Thursday, July 30, 2009
I left ASU with two things. A husband and a box of puppets.
Jason and I parked off campus and pulled our bikes off the rack behind his car. He with his Schwinn and me with my light blue, sparkly Huffy. He rode off to Biochemistry or Organic Chemistry or something of that sort, while I pedaled onto the fine arts building to my Puppetry and Children class. (I actually miss my days at ASU when I speak of these things!)
As an Elementary Ed major you are required to take some fine art electives. I had colored, read picture books, and sung my way through my classes thus far. Why not try puppetry? I love to craft, so making puppets would be fun. If only that was all there was to it.
Imagine an older man, maybe late thirties. Imagine him with the curliest blonde ringlets of hair you have ever seen. Then imagine that man believing puppets and puppetry was the most serious passion and mission in life. That man was my puppetry instructor. He was a stickler to every small point of his puppeting grading scale. He was the one who was going to bring me to a whole new level of public humiliation than I had ever before experienced.
Because puppetry is not only the creation of puppets (very small part of the course), but it is the art of being a puppeteer! It is voice, script writing, performing, and passion! It is talking in a high whiny voice and flapping your hand around like an idiot in front of a class of thirty other adults. My instructor was so serious about his art, that if you did not put on a believable act of voice-whining and hand-flapping and idiot-looking, he would dock points. And he was not friendly about it.
But once you get past the embarrassment and feeling like an idiot, puppetry can be a beautiful thing. I soared through my class (while only having to do two or three extra credit assignments to get the coveted A in puppetry... and my instructor's approval). And let me tell you, using a puppet in front of a class of twenty first graders is a lot easier than in front of thirty adults. And it's even easier in front of one one-year-old who thinks everything is funny.
And a one-year-old looks a lot cooler playing with puppets than an adult does...
Monday, July 27, 2009
I love the little guy pushing through the mud clumps to break through. It makes you just want to help him out. But we each need to find our own way, right?
Monday, July 20, 2009
2. Because I've known for months what Drew's costume will be.
3. Because Jason's muddy feet are Halloween freaky.
4. And because the only way to get me through July and August is to look forward to all the amazing holidays I have to plan for from September through January.
Friday, July 17, 2009
1. Juice. We usually use apple, sometimes orange, but any kind would work.
2. Fruit. Always a banana, and whatever frozen fruit Drew calls for. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, pineapple, mangos. She's the boss.
3. Plain yogurt. Healthier alternative to ice cream.
4. Ice cubes.
5. Blend button. Hold on to your mommy because the noise is a little loud.
6. Enjoy. Must be in a Spongebob cup.
I've never tasted a Drew Froo Shake I didn't like.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Anyways. The fridge is now black to match the rest of the appliances. I need to remake my kitchen and I have a $0 budget at the moment. Here's what I'm thinking. Wouldn't those cabinets look much better painted white and with added handles/hardware? There needs to be some color on the wall. My problem really lies with the pink countertops. I can't replace them anytime real soon and so am stuck with pink. Any ideas?
These are some of my black and white inspiration kitchens:
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The smells of sunscreen on warm skin and chlorine took me back to my days when I was the tan one in the water telling the kids to kick their feet. Okay I was never that tan, but I loved coaching and teaching swim lessons. As much as I loved it, everyday I was envious of the moms who dropped off their cute kids and sat in the shade watching my lessons. I couldn't wait for the day when I was the one watching on the sideline, waiting with towel in hand to wrap up my dripping wet child.
Boy was I wrong. I sat on that sideline yesterday melting in the miserable heat. I was paranoid every second that Drew was going to slip off the side into the pool. I stood like a lion waiting to pounce in case it happened. I kept checking my phone to see when it would be over.
Drew on the other hand did pretty good. After she warmed up to her teacher she almost blew some bubbles, and she was kicking her feet on her front and back. While Drew was waiting for her turns in the water she busied herself splashing the boy sitting next to her repeatedly. If he didn't like it, he didn't say a word but sat there and endured it.
Finally it was over and I wrapped up my dripping wet baby girl in a towel five times too big for her and held her closely. That was the best part.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Yesterday afternoon Drew and I went to escape the dripping heat at a public pool. She starts swim lessons next week and I wanted to practice drill her to make sure she is not going to embarrass me (she really needs to get the bubble blowing and motorboat kick stuff down). The pool was packed but I eyed a nice shady spot in the grass to drop our stuff. I had barely dropped our towels when I felt tiny stings all over my feet and hands and looked down to see myself swarmed by ants. Leave it to me to walk straight onto an anthill. I started flinging and swatting my arms and legs. A balding man sunbathing only five feet away adjusted himself and turned his head the other way. As I was jiggling and wiggling trying to free myself from the little stings, Drew knelt down and swatted at my feet for me while I took care of my hands. As quick as the ants came, the ants went, leaving me with little red bump souveniers. Since then Drew likes to remind me of the ants and pretend to swat at them on my feet. I can't say exactly why this story is sweet to me. Perhaps because I am always taking care of Drew and she was so willing and happy to take care of me back. Even as I am scratching my itchy feet today, I can't help but smile thinking about it.
Also yesterday, Jason came home and told me about a patient that I can't get out of my head. This surgery patient was a two day old premie baby whose mother had died while giving birth. The father was in jail somewhere and there is no other family yet known. Even though well cared for by all the nurses and doctors, I can't help but think of the little unnamed baby being completely alone in this world. Coming out of surgery with no one to hold his tiny hand. Jason reminded me that he is only two days old and that he really doesn't know the difference. But I think he does. I feel so incredibly lucky today that I have someone to love and take care of.
Who also takes care of me.