Sleeping with the fishes

I have discovered a new culture of people I was not aware of before: people from New Jersey. Hershey Park is the closest attraction for people from New Jersey, so this Memorial Day when we went, it was incredibly crowded with these loud out-of-towners. After some keen observation of this culture, I've come up with a list of a New Jersey male's must-haves :
-Every strand of hair covered with extra stiff-hold hair gel, then pushed up away from scalp towards the heavens? Check.
-Eyebrows waxed so that they look like a woman's? Check.
-Long black wife-beater tank top? Check.
-Dirty underwear? Check.
-Long shorts, sagged down to mid buttocks? Check.
-Long, thick gold chain necklace? Check.
-Big fake diamond stud earrings in both ears? Check.
-Skate shoes even though I've never touched a skate board? Check.
-Fake baked tan? Check.
-Ridiculous tatoo of the country of Italy, barbed wire or a flaming 8-ball? Check.
(It doesn't matter how old you are. I saw baby boys with their ears pierced, sporting diamond stud earrings and gold chains.)
If you are a female from New Jersey, this is most definitely your list:
-Hair grown past my waist, curled at the end? Check.
-Big boobs and/or push up bra? Check.
-All white outfit: White tank top, teeny white shorts? Check.
-Forgo wearing underwear? Check.
-Big metalic gold belt? Check.
-Gold bangles stacked from my wrists to my elbows? Check.
-Cleopatra eyeliner along with gobs and gobs of other makeup? Check.
-Dolce & Gabana sunglasses? Check.
-Gucci bag? Check.
-Huge Chanel gold earrings? Check.
-Fake bake tan? Check.
-Three pieces of gum in mouth? Check.
Upon entering the park, we found ourselves walking behind a group of about 8 teenagers that had all the attributes of the lists above. Go and I exchanged a smile as we walked past them. We came upon another set of kids that looked exactly like the group before. "I must of missed the memo," he said, referring to the the second set of blank tank tops. He saw me eyeing the stunning girls and put his arm affectionately around me, a guesture that said "I like you just the way you are. Please never wear that much makeup." We passed the second group up, (it's hard to walk at a normal pace when you're trying to keep your shorts up with your knees) and came to yet another group that looked EXACTLY like the groups before. "It is Mafia Day at Hershey Park?" I wondered out loud. We entered the park and discovered thousands of clusters of these look-alikes, filled to the brim with these masters of flash. And they all seemed to know each other. Everywhere we went, we saw groups of them embracing and overheard nuggets of solid gold conversation such as these: "Hey. How YOU doin'?" and "You talkin' to me?"
Go doesn't know yet but we're going to be Joy-zee kids for Halloween.

Let's Practice Doing That

Last year during our trip to San Francisco, I bought this book.


It is paragraphs like these that make me so glad I bought it. Whether you are an artist or not, I find this exerpt extremely applicable. And the wording is so typical from a "self help" type book, it makes me smile...but kind of cringe at the same time.

"What really distinguishes the productive artist from the would-be artist? The former looks at the blank ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and says, "Hm, I wonder what should go there?" The other says "My God, no way I'm touching that!"
Most people are in the second category. They see difficulty where the creative person sees opportunity. If you find yourself in that second category, what should you do? First, become aware of that secret muffled message. Second, when you hear it, try to change it. In cognitive therapy this techinique is called "thought substitution." You could try replacing "This is too hard" with one of the following messages:
"This will be easy"
"This will be hard but not THAT hard"
"This will be VERY hard, but I'm game"
Each of these affirmations has its merits, and it doesn't matter which one you choose. What's important is that you dispel the idea that creating is too hard, that it's somehow beyond your capabilities. In this period of exploration, it would be good if you got aquainted with using all three of these affirmations. Let's practice doing that."

Ok, I know. It's incredibly cheesy. Even so, I think there's a lot to be said for not letting your fears stand in the way of what you want to do. Take this family for instance:

Something EXTREME this way comes

Ruby was just walking around when she got a cramp in her foot. Her toes looked something like this:

Ruby: (mid-scream) There's something EXTREME in my foot!!!

In other news, yesterday Ruby informed me that this was her favorite animal:

White dresses

I love black things. And I love white things. Knowing this, my Mom sent the girls matching white dresses. As promised, I snapped some pics for her before church. We absolutely love them. Thanks, Mom!

Portraits

After completing the commissioned landscape (cash-money-millionaire!), I decided that a) I don't like painting landscapes and b) I'm not good at painting landscapes, which explains my reasoning behind reason a.

So, I have decided to paint portraits of my family, all the same size 16"x20" and hang them together as a series. I have already done one of Ruby when she was a baby. I painted it a couple years ago. The image is super pixelated because I cropped it out of a picture I had taken of Ruby's bedroom and it was hanging on the wall and I'm too lazy to go take a picture of it that's more close up.

Here is a real picture of Ruby in a bear suit (thanks for letting us borrow it, Julie!) It's not the picture I painting from but you get the general idea.

So I have started on my painting of Go. This is the quirky photo that I'm painting from. I love it.
As usual, the inital drawing went really well. Then I laid in the basic colors. This stage of the painting is where my troubles always begin. I make wrong choices, I get aggressive and sloppy and I mess it all up, which lands me in a horrible mood until I can fix my mistakes. I go back with my rag and turpentine and rub everything out and start over. I have done this with every single one of my oil paintings. Sometimes this little cycle happens 5-6 times. With this portrait, I have only started over once so far and I doubt I'll be starting over again at this point. Maybe I'm getting better at this oil painting thing. But like I said, it puts me in a foul mood. This moring I have already raised my voice several times, thrown a paint brush acoss my art studio, muttered quasi-curses to myself under my breath and stomped all over the house while hollaring nonsense about quitting my attempts at art all together.
My husband, who after being married to me for almost 6 years, has learned how to deal with me during these tumultuous beginning stages of my paintings. He talks to me very slowly in a soothing voice and suggests I take a break by luring me into the kitchen with food. Today he made me poached eggs. He tells the girls to steer clear of their mother and then he makes himself scarce until I calm down while eating my food (yet another vicious cycle), then I go back in, fix my mistakes, decide to give this artist thing another whirl, paint until I've hit a suitable stopping point, come in and attempt to wash the oil paint and turpentine off my hands and all is right with the world...until the next time I go in to paint and jack it all up again. I totally can see why Van Gogh cut off his ear.

Well, at least I have my looks

Ruby: Mom, you're the prettiest lady.
Me: Wow! Thanks, Rubes. That's so nice.
Ruby: AND the tootiest.

Ode to Vosges

I live in Hershey, Pennsylvania. When I tell most outsiders this, they dramatically throw their hand to their forehead and exclaim that I must be in heaven. Considering that 2 weeks before we moved here Ruby was diagnosed with Diabetes put a damper on the excitement of living in this chocolate crazed town. Another reason I don't share their sentiments is that while I think Hershey is a lovely place to live (if you're going to live in the East), the chocolate itself is pretty much the Wonder Bread of all chocolates in my mind. I am a major chocolate snob. (Are you suprised?) If the chocolate comes from the grocery store, it's most likely not worth eating. I hold back thumbing my nose everytime I drive down Chocolate Avenue underneath the Hershey kisses lamposts. So a couple of weeks ago when we went to NYC, I found Vosges Haut Chocolat, my new favorite chocolate shop. And imagine my suprise when I checked my hotmail junk mail a couple days ago and found an email from Vosges. Salivating, I opened the email and doth my eyes deceive me? Did I just get a personal email from a Vosges employee explaining that she enjoyed my blog and would I like to receive complimentary Vosges chocolates? Did I just die and receive my heavenly reward for being such a good girl? And how did this angel get my email address and how did she find my blog? Ah yes, I had linked their website back when I posted about visiting the store on our trip to NYC.


After some investigation and deciding that the employee was just a very, very nice person and not an internet predator, I emailed back my address. Today in the mail as promised, I received my chocolates. I am waiting until Go gets home to break these bad boys open because I think the next time I'd see him would be in divorce court if I dared to eat these chocolates without him.


Our whole Vosges Chocolates experience has been beyond delightful. Bob, Harry (2 of Go's brothers), Go, myself and the girls were trekking around Soho. We came upon a shop adorned in deep purple. (This image of the shop is a different location than the one we went to, but the same store design.) As I've mentioned before, I am not a fan of the color purple, so I hung back. Bob headed inside with Harry trailing behind him. I wasn't really paying attention to the fact that it was a chocolate shop, otherwise I think I would have been heading the venture inside. "Go ahead. I'll stay out here with the girls." I really just wanted to lean agaist the wall and stare at people. Go shrugged and went inside. Two seconds later, he popped his head out the door and said "Trust me, you're going to want to come in here." We hefted the stroller inside and instantly, I fell in love. Bob was already at the counter, chatting it up with an employee (who I'm hoping was the same employee that emailed me.) Smiling, she presented him with 5 truffles placed on a small retanglular platter. I appreciate good design and this shop was brimming with it. I was even warming up to the purple--it works for them for some reason.


We ordered some chilled haut chocolat, which was divine and worth every penny. Over on the other side of the counter, the employee was explaining that she had placed Bob chocolates on the little platter in the order that he should eat them, that he should start with the least strong tasting first, working up to the strongest, deepest chocolate last.
The truffles, though, were unlike any chocolate I had tasted and I have tried quite a few exotic chocolates in my day. I especially liked the Absinthe truffle, made with Chinese star anaise, fennel, Pastis and dark chocolate. I also tried the Black Pearl truffle, made with ginger, wasabi, sesame seeds and dark chocolate. We talked with the employee for awhile and she showed us some other things, made us smell them and gave us more samples. Snickering, we put my in-laws address on their mailing list in hopes that we would receive Vosges chocolates in our Christmas stocking this Christmas. The girl who helped us was spunky and cute and I was hoping Harry, my unmarried bro-in-law would whisk her away with us and marry her so we could partake in these heavenly chocolates for the rest of our days. Unfortunately, he's shy. Anway, I could have stayed there all day. The whole experience was a delight and my tastebuds have never been more satisfied, I would venture to say. Look into their product--you will not be sorry.
Thank you P.W., thank you for sending us your crazy delicious Vosges chocolates.

Mystery plant

Yesterday Melissa had a great post. It was filled with drama, intrigue and mystery. I posted a comment that the blogworld needed more posts like that one and vowed to come up with something mysterious for my own blog. I have kept my promise:
Three of these plants popped up in my little flower bed about a week or two ago. They are fast growing, have strong purple stalks and green serrated leaves and I don't think they're weeds. It's the start of a bush of some sort, perhaps it will flower one of these days. BUT I didn't plant it and it wasn't here last year when we moved in. I have no idea where it came from. Ah, intrigue. I have tried to solve a botanical mystery such as this before: When I was growing up one summer, some very mysterious tomato plants were planted in our backyard. I know my Mom didn't do it because she doesn't garden and my brothers wouldn't have done it. It had to be my Dad but whenever he was questioned, he would smile and claim he had nothing to do with it. Even though he never admitted it, I know he did it. The fact that he still to this day will not fess up to planting those tomatoes is something I find hilarious. Whenever my Dad gets bored with life, he does something wacky, like plant a bunch of tomato plants in the yard in the middle of the night and plays Phantom of the Garden. Maybe Go thought he'd follow in my Dad's footsteps and play Phantom Gardener. Anyway, can anyone tell me what type of plant this is? It is a mystery that must be solved. I know it's no murder mystery but hey, this is as intriguing as my life gets.

While I'm at it...

Shortly after marrying Go, he introduced me to an author by the name of Harlan Coben. I minored in English at BYU and read a great number of novels that were works of genius, beautiful and moving poems, and heart-wrenching short stories. I prided myself on reading and enjoying only the best of books and finding great lesser-known authors myself rather than being spoon-fed whoever was on the best-seller list. Michael Creighton and John Grisham could take a flying leap for all I cared. So when Go initially handed me the worn paper back, with it's dumb cover illustration of I don't know, a tennis ball or something, with its shiny lettering of its author's name larger than the title, I did not take kindly to it. I scoffed at the mere idea of reading a crime novel and probably said something incredibly snobby about its grocery store checkout line genre being beneath me and threw it across the room. Ok, I didn't throw it , but I did make snide remarks. Months later, out of desperation (I had read everything else in the house and couldn't go to the library because they'd make me pay my library fees...and ok, let's be honest, I needed to use the bathroom and it was the closest thing in reaching distance) I decided to read it. To my astonishment, it was really funny, the plot was gripping and the writing was clever. I read another one by Harlan Coben. It was just as witty, just as twisty and just as smart. So I read another. And another. And another. I read all of them. At the time, there were about 6 or 7 "Myron Bolitar" novels. Then he started writing about different characters, longer, more involved novels that only came in hard back. He's great. I love his novels. They're just really, really good. The Woods just came out and I finished it a couple of days ago. Harlan didn't let me down. As always, it was well-written. Not in a Tolstoy, Raymond Carver, F. Scott Fitzgerald kind of way, but in a fast paced, witty, plot-driven, twisting and turn way. A way that you can read it in a couple of days, want to know what is going to happen on the next page and laugh while you're reading it. Thank you, Harlan Coben, thank you for your 14 wonderful works of fiction.

Tomorrow!

Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner effected me like no other book has. It is my favorite, favorite novel. It is extremely well written, the characters are so alive and the story haunts you for weeks after you read it. I cannot say enough about this book and have recommended it over and over. Those who have taken my advice ("Read this book, it will change your life.") have loved it as well. Just read it. You will not be sorry. When my friend Julie told me about it, I was like "A book that takes place in Afghanistan? Um, no thanks." But I read it anyway and I'm so glad I did. About a year after I finished it, Khaled Hosseini came to the University of Iowa and spoke; it was fascinating. What an interesting man. I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of his next novel and it comes out tomorrow. I'm expecting my pre-ordered copy any day now. Thank goodness for good writers like Khaled Hosseini. Can you imagine a life without good books? I don't even want to think about it.

Like mother like daughter

(After tonight's "tubby time.")
Me: Ruby, go get your undies on.
Ruby: Mom. Do not say "undies." I don't like that word. Say "underwear."
Me: Fine. Go get your underwear on.
Ruby: And NEVER say "panties." I DO NOT like the word "panties."
Me: Ok. Go get your underwear on.

Weekend 'O Fun

She's in there somewhere.

It is 1:30 in the morning. Please allow me to ramble. Yesterday while pushing the girls in a cart down the aisles of Target, I started singing a silly song that made Ruby start belly chuckling, which then got May going and of course we sang it for the next 20 minutes. It went something like "We love Daddy, yes we do. We love Mommy, hoo-dee-hoo-hoo..." They'd explode with laughter everytime I'd sing the "hoo-dee-hoo-hoo" part, especially since it was sung a la Louis Armstrong. We were having a grand old time. An older lady pushing her cart down the same aisle stopped, smiled, and said "It's so nice to see a mother enjoying her children. I don't think mothers these days play with their children enough." A wave a guilt passed over me. I'm a good parent, I'm responsible and I keep my children alive and pretty happy. But do I play with my kids enough? No. Ever since Ruby got diagnosed with D, I am less playful and I realized I haven't provided her with enough creative or fun learning oppurtunities. I'm totally 100% focused on keeping her blood glucose level in her target range and trying to put some order to my life and my surroundings. The fact that we moved 2 weeks after she was diagnosed didn't help anything - we started a whole new life in every sense and I just never got back into the "Fun Mom" swing of things. My energy for the past year has been spent on Diabetes, getting settled in PA and trying to find some people out here who I connect with which is no easy feat (these girls in PA have gigantic shoes to fill), learning how to be a quazi-single parent and having a high responsibility church calling for the first time -- everything has been so new and to be honest, really, really hard, I just lost sight of what was important, I guess. I am still grieving the death of normalcy and I've been doing it in an unhealthy way--by being uptight all the time, which trickles down to Ruby and makes her uptight and probably May, too. A piece of Ruby's childhood has already been taken away by having to deal with a life threatening disease. I should be protecting her childhood and innocence and alleviating stress, not adding to it. I should be letting her be a kid and providing a life full of beauty, fun, learning and creativity for her. When she got diagnosed, suddenly I had a bigger fish to fry, so to speak and everything about raising her besides keeping her healthy got put on the backburner. Target Grandma Lady gave me a much needed wake up call yesterday. I need to be the mom I've always dreamed about being, not purely "Super Diabetes Mom." I think it's possible to meld the two but it's going to take some work. I've already cleaned out the "Diabetes cupboard" that used to hold all of the paraphanalia (Josie you know how much Diabetes crap you can accumulate) and have made it into the Art cupboard for the girls filled with everything you'd ever want in an art cupboard. Tomorrow we will take a Nature Walk and make a Nature Bracelet (such a great idea, Sara) In the coming days, we will work on letters and numbers, we will go to the zoo and learn about animals, we will bake cookies for the neighbors, we will blow bubbles, play games, we will dance, we will sing, we will swing and climb trees, we will learn about our universe, other cultures, we will dress up, we will dress down, we will have a waterfight, a pillow fight, we will do somersaults and run through meadows. The hills will be alive with the sound of music.

Fuzzy Memories

I found a little book today that I had completey forgotten about. During one of my favorite summers growing up, I was probably 16 or so, I went to EFY with a handfull of friends. One afternoon, for about 2 hours in the lobby of the UCSB book store, my friends and I sat around reading from the book. I distinctly remember howling with laughter, so hard that tears were streaming down my face and by the end, my stomach was so sore, I could hardly stand up to leave. A lot has changed since that summer. My friend who was the reader of the book, has since passed away. It was because of him that we laughed so hard for so long. He put just the right emphasis on just the right words. I think of him often. Here is my all time favorite "Fuzzy Memory:"

"I'll take that one, way in the back," I said.
"That little collie mix?" said the animal shelter guy.
"No," I said, "the one behind him."
"The gray terrier?" he said.
"He's gray," I said, "but way in the back, in the corner."
"You mean the water faucet?" he said. I realized then it WAS a water faucet, but I didn't want to look like a jerk, so I said "Yeah, that's the one I want."
It ended up costing me almost five hundred dollars to get that faucet removed. But you know, I've still got that faucet, and I wouldn't trade it for any dog in the world.

Emotional suppression is way over rated

Today I cried in public. I hate Diabetes, I hate that Ruby has to deal with it, I hate that I have to deal with it, I hate that other kids have to deal with it, I hate that their parents have to deal with it. I hate Diabetes. I hate it.

Navy blue

I have a problem with speeding...pretty much every where I go, all the time. I'm good about looking out for cops, slamming on my brakes when I see one and nonchalantly scratching the side of my face or doing something really normal, like "Here I am, just driving along, minding my own business scratching my face, don't mind me." It's worked time and time again.
Friday we were late to go meet some friends/their kids at Hershey Park. I was driving down this back country foresty road where the speed limit was 25. So I was going about 50. This cop was hidden behind some trees, I saw him, slammed on my brakes, scratched my face. Nope. On came the lights and even his siren. Immediately, I said "Hey Ruby. We're going to stop and talk to a police man. I wonder what his favorite color is." Her eyes lit up at the possibilities.
Me: Hi.
Cop: License, registration and proof of insurance please.
Me: Ok.
Cop: That grin on your face tells me you know you were going too fast.
Me: Yah.
Cop: Were you talking on your cell phone, ma'am?
(Ma'am? Have I crossed that line into "ma'am"-hood? Just kill me now.)
Me: No, just scratching my face.
Cop: Any idea how fast your were going?
Me: No, sorry.
Ruby: Hey! What's your favorite color?
He let us go with a warning.

Sculpture

Ruby: Look Mom, I made a sculpture of you!

The resemblance is chilling.