Now You Know The Dreaded Family Secret

We have an inability to draw a proper star freehand.

There.

It's out of the bag

This was my attempt to show my daughter the basics for recreating Jasper Johns "Flag" for a school art project.

You can see at the top of the rendering that the stars start out okay.

By the last row, fatigue had set in and they suddenly morphed into pointless blobs that resembled stop motion animation of a sack wearing woman running down the street.

You Probably Should Sue Me For Neglect

Five year old gave us a real run for our money in the emotional meltdown department this evening.

We were told to "stop the madness" and informed that he "couldn't take it anymore".

Apparently his sister made a noise that he found "disturbing" and now he's threatening to throw people  in a lava pit. Well, if he HAD a lava pit anyway.

Machine Guns and Tutu's

Yes, we are getting ready to embark on yet another vacation this summer, and YES I'm aware of how pampered and well taken care of I am.
I'm still in the heated throes of packing five suitcases, getting dogs to the pet sitter and trying to figure out what NEEDS to come and what can be left behind.
War toys, superheros, video games, and styrofoam weaponry are vying for space next to eyeshadow, matching separates and hair accessories.
I've told my husband that we can avoid this stressful ritual by simply BUYING a beach house so we can keep all the necessary junk on hand in the cavernous closet I imagine this seaside retreat to have.
It also has whitewashed walls, an open floor plan and a gourmet kitchen thank you very much....

A Cowboy Needs a Horse

This was one of the old timey sing a long songs that played consistently in the backround of our leisure time at Walt Disney World this month.
They just don't get any cuter than this.

The September Issue Revisited

Four times.

That's the number of viewings I gave  R.J. Cutlers shockingly good  The September Issue over the last four days and I'm still considering watching it again tonight.

Yes, I know that it just confirms what we all know about  the all powerful Anna Wintour and her minions but what a fascinating look behind the scenes of what it actually takes to properly edit a magazine that will ultimately be the biggest in it's history.

While sitting rapt in front of the screen thinking about putting down the buttered popcorn every so often I also found a new hero. Grace Coddington.

Grace, is the creative heart and soul of that publication and I fell immediately in love with her vision and execution.

When Ironman Says Jump, You Say How High

On the day in question, Ironman did not feel like going to his occupational therapy session so he shot his mother with his arm weaponry and ran down the street.
Luckily, his mom recovered from her injuries and caught up to him.

An Alternative Voice

Like millions of Americans, there are days where I am virtually anesthetized by what I hear coming from various media outlets.

Almost like a version of don't ask because I don't want to know and don't tell because the answer is usually something mildly disturbing.

Then we purchased the sleek, sexy Dodge Caravan which came equipped with Satellite radio and the rest was history.

Today the van went into the shop for a much overdue service check (I sound like a 70's swinger with my "van") and I was left to drive my husbands car which only has good old fashioned terrestial radio.

The FM popular music stations were embarrassingly free of good tunes and good talk so I dialed it down to my old standby 88.5 WAMU but was thwarted by poor reception and an sudden inability to multitask.

Off it went until all kids exited the vehicle.

In pursuit of crackle free entertainment I dipped even lower down to WPFW to listen to Democracy Now who were running a feature on the crisis in Thailand with several guests who held varied and steadfast beliefs on the situation. It was an interesting debate to say the least.

This little independent station, and I use the term independent in it's truest sense here, has been alive and kicking for 33 years now with their motto of "question everything you hear".

They accept no commercial underwriting of programming and therefore are able to provide an untainted alternative voice not swayed by fear of upsetting big bosses or large looming companies.

It's quite refreshing actually.

I feel like somewhat of a fucking revolutionary just listening to them.

Since media really is essential to the way we live and the news we absorb these  muckrakers are a gem in the sea of ick.

They are smack dab in the middle of their Spring Membership drive and if I wasn't so low on cash right now, I'd call right up and participate.

So thanks WPFW for the thought provoking content. I might even switch over to FM once in awhile when the minivan comes back.

Photofunia Strikes again

Someone stop me.

The Little Things

On Hold with Atchka! and MeMe Roth

On Hold with Atchka! and MeMe Roth

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Poor Neglected Red Headed Stepchild

Why, hello blog I never take care of. Do you feel neglected? Forgotten? Here are some photos for you that will make up for the lack of care I've shown you over the last few months. I'm not going to deny that your sister has been getting all the love, and now I plan to remedy that situation.
With regards,
Your mother,
Dufmanno

Big Brother is Watching

This is what I imagine my youngest son will be doing in the future. Watching his minions a la 1984 style everywhere they go.
Again, this crazy idea comes to us courtesy of photofunia.

Oh PhotoFunia

O.K. here is the site that will be sucking up all my free time between now and spring break. Wait for it. http://www.photofunia.com/

I cannot stop uploading pictures of myself in the various case scenarios and then slapping the table in pure unadulterated glee when I see the results.

Just try and walk away. You won't be able to do it.

Look it's me....in the backround on the wall (not the kid in the hat).

Sunday, Sunday

Bob Geldof was right about Mondays, they really do suck. But what about Sunday? The whole freaking day is fraught with agonizing anticipation of what comes next thereby destroying whatever theraputic weekend value it ever had. Friday afternoon, now that's what I call a good time frame.
Before my kids developed social lives and opinions (and became mildly annoying I might add) we used to hang out in our pajamas on our last day off and make the occasional trek to some family destination. Now it's just riddled with cub scouts, basketball practices and games, soccer, hockey and sleepovers with friends. It's definately needed as the ultimate buffer day between Saturday and Monday but as a stand alone it really blows. Well, I should probably revise that and say I go to church just in case my mother pops in. Yes mom, every Sunday without fail.

Aftermath

As I sit among the discarded wrappers of a thousand quickly consumed candy bars I can actually hear the seams of my pants begin to split. Damn you Halloween and all your chocolatey goodness. Excuse me while I wipe off my keyboard which is covered in melted Kit Kat.

Happy Halloween!

Tonight we will attend the Mount Pleasant Lamont Street Halloween blow out and then we will collapse, exhaused onto our couch.

It's Almost Here

We love Halloween in this house. Sometimes I wish we had a slightly more House Beautiful approach for decorating during this spooky holiday but I've come to terms with who we are so we are going with the 70's old school version.

A Good Read

Yesterday I took a trip to Barnes and Noble to see what I could find. I had been meaning for months to pick up Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers and was rewarded instantly when I saw it proudly on display first thing. It seemed like a waste of perfectly good free time to head directly to the cashier so I started to browse the aisles. First I found Rob Sacchetto's The Zombie Handbook and nestled it in the crook of my elbow and then I saw Stewart Copeland's Strange Things Happen.
A little history on my relationship with Stewart. When all the girls had their hearts aflutter for frontman Sting, I kept it real by loving the tall rangy drummer. I kept copious amounts of useless information about his drums, his childhood and his food likes and dislikes committed to memory and I seriously went home and threw a chair at the wall when the news of his marriage to Sonja Kristina broke. So what if I was twelve, we had a destiny dammit! Sadly, my imagined coupling with Stewart never materialized and we both marched off in separate directions, but this book of his had me howling with gut busting laughter. Who knew this affable kook was so smart and funny?
I'm currently on page 239 reading a chapter that covers the Police reunion tour, but my new favorite quote of all time came only 20 pages into the book in chapter 4.  In it he says " There is no greater glow of narcissistic validation than receiving my own art. I slay myself - always have and hope I always will."
Now that is some spectacular stuff. Call me Stewart, we need to catch up.

Don't Take This the Wrong Way

The playground is a great place to see humankind shrunken down into a microcosm and on display for all the junior sociologists to observe. There is a class system, rules and regulations for negotiating certain play equipment, alliances forged and forgotten.  Oh the humanity. I love to watch my own childen make their way through this group, and usually I am rewarded with laughs when one of them makes a disaster out of an interaction with another kid.
Last year while sitting peacefully on a park bench with some aquaintences, one of them turned to me and said, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, and please don't take it the wrong way but do you know who your son really reminds me of?" "Who?" I asked hoping it would be some adorable moppet from a popular TV show. "That little boy from The Omen." "Wait, you mean DAMIEN?" I was sure this couldn't be the case. "Yeah! That's the one!" I was completely stunned for several very obvious reasons. Number one is that I find that child positively revolting and not just because he has the mark of the beast. That kid was obviously cast specifically for the level of creepiness he projected and the ability to make grown ups cower with one withering look from his dead eyes. Secondly, my kid has had some bad behavior days but I don't live in fear of being knocked off my chair by his expert demonic tricycle riding skills while watering the plants that hang dangerously over my open third story balcony. (Seriously, who hangs plants that high when a drop from that height onto the marble foyer floor  below will obviously kill you?)
A day or two after that I was busy karate chopping imaginary ninjas and pushing race cars with him and I stopped to try and take an objective look at him. I mean, I could be kidding myself, but aside from the dark hair (it does occasionally get long and look like a 70's bowl cut) and the light skin, I don't think we have a match here.

Middle Man

Today my middle child came home from school with a mild stomach flu. As  he rests peacefully on the couch in complete silence, I am again reminded why I like him so much.