I am exiled to my daughter's house with the three young-uns. My only chance at escape will be to go and pick up my check later. The boys were so bad two weeks ago that I passed on taking them out in public. Also, I had a tooth that was beginning to abscess and was recovering from the GI plague... Let's hope for a better Thursday this week.
Things are not shaping up to be any better this week. Jonathan is in perpetuous hissy fiticus. Trinity refuses to listen and follow directions. Gabe is Gabe. So far this morning, he has run through the house with a steak knife, continually argued with Jonathan in order to keep the hissy level at critical, and is currently over-stimulating his lil spectrum sensibilities with the toy catalog from Wal-Mart. Why does my daughter keep this sort of stuff around the house and accessible to them, and especially accessible to him?
I just finished brewing some Starbucks. I am sorely tempted to make him a cafe con leche. I have him sitting in the recliner. He has been instructed that he will not move from there. I am considering the feasibility of a velcro harness.
Wasn't a good day at all. I had to wait until Michael got home before I could go get my check because there was no way I was taking this crew out in public. Even if my coworkers are used to being around people with maladaptive behaviors.
I am exhausted. I will not have a day off until Monday. Going by rote and habit at this point. Miserable way to be. Null-brained! LOL
I am so glad that my daughter gets to spend half a day with her boys tomorrow morning. Let her feel the love.
She has decided that we need to do sewing projects for Christmas gifts this year. Lovely thing to be informed of on 28 November. And, being that I am the mommy with the fabric stash.... Fortunately, my pedantic and left-brained accountant-to-be finds most of my fabric to be ugly. It does, however, make it nearly impossible for her to find fabrics with which to make something that will be something other than "typical."
Color was the key that unlocked my right-brain. Textiles were first. Then fibers. Then embellishment - beads, buttons, trim, paint and dye....
For quite a while, things were still very geometric and generally symmetrical. Then came the concept of "free-form."
omg! progression from binary and hexadecimal to free-form.... Free-form crochet. Creating pieces of fabric out of asymmetrical bits of cloth. Buying wool and cashmere sweaters at the thrift store, felting them, dissecting them into bits, reassembling them into something completely different. Collecting and destroying denims for a monochrome color-wash crazy quilt.
Michael and Amanda aren't home yet. It's the time that I have to start getting ready for work. Guess I'm showering here.
Back from work. I'm c-c-c-c-COLD! It's only 28 degrees out. There are people who like this sort of weather? I have difficulty believing that.
What began with a photograph on the cover of a magazine has progressed from concept to passion and avocation.
With the discovery of my muse, the existence of alternate reality was birthed.
The alternate reality has influenced the "me" that I am today in far more ways than my left-brain would care to calculate.
Slow check out lane at the store.... "Oh hey, that's a really cool texture on the ceiling." "I like the cut and drape of that person's overcoat." Stopped by a train at the crossing... "Interesting effect of the sunlight filtered through the leaves of that tree and on to the side of the building."
My perception is tuned to a different frequency. Before it was droning mental dialogue. Now, my perception is focused on a new set of data. Texture. Form. Structure. Spatial relationships. Color.
It has turned into Friday evening. I'm hanging with the crew (What else is new.) while Amanda and Mike go to dinner and a movie. I've got 50% of the kids watching Bridge to Terabithia. The "spectrum child" has been tumbling, flipping, feeding his pizza to the dog, and drawing on the carpet with markers. Jonathan is being three - flipping, tumbling, and thinking that his brother is a suitable role model. Makes for some very long days.
Back to the saga of folding, spindling, and mutilating my reality...
The alternate reality of the right-brain opened doors to many venues. Sort of funny what happens when you can step outside and foster a different perspective towards maturity.
Ah, those growing pains...
You have to believe that the alternative reality is viable when the misanthrope has a metamorphosis into an advocate for the developmentally disabled.
Two things are to be deduced from this: Anything is possible when you open your mind to the unexpected. God has a twisted sense of humor.
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