Alternative art

Fingerpainting might just be the bane of my existence.

Most projects that can hold my toddler's attention for longer than a nanosecond are a welcome blessing. I relish any opporunity to engage Madelyn in a purposeful activity where I feel that her mind and/or motor skills can develop. But I am often more selfish than a mother probably ought to be, because the most appealing aspect of such activities is the collateral benefit allowing me a few minutes to work through my to-do list, make dinner, or read a book.

But fingerpainting, for a two-year-old at least, demands among the highest levels of parental attention and focus. We go outside. We put on grubby clothes (or not, see photo). The paint is washable. Yet I still can't bring myself to leave her alone because the moment she loses interest in her paper canvas, the patio chair or Hardiplank siding might become her next work of art realize the need to intervene. Maybe when boredom sets in, she'll simply come and find me, but how many painty fingerprints might ardorn my walls by the time I hear that she's come inside? In such cases, the free time afforded by the project is swiftly cancelled out by its disastrous consequences.

Also, Madelyn has a hard time squeezing the paint out of the tubes, but of course is determined to do it by herself. I believe in allowing children opportunities to try the tasks that challenge them in order to improve, as long as I'm not particular about the outcome and no danger is imminent. Those circumstances apply here, but when Madelyn finally gets paint out, it splooges half of the bottle onto the paper and it really bugs me. So then my control freak side and my patient, loving mother side endure an internal struggle.

Then there's the fact that Madelyn doesn't really "get" fingerpainting. And that it takes about as much time to clean up as it does to complete a dozen works of art. Oh, and having to set the papers out to dry all over my kitchen table because it's too windy outside and the paint takes forever to dry since Madelyn doesn't "get" fingerpainting and all the globs stay in pretty much globular thickness and therefore need a couple of days under the heat of a thousand suns to solidify.

So, when the daily inquisition regarding the possibility of getting out the fingerpaints recently ensued, I brilliantly fashioned the perfect alternative.

One white plate.

One bristled basting brush.

Two colors of applesauce in wide-mouthed cups.

This painting project satisfied Madelyn's artistic cravings longer than fingerpainting ever has. The novelty of it was surely exciting, plus the fact that she was able to literally enjoy the fruits of her talent (being apparently unable help herself from eating Play-Doh, this is a natural progression). The kitchen table is just a stone's throw from my workspace, and the inherent risks of fingerpaint just aren't present with this new medium. I diligently worked nearby, delightfully attuned to the sounds of a happy toddler, not only expertly painting but essentially licking up her own mess as well.

Culprit

Last night I made dinner twice.

Damn dog.

While Tillamook's Special Reserve Extra Sharp Cheddar melted over the sizzling bean and grain burgers, I carefully spread mayo and salsa on 2 and half toasted whole grain buns. A sprinkling of lettuce and they readily accepted the warmth of wholesome black bean patties. Two Bartlett pears sliced, then divided among the plates. Water glasses filled and arranged around our little table alongside each plate. Dinner was ready, looking equally pretty and delicious.

I was hungry.

My daughter, however, was entrenched in the clever plot of the Leap Frog Letter Factory, and I knew the pleasant dinner I envisioned was certainly more likely if I didn't pull her away before X, Y, and Z. So I snuggled up with my golden-haired cutie and quickly read a chapter of my book while awaiting the final bars of "Every Letter Makes a Sound" to be complete.

Just as I suspected, with the movie over, Madelyn made her delightful way toward the kitchen calling for her daddy: "Gehhhweeee (Gary), dinner ah weddy! Come on!"

When we emerged from the hallway to look upon my lovely, nutritious feast, I immediately noticed one glaring difference from the scene I had left there a few minutes previously. A minor thing, really. Each plate remained innocuously centered atop its place mat. It was just that these plates, upon which I had carefully arranged our dinner, were now EMPTY. This I could see from my vantage point 25 feet away. No evidence of the mass destruction that had recently--and very quietly--taken place remained. Nothing but crumbs.

My heart sank as I loudly groaned, "Oh...no." Even before I took 3.2 seconds to scan the room, looking for some evidence that maybe I was indeed insane and had not in fact cooked dinner and set this very table, I knew that the dinner I was anxious to devour now sat barely chewed in the pit of Loki's ravenous stomach.

From the other room, my husband grew very concerned and ran out to see why I was so distraught. I showed him the empty plates and effectively pointed at the abominable Siberian Husky licking his guilty chops a few feet from the table. His sister had been lying on the bed with Madelyn and me, so there was NO QUESTION about the culprit's identity.

I had to allow myself a few minutes to just be angry before I could re-make our entire meal. There wasn't enough left to feed us all, but thankfully I had cooked all four burgers (intending to have leftovers). So I sliced more expensive cheese, reheated the patties, prepared take-2 of the buns, and we all shared one and a half bean and grain burgers and the one remaining pear. Actually, my sweetheart allowed me to eat the whole burger and took a few bites of Madelyn's half plus fixed some leftovers from the fridge. How generous!

This morning I only fed Loki half of his usual breakfast. Despite what I might wish, I know he will not make any connection between his paltry serving size and last night's despicable behavior. But I figure that his naughty binge provided plenty of additional calories. And I felt only slightly satisfied with my act of righteous indignation.

Alas, I still love the damn dog.

Zeroing in on a half-eaten PB&J at Donner Memorial

June 30, 2009

Aw, crap

I'm wondering if that is what some residents of Battle Mountain, Nevada said to themselves after their town's pride was honored by emblazoning its initials onto the side of a big, brown hill. This tradition is common among small towns, especially in the Rocky Mountain area, it seems. But for some towns, maybe some additional consideration to the big picture should have been given.

That's a BM to be proud of.

Isn't it great that I can't find time to write any intelligent posts for over a month, and then I return to you with a poo joke?

Longest Run

My breathing has returned to normal. My hips and knees are regaining elasticity.  My sweat-dampened shirt now feels chilly in this air-conditioned room.  A few minutes ago I completed the longest run of my life. Ten miles. 

I plan to break this record twice during the next two weekends, as I complete my training for the Helvetia Half Marathon on June 13th.  But this run was significant to me because before it, 9.3 was the highest number of miles I had logged in a single run, and that was accomplished when I was about 19 years old.   For two consecutive years, I ran a beautiful 15k race along the Historic Columbia River Highway.  The race takes place at dusk, beginning just above Crown Pointe and winding down the scenic highway to Multnomah Falls.  I had not returned to running faithfully until this past fall.  So over the past 10 months I have been gradually improving my endurance and strength, ultimately surpassing that milestone of my youthful fitness this very evening.

I know my marathon-running friends will still be proud of my 10 miles, even though they ran 26.2 miles yesterday.  And I am still proud of my 10 miles, even if I didn't come close to shattering any speed records.  I averaged an 11:00 pace tonight, but two days ago I ran five miles at a 9:40 pace.  So during my shorter runs I am increasing speed.  In case you don't want to get out your calculator, this means I ran for an hour and 50 minutes tonight!  Sigh. I'm not sure if I can keep up this running gig. It is so damn time consuming! 

Speaking of which, I must resign myself to the fact that my lifestyle is not conducive to being a regular blogger. If I worked full time but had no children, I could fit it in. If I was a mother without a business to run, I could fit it in. Maybe if I chose to give up exercise, I could fit it in, but that ain't never gonna happen.  I actually have copious ideas for blog posts...but for me, writing requires quiet and focus. With a 2-year-old around, those do not exist in unison.  In the limited moments without a 2-year-old around, I have to be a mature adult and put my work first. The good news is, my little munchkin starts preschool this fall! Surely those extra hours of "freedom" each day will afford me a little bit of time to devote to you, my legions of doting followers. I can't believe how quickly that day is approaching, and I am thrilled for her. I think Madelyn will love the experience, and I believe we have chosen an outstanding school.  More on this will likely be forthcoming.

There is something very special about accomplishing something for the first time or breaking a personal record, like my 10.0 miles tonight.  What is your record-breaking story?  

American Idol Finale: The good, the bad, and the ugly

Whether you were pulling for Adam Lambert or Kris Allen, or even if you had never before seen a minute of American Idol, last week's Season Finale was arguably an unforgettable show.  The abundant guest performers came from the top ranks of stardom, proving that American Idol is recognized as a legitimate musical platform.  It was as diverse a group as could have been imagined: from Rod Stewart to KISS, Fergie to Queen, Cyndi Lauper to Steve Martin. The music was unbelievable, set against a backdrop of mechanical sets and flaming pyrotechnics, with a few nicely construed comedic breaks thrown in for good measure.  Before the winner was ever announced, we were treated to a world-class rock concert.

The two finalists announce alongside Queen that "they are the champions"

But it wasn't all pretty.  Here are my favorite moments of the finale, along with some I would have preferred to do without.

Good: Carlos Santana's genius guitar-riffing highlighted in the center of a circle of idols he accompanied.

Bad: Rod Stewart, just a little too old.

Ugly: Fergie and Black Eyed Peas' hardcore duet had to be bleeped for language. This is a family show!

Ugly: Adam's wire-cage black angel wings?!?!

Good: Okay, once KISS was dramatically lowered onto the stage behind him, it all made sense.  What a lucky bitch to get a chance to sing with those guys.

Bad (maybe the cool kind of bad): Paul Stanley smashed his diamond(?)-encrusted electric guitar against the stage until it broke in two.

I wonder what sort of daily tongue exercise routine these guys have to maintain

Good: Allison Iraheta singing "Time After Time" with Cyndi Lauper, plucking along on her lap guitar. 

Bad: Wish Allison would have sung more and Ms. Lauper a little less. Allison's voice was perfect on this number.

Ugly: Cyndi Lauper sitting spread eagle in those hideous pants.

Good: Did you even know that Steve Martin was a musician? He accompanied a song he wrote on the banjo!

Bad: The undeserving contestants selected to perform Mr. Martin's brainchild were Michael Sarver and Megan Joy Corkery. 

Ugly: I could have happily lived my life without ever hearing Megan Joy sing again. 

Good: Nick Mitchell's "Golden Idol" acceptance: dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, he professed his regret for not preparing anything because he had no idea he would be coming on stage. Then suddenly he yelled, "Hit it!" and stripped off the sweatshirt to reveal his signature sparkly shirt, allowing us to bask in the glory that is Norman Gentle one last time. So endearing.

Bad: Bikini Girl's "Golden Idol" acceptance: the fact that they even allowed that girl anywhere near the show again makes my blood boil.  Her disgusting fake-baked body strutted out in a shiny new bikini, with some shiny new implants to fill it out. YUCK! 

Good: They let Bikini Girl (Katrina Darrell) sing, and she was truly awful. And then. And THEN Kara Dioguardi, the judge whose sing-off with this contestant at her despicable audition kicked off the drama, waltzed down the staircase behind Miss Darrell, microphone in hand.  As Randy Jackson might say, Kara's got some pipes, dawg! Bikini Girl kept her composure and tried to keep singing along (interviews confirm that Kara's upstaging appearance was a complete surprise to Darrell).  But wait. There's more! Along with her final note, Kara ripped open the modest black dress she wore to reveal a set of tight abs in a black bikini, all in a healthy shade of pasty white.  The best part is that Kara exposed herself only because Ryan seacrest dared her with a promised donation to her favorite charity.  After her shocking reveal, Kara quickly covered up, looking embarrassed, showing Bikini Girl and the rest of the world that sometimes a little modesty is more sexy than half an ounce of string wrapped around fake, orange softballs. Sweet, sweet satisfaction.

Ugly: Tatiana del Toro's "Golden Idol" acceptance: Ryan Seacrest feigned being out of time and needing break for commercial, informing Tatiana that she wouldn't be able to sing.  The diva ran on stage, grabbed her trophy, and sang her song with two security guards half-heartedly chasing her around.  This actually would have been hilarious if it were real, but clearly it was a cheesy part of the act and she was in on it.

After 2 hours and 7 minutes of suspense (What am I saying? I was so entertained I practically forgot we were waiting for results!), Kris Allen was crowned the winner of American Idol, Season Eight.  He appeared to be the most shocked person in the room, and spent the next two minutes looking down, shaking his head, and even pointing at Adam as if to say, "he deserves this more." This might have been irritating, except I can't think of anyone whose humility has ever seemed more genuine. 

The good news is that both singers are destined to work in the music industry, at least for the near future.  Kris' win was viewed as sort of an "upset," but I wasn't surprised at all.  I wouldn't have been surprised if Adam had won, either, because they were both incredible performers.  But you cannot underestimate the importance of Kris' universal appeal versus Adam's very outlandish flamboyancy. Even I preferred Adam earlier on, but toward the end people start thinking about whose CD they would actually buy (how dated--I should say: whose singles they would actually download), and who they want to hear on the radio, not just who is fun to watch on stage with all of the theatrics of television.  Plus, I believe Danny Gokey had a strong Christian following.  After his departure, where do you think those votes went?

The results may not have provided any big surprise, but the rest of the finale show was full of them, which made it very entertaining.  An apt conclusion to a very fun season full of talent.

Unfunky

Is there a better way to cure a case of The Funk than a fresh new hairstyle? I suppose an all-expenses-paid tropical escape would do it, or maybe a truckload of new clothes that actually fit me properly and which are not T-shirts.  But for practicality's sake, a wild hair-do will have to...do.  

This rockstar color scheme's appeal to me must be another manifestation of my early mid-life crisis.  To be candid, I do yearn for some aspects of my more carefree youth, I miss my 20-year-old childless body, and sometimes I wish I stood out in a crowd.  The Funk was more than just a gray day, and although it's not entirely gone, at least now my hair has electric purple highlights. 

I try not to say things that aren't truthful.  If a friend shows up in an outfit that I find atrocious, I may sincerely shriek, "I love those shoes!" Greeting a customer with a new, unflattering haircut, I might say, "Hey! You got your hair cut! Short hair will be great this summer when it's hot."  When a mother is showing off a baby that I don't feel particularly compelled to coo and cuddle, perhaps I'd offer a relatable, "Aww, aren't babies fun?"  I just don't like to feign sycophantic praise where it's not heartfelt.  I'll either focus my praise where it is genuine, or make neutral remarks. 

Before you think me a black hearted monster (because I don't lie to my friends, I guess), take note: It has been amusing to recognize how many people follow the same principle when encountering my neon streaks of hair.  Between a small handful of genuine compliments, I have primarily heard observational statements such as:

"Oh! You colored your hair! ... Huh."

"Your hair is purple! ... When did you do that?"

"Is that permanent? ... What made you decide to do that?"

No one dyes his or her hair purple unless wanting to be noticed, but weirdos like us have to understand that not everyone is going to like our weirdness.  There is no doubt that my own mother is not a fan.  But I am having fun with it, and needed a way to enjoy my hair while I commit to growing it out--a process I despise. 

The cherry (or grape? ha ha ha) on top of this little story is that I think I have finally found the hairstylist to whom I want to establish a loyalty, after 9 years of searching. I'll tell you why in an upcoming blog post. 

American Idol Top 7 through 3

I slacked off on my very important duty of keeping everyone in the world up to date concerning what happened on American Idol and my related opinions.  Sorry about that, but here is a brief recap of the past 4 weeks. 

First of all, there has been only one error in my prediction of eliminations made in early April: Lil and Anoop were voted off on the same night (after Matt was saved by the judges the previous week), then Matt un-shockingly went home next, exactly as I stated would happen. The top four presented a more delicate challenge, in that every remaining contestant not only boasted worthy talent and star-quality, but each one was recognizably unique. I can imagine singles on the radio from any of this year's top four, and their stark differences in performance-styles made the group very fun to watch.

My error was in previously predicting that Danny would go home before Allison, but in reality the order was reversed.  Otherwise my forecast was spot-on, and we will be treated to a duel between the flamboyant, screaming, often sparkly Adam Lambert and the humble, guitar/piano-playing pretty boy Kris Allen.  Remember Kris is the one who was as shocked as the rest of the country when he was ushered into the Top 13 during the early elimination rounds. 

Several weeks ago, I was swayed by Adam's marvelously distinctive arrangements and sultry, soft ballads.  But I've since boldly moved into the Kris Allen camp. For one thing, Adam has unapologetically returned to screechy rock songs, and while I still appreciate the proficiency of his skills, his screamy voice is not as appealing to me as his dreamy voice.  I was horrified by his butchering of the Aerosmith classic "Cryin'" last week.  In addition, I've decided that I would be more apt to listen to the style of music most likely to be recorded by Kris on the radio than the type that Adam will eventually record.  I imagine they will both be outfitted with satisfying record-deals, no matter who earns the most votes this week.  Lastly, I prefer Kris' genuine dumbfounded humility to Adam's grateful, yet not-entirely-surprised-to-be-in-the-finals demeanor.  Having said all that, Adam will make a better rock star than Kris, and probably any prior American Idol contestant ever.  He definitely possesses a certain showmanship.

After America's Favorite Singer is bestowed his title this Wednesday, we get to move enthusiastically on to the search for America's Favorite Dancer on So You Think You Can Dance, a show that (since watching it for the first time last year) I find significantly more entertaining than American Idol.  Sorry.  Let's get the two remaining AI episodes out of the way before I get too excited about the dancers!