Posts in Hygiene
My roommate (she later married my older brother because she couldn’t resist the way he transformed runner-rugs into ponchos) had a boombox and when she wasn’t “busy” playing her bootleg Grateful Dead tapes, I would (loudly) listen to a certain CD on repeat in the kitchen.
I’m sure my baby appreciated those months.
Fast-forward 25 years to a house I actually own and the filthy linoleum has been replaced with less-filthy wood floors and babies have been replaced with dogs wearing kerchiefs.
BUT these are still days that I’m #blessed and #lucky because even without that boombox, I listen to those 13 songs on repeat every fall. And even though those board books have been replaced with MacBooks
my kitchen murals have been replaced with licensed “art” and is seen by more than three people. Right, RSVP?? RIGHT??
Belting out classic tunes in a rental car on the way back from the beach after not being eaten by a shark is the best/only way to express our love for Cape Cod.
Getting past crippling body dysmorphia, skunk babies, and smelly garbage has only brought us closer together. Yay, Cape Cod!
And because I’m a big fan of Mr. Edward Gorey (who lived, and died, on the Cape once-upon-a-time), I am making some pretty useful medical flashcards. Stay tuned for H-Z…
Oh, and The Intern always performs radical stunts, so I made her this birthday card:
I hope no one in our party is eaten by a shark – fingers crossed!
Silverfish are not really fish and not made of a precious metal. But they do love my bedroom. Observe:
I’d like to say I smashed that one but I didn’t and it probably used my sleeping body as a jungle gym. I have already smashed members of its family and I thought that’d be a warning but obviously it’s not. Now I sleep with a sock on my head and zipped up to the tippy-top in a neoprene bag. But I laugh as I drift off to sleep because I want the silverfish to know I’m not afraid and my kids to know that I’m not insane. HAHA!
brought me a freshly murdered baby bunny.
And after I was done screaming hysterically, cursing the guilty,
and watching my friend scoop up the body with a shovel, I made a card.
More on vicarious living…
Some people have places to go and people to see. NOT ME. I planted myself in a pot of dirt years ago and rely on friends, relatives, rumors, and Facebook to satisfy any (two-dimensional) cravings and wanderlust I might have.
Already this month, Jen texted me a photo she took of my brother (her husband) standing next to a card rack (with our cards) at Small World Books in California.
As if that wasn’t enough, my nephew met/stayed with our New Zealand distributor! I’m so glad she didn’t murder him! I asked my nephew to take photos of himself in front of our cards but he only sent a photo of his foot with Helen Harvey in the background.
I told him that was close enough.
Oh, AND The Intern ran a half marathon in NYC
so I made her a card using a printer’s block she gave me.
February 7, 1992 • 1:10 a.m.
Did I just wet my pants a little bit?? No… I am, like, totally, 42 weeks pregnant… That has to be my water breaking…
AND THUS BEGAN MY ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER OF MOTHERHOOD.
That baby turned 25 the other day and despite the challenges (super-poor, a string of stalkers, household hygiene issues, pretending to be a graphic designer/art director, more babies, homeschooling, Fran Shea’s Cat Ranch, and Zeichen Press) he still tolerates me.
I made a birthday card and I’ll show it to him after I explain where babies come from.
Oh, and SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS, RSVP licensed more of our art.
Sometimes Millie puts her face right up to my face and her breath is so bad it fills me with rage. SPEAKING OF SMELLS, the third floor of my second apartment reeked of body odor (not mine) and potato curry, and every day I trudged down the hallway with a fat newborn and a backpack full of dreams. And that was how I crushed the Spring of 1992.
2016 is almost over but who’s still laughing? ME. That’s right, I may be surrounded by bad smells and bad news but I’m still on top. Here is my (perhaps) last Christmas card of the year:
I did the math and figured out that two toilets MINUS one toilet EQUALS one toilet. And one shower MINUS one shower EQUALS zero showers.
I desperately yelled that equation to the boys during my bathroom demo, but they pretended not to hear me.I only gave birth to them to provide me with free manual labor. Ha! Who’s laughing now, boys??
Anyway, who needs a shower??OR a bath??I barely do.
And as soon as all of my family and friends get back from being out of town for a month, they’ll tell you the same.
Here’s a new birthday card/fantasy:
“What street is this??” I yelled up to the boy watching us float past him. He told me that we were just about to enter the Ninth Circle of Hell.
PHEW! Almost done!
Three hours to travel 2.5 miles… Could we have walked faster than the creek carried us? Oh, THAT’S the point my kids were making when they got out of their tubes and dragged them the last four blocks! Oh, kids! So subtle!
I didn’t get a photograph of them on our adventure, BUT a giant spider landed on my belly! AND who needs a picture of all three when one of them modeled for the company that made our tubes?
(Grip those handles! Safety first, Dylan!)
I only thought the creek-pollution caused blindness one time and I only lost my sunglasses one time — I’d call that a win!
Here’s a card, maybe inspired by laughter-induced bladder incontinence. MAYBE NOT.
My little sister had baby #2 last week, she gave birth at home but, strangely, didn’t ask me to participate.
Despite my lack of presence, the birth went off without a hitch because anyone can boil water and get towels. (SORRY MOM.)
I will give her this card the next time I break in to her house:
ALSO, I made this because I am so into politics:So, you don’t need to watch the news tonight. You’re welcome.