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.