Following The Road

I need more practice. I’ve spent the last year and a half working on illustrations and web design. I’ve got a fairly decent sized portfolio going but I still need practice. So, I’ve decided to make up my own assignments.

Right now I’m focused on Adobe Illustrator. I want to be able to create illustrations as quickly on the computer as I can draw them on paper. Which isn’t especially fast, just faster than now. I can’t change my header every couple of days, so I need something else to do in my spare time. Headers will probably be a monthly assignment. (And I’m considering offering a custom header service. Anyone interested?) I’m thinking of creating little things and posting them here on Fridays for anyone to use. Right now it’s illustrations but later it will probably be web design stuff.

This week I was thinking about St. Patty’s day. I don’t usually decorate my house or my blog for St. Patty’s Day but I thought a blog button would be cute. A little something that doesn’t overwhelm my blog.

I created a Drunk Girl button for my sloshy friends:

<a href="http://www.followingtheroad.com/?p=875"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4014/4422737155_b79170db2e_o.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="following the road" />

And a Nice Girl button for all you folks that don’t drink (Although- if you don’t drink, do you just ignore St. Patty’s Day? ‘Cause it’s just not the same without green beer. It’s like Cinco de Mayo without a margarita.) :

<a href="http://followingtheroad.com/?p=875"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2734/4422737179_02813c8eba_o.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="Following The Road" />

Warning: They link back to this post so others can grab it too. If you want to use it on your blog please leave the link back to here. If you want to do anything else with this illustration besides use it as a blog button, please contact me first (jen at followingtheroad dot com).

Also? The red box around the button will not show up on your blog. It’s something to do with my stylesheet and I can’t figure out how to get rid of it. Anyone want to help? Anyone? Sam? TheWorkingMom?

Go ahead. Grab a button and have a happy St. Patty’s Day.

Most people think that living in the mountains guarantees you some lovely quiet time.

Most people are often wrong.

There are crickets chirping and bullfrogs croaking and dogs barking. There are sheep baaaa-ing and horses neighing and a never ending commentary from the stream that runs through the yard. It’s a pretty sound, but it’s anything but quiet. That’s before you step inside my house where there are little girls running around like banshees and a baby coo-ing and a husband stomping around. Again- these are sounds I enjoy but they are anything but quiet.

It seems like the only quiet time I do get is while driving alone in my car. That may explain why the majority of my pictures are taken while driving. It’s pretty much the only time I get to really look around and relax. I usually don’t turn on the radio. I leave the windows up. It’s blissfully silent.

It gives me time to clear my head and frame pictures. So I present: My very quiet drive home.

This is bridge number three:

Apparently it was built in 1927. Or the people that built it really enjoyed 1927. I guess either could be true.

I cross this river at least a dozen times during my drive. The road zigs and zags over it, with a dozen different types of bridges.

How do I know when I’m home? When the sound of chainsaws break through the silence of my car. Still- chainsaws mean firewood. Firewood means a warm house. I’d give up silence for warmth any day.

It looks like it should be a quiet place, right?

You Capture Thursdays are hosted by I Should Be Folding Laundry. You can play along here.

It’s been a year and five months since I told Jeremy I was leaving.

A year and five months since he convinced me to stay.

I would like to say every thing turned around that day. I would like to say our marriage is now perfect. But being truthful is pretty important to me these days.  I have to admit we have our good days and our bad. Just like everything else in life, our marriage is in a state of constant evolution.

I think it’s important to point out that we’re still trying.

I was promised a lot of things in the discussions that kept me here. Some of them came about, some of them didn’t. But the fact that he tried- is trying- to change the things that made staying impossible is enough for me. Seeing a continuous attempt to be a better husband, a better father, is enough.

There are days when I want to scream and stomp my feet and run away. There are days when I think I should have left when I was still angry, when I think that staying was the worst decision of my life. I wonder if I would have stayed if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. I wonder if I should have left anyway. I’m afraid the answer is that I would have left. Being pregnant is what kept me here. I should be ashamed to say it, but I’m not. It’s the truth. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would have left.

I’m glad I was pregnant.

Those bad moments are countered by days when I think how wonderfully lucky I am. It’s a rare thing to find someone that not only laughs at your jokes but can make you laugh in return. There are beautiful days filled with sunshine and rainbows, days when I think staying was the best decision of my life.

Most days are somewhere in between.

I’m okay with that.

Life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s not all drama and tears. It’s mostly somewhere in between. The choices we made together shaped our relationship. I let him get away with things I shouldn’t have. He let me do the same. We are both working on making better decisions. We’re both trying to shape our relationship differently.

I think a year and five months is long enough to look back and say things have improved. It’s probably long enough to predict that we will stick. I hope so.

That kind of says it all, right?

I hope we are together forever. I hope that someday we look back on those black days and laugh about how young and naive we were. I hope that when we are old and gray we can sit together and remember the beautiful moments. I want to sit on the porch next to him and watch our grandkids running through the yard. I want to keep adding to those golden days.

We’re trying every day to make more of them. I’ve always believed that people make their own luck. Positive actions and careful decision make things happen. I’ve earned those perfect moments.

Life isn’t all rainbows and sunshine, but today felt like a four-leaf clover.

If you happen to be a prolific photographer like me, eventually your kids are going to stop posing and start demanding that you put the damn camera away already.

My kids are there:

Even Little is tired of smiling for the camera:

Pretty soon, even other people’s kids start turning their back on you:

But no matter what, There is one kid who turns it on for the camera.

One kid that I can always count on. No matter what he’s doing, if I pull out the camera, Charge lights up.

He practically glows.

Ah, nephew, you are a kid after my own heart.

Mamarazzi Mondays are hosted by Household 6 Diva.

Remember WAY back when I talked about this winter being wet and dreary and miserable? No?

Let me remind you… this winter is wet, dreary and miserable. I don’t deal well with wet, dreary and miserable. It makes me irritable, angry and short-tempered. Lately, I am all of the above plus emotional, lazy and unmotivated.

I’ve decided to pretend it’s summer. I’m packing the wood-stove until it’s about to burst to make it unseasonably warm in my house. Then the girls and I will sit around the living room in shorts and tank tops sipping lemononade. We’ll turn on every light in the room and take off the lampshades. After putting on a pair of sunglasses and lighting my beach scented candles, I’ll lay back on my extra large towel with a silly summer book. Sure- it might be raining outside, but inside we are going for full blown denial.

Hello, SUMMER. I’ve missed you so.

I’ve even stretched the denial to my blog. See the pretty summer header? Can’t you just feel the heat radiating off of it?

I’m a firm believer in positive thinking. If I believe summer is here, it will arrive faster. It will.

Stop looking at me like that.

Hope.

It’s kind of a strange concept. You want something to be true, even though there is nothing to prove it’s likelihood.

This is Bright being hopeful I’ll change my mind about taking her to see Alice in Wonderland this weekend.

Her hope is slightly based in reality, since I want to see this movie. I’ve got a thing for Alice. It goes way back to my Disney days. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to take the BFF and her to the movies. What can I say? I hate crowds. Especially opening weekend crowds. Especially-infinity opening RAINY DAY weekend crowds. Blech.

This is me being hopeful that my Shiny! New! camera will turn me into a Supah Star of photography.

And this is My sister in law, my husband, and our friend being hopeful that they are each not the person with the largest belly. Also? They are probably pretty hopeful that I won’t get it into my head to post this on the internet.

Remember what I said at the beginning about hope being a strange concept?

I am participating in You Capture Thursdays, you can see more posts or play along at I Should Be Folding Laundry.

This year I decided that I was going to start sending birthday cards to the people I love. I called all the moms I could think of and quizzed them on birthdates. I wrote them into my day planner. I went to Target and started picking cards. Then I added them up in my head and realized I was going to spend a small fortune on birthday cards this year.

HEY WAIT! I already have a small fortune. I keep it tucked into my scrapbooking dresser.

Technically, I don’t scrapbook.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I thought scrap-booking would be a good idea. I bought the little doo-dads, all the pretty papers. I purchased stickers up the hoo-ha and a half trillion sticky frames. I bought letters and sparkly, poofy cutouts. I actually scrap-booked a couple of pages. They were masterpieces of epic proportions. Two hours later, I stepped back, looked at them and realized that my ratio was about three photographs per page. I had a stack of photographs that rivaled the Eiffel Tower in height.

This was a problem.

I stopped scrap-booking and starting shoving pictures into albums with hastily scribbled captions. These days I don’t even do that much. These days I’m proud if our birthday party pictures make it off my camera’s memory card and on to the computer before the next birthday. It’s an 8G card for a reason.

Those scrap-booking aisles still called to me. I love stickers. I love doo-dads in bright colors. I LOVE sparkly, poofy cutouts. When something is on sale, or Target is clearing out their inventory for newer stock, I buy. I can’t help it. I’m a papyrus whore.

I’ve been saving all of these adorable paper goods for something special, something like… Well- I don’t actually know. Something worthy of all the money I’ve thrown into this obsession over the last ten years? That’s probably it.

But, if I used one small fortune to fund another small fortune, it would justify years of The Crazy. My obsession wouldn’t be a dirty little secret. It would be useful. It would almost be like I was planning on doing this all along. Hallelujah! Do you hear the angels singing?

Today I made birthday cards. At first I tried to make cards that looked like they could have been purchased at a store. Then I decided those were boring. So, I started making cards that I thought were fun. They aren’t professional. They’re unique.

Star decided to get in on the card-making extravaganza too. That yellow card with the bear is hers.

I filled the inside with random blabbering about whatever popped into my head. See this? This is where I try to justify a smiling sun and cuddly bear on a Man’s card.

Fish are totally manly.

Here’s where I encourage Bud’s girlfriend to go get drunk. I’m classy like that.

When did my hands become so wrinkled? No, really- when? Send lotion.

Personally, I’d rather get a card filled with the ramblings of a friend than another generic sentiment from Hallmark. But hey- maybe that’s just me. Either way, I don’t care. This year everyone is getting a wee bit of The Crazy in their mailbox.

*Send your address to jen at followingtheroad dot com and I’ll do my best to add you to the list. That is- until my list gets so long that I start to get stabby. Then you’re SOL.

Much like those lame frogs that are too stupid to jump from a pot of slowly heated water, I am being driven insane by the force of Star.

It’s one of those days where she isn’t doing any thing technically bad, just slightly less than good. She isn’t yelling or throwing tantrums. She’s just pouting me into insanity. She’s sitting on the couch, complaining about being bored.

Then she’s picking up toys (’cause if I’m going to give you something to do, it’s going to be chores) in the Half-Wilted Tulip pose. She’s doing it, she just wants to make sure I realize she’s doing it unwillingly.

She’s mopey. She’s whiny. She’s THERE. Behind me. Every second of the day. We’re thisclose today. THISCLOSE.

I’d jump but I’m pretty sure she would follow me.

Yeah yeah blah blah parenthood is like this. I know. But wouldn’t it be nice if parenthood had a pause button? Like a pause until it gets warmer and less depressing around here button.

Pause until it stops raining and I can send her outside for half an hour button.

Pause until I can stop pulling my hair out button.

Let’s work on that, shall we?

Every year about this time my local country radio station does a St.Jude telethon. They spend a week raising money by telling heart breaking stories about kids with cancer and parents who deal with the worst of the worst. They talk for hours about giving money and hope and helping to find a cure. This lasts not for a day but for an entire WEEK.

Every year at the beginning of the week, I go online, donate what ever couple of bucks I can afford and then turn off my radio. I go silent for the week. Because I don’t want to hear about kids with cancer. I don’t want to think about kids with cancer. I don’t want to hear stories of hopeful parents or parents that have dealt with the worst of the worst. I want to be happily oblivious. I want to go about my day, singing along to Cowboy Casanova without ever once hearing about St. Jude’s or their patients. I’m afraid this makes me a terrible person.

But I do it anyway.

***

Two weeks ago, Bright came home from school with a baseball sign up flyer. She announced that for the first time ever, she really, absolutely, must play baseball. I said okay. Then I forgot about it until today. Today, in Walmart (where all the cool kids hang) I stumbled across my neighbor who proudly announced that her husband would be coaching their 4 year old’s T-ball team. Sign ups were yesterday.

I missed them.
Crap.

Luckily these are neighbors that don’t shoot at us. These are neighbors that actually like us and our children. They offered to give Bright a spot on their T-ball team. They even picked another 7 year old so she wouldn’t be the oldest kid on the team.

She wanted baseball- she’s getting t-ball. As the perfect parent that I am, I convinced her this was a good opportunity for her to learn to play the game before jumping into the minor leagues. Ummm… Yeah. It was meant to be.

FAIL.

***

A few months ago my brother in law, Cobain, sent this link around to every one we know. It’s a video of a lizard, or a gecko type thing, saying some pretty incoherent junk. It’s not  funny unless you’ve visited the beer fridge one too many times. Not at all. The language is absolutely not safe for work and is possibly mildly offensive to just about everyone. And yet? It’s the video that has spawned a thousand catchphrases among our usual group of friends. We don’t say no around here any more, we say “No way, Nevah.” When you do something amazing? You’re going bosanova. If someone is tying their shoes? They are Captain Tying Knots. Dancing kid? He’s going Craa-aazy.

Seriously. Not a day goes by when someone I know doesn’t reference this video.

This includes my kids. They haven’t seen the video. They’ve just heard the grown-ups talking about the damn seah0rse parties. And they want in on it. So, it’s no way, nevah for them too. Someday, my kids are going to watch one of the eleventy billion videos I’ve made of them and wonder what all this Seahorse Party crap is about.Why exactly can’t we lead anyone to the door and who is Mr. Balloonhands?

I am going to have to explain Drinking Out of Cups to them.

Something about this scenario makes me uncomfortable.

When I started this blog three years ago, I posted about a crazy idea I had. I wanted to tear apart the entire backside of our house and rearrange the walls, move the bathroom, and rebuild it all.

A small project.

I drew some plans on a piece of notebook paper and showed the husband. He laughed at me.

I persisted. I whined. I nagged. Then I got out a hammer and started beating on walls. That got his attention. It’s been two years since we started tearing out walls. Star lost her room. We lived with a floating toilet for a while.

The girls were shuffled from room to room. 2×4 chic became the norm. I forgot what it was like to live in a house without exposed pipes. That little scrap of notebook paper traveled through out the house with us- a shining light of possibility.

There were moments when I thought we would never be able to walk through our house without tennis shoes to protect our feet from splinters and stray nails. When Little came into the picture, we rethought our plans. The notebook paper got a couple of adjustments to make one kid room big enough for the two girls.

A week ago, we set a deadline. We would need to finish the drywall, paint the walls and level the floor before Carpet Day. I’ve been painting non-stop since.

We have done every step of this project ourselves.

We’ve demoed every wall in the back of the house and rebuilt them where we wanted. We’ve learned to drywall and texture. I’ve learned how to wire a plug and install lights.

Today is the culmination* of two years worth of work. Today is Carpet Day.

Today** is the day when I can walk through my house and say, “It’s finally done.”

*Okay. It’s not REALLY done. There are still baseboards to install and shelves to hang in the closets. But the big stuff? The really-terrible-it’s-never-getting-finished stuff? DONE. Wheeeeeee!

**Tomorrow is the day I start painting baseboards and curse myself for thinking any project is ever finished.