All right already

Is it a law that grandmothers have to noodge you? Or does that only apply to mothers' mothers?

I remember my grandmother noodging me to take a walk with her one time, when I was about sixteen. She was visiting my mom in her post-divorce apartment, and my grandmother wanted company at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning on a Sunday. She didn't whine or bite my head off: she just. Kept. Asking. Gaaah.

She's been dead since I was 19, but she's still noodging me to get going. Focal image done. Now to begin housing her.

The un-caped crusader

"I Superman!" -- TwoBoo, standing in his birthday suit on the changing table this morning.

Ya know, I can't really imagine a two-year-old girl doing the same thing.

*cough snort sneeze* Sorry for the absence

Never mind the coughing and wheezing.

Must... get... back... to power tools.

See the bits of sawdust dirtying up the photo? Once the kids were out of the house, I got serious about sanding away the labels on the cigar boxes I'm going to use in my next project. Note the fabulous protective gear. (Especially the scarf. Believe me when I tell you that curly hair will hold on like death to particles of sawdust if you don't cover up beforehand.)

 

Sometime after I peeled off this "bank-robbing alien" costume, I sealed the boxes with matte medium. I've been beating myself up a bit for not moving forward faster on this in particular, and not making more art in general. Which is stupid, since I have been journal spilling, at least.

And January in this house means prepping for The Boy's birthday party, plus cleverly rearranging junk piles cleaning up for the grandparents' visits. It's just that I should get a move on with this project before I hate its guts and lose whatever momentum I have left. I may have to -- gasp -- set a schedule and stick to it. Gaaah.