Filed under: Fleeting thoughts..., Photography, travel | Tags: cape cod, Linda Richman, nyc, parenting, travel
You know those bumper stickers that say, “I survived blahdy blah“? I feel that I need one of those for these last three weeks of summer vacation. I have a bumper crop of gray hairs as material proof of the ordeal. (Because I have frizzy hair, my gray hairs look EVEN WORSE than most people’s…pity my hideousness…)
During this three week period, I noticed that the words “play date” would often put me into a mild panic. It might be because most of my son’s play dates usually devolve into complete pandemonium. Can one use the word “tsunami” as a verb…as in, “My son and his friend have “tsunamied” the house?” Possibly. (An image of our post-play date living room could be used for the wikipedia entry.) I spend most of the time being the “house goalie,” trying to deflect the path of destruction that my six-year old son and his friends are typically on. Sometimes, I can calm their craziness with a bowl of cheddar goldfish and lemonade. Sometimes, I just rock absentmindedly in the corner as I clutch the bag of cheddar goldfish for dear life.
I’m not really cut out to be a mom, but I’m doing my best.
I had the bright idea of taking my son to NYC for a couple of days, in order to show him some tall buildings and to escape the craziness at home. The trip actually turned out better than expected, as I was worried that he would hate it for some reason. We didn’t get a chance to visit anyone, as we weren’t there long enough, so we just ran around…the two of us.
I had the bright idea of finding a hotel with a pool. That large object at the top of my picture is my finger, not a flesh-colored UFO landing on my son’s head. This was the first thing that we did in NYC. I know…not very NYC…big whoop.
We went to the top of the Empire State Building. He liked it, but didn’t like the crowds of people. I bought the “express” tickets, as we would never had made it if we had to wait in line for hours. Actually, “I” wouldn’t have made it. I would have just slipped back into my catatonic state again, much like my reaction to play dates.
My son had the wherewithal not to practice parkour when we were up there. Apparently, he does have a sensible bone in his body! I take no credit for that.
We spent the ENTIRE DAY at the American Museum of Natural History. That’s a fantastic place. I normally avoid places where lots of people and kids congregate, but this was really cool. (Probably because it didn’t feel like there were lots of people and kids there.) They had an amazing exhibit of LIVE SPIDERS.
I am deathly afraid of spiders…so these huge, hairy ones petrify me. Yes, that’s my finger in yet ANOTHER photograph…but this time to show scale. (don’t all professional photographers do that???) That thing was HUGE. Beyond gross. It’s so enormous that I can’t even call it a spider, but must refer to it as a “thing.” You couldn’t pay me to touch one of those creatures. I stopped myself from yelling, “SO BEYOND GROSS!!!” at each of them, so that I would not taint my son’s opinion of them. Those things have eight eyes, so I bet they could see my revulsion. If one of them had jumped or made a sudden move, I would have lost my mind.
In spite of my stress at seeing the spiders, the museum was generally calm. See how it doesn’t feel crowded? That kind of tourist attraction…I can tolerate. For some reason, the Museum of Science in Boston is always a madhouse. I can’t go there. I’d rather remain dumb in my living room than go there and learn something.
We also had some time in Central Park. Hallelujah! Something that mommy will let me climb on! I would just go into another mild panic when he ran out of view, but I had no bag of goldfish to clutch and comfort me.
And, of course…bubble tea. Luckily, it was noisy in that cafe. The hipsters wouldn’t have appreciated our loud slurping to eat every last blob.
We got back from NYC, and almost immediately left for a week at the Cape.
Of course, that last picture is from Provincetown, and, of course, my son found that wildly entertaining. We tried to get tickets for the show, but were told that it was only for cool people. (Just kidding…about the tickets…)
We found some neat stuff at the beach:
Okay…so, I obviously added the eyeballs in Photoshop. But isn’t this rock BEGGING for eyeballs??? If this were a Pokemon, it would be called “Flobu” and it would do 30 points of damage by either sitting or shedding on its opponent. (Please send help. I think that I’m still recovering from 24/7 mommy duty…)
We caught a pretty fantastic sunset over the water one evening. We also ate gobs of ice cream.
So, thank god we’re back home and have returned to our normal routine. Now, you can be sure to have more blog posts and more minutiae! I’m thinking that the topic of my next post will be:
Q-TIPS: THE CONTROVERSY
Are you a user?
What’s your tip of choice?
Are you careful?
Or, do you use them with reckless abandon?
Discuss…a la Linda Richman.
Thanks be to Adria, my advisor extraordinaire! Yes, I met with her this morning in order to bemoan my angst-ridden existence as an artist. I wasn’t at the point that I needed to cut off an ear, mind you, but I felt defeated. (I decided to spare her my festering mom-angst complaints…) But THEN…she tells me that such despair is normal, and nothing to fret about. REALLY??? But, I’m so GOOD at fretting. I might say that it’s what I do best. But now… because I understand that struggle is NORMAL in the art world, I somehow feel better. Why is that??? I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m a moron and that it’s obvious that there is struggle in creation. Duh. Let me clarify: I think that there is a perception that renowned artists who are dead had lots of struggle in their life, but that any living artist worth her salt shouldn’t admit to struggle. She should appear matter-of-fact…as if the canvas/paper/clay WANTED to be that way. I remember someone in architecture school used to talk like that…”it wanted to be there/like that/bigger/smaller/etc.” I always thought that was a crafty way of turning what is a subjective statment into one that appears to be objective. My point is that no one likes to admit that they struggle. Right? This gives those of us who do struggle a migraine. Thoughts?
This weekend, I am planning on going to the South End Open Studios. Should be fun! I’ll report next week on my findings. I’ll also let you know who provided the best snacks.
So, my recent drawing is a self-portrait:
That’s it still on the board…closer:
Note the look of thoughtful and mild angst…I tried to be “realistic.” Actually, if I had truly wanted to be realistic, I would have put some crud on my shirt that my four-year old somehow got on me at breakfast time. I’m going to do another self-portrait. We’ll see what happens.
I have no brilliant artwork from my son. He does say the funniest things, though. Yesterday, at the dinner table, he told me that he was “weary and tired.” Such drama. At least he can express himself, and not automatically resort to a fatique-fueled meltdown. Why can’t we harness the energy of preschoolers for our energy shortages? I’m sure that a single classroom of them could power all of Vegas for a day. Or, if you throw in some cookies and chocolate milk…you can power it for an entire WEEK.
But I digress, as per usual.
I’ll end this post with the amazing work of someone who can draw like crazy!
Please watch this video HERE of him completing this drawing. Pretty amazing, right??? I notice that a little hand didn’t come over and put down some little conglomeration of Lego. Hmm. He must have different working conditions from me. I assume that he’s drawing from a computer image, but if that’s the view out his window…then his working conditions are RADICALLY different than mine. (I’m not complaining…just an observation, mind you…obviously, his studio must “want” to be that way…)
slightly wonky 