Happy Birthday, Mr. White.
You told me this year that you didn't want a party because it would be (to quote Patton Oswalt) "a waste of cake and paper."
But Coop insisted on making his Daddy a birthday card. 
Since this was gift art, Coop wanted to move beyond crayons to something with more of an archival quality. 
I busted out the watercolors. Coop wanted to use every brush and dip into multiple colors. His technique is very progressive. 
"Mom! I'm creating art right now! Could you stop it with the photos? You're distracting me."
Here's the finished piece:
Untitled watercolor by Cooper Kingsley White 2/23/08
I think his work is very sensitive. AND he spelled 'Birthday' right! Pretty good.
A great card, an Apple product and breakfast at Big Boy. 
Happy birthday.
A Waste of Cake and Paper?
Valentine
Remember that time when we talked all night long?
We were shocked to hear birds chirping
A sneaky dawn had arrived
And we kept laughing
Remember that time when you picked me a flower?
You stole it from Beacon Street
Placed it in my hand and said, "It matches your dress."
And we kept walking
Remember that summer on the Cape?
You worked the deli at Star Market
We danced and drank cheap beer
And we kept watching the ocean
Remember that time we didn't talk?
I hated it.
Remember that time we got married and had a baby?
I loved it.
Remember that Valentine's Day when I wrote a piss poor poem-like-thing for you?
We were too broke for gifts
We were too busy to go out
And we kept loving each other anyway.
Play D'oh!
Last week I started my month long stretch in studio. Then, I was abruptly laid off. Then I was suddenly re-hired and now I'm out of a job again.
Weirdest week ever.
Now I'm back to being a full time mommy. It was time to intro (drum roll, please) Playdough.
Coop started by trying to eat it. Of course.
Then, he really got into it. He really liked squishing the colors together and then ripping them apart again. He also enjoyed jamming the colors back into the correct container. He likes sorting and filing and putting things away. Future artist/musician/athlete/administrator.
I like his take on Edvard Munch's THE SCREAM. Nice.
The Story
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true
I was made for you
I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
But baby I broke them all for you
Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
Yeah you do
And I was made for you
You see the smile that's on my mouth
Is hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what I've been through like you do
And I was made for you...
-Brandi Carlile
The Artist's Way
I've started a 12-week program called, The Artist's Way.
The book encourages artists to stop judging the art they make and embrace the creative spirit that is alive and at work in all of us. The exercises are supposed to help blocked, stifled and depressed artist find their path. Sure it sounds new-agey, but belittling a method that could possibly aid me as an artist is just fear and self-sabotage, right?
My first assignment is a daily one. It's called, "Morning Pages." Each day when I awake, I'm supposed to grab my notebook and write no less than 3 pages of stream of consciousness writing. No sensor. No filter. No attention paid to punctuation or spelling. No rules.
It was freeing! And it was weird. I started writing about the guy from Blues Clues. 
NO! Not that that one. That's the old dude named Steve. I like the new dude named Joe:
He just handles the material in a very believable way. My stream of conscious writing went on and on about how I prefer Joe to Steve. Oh. My. God. Please don't let me be that mom at the playground talking about which member of The Wiggles is "hot." Yeeks.
Oh...according to "The Artist's Way," I'm not actually supposed to share my stream of consciousness writing.
Am I'm already messing this up? Whatevs. I refuse to judge myself!
SEE! IT's already WORKING!!!! YAY!
Rick Moranis?
"Many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you!"
Blue Period Hero
I wanted to decorate an old messenger bag that had been sitting in my closet. I painted my own version of one of my favorite paintings--Picasso's "The Old Guitarist."
He's sad because he can't make it through 'Knights of Cydonia' on hard.
Do Gnomes and Iconic Mexican Painters Go Together?
Last night I was crabby and goofy at the same time.
I was teasing Jakob because he requires a certain extra soft toilet tissue and I called his bum "dainty."
I don't remember his exact verbal response, but he called me an emotional nutball. (In a cute, friendly way. Not mean.)
I said, "I'm going to wear my Frida Kahlo socks because you're acting sooooo Diego Rivera right now!" (Melodramatically. Playful. Not mean, either.)
I already had my gnome pajama pants on and I started to laugh hysterically when I saw Frida and the gnomes collide.
Boat Cookie!
Last night, Jakob and I stayed up past our bedtime to make Christmas Cookies.
At first, Jakob wasn't going to eat the cookies. He was all like, "No no. I'm going to make a chicken pot pie." And I was all like, "NO! No pot pie! You HAVE to eat the cookies! Consuming the cookie is part of the whole cookie cooking & decorating event." The he was all like, "I don't need nothin'. I'm fine."
And then...I concocted a plan. I ate a cookie myself and said, "Oh, these aren't really cooked in the middle. I messed them up!" I started to pout. He tried to comfort me and say, "I'm sure they're fine." I whined, "No! They're raw. Try 'em." He ate one. "A-HA!" I shouted, "I tricked you! They are deliciously PERFECT! I tricked you into eating a cookie. Mwa ha ha ha haaaa!"
He laughed and started choking on his cookie.
After regaining the ability to breathe again, Jakob started decorating with frosting. He's quite artistic. He made fun of this cookie for being silly, but I think it's beautiful:
It's a little boat on a fierce, wintry ocean! It's a boat cookie! Mmmmmmm. Boat cookie.
Knowing is only HALF the battle...
I'm a worry wart.
I worry about things I can't possibly change.
Sometimes I worry that I'm not worrying enough.
I worry that I worry too much.
boy least likely to
have you heard these blokes?
boy least likely to
me likey lots.
if you enjoy alt rock with xylophones, cute/creepy marionettes and rashida jones (hottie!), check out their video for 'Be Gentle With Me' on You Tube.
i also like the tracks titled:
i see spiders when i close me eyes
and
i'm glad i hitched my apple wagon to your star.
The Prodigal Patrick
Last December, we traveled home to New England for the holidays. While we waited to board our plane at Burbank Airport, Jakob purchased a Patrick Star doll for Cooper.
Patrick hung out with us during all the festive Christmas and New Year activities. Then, when we returned to California, he was gone. We looked high and low. Alas, no fuzzy, pink starfish in green shorts was to be found. We purchased a second Patrick doll for Cooper to love.
Fast forward to last Friday. It was finally chilly enough for me to dig around the closet for my winter faux fur diva coat. I slipped it on and felt a strange bump in the side pocket. Oh my! PATRICK!
Now there's two Patricks!
I wonder what the past year has been like for Patrick #1. Was he stuck in that dark pocket the entire time? Was he waiting and praying that someone would find him and rescue him? Or did he sneak off and have wild adventures? Did he return merely because he ran out of money? Perhaps he's going to convince Patrick #2 to accompany him on his next journey.
To Cooper, two Patricks are better than one. He holds them both in his hands and tosses them around. Then he realizes that he likes playing with stuff that makes noise and he throws his Patricks to the ground and goes to play his piano, or his xylophone, or his Elmo Camera, or his talking Leap Frog phone, or his singing Animal Train.
Note to self (and grandparents): Cooper has PLENTY of toys.
Coop's Cousin is Due in March
Dear Danielle,
Remember when we used to call you Danielleeeee Belly? It applies now more than ever!
Congrats to you, Fletcher Fam! Are you and Owen in shock? Jakob and I still look at each other and think, "Holy Toast! Are WE parents?"
Pregnancy is...not fun. Don't let people try to convince you that you need to adore this state of gestation. Yes, there are wonderful things about being preggers. You get excited about being a mom. You feel your child grow and move within you. You feel close to your husband because your love made life and that's pretty effing cool.
But it's rough. Your body is hijacked. Everything swells. Even your eyeballs swell. You pee yourself. Usually when you laugh...which then makes you cray. It's cruel! The hormones can be like a Todd Solondz film--just too much to deal with.
I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You look so beautiful. Congrats to you and Owen. You are about to embark on one long, strange trip. It's fantastic.
It's a BOY!
Dear Little Man Swimming In My Sister's Belly,
I can't wait to meet you. In fact, I'm going to plan a trip to see you in the Spring. I'm just going to assume that you'll call me your Crazy Aunt Nicole. It's cool. I've worn that adjective well for serveral years. It's just another word for fun-loving.
Oh, and I already love you. I can't wait for Coop to have a cousin.
Keep healthy. See you soon.
Love,
N
Torture Song
Each year, I adopt a "torture song."
It's a song that I'm going to play over and over and over and over again until I'm so completely sick of it that I can never play it again.
I know. It's a sickness. I've tried to get help but...well, I'm busy and stuff.
This past year,(2007--the year that will hence forth be called, "the year that was slightly less stressful than 2006.")I was obsessed with the song 'Total Eclipse of the Heart.' And not the old school Bonnie Tyler version, which IS pure gold. Nah. I was really into the Tori Amos live from Boston 1995 rarity cover. Tori makes everything breathier and sadder.
I listened to that song most days and sometimes (once a month) I'd listen to it several times a day.
2008 is fastly approaching and I've already decided that Elton John's 'Someone Saved My Life Tonight,' is my new torture song.
It clocks in at 6 minutes and 47 seconds.
You know what that means?
Listening to it thrice a day can waste an embarrassing amount of time.