Dear mom...

I know it's a common theme for parents to want better for their children- hell, I feel the same regarding Kitten- but it is no longer your place to decide what's good enough for me. Feel however you want, that's yours, but I'm having a tough time with having it foisted upon me. I'm sorry that you don't feel that I'm growing fast enough. I'm sorry my life isn't as you want it to be- that I'm not coming to your conclusions (or that I may be, but not fast enough). I'm seeing even more clearly that it's about the journey and I hate to tell you this but I may never reach the outcome that you want for me. You see, you want what's best for me but you see "best" through the filter of your own story. You want for me the outcome you wish you'd had, and that just wouldn't be right for me. It's not personal! I'm not punishing you by traveling my road any more than I was punishing you when I weaned before you were ready! Please mom, take your heartbreak and own it! Stop blaming us because until you do, you can't nurture anything more than the "injustice" that feeds you!

And I am mortally tired of not being good enough.

All the way, then back again...

Sigh.


I have been writing, just not here.  I have windows live writer - or some such equivalent - which holds more entries than this one (even though it looks the same and publishes to this one with and internet connection and the push of a button).

First, let's do a short-form, catch-up:

Kitten's 14, has a different boyfriend who both Wolf and I love, is taller than me and still brings more sunshine into my world than anything; I finally cut my hair... to my shoulders (haha haha) but have yet to do anything even remotely funky; we've burned through another business (since my last news-y post) and I'm done with those, now.  I don't have the constitution for dealing with contractors or big construction companies... and I'm done with being the little guy, because the little guy can't do anything when the big guy refuses to pay, steals your tools, finally returns some of them when threatened with police action, but returns them with cut cords and missing parts and screws where screws have no right to be... Y'know, if that kind of thing happened in real life.  (Yup.  It kinda makes a person go into hiding from everything/one that she legally can.)

So, now that I can see the dismal end of that particular adventure I'm ready to turn my face into the sun.  I haven't felt warmth for long enough that it feels like the memory of a movie viewed in childhood.  Feels like.  Bear with me.  I'm dozy.  

And I'm drawing again.  That was the point of this entry. I'm not only just drawing but people are asking me about prices and I have one commission in the works, with 2-4 more in possibility-land!  Whoa, hey?!

Change... but not too quickly

Our kitchen has an island, which in many homes equates extra counter space.  It's an area which some families might use for meal preparation, baking - for whatever normal people use an extra expanse of counter.  In our home, the island is where our junk congregates.  Mail and newspapers, wrappers, receipts and various bits of paper gather to bask in the glory of our many, hydro-sucking pot lights.  Last week, I decided to tackle the piles of debris in a long overdue attempt at creating order-without (y'know, because they say that's the first step to order-within).

The standard tidy-up routine consists of sorting each piece of crap into new piles according to owner.  Wolf's, Kitten's, Mom's, the landlord's and garbage.  I took my crap and Wolf's crap to our room and put Kitten's crap outside her bedroom door (where it would stay for several more days) and had in my hand a bunch of crap for the garbage.  As I made my way back across the living room, I became hyper aware of one item in my hand.  It was a piece of Pale green paper, folded many times so it resembled a flattened tube.  I'm a chronic checker (let me just make sure I have my keys... for the third time) which means I cannot throw anything out without first reading it.  What if it's important?  I unfolded the paper - a 4" square sheet of origami paper, coloured only on one side - and held in my hands one of the sweetest and slightly-less-innocent-than-I-would-have-liked love note.  It was signed, in cursive, by the young man who enlivened our home for two and a half days, three weeks ago.

I took a few days to panic and obsess about it before I told Kitten we had to chat.  I told her that I'd used variations of a particular parental quip on many occasions but that I had to amend it.  In the past, I've said, "You know you can talk to me about anything?" and "I want you to talk to me about whatever!"  This time, I said, "Communication is imperative.  I need you to talk to me and you need me to talk to you.  Because the only other option is for me to assume."  I don't like being blindsided.  It tends to tweak my anxiety and I get a bit crazy.  The chat ended up being more of a mom-ologue (which I tend to be completely blind to, in the moment).  

When Wolf arrived home, I brought the whole thing to him.  Typical man, he said, "So, what did she tell you?"  Allow me to take this moment to look sheepish.

He called Kitten.  She arrived with her typical, "Yes, Daddy?"  and the conversation truly began.

Wolf:  Mom showed me the note.

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-I'm-trying-to-look-innocent look)

Wolf:  Is [he] your boyfriend?

Kitten: Yes.

Me:  What does that mean?

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-what-the-hell-are-you-asking-me look)

Wolf:  Since when?

Kitten:  Since I was eight.

Wolf:  Have you kissed him?

Kitten:  No.

Wolf:  Have you kissed any boys?

Kitten:  Only you, Dad. 

Me:  So what does boyfriend/girlfriend mean to you?

Kitten:  We hold hands.

Me:  (relief)

Wolf:  Good.

It was a decent conversation.  She's at the tail end of twelve and while there's a huge, screaming part of me that insists she's too young to be using the word boyfriend, I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.  She was born into a family which boasts stubborn strength of conviction, for good or for ill.  She will do what she will do out from under our watchful eyes*.

I spent a few more days lamenting the death of my 'baby girl' ("If drama was money, I'd be a millionaire" - Kitten) and then it snowed.

Due to recent extremely dire financial straits and a kid who doesn't complain, Kitten needed footwear.  She's worn her runners folded at the heel almost since the day she got them. As a result, pinchy-toes have never been an issue.  Snow is and there was no way I was letting her play in the snow with her heels hanging out of the backs of her shoes.  So, Kitten got her first pair of grown up winter boots.  She loved them so much she put them on at the till. 

We had one more stop before heading home and I parked in a snow drift.  Kitten leaped out of the truck as soon as Wolf had cleared the door.  Off she tromped through the parking lot bent on trying out her new boots.

I watched her, independent and self assured, with my heart heavy.  And then... I smiled.  There was my daughter, a breath away from thirteen, climbing the biggest pile of snow in the lot.  She thew her hands into the air and crowed her success at the mountain's summit.  And she's still my Kitten.

  *which means she must stay under our watchful eyes until we're confident in her strength of character!

Day Two - Gifts

There are times when what we've given to life gets reflected back at us.  Sometimes it comes as a realization, while watching a stranger's behaviour.  Sometimes it hits closer to home.  My experience of motherhood has given me many of these moments.  Sometimes it sucks, like when I heard my Kitten chastising her dolly using my voice and words.  Or when I hear her say things like, "I can't..."  That's one of my personal favourites.  Thankfully, I only hear that one about twice a year.  The great thing is, unless we've been icy or ogreish from day one, now and again we also get to see a reflection of our good sides.

This evening, while I was dishing up my dinner (Kitten and Nana had already eaten and Wolf was eating in the solace of our room), Kitten regaled me with tales from the book she just finished... for the third time.  After a few minutes, she opened up the first page - a warning page - and read it aloud.  Then, she flipped to the author's note and read out his words.  When she was done, she smiled and said, "Y'know Mom, I really think you'd like this book and I think it would be cool if I read it to you, y'know, when we're in the truck and stuff.  I mean, you've spent so much time reading out loud to me."

So, with thankfulness and joy, this evening I began listening to a dynamic narration of Rick Riordan's The Red Pyramid.  It's a brilliant story that doesn't need to be read aloud by a loved one... but if you happen to have one handy, I'd recommend you both (all) give it a try.  

Bliss...

Opportunities and possibilities.

I've never enjoyed packing. Whichever form it takes, it always includes a tremendous amount of stress. What if I forget something that I desperately need?!! It's gotten to the point where I want to keep special suitcases packed all the time; the overnight bag, the weekender, camping must-haves. Sure, I'd have multiples of everything - contact solution and cases, shampoo and conditioner - but I'd also always have everything I needed.

Or, I could give myself the time I need to prepare.

I've been packing for the past two weeks, now. I should clarify that I started packing two weeks ago, packed for about 3 hours/day for two days, between hour long breaks playing facebook games. Not overly productive, really. Not even remotely enjoyable. It's my typical way of packing. Start early so I feel okay about myself, then leave everything else to three days before d-day. A flurry of stuffing random items into random boxes and labelling them as 'miscellaneous', and - poof - I'm a soggy pile of tears and anxiety with years of living with boxes that I won't open because I don't want to have to organize their contents! Magic!

Yesterday and today have been good packing days. Wolf enlisted help in getting the big pieces of furniture out to the truck and into the storage unit while I've packed and done laundry. We have two weeks before we have to be out of this place so there's not too much pressure. We're keeping all of our necessities packed separately so we can still use them before taking them to our temporary digs. And somehow, for the first time, I'm actually having fun... okay, fun isn't the right word, but when I take a break, I can see what's been done. It gives me the motivation to keep going. It's fun-ish.

Back to it...

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod....

Things are happening. Things are happening faster than I thought they would. Since my last post, these things have happened - in list form!

~set up a website
~completed my next portrait
~completed the Bio and Contact pages on my website
~found an awesome place to get prints made
~have my first 'real' customer who wants a portrait done!!!

I'm excited and desperately wishing I could quit my job right now to do this full time... which would be jumping the gun, I think. I'm posting a link to my website in my sidebar. Ooh, of course you'll get to know me by my given name, rather than the one I chose. For the record, I prefer the one I chose.

It's all big stuff...

I've had a lot to think about, lately. The best way for me to break it down would be chronologically, I think.

First, as you may have been able to glean from my last post, I went out and got a touch blotto... for the first time in over a year. It took all of 4 drinks.

I had been invited to attend 'Girls' night out' by a couple of my co-workers and though I didn't want to go, I had already blown off several invites and thought it prudent to make an appearance, if nothing more. So, it was just us, the ladies. For the first time in over a year I was out, on my weekend, without Wolf. I had already decided I wasn't going to drink but my friend handed me her vodka/lime to sip and my thirst was on.

• Back-story: I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the last year and a half of my drinking years I would get the nastiest gut pains starting about a half hour from ingesting the first sip of whatever I was imbibing. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to back off a little. It took the 1.5 years to confirm my suspicions... and to let go of my favourite vice.

I think the first thing I noticed was that my gut didn't hurt. That was definitely a pleasant surprise which, obviously, precipitated another drink. By the end of the night, I still had no pain. I did, however, have the dawning of an ugly realization. I am a self-righteous bitch. But only when I'm not looking.

Wolf has always been a drinker. He never had a problem with it. As long as I was binging, I didn't mind either. But there came a time when alcohol became an issue for me and at the point that I could no longer deny that, it began hurting me. Well, with me no longer drinking I was better able to judge his drinking. How very convenient. This very judgement was fed and nurtured within me until last Monday. Eww.

Being who I am, I analyzed this to it's smallest detail and, once home, told Wolf all about it. I apologized for my self indulgent behaviour to which I was treated to the most relieved, sweet smile from my love. It really was amazing. The whole thing was amazing. I mean, I don't have the urge to spend my weekends plastered, thank God, and my feelings have changed regarding Wolf's occasional night with the boys. I know there will likely still be work to do to prevent me from slipping back into my old habit, but I'm up for that.

Next, Wolf had his neurologist appointment. The good doctor confirmed epilepsy, probably caused by Wolf's massive head injury. The back of his skull, travelling just below 60 km/h (about 37 m/h), met a curb. The doctor said that within two weeks Wolf would be called in for a cerebral angiogram. Hopefully the test will reveal the scar tissue on his brain and that the removal of said tissue is possible. They will also look at his aneurysm to see about taking care of that, too. Cleansing breath...

The 'third' thing that I'm working on is a new life. I have always been an 'artist.' I've know what I can do with a pencil, given the time and patience, and that I would love to make it a living. I know that my potential has not really showed in the bits and pieces of art that I have put on display. For the past week or so, I've been working on a portrait of one of my co-workers. Did I say that already? Well, If so, sorry about the repetition. My point is, I've shown the incomplete drawing to several people and each of them has asked what I will charge for my service. I've never had a clue. How does one put a price on something like this? What if the price is too much, or too little. How would I correct that, after the fact, for others without being totally unfair?!

Well, I was told, based on the info I had to date (it's taken me about 6-8 hours so far, I'm about half done...) that a picture this size, with this amount of detail, I could/should be charging about $450. It throws me and I think, "Really?" I'm timid about the whole thing, looking at the possibilities and daring to wonder - no, to dream that it might be possible. Wow. Really?

I guess I'm daring to dream... Now, I just need to finish the thing and get it 'out there.'

And, finally, my most recent lesson came today. I have linked my despair directly and irrefutably to anxiety. I awoke with a headache and immediately thought about this being the last day of my weekend. My mind took me to work tomorrow morning, and I was standing behind my till. I shook it off pretty quickly but my chest was a bit tight and I was instantly antsy. I managed to 'forget' the whole thing is pretty short order but I did become quiet. Wolf kept asking me what was wrong, and nothing was wrong. I was just quiet. And not hungry. And withdrawn.

Kitten was trying to tell us about her dream and one of Wolf's favourite things to do is pester the hell out of people. Every few words that Kitten would get out, Wolf would ask a question or link her words to a quote... whatever. Well, I was trying to re-engage with my family when Kitten said, "and there were these mountains and a river was winding between them..." when I smiled at her and said, "A river runs through it, which is the name of a movie." Well, my timing was off because I guess that was her breaking point. She just looked at me, eyes widened like I was the biggest betrayer, ever. Then her lips pinched shut and she turned to her breakfast without a word. I said I was sorry, and Wolf poked a little more. Well, I was done. I screwed up (which, when I'm at my best is a hard pill to swallow. At my worst, I shouldn't be permitted the care of a goldfish, let alone a child!) and had to leave the room.

As we all know, kids are far more resilient that we often give them credit for. Within minutes, she was knocking on my door, asking if she could finish the telling of her dream. I said yes and all was well. Except me. I crashed. Hard.

I realized that I wasn't trying to engage with my family for my sake. I know that when the ocean is turbulent, I need to just ride the wave. The less I fight, the quicker I reach solid ground. I know my limitations when I'm in that place. I know damned well that to deny my feeling is dangerous. And now I know that to deny my feelings, even when I think I'm helping others, is to hurt them as well as myself.

Biggies, all. Whoo-ee. And, as usual, the universe throws stuff at me when it's most pertinent. This morning, just before the emotional shit hit the fan, I saw this picture:




Thank you...

Technological advancement, my icy cold ass...

Is it just me or does this happen to everyone who has tremendous disorganizational skills and a habit of misplaced confidence, self or otherwise?

Here’s the situation. I decided, toward the end of my last weekend, that I would use this weekend to find all my drawings, scan them to my laptop, fix up whatever might need it and upload the lot of it to deviantArt. Well, this weekend is here and, of course, I waited until almost one o’clock to get started. Piece o’cake, I’m thinking.

Now, I’ve known me all my life which should be plenty of time to learn that any time I’m sure something will work, it won’t. Not easily, anyway.

Into the longroom* I go. That's where our desk top PC and printer/scanner resides. First and foremost, it’s absolutely freezing in there. We have electric heat and no money so unnecessary** rooms go without both. Second, the mouse is neither hooked up to the computer, nor is it in the same room for that matter. It’s a good thing I’m a whizz with keyboard shortcuts. Then it occurs to me that I really don’t want to sit in an icy room, keyboarding my way through various programs and why don’t I just hook up the all-in-one to my laptop? After all, I downloaded the printer drivers last month! Off goes the PC, which takes 10 minutes as it’s a dinosaur, and in comes my laptop for scanner hook up.

Back to drivers. Yes, printer drivers. My laptop recognizes the Lexmark printer (and fax, for some odd reason) but not the scanner. Not in my program menu, not anywhere. After spending 20 minutes looking for the correct download, online, my toes are numb and my hands hurt.

I go get the mouse.

It is now 3:05 pm and I’m praying. I‘m praying that the CD-RW in our PC will work for me just one more time. I have to be able to get the pictures off the ancient beast and onto my laptop. I’m praying that the disk with the pictures will be readable by my laptop.

* * * * * * * * *

Flash forward. After scanning all of my drawings, I attempted to burn the jpegs to disk. The disk went in and was read by the by the writer. The file folder containing the images dragged-and-dropped beautifully, but do you think the writer would write? No, it wouldn't. Well, it just so happens I have two MSN messenger (ooh, I must be old if I'm still calling it by that name) profiles. I signed in on each computer using the two aliases and sent all the pictures to myself. All 40 of them. One at a time.

The whole thing took just under an hour, by which time my hands were stiff, my toes were numb and my nose had a nasty case of winter-drip. I shut down the dinosaur with the same satisfaction one might feel when ridding the house of a destructive rat .

Then it happened. I realized that I had missed one drawing(my best piece, in my opinion) and became somewhat demonstrative in my frustration. Hearing my uproar, Wolf entered the room with concern and caution his in every movement. After I explained the situation, he smiled with relief and said, "Here, leave it with me. I'll hook up my lapto... Oh baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"What...?" It came out of my mouth, less as a question than a threat.

"Open your search - here..." at which point he showed me - on my laptop which was perched on one arm while I held in my other hand the file folder filled with my drawings. It would appear that typing 'scanners' into the search field (Vista) while connected to the scanner would have opened the magic and invisible door that divides the two pieces of hardware.

Hmm.

Imagine that.

Thankfully I was way too cold to be really miffed. I said 'thank you' and 'I know it for next time' and 'no, it's perfectly okay.'

So, I still don't have that last piece scanned but I did manage to get a few things uploaded, categorized and tagged, over at deviantArt. Nothing is 'sale-worthy' in my opinion, until I can correct the 'black=blue' language of my sensorily challenged scanner. Feel free to have a look anyway. That is what it's there for (as my stomach flips nervously).

Have I mentioned that I rarely show my art to my family, let alone the good people of the limitless interweb? Be gentle but please, please be honest. If I'm to make a go of this, I need honest reviews.

*Longroom: the 15X25’ room on the end of our house. It was supposed to be the studio/craft/sewing room but has become cold storage.

**The room had been made somewhat obsolete with the arrival of our laptops, last year.

Survival...

It turns out that the difference between a lousy day and a good one can be co-workers. My first and second days in paint were spent with a couple of co-workers, neither of them teacher-types. Now, in all fairness, my supervisor is up to her ears in flooring stuff as we just lost one of our two flooring staff but her method if teaching doesn't fit well with my method of learning. Her sage words of advice can be summed up thus: "Take some time to walk around the dept reading labels. That's how I learned." And then, she left for the flooring dept.

...

The other staff person, also not teacher material, is quite quiet. She speaks only if necessary and, even then, comes across as having little confidence in what she's saying. I would get tiny snippets of 'how-to' and 'where.' I'm a touch dynamic by nature and neither of these ways of learning were even close to active enough for my brain.

I spent the day making sure the prices in our computers matched up with the bin label and sticker prices. I made sure that products were lined up with their correct shelf labels. I tinted a couple of gallons of paint... I did learn, but had no idea how much. I needed to be able to ask questions. I needed to learn more, not wander aimlessly, practising what I already knew. The days were long and I felt totally useless.

On day three my salvation walked in. In this case, it took the form of a down to earth, vibrant transplant from the UK. He's just as energetic of mind as am I. He welcomes me as I follow him around, learning from his dealings with customers. He showed me where we keep the overstock!!! Well, most of it. He gave me reasons why certain products were necessary, why the steadfast priming rules don't always apply and how to decided when to overlook them, and broke down the properties of specific products so it all made sense. I need the 'why,' not just the 'use.'

In that third shift I learned more than I had the two before. We even had plenty of head space to discuss spirituality, our 'past lives' and how we've become who we are, politics... It was so very awesome.

And this all brings us to my three-hours-by-myself-in-the-paint-dept-with-only-three-and-a-half-days-worth-of-experience shift, heh.

I won't lie. I was scared out of my mind. All my usual crutches (read: staff members who continuously bail my ass out when I have no idea the answer to a customer question) were gone and I knew I was likely facing three hours without a break. I've gotten kind of used to having a breather ever two hours. In fact, I have relied on it!

Well, I did it. I was overwhelmed a time or two and I made decisions and moved forward - without help. It was painfully quiet so I had quality time with the customers who did come in. I worked it out. When I couldn't work it out, I used the phone numbers that were left for me. I was calm. I tinted five gallons and two quarts of paint, helped a couple with their stain/varnish issue, found the right product for use with polystyrene... It was amazing.

And, suddenly, I quite love my job. I mean, to the point where I've decided to work part time even if my percolating ideas come to fruition.

I always find it amusing when my whole outlook changes,pendulum-like, in less than 12 hours.

Things I saw, heard or otherwise experienced at work yesterday...

I saw my new co-worker spend half an hour making two tins of paint look like two paint chips, by eye and with the the wrong base paint (need this last part to make more sense? Let me know and I'll explain), all at the customers behest.

I was asked what my interest was in the paint dept as I couldn't be pictured to (ever) have had a paint brush in hand. When I replied, citing my year of experience painting in a new-home construction setting, I was asked "was that before or after modelling paint products."

I saw a shrink-wrapped yard-man trying to look nonchalant when I unexpectedly interrupted their fun-time.

I had a brilliant discussion on spirituality and personal growth.

I said "SILENCE! I kill you!" into a speaker phone during business hours.

I helped a few people, by.my.self!!!, and learned so much more!

So, I will concede that this is not the job from hell, therefore I will not kill myself just yet. I will update after this coming shift, wherein I will spend the last 3 hours of the day completely alone in my department, armed only with far-too-little-knowledge and a list of phone numbers that I can call "If (I) need anything at all..."