appropriate for any of his students (ranging from kindergarteners to retirees); and that was in the exact same style as I painted several years ago - well, it was a heck of a challenge, to say the least.

I like seeing the covers side by side...



And you can listen to the music that goes on the CDs here - Paul encourages his students to write their own pieces as well; go to this page and click "Brighter Days" to hear an original composition... wish I could have written something like that when I was 14!

I posted it, finally! See the 34 things I'm working on between now and August 15.

Do you have a "big" list? What's on it?

Doodles from my lost evening. Too tired to do anything but sketch and watch TV - I tried to capture as many faces from the screen as I could.

Someone out there didn't want me to be creative last night.

After a harrowing day (which comes after a harrowing week), I try to take advantage of the kids all being in bed to do some art. I'm going to save time because I have a great pic already done for this week's Illustration Friday; all I have to do is scan it. Except all my watercolour sketchbooks are on the shelf, except this one. I look again. Can't find it, anywhere.

In my house-wide search (so much for time-saving!) I take a second to check my email and get a note about my art that really, really bothered me. (not a critique; I may write more about it later.) While I'm upset from reading this, I hear Sophie getting louder and louder and louder. So I abandon my search, go put on the mantle of mom (did I ever take it off?) and go see what's up.

Sophie has somehow leaked a full sippy cup of water into her crib. Which means a full change of sheets and pajamas in the dark, because the lightbulb burned out on her dresser lamp. She thought this was hilarious; I'm glad one of us did. Oh, and I should mention that she's lucky there was a clean sheet since Peter's latest trick is taking off his clothes during his naptime and peeing on them.

I spent the rest of the evening moodily eating potato chips and watching Leonardo's Dream Machines (engineers use daVinci's sketches and build and test his creations - fascinating!). But creativity-wise, I'm shot.

So please, cheer me up, inspire me, tell me a joke... I need some serious recharging of batteries here.