Van Gogh painted "Starry Starry Night" while in an asylum and only sold one of his paintings in his entire life. He killed himself at the age of 37 and yet is revered as one of the best abstract painters of the 19th century.
Can madness be beautiful?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Everday is important... Right?
Coffee in one hand; Coke Zero in the other, yes ladies and gentlemen I am a two fisted drinker! I find myself thinking about Bloody Mary’s by 9:30 (in the morning) and Sangria by noon. I think it was Jimmy Buffet that said "its 5 o'clock somewhere" and by 3 I have adopted his motto as my own. I figure the people that sleep till noon only have to wait 5 hours and since I got up at 6 am its way past time for me to engage in the act of imbibery.
I just spent 35 minutes looking for Alexander's remote control. He walks up to me leans in and whispers "Kah". Thank the gods I know what that means. "Ku" means book. "Koh Koh" means Popcorn. And then there are the syllables I can’t understand, it’s horrible. He touches my arm, looks me straight in the eyes trying to express his want or need, and I am clueless. Finally after racking my brain and naming everything I can think of I say "show me". Sometimes I figure it out. Others he finally gives up. I'm sure he thinks I'm a bloody moron. That might be the only normal part of our relationship because don't all kids think their parents are dumb?
Up again, we are looking for an elusive book. Outside, under the bed, behind the sofa, in the garage and I have no idea what book I'm looking for, but I keep searching. Now he has decided it is a lost cause. He kisses his fingers and points for me to leave. I've decided it’s his way of saying "kiss off Mom." But he will be back to try again, and we will look in the same places and hopefully (as most of the time they do) the book will miraculously appear.
Osric has been asking me if he can play his xbox for the last two hours and I've told him to clean his room (something I only say because I remember my mom saying it to me when I was bugging her for something to do). Usually this approach works, but today he keeps asking.
I don't understand why all mothers don't go insane. The women that were born with the ability to do everything should be taken out back and shot. They make the rest of us look bad! I have come to the conclusion that they are either taking their child's Ritalin, hopped up on cocaine, or when they are behind closed doors they beat their children unmercifully to relieve their stress. However; dinner is always on the table at 7pm sharp and no one has to be any wiser. I mean all kids end up fucked up by their parents one way or another.
I get up from the computer to stretch and survey the damage since my last parade through the house. Popsicle sticks, check; pieces of popcorn, check; books and DVDs everywhere, check; child still breathing and not covered in unmentionable things excreted from body parts, oh that reminds me, "Alexander go tinkle in the potty." I wait... once he is in the bathroom I sprint over there to peek in and make sure he is actually relieving himself. He stands up and I reveal myself and tell him what a good boy he is and remind myself that he isn’t a dog. I help him pull up his shorts and check for wetness. When I find none; I congratulate myself for being a good responsible mother and go back to the kitchen to ignore the children.
9:31, Damn it! There is only a tablespoon of vodka left, and I'm out of tomato juice. There is plenty of beer in the refrigerator, but even I have to draw the line somewhere. Alexander’s helper gets here at eleven. I steel myself. Chen up, I can make it. A sip of coffee, a sip of soda, and as Frozone in The Incredibles would say, "I'm good, I'm good!"
I just spent 35 minutes looking for Alexander's remote control. He walks up to me leans in and whispers "Kah". Thank the gods I know what that means. "Ku" means book. "Koh Koh" means Popcorn. And then there are the syllables I can’t understand, it’s horrible. He touches my arm, looks me straight in the eyes trying to express his want or need, and I am clueless. Finally after racking my brain and naming everything I can think of I say "show me". Sometimes I figure it out. Others he finally gives up. I'm sure he thinks I'm a bloody moron. That might be the only normal part of our relationship because don't all kids think their parents are dumb?
Up again, we are looking for an elusive book. Outside, under the bed, behind the sofa, in the garage and I have no idea what book I'm looking for, but I keep searching. Now he has decided it is a lost cause. He kisses his fingers and points for me to leave. I've decided it’s his way of saying "kiss off Mom." But he will be back to try again, and we will look in the same places and hopefully (as most of the time they do) the book will miraculously appear.
Osric has been asking me if he can play his xbox for the last two hours and I've told him to clean his room (something I only say because I remember my mom saying it to me when I was bugging her for something to do). Usually this approach works, but today he keeps asking.
I don't understand why all mothers don't go insane. The women that were born with the ability to do everything should be taken out back and shot. They make the rest of us look bad! I have come to the conclusion that they are either taking their child's Ritalin, hopped up on cocaine, or when they are behind closed doors they beat their children unmercifully to relieve their stress. However; dinner is always on the table at 7pm sharp and no one has to be any wiser. I mean all kids end up fucked up by their parents one way or another.
I get up from the computer to stretch and survey the damage since my last parade through the house. Popsicle sticks, check; pieces of popcorn, check; books and DVDs everywhere, check; child still breathing and not covered in unmentionable things excreted from body parts, oh that reminds me, "Alexander go tinkle in the potty." I wait... once he is in the bathroom I sprint over there to peek in and make sure he is actually relieving himself. He stands up and I reveal myself and tell him what a good boy he is and remind myself that he isn’t a dog. I help him pull up his shorts and check for wetness. When I find none; I congratulate myself for being a good responsible mother and go back to the kitchen to ignore the children.
9:31, Damn it! There is only a tablespoon of vodka left, and I'm out of tomato juice. There is plenty of beer in the refrigerator, but even I have to draw the line somewhere. Alexander’s helper gets here at eleven. I steel myself. Chen up, I can make it. A sip of coffee, a sip of soda, and as Frozone in The Incredibles would say, "I'm good, I'm good!"
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