An Artists' Anger

 Rolling with the theme of disgruntled girls and strong emotions, let me share a recent "gift" from Ayla. These notes and pictures are the result of discipline. Our daily goal in this house is to get the kids to listen to each other, stop screaming, stop pushing, stop calling names (okay, that goes for me and Gregory too!).

 I can't remember the specifics of what Ayla was being disciplined for... but the general idea is that when we tell her anything in terms of changing behavior she turns the anger at herself. These writings were instructions on all of the ways we could punish her for not being nice. A child services disclaimer: we didn't heed any of her advice.

 What's a parent to do? Congratulate her on putting her thoughts into words, and then writing them down with barely any spelling errors? :) As with most episodes, this was smoothed over in a relatively short period of time and our little girl was back to drawing pictures of happy princesses.

Old Feelings Never Die

 This post is about dreams. About feelings. About adolescence and adulthood. About those undercurrents of emotions that never quite drift away. How we relive the same universal fears, manifested in many different ways.

 Deep. Very deep.

 It might be a by-product of parenting three small children and the lack of long, uninterrupted periods of sleep... but I don't dream nearly as much as I used to. My brain might be too sluggish to recollect anything during the night. When I do dream, the scenario can be lumped into the following categories: packing/unpacking nightmares, zombie apocalypse, running in high heels or hurt feelings.

 And hurt feelings is always the scariest one!

 First, let me explain the other categories. Packing and unpacking. I think these dreams are divine messages from God to just throw stuff away and stop hoarding. But I never listen. These dreams always involve frustrating scenarios like packing for a vacation and always coming back to my suitcase to find things missing or thrown in a pile of dirty laundry. Or someone telling me I have to evacuate my house and I cannot find even one pair of shoes or any photo albums. These dreams are maddening.

 Zombie apocalypse. (Coincides with poor "happy sleeping" TV choices like American Horror Story or The Walking Dead.) Now it isn't always a matter of flesh-eating zombies, but of the inability to keep the doors and windows of my house protected. Many of these dreams involve real people trying to break into my house, and I think all of the windows are closed and doors locked, but I keep realizing I have forgotten one padlock or one basement window. Needless to say, these are ridiculously creepy. But in my most recent zombie dream, we had nestled ourselves in a safe place with a backyard filled with animals: ducks, goats and some unnecessary jungle cats. I will also take this as a divine message: must own farm animals someday.

Running in high heels. I am not joking: this is a recurring theme. I am either trying to catch a bus and cannot move faster than a snail or I am tripping over myself on a stony alley. But I am always in the wrong shoes. The good news is that these dreams are not as recurrent now that I wear high heels about twice a year. Take that, corporate ladder!

 Now, for the kicker, hurt feelings. I think this dream will speak volumes to any woman, about the twisted relationship antics that we grew up with in our formative years. Men don't have it easy either, but I think their issues are often solved with simple fist fights and name calling.

 I recently dreamt that one of my friends here in Buffalo (and I really only have a few!) was "talking about me behind my back". You know, that hellish activity. I had her over to my house, she stole something from me and then told all our other friends that I had done THAT to her. And they all believed her. I was frantic in my dream; screaming for people to believe me and absolutely devastated that there was nothing I could say to change their opinions. As a grown woman - married, educated and responsible for small people - I could not handle being jilted by friends. I woke up terribly devastated.

 What does that say? I fear mean words more than zombies? I would rather hoard than have a fight with a friend? All I know is that my dream mirrored my real life experience as an 11 year old. I had a friend who totally sold me out to avoid getting in trouble. We had both done something stupid, wrote a mean note, and got busted for it. I was grounded. My friend, however, lied to her parents and said that I forged her name on the note. And her parents bought it.

 I will always remember the shock I felt that night. I forgot all about the shame of being a mean girl myself, and could not believe that my friend had blamed me for everything. And even more so, that her parents were that gullible. It was not a thought process I could have imagined on my own.

 This must sound pathetic. Imagine how someone feels being wrongfully accused of a crime! How about the women who find out their husbands have second families? I certainly didn't have a fairy tale life up to that point, but for some reason, that incident was my first glimpse into the darkness of humanity. How we all really care about our own interests above anything else. That was the first time I really felt betrayal. And loneliness. And helplessness. Yikes.

 My point? Old Feelings Never Die. These experiences shape us and our actions shape others. And they revisit us in dreams. Whether we are terrified of zombies climbing in the windows or being buried under our own shoe collection... it is sometimes the stuff of life that stays with us for years. Having a friend lie about you to save their own skin.  Ouch.

"Puss in Boots"

 I had planned a Happy New Year post with inspirational ideas, resolutions and other blog-worthy quips....but apparently half of January has already passed and all I gotz is this video!

 Hopefully this gives you a glimpse into the plethora of reasons why I cannot seem to find 15 minutes of productive writing time for this blog. Elliot's new favorite film is obviously Puss In Boots. He usually finds me (or Gregory), remote in hand, begging for "Puss in boots, puss in boots!" in a voice that you just cannot humanly resist. Then, if we're lucky, we get a little reinactment of the movie with fake cat scratching and pretend sword fighting.

 It's meow-tastic.

 So Happy New Year everyone!

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Not Exactly Christmas Music

Elliot and I spend a lot of time in retail space. We aren't shopaholics... but we use stores as more of an indoor playground when it is miserable outside and we have the daily two hours of Jackson's preschool to kill.

For anyone with a restless toddler, may I suggest a Hallmark store... as long as you can handle the risk of possible broken knick knacks.

We marveled over the ornament selection the other day, enjoying non traditional Christmas music: the Hamster dance song. It is very popular in our house. Obviously....

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I think I have waited long enough...

 No excuses now, I have undeniably fallen off of the blogger train. I miss it. I miss writing incessantly about myself... I mean, uh, sharing my life in written form. I have to somehow put this element of my day back together, while my life is whizzing by at incredible speed.

 You miss me too, right?

 Do you miss my unapologetic political posts now that the election is over? (Whew.) Probably not.

 Regardless, I wanted to wait a few weeks before posting this adorable picture that Ayla drew. She had been learning the "facts" about our Presidential candidates in school and was very interested in the entire process. We didn't coach her in political theory or discuss who we were voting for until she asked. (Although I am sure she was curious why I was yelling at the tv for awhile there.)

 Now - there is nothing I find more distasteful than a kid spouting off political beliefs, only to parrot what they hear their parents talk about (informed or not). It's pretentious and silly. They don't have a real-world application for any of that information. I have even been asked, "Wouldn't you be horrified if your kid had different political beliefs when they grew up?". Maybe, but mostly no. If Jackson grew up to vote against women's equality, it would certainly hurt my feelings. But I would rather they think for themselves than just automatically accept the family way of thinking.

 I interpret this picture to be a little girl's awe and respect for what it means to be PRESIDENT. Such a huge job, bigger than her first grade teacher even! Ayla drew this before the election. Kids should get excited about that. They deserve to believe in America and our history - if only to grow up and realize that is it much more complicated than that.

 And if you are wondering where Ayla and President Obama are hanging out? It's at our favorite waterfall park ...which is maintained by state funds, uh oh!!!!

A Quotable Preschooler

 My oh my, it has been forever since I have sat down at the computer to write a post. It's not that I haven't sat down at the computer - but my "turn" doesn't usually last very long with Jackson wanting to watch Annoying Orange videos and Elliot yelled "MELMO!" (Elmo) and pulling me away.

 Anyone with children knows that they don't need you - until you try to accomplish something of your own. Or try to make a phone call. Therefore emails, blog posts, bill paying, reading articles, deciphering sewing instructions, even listening to Pandora isn't possible for more than a few uninterrupted minutes.

 So that's my excuse.

 But I thought I would come back for an important post.

  Politics, you ask? Nah. I think I have angered enough people on facebook for this year's election. (Although I would be curious to know who just couldn't handle it anymore and has my posts hidden.)

 Big news? Not really. We are doing just fine with the daily drama of school, work, meals and playground time. Gregory is a bonafide air traffic controller and my little sewing business is keeping steady.

 Funny quotes? Yes, indeed.

 We have a great relationship with Jackson's preschool teacher - she is simply an awesome person! Ayla was in her class two years ago, and I cannot believe we have already been in Buffalo long enough to be returning to familiar preschools. Anyways, she is always relaying the weird statements that Jackson feels necessary to share in school. Such as, "My other name is Obama." (Oh NO! I went political!!!)

 Last week, Jackson gave everyone a little lesson in biology... and maybe the facts of life along the way. He told his teachers that he lived in my tummy (true) and when he came out he was bloody (true) and then we put a big piece of bloody meat in a dish (ummmmm). What our little man is referring to is, in fact, a placenta. He has seen the slideshow from our hospital visits and believe it or not, the image of a placenta just stuck in his mind! Go figure!

 The thing is, when my kids ask me awkward questions about the body and birth and all of those sensitive subjects we're not supposed to talk about: I try to answer without stigmatizing the whole thing. I firmly believe that Jackson should grow up to be a man that isn't "peeved out" by real information about women. We are going to have enough trouble fighting sexism, airbrushed images of fake women in magazines, and much much worse.

 Therefore I fully admit that Jackson has seen a picture of a placenta. But I guess I should firstly admit that we HAVE a picture of a placenta. If you've ever seen one in real life, it's pretty amazing! It kept my kids happy and well-fed for nine months before they stopped breathing water and came out into the world.

  We are very lucky to have a preschool teacher that just goes with the flow and nods her head when Jackson starts talking about bloody pieces of meat. Because, honestly, I am sure it's just going to keep happening!

My Budding Artists

  Introducing art work by Jackson Abell!

 The drawing-painting-gluing-coloring obsession has taken another one of my children and he is now scribbling his way through stacks of paper the same way Ayla has been doing for years. Once he figured out how to draw his stick people, he has been creating his own "art" and posting it on the refrigerator himself. 

 Nearly half of our dining room walls are covered with Ayla's artwork from school and it looks like we will have to devote the other half to Jackson. (And Elliot isn't too shabby with the watercolors, either!) Plus - when I am in my sewing closet, trying to punch out another cloth diaper, they are nearly an assembly line of creators. They bring me drawing after drawing, often with glittery glue or most recently, with Ayla's real hair taped to the portrait. She is starting to become a genuine tortured artist - ripping out her own hair for the sake of artistic vision! 

 Please enjoy these people created by Jackson. Especially the one of the baby being thrown into the pot. :)