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Friday, August 27, 2010

An ode to my day

Life keeps on pulling, first three ways then four,

so much to do here; time to head out the door.

It's so hard to balance each pleasure and chore.

The molehill gets bigger, too high to ignore.

Oh life keeps on pulling, first three ways then four.

I wake up each morning a little too soon.
In the room next to mine, my kid's humming her tune,
Then she brings me a copy of "Good Night, Moon."
Unbrushed and still yawning and wanting to snooze
I read of the telephone and the red balloon
When I wake up each morning a little too soon.

I'm lucky if I get time to eat
Im lucky if I can take a seat
I'm lucky if the clock I beat
This is how the day I greet

Life keeps on pulling, first three ways then four,

so much to do here; time to head out the door.

It's so hard to balance each pleasure and chore.

The molehill gets bigger, too high to ignore.

Oh life keeps on pulling, first three ways then four.

Every day I'm not sure what I gain
The dishes, the carpets, the windows and pane,
I'd say I'd go crazy, but I've never been sane.
I feel like I'm on a toddler's chain.
Perhaps its just memories that I have to gain.

Because life keeps on pulling me, three ways then four,
So much to do, but I know what it's for
I've got to believe, 'cause it strengthens my core
That every day is a gift with surprises in store
And that's why life's pulling me, three ways then four.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

A Day with Coryn

I don't really consider myself a shopaholic. I generally get burned out after a half hour or so . . .unless it is a pet or book store. I can window shop a pet store for hours and if you let me in a book store, my expendable income will be expended. Targeted shopping is more my thing. I am a shopping hawk, hovering over the store looking for a particularly juicy price then diving down and snatching it with my talons in a precision extraction that rarely takes more than a half hour. Online shopping is a little more my thing, mainly because I really like getting mail. So does Coryn. She assumes every package is a "grandma box," a term she developed for the goodie filled packages my mom sends over from the states every so often.

Today we received one package which turned out to be a magnetic "paper" doll set. They're actually made of wood, but are meant to be played with like paper dolls. This one is princess themed and came with multiple gown and crown options. I had intended it for a Christmas present (yeah, I'm basically done with my Christmas shopping for my immediately family. . .I told you that I like online shopping!), so I told Coryn she couldn't see what was inside the box and continued on my way. On a whim I decided it would be easier to book my next hair appointment in person since we were in the area, and I swung into the salon.

The receptionist said that one of the stylists was taking walk ins and would be available in a few minutes . . . I looked at Coryn. I looked at the stylist. It was the one who actually speaks English as her first language . . . I thought of the magnetic dolls. I thought of how they were supposed to be a Christmas present. I thought of how hard it is to get the hair cut you want with a language barrier the size of the Great Wall of China (or Japan, in this case). I decided to take the risk, said a quick prayer, gave Coryn an early Christmas present, and got into the barber's chair.

Coryn was such a sweetie. Every so often she'd bring me her doll to show its latest outfit and twice she interrupted my haircut because she had to go potty, but she was a precious angel right up until the last fifteen minutes or so and even then she was restless, not naughty. When I got done she touched my hair and said, "Mommy, haircut beautiful." I was so proud of her. Afterward we went out to lunch and she ate most of a Subway kid's meal then we came home and played with her new toy a little more.

A little bit later she ran up to me and said, "Mommy! Need dancing shirt!" I didn't know what she meant and asked her to show me. She went to her room and returned wearing a pink ballerina tutu; I guess she had meant skirt. Either she finds the "sk" sound hard to say or she just assumes that because they are similar sounding, skirt and shirt have the same name. I turned on some Enya and we twirled around until I got dizzy. I collapsed onto the couch. She spent a few minutes trying to revive me then climbed up next to me, smiled her biggest smile, and said, "I love dancing."

I love spending time with Coryn.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Finger paints


The other night I got out my last blank canvas and let Coryn cover it in finger paints. I had been saving the canvas for a significant project, but the proper subject never presented itself . . . and also using oil based paints in this tiny apartment has contributed to the decline of our carpets, and no matter where I try and store my drying masterpieces, Coryn seems to get her fingers on them . . .finger paints come out of fabrics a lot easier.


Coryn has a steadiness to her which I admire. Unlike some children I've known who scratched out a few lines and then want to move on to a fresh piece of paper, Coryn will spend forever on one picture. She sometimes takes it too far. Coryn has a well recorded history of “over-crafting.” The paper will reach a saturation point and she'll literally brush holes through it. I usually have to take projects away from her to stop her from just gobbing on more and more paint or stickers or glue.


She covered every inch of the canvas, and then recovered it, then swirled her fingers through it, then reached for more paint. Finally I called it quits and placed her art work out of reach to dry. I lifted her up to show her where it was sitting.


“It's beautiful,” she said, matter of factly. The next day we hung it on her bedroom wall next to the watercolor my youngest sister had done of Dory and Marlin of “Finding Nemo” (for Coryn when it was her favorite movie; she's since moved on to “Up!”) and an oil painting I did of Coryn as a baby.


Coryn climbed up on the back of what had been my hope chest (my brother used to call it a hopeless chest, but that's a whole other story) and touched the now dry paint almost reverently.


In the past I have attempted to display Coryn's artwork in more conventional ways (such as on the fridge) only to have her take them down to improve upon or just play with. I managed to save the Christmas tree magnets we made by sticking colored crepe paper onto triangular poster board. I love them so much that I keep them up all year round. I know we will be moving several more times over the next few years, and any of these precious items could be lost or destroyed, but that canvas of finger paint I am holding onto with all my might.