The Reign of Ellen

Secret Agent Josephine Extravaganza!

2011-11-18T04:00:00.017-06:00

How does one force Ellen the Lazy out of semi-blog hibernation? Well, it helps if you are this fabulous artist--

... and you are asking Ellen the Lazy to be a stop on your new book tour preview for these cool books...

... and you bribe me with chocolate. Not much gets Ellen the Lazy out of semi-blog hibernation besides neat people, books and chocolate. And Brenda still owes me the chocolate.

When Brenda asked me to be the "E" on her new books tour, I was delighted! Firstly, because they truly are cool books that I'd love to help promote and you should go buy one right this very minute (Colors, Numbers, ABCs.) Secondly, because it brought back memories of my early blogging days... Brenda was one of the first blogs I ever read back in 2003, when I first started blogging. We've never personally met, but I feel like she is a dear old friend. Definitely a kindred spirit. And thirdly, because it finally gave me the opportunity to pick the brain of a very creative woman. I love picking creative brains.

So without further ado...

15 Question Interview with Secret Agent Josephine

1) Were you creative as a kid? When did you realize that you wanted to be an artist?

I was. I always liked to draw as long as I can remember. My family tells stories of me flipping over the paper place mats at restaurants and going to town with a pen. It's just what I did. I don't understand why any kid wouldn't do that. I think it was mostly how I kept myself from being bored. That's still why I draw actually. I don't remember ever realizing that I wanted to be an artist I just remember people telling me that I was. My great grandfather was an artist so everyone always told me I took after him. I guess I just believed them and then when I turned out to be horrible at math and kickball I decided that was fine by me.

2) Who are your artistic influences?

Hello Kitty, Paul Frank, Penelope Dullagan, The Octonauts, Lora Lamm, the artists that design packaging for Starbucks and Target whoever they are... I never studied art history in school. I wish I would have. I've got some art books now but I don't find myself poring over them like you'd think. I find inspiration around me everywhere. Blogs, pinterest...I store things visually in my brain without words so I find it difficult to put all the thousands of images I see in my head onto paper. I wish I could say something intellectual like Picasso's blue period or something but really I don't know anything about that and I just made it up.

3) Were you educationally trained as an artist? If so, where? Do you feel that professional training is necessary?

No. When I was six my grandfather knew a woman who was an oil painter. She was down on her luck so my grandpa paid her to give me painting lessons. It was the best thing ever. I learned how to mix colors, how to take care of my brushes, how to shade, what a horizon was and perspective... all as a very young kid. I still remember the things she taught me. I did take a couple of art classes in college just because it was fun. I should have majored in art but I was too afraid of the competition and (stupidly) I thought there was no money in art. I majored in journalism and minored in English which turned out to not make me any money at all. Though working on the school magazine and newspaper did introduce me to computers which eventually lead me to graphic design.

4) How is your current art space set up?

I have a small wooden desk right in the window. This is where I spend most of my time. It has great light and I can look outside and see my daughter playing if she is in the front yard. I keep that desk relatively neat and tidy. I do most of my art on my laptop. I sketch on regular old sheets of cheap printer paper and scan them in for reference but most of my work is just vectors. I really wish I would do more mixed media but I don't. Behind me I have my messy desk. That is where I keep my paints, pens, sewing machine, stacks of folders... really it's just a place to stash everything. If I want to paint I have to clear it all off.

5) Is there anything that you must have with you in order to work?

Coffee and my laptop. I turn on Pandora to a piano solo station. It's kind of weird because that is not my favorite kind of music but it seems to be what I can work too. Soothing and not distracting and it cuts out background noise.

6) What is your favorite item at your work table?

Sharp pencils and those soft white erasers that never get old. I also love pens from Tokyo Pen Shop. They have to be the Unibal .38 fine pens. They are the best!

7) What art tools do you use?

I love water color. I don't use it a lot but I have several of those mini travel kits and they last forever. Sometimes I use my daughter's Crayola kid markers. They work just as well, if not better than my expensive pens. The chimera has three sets of teeth. I use a glue gun a lot. Does that count?

8) What is your typical process for creating art?

I sketch roughly on a sheet of printer paper. I sort of half close my eyes (it's some kind of right brain/left brain trick that works for me for some reason) and just let whatever I see in my mind come out. It's always messy and looks like a kid drew it when I start. Then I start shading things in and smoothing lines. When my sketch looks decent I take a picture of it or scan it into my computer. Then I trace it in Adobe Illustrator and fix it up until I'm happy with it. Sometimes I skip the sketching step but not usually.

9) Can you think of an AHA moment in the past which dramatically changed/influenced your art style?

Yes. I never really thought I was an artist. I drew a lot. It was an outlet for me but I didn't think I was good enough. I was a graphic designer who did layout for junk mail. I was great at graphic design but from time to time we would need art and there wasn't any. We had stock photography that was awful. Terrible models from the 80's and the clients never had the budget for their own photography so sometimes I would just illustrate my own art. Usually for kid-related pieces like grocery store kid clubs and pet clubs. My boss at the time told me that I'd never make it in the illustration world and I believed him. But you do what you love and I illustrated every day just because I felt like it. Gradually I got better and now people call me an illustrator. I still don't think I measure up very well to real illustrators but I love doing what I'm doing so I'll probably never stop.

Actually that's not my aha moment. That came one day when I was sitting at the dinging room table waiting for my husband for some reason or other. He always kept me waiting and it was a pet peeve of mine. It still is really. Anyway, I was annoyed so I drew myself with my eyes rolled and my arm all out of perspective crazy like I was bored out of my skull. It wasn't a great drawing. I was just doodling but my brother-in-law who was also there got a huge kick out of it. He asked if he could keep it. I was baffled because I thought it was a horrible drawing but he insisted it was brilliant. He said it wasn't the perspective being off that was important but the emotion that I caught with a few simple lines. I think him believing in me and giving me that single piece of praise is what set me on fire. From then on I didn't care so much about being perfect. In fact the less correct I draw something the better I like it. It's more about capturing the emotion of something that makes it come to life and be art that someone else can relate to.

10) What inspires you on a daily basis?

My daughter. I love making things for her. She has the best ideas and we feed off of each other.

11) What kills your creativity buzz?

My daughter. Just kidding! But you know how it is. Being a mother isn's always conducive to being a great career woman. I'll be buzzing along making the best art project ever, completely losing myself in what I'm doing, and then suddenly it's time to make dinner for a hungry whining kid. Total buzzkill. But I wouldn't change my life for anything. I know I'm blessed to be able to do what I do and be with her so much of the day. Every moment with her is precious. I'm going to miss her with the heat of a thousand suns when she grows up and moves away from me.

12) If you could change anything about yourself as an artist, what would it be?

I'd make myself a night person. I love being a morning person but I wonder if I would get more done if I could stay up until the wee hours of the morning. I also wish I was better at color. It's a funny thing. People just assume that since you can draw that you are good with color. I'm not. I use whatever palette I have on hand. Often the default palette that comes with Adobe Illustrator. When I paint sometimes I wish I could just paint with one color.

13) What are you most proud of, artistically?

This is a hard one! I don't really know. I fall in and out of love with projects that I've done. I don't know if this is the answer to your question at all but I'm most excited about the projects that are still in my head. I can see them so clearly. I know they are going to be my best work yet. I just need to get time to do them!

14) What advice would you give to aspiring artists in today's world?

Draw every day. Be creative everyday. You get better and better. If you don't have clients start making art for potential clients as gifts. If they like it you'll start getting work and if they don't well, you'll have a great piece for your portfolio. People that are getting things for free are more likely to give you more creative freedom and let you do your best work.

15) What is your dream project?

Magazine editorial illustrations. Maybe a game ap or Secret Agent Josephine toys. I'm full of dreams for my next books. I can't wait to get started on them. I feel like these books that I have out now were just me dipping my toes in the water. I can do so much more.

This is just a stage, right?

2011-01-03T09:25:00.001-06:00

Anna: "Mommy, I love your boobies. They are so cute together. It is like they are on a first date and they are going to get married."

Ho Ho Ho!

2010-12-26T16:24:00.000-06:00

Just wanted to show you the Christmas present that I made for my folks this year.

(To help with the inside info... my dad is a Lutheran minister, my mom is a teacher, I--the oldest daughter--am an artist, Karen is a writer and Sara is a cook.)

And this is what happens when Daddy is in charge of bathtime...

2010-12-25T16:47:00.000-06:00

My "Things I Will Never Do Again" List

2010-10-30T08:28:00.008-05:00

I ran across this concept awhile back. Well, the real name of the list is a "F**k It" List (a play on the movie The Bucket List-- you know, things you want to do before you kick the bucket.) The idea is to create your own list about things that you will never do again before you kick the bucket. Since I prefer to not drop the F-Bomb (such an ugly, uncreative word, people), I am calling my list, "Things I Will Never Do Again." (Although, I gotta admit, there's something very definitive about the original name of the list.)

One day, I just realized that there's not too many things that I gotta do to feel like my life's complete. Don't really care about climbing any mountains. Or jumping out of any planes. Or traveling any place in particular (although I'd really like to go back to Italy with Jason and Anna someday. Though if it doesn't happen, eh.) The big things for me have been covered... I have a family and I know Jesus.

But I am reaching an age (35) where I am finding that I am just done with certain things. Maybe it's a woman thing. After years of trying to be a "nice" and accommodating lady, I'm sick and tired of finding myself in frustrating situations... situations that, for the most part, I brought upon myself just for being unable to say "NO." I just realized that life is too darn short.

Ellen's "Things I Will Never Do Again" List

1) Cut my hair super short. Yes, it looks cute for awhile, but the upkeep is not worth it. I am not the type to get my hair cut every six weeks, which is what is required to keep from looking like Ponyo. I always regret it and then it takes me two years to grow it out to ponytail length, which is how I like to wear my hair anyway.

2) Feel spiritual guilt about taking anti-depressants. I go through this every couple of years. I am doing great on my anti-depressants, then someone comes out of the woodwork and starts pressuring me to get off of them. Starts telling me that I am just not praying enough. Or reading my Bible enough. Or allowing God to heal me. At first I blow them off. But then it starts to eat at me and I start to question. I wean off of the meds and I do fine at first. But slowly but surely, the depression creeps back. I wrestle and wrestle with going back on the meds. I finally relent. Bingo. Find myself praising God for the gift of anti-depressants and His amazing mercy. I think I will just skip that cycle from now on.

3) Take responsibility for an animal that I haven't officially adopted. I even thought I might go a step further and say "an animal I haven't paid money for." But then I remembered that I paid money for my demon chihuahua, Squirrel, who held my life hostage for three years. I even thought I might go so far as to end the sentence after the word "animal"... as in, I will never take responsibility for another animal ever again. But that's too final. There might come a day when we are ready to pick out an old lazy, fat, housebroken golden retriever and adopt him. I won't rule that out. But what I will rule out is trying to save and rescue every pathetic creature that comes my way. Letting them poop and pee and hairball all over my house. Taking on animals that aren't my responsibility and having them die in my hands and having to explain it to my daughter-- all because a pet hoarder did not get her 37 cats fixed. No more.

4) Put the my safety (or any member of my family's safety) in danger, due to social pressure. Whether it is "Oh, that's just the way we do it" or "Oh, you are being too uptight" or "Oh, you are being too overprotective" or "Oh, let the kids be kids" or "Oh, it will be fine".... I am done. Forget it. Let your own kid run around wild near the pool. Walk to the end of that darkened parking lot yourself. No, my 5-year-old does not get to walk to the restaurant bathroom herself unsupervised yet. Yes, I leave my shopping cart next to the car and not take it over to the cart corral because I'm not leaving my kid in the car alone. Yes, you may give me dirty looks. But I don't really care anymore.

That's really all I have for now. I'm sure I will add more as I grow older.

Do you have anything you will never do again?

Behold... My Latest Dumb Project

2010-07-04T21:51:00.004-05:00

I am a collector of junk and whatnots. Miniature junky whatnots especially make me happy. It doesn't really matter where it comes from... lying in the street, the Chik-Fil-A play area, dragged home by my daughter. Odd button, 1960's wooden Little People doll, salt dough letter "F" from preschool, John Ritter Three's Company sticker that my friend Vu gave me in high school, miniature versions of world monuments... if it is remotely cool, it goes in my Random Box.

I am also an avid reader of the I Spy and Can You See What I See? books. (Anna has no interest in them, but I still pretend that I am checking them out of the library for her.) I had this extra mirror hanging around and starting thinking about my Random Box and "I Spy" and... behold. Yet another large weird project that leaves my husband rolling his eyes.

My problem is this... I am actually running out of whatnots. So, to all my friends and family, if you could keep your eyes peeled for oddwads that you find endearing or special, and save them for me, I would be honored to add your contribution to my I Spy Mirror.

Thank you and good night.

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture

2010-07-04T20:57:00.002-05:00

I love this....

Time For A Little Privacy

2010-06-18T13:46:00.004-05:00

[Anna is watching me get toweled off after my shower this morning.]

Anna (pointing at one of my breasts): I like that boobie best.

Me: Uh, why?

Anna: It is smaller. It is the little baby boobie.

Art Project for You Fellow Lazy Mothers

2010-06-11T20:40:00.006-05:00

(No. This isn't the art project. You wish.)

Those enticing squished chocolate bugs are actually the inspiration for the art project.

One day, I noticed that Anna had gotten into my stash of chocolate and was contentedly playing with the chocolate bugs. She played with those things for hours. There was much chocolate bug drama when she realized that they were melting in her hands. Oh how she wished that her chocolate bugs could be a permanent fixture in her life.

Aha! thought my little mommy brain, which is both extraordinarily lazy and constantly looking for things to occupy the child's time and energy. We shall make bugs.

Bug Magnets

Buy some little round wooden halves at your local craft store. Find an old towel. Let your child paint the wood with various colors of acrylic paint. It will probably take two coats. (Here's a trick of mine for paint coverage.... add a tiny squirt or two of white paint to your paint color of choice. It will add opacity (and less needed coats), without diminishing the color very much. Not too much or you will get a pastel.) Force the child to not touch the paint until it dries. Or let them. Whatever. It doesn't really matter. It's not like this art project is going to end up in the Louvre.

Now you paint the little faces and stripes on the bugs, if your child doesn't have a steady brush hand. Let the child paint the spots and the eyeballs. Let the bugs dry.

Take the bugs outside to the sidewalk and spray them with some clear acrylic gloss. A good renter would probably put newspaper under the bugs. Let the bugs dry. (You can skip this step if you don't care about chipped paint. And you probably don't. I'm just a glosser.)

By this time, your child will have lost interest in the project and have wandered off to go watch Spongebob Squarepants. Take out your trusty hot glue gun and glue the bugs to the magnets that you also bought at the craft store.

Use your new bug magnets to hang up your favorite irreverent cartoons and torn children's book pages.

Or give them to your child to snoodle while she eats her afternoon Spongebob peanut-butter-on-a-spoon.

Our Favorite YouTubes

2010-05-27T20:44:00.007-05:00

Sometimes when we get bored, Anna and I just sit in front of the computer and play YouTube videos. Our all-time favorite is, of course, "Keyboard Cat" (which we've probably watched 73 times. In case you don't know of Keyboard Cat-- he is often used to "play out" different YouTube videos of people after they've committed a stupid and/or unfortunate act. Think Miss Teen USA South Carolina.) I thought I'd list our favorites (granted, most of these are popular standards on YouTube, but I would hate for anyone to miss out on them.)

Dramatic Squirrel

Surprise Panda

Surprise Laser Panda (even more surprises await!)

Charlie Bit Me... Again! (those precious British toddler accents! So cute, I can't bear it.)

Kittens Inspired By Kittens ("I'm her mom!" "No, she's not!" "Double heads!")

Single Ladies (ala Pomplamoose)

Single Ladies (ala Miranda)

Zombie Kid Likes Turtles

Two Little Dolls (Vintage Sesame Street)

Alligator in My Room! (Vintage Sesame Street)

King of Eight (Vintage Sesame Street)

Ladybug Picnic (Vintage Sesame Street)

and of course, the ultimate.... the combination of Keyboard Cat and British children....

Play Him Off, Keyboard Cat!

Play That Insensitive Nurse Off, Keyboard Cat!

2010-05-27T20:38:00.000-05:00

"Well, sometimes if you stop trying and just adopt, you just get pregnant, honey."

2010-05-24T16:55:00.007-05:00

... what not to say to the crying patient who has just called in to let you know that her IUI failed. Just an FYI, for all you nurses out there.

(By the way, the patient responded, "And sometimes you don't.")

And This Is How The Girl Dresses To Go To "Uncle Sam's Military Outfitters" With Her Father

2010-05-02T21:03:00.002-05:00

Okay, I'll Admit It, I Never Saw This One Coming...

2010-04-28T08:39:00.001-05:00

The scoop

Good for her.

Happy 35th Birthday to My Wife

2010-04-22T21:03:00.003-05:00

Ellen says, "Yay. Now I can go get that mammogram."

posted by Jason

The Moving Post

2010-04-15T18:19:00.016-05:00

"Ooooooooo....wee! What up wit dis? What up wit dat?"

Okay, so I just have to point out that it says something about the busyness of my life right now that I have started The Moving Post so many times that it has rendered itself moot.

Attempts:

Hey! We might be moving!

Hey! We are definitely moving!

Well, anyway, we moved. Like a month ago.

After about a year of trying to get through the online application process, my husband got a job with the Forestry Service Job Corps in social services.

For Jason, this was a dream. Government job, career path, hanging out with young adults all day (yeah, sometimes he plays Wii Bowling or chess with the kids for several hours... as part of his JOB.) It combined all his past jobs and likes and sort of rolled them into one: working with at-risk kids in a residential setting in the middle of a forest. For me, the idea took some getting used to. By accepting this as Jason's future career, I was looking forward to living near a National Forest for the next thirty years (remember that pesky Forest Service part....) For a girl who always dreamed of packing it up for The Big Apple, I was a little shell-shocked.

I know some of you Nature Lovers are gasping in dismay, but I am not a Nature Lover. Well, I love Nature, in theory. Through a window. With me on the other side, in a cutely-decorated air-conditioned house. Near a Target. Preferably with other intelligent funny mommies in my living room, drinking coffee.

But I have been praying for years that God would lead our family in a new direction, even if that direction was a little scary and full of adventures (and boy, has it been. Be careful what you pray for, people.) And as much as I hated to admit it, God's fingerprints seemed to be all over this direction. So I just sucked it up and said, "I'm scared. I'll go. But I don't have to like it." Then one day, it occurred to me that God knows me and loves me and if He's really sending me this direction, then I'm probably going to end up liking it, even if some of the twists and turns are not to my immediate liking. That realization helped calm me down a bit.

Most of my apprehension surrounded our town options. The Job Corps center is out in the middle of nowhere (i.e. the stinkin' middle of a National Forest. Have I mentioned forest enough?) We were told that we could live at the center or live in a nearby town. The problem was that even the closest town was a thirty minute drive through a winding mountain. "Okay," said Ellen, "let's drive down and check out our options before I completely freak out." Maybe the center is a bustling hotbed of activity with employee families. Maybe we could carpool our schoolchildren into town and have little dinner parties together and play Uno. Or maybe the town was charming and filled with friendly, rambunctious Southern townsfolk like in Doc Hollywood.

So one day, we drove the 2 1/2 hour interstate drive down to check out the options. First we drove to the small, hopefully charming, nearby town... the one where Anna would be in kindergarten and I would be stuck... or rather, ahem, abiding. Well, it wasn't Doc Hollywood.

There were a lot of red flags (the first being that it was the same town in which Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie filmed the first season of The Simple Life,) but let's just give the detail that sums it up. This is the town's school mascot (and they are not trying to be ironic nor witty):

Yes, a half-naked hillbilly holding a double barrel shotgun.

Through my laughter, I almost started hyperventilating and making homeschool lesson plans in my head. Okay okay, I thought, Calm down, Ellen. You haven't seen the center yet.

Thirty minutes through a winding Ozark mountain, we reached the center. The center is fine... great, in fact. As we took a tour through Jason's future workplace, I could see that it was the perfect fit for him. And that was the problem, because it was not the perfect fit for me. Remote, no other families, winding mountain roads. So basically Hillbillyville was depressing to me, but living at the center was worse.

As we left, I felt very disheartened. I started praying in my head, "God, if you want Jason here, just work this out. I will go where You put me, but it would help tremendously if it didn't cause me to go nuts like Jack Nicholson in The Shining."

On the way back home, we decided to take an old country highway back, through the mountains to the north. It is a highway that everyone in this neck of the woods avoids, for it's twisty turns... except for bikers who like that sort of action. But as we drove it, we realized that the highway was nowhere near as twisty notorious as people make it out to be. We also realized that the nearest small town to the north was only a five minutes longer drive from the center than to the southern Hillbillyville. And that second town is relatively close to civilization! (it's on the outskirts of a big town)

I was relieved. Nay, even excited to move once I figured this out. I could still hang out with my friends, go to the same church, have some different schooling options for Anna if need be, drive to a Starbucks... not that those things were necessary in life. But for this time in my life, with so many changes and upheavals in the past few years, I guess God deemed it necessary for me.

So we moved. We found a teeny tiny rental house in our price range and I am attempting to cull down even more "stuff." Jason is putting up shelves and grilling. Anna, as is her normal self, is happy as a clam.

And that concludes The Moving Post.

(oh, and our new town's school mascot is a nice, boring, non-shotgun wielding elk.)

She Doesn't Get It From Me

2010-04-15T18:13:00.001-05:00

Too Many?

2010-04-05T18:10:00.003-05:00

Is it possible to have too many children's books?

A few years ago, I would have never thought so... but maybe I am truly becoming a minimalist. I have purged so much stuff in the past few years, but I never dreamed of touching the children's book collection. However, as I was unloading the fifth box of children's books this past weekend, it struck me that perhaps it was time to weed down.

I am certainly not suggesting abandoning A Snowy Day or Llama Llama Red Pajama or any Dr. Seuss book... but can I tell a dirty little secret? I really can't stand Robert McCloskey books. I know his books are classics, but as I was pulling Blueberries for Sal out of a box, I realized that I never ever want to read that book again. It is boring. And slightly disturbing that the mother has no clue that her androgynous child is off galavanting with a bear.

There are some children's books that I actually hide because I don't want Anna to ask me to read them. Like any story where the animal parent is telling the animal child how miraculous they are or how crazy in love they are with the aforementioned fabulous animal child. They are usually books that I bought pre-parenthood because I liked the art. But here's what I have discovered: those are obnoxious yawners and kids don't like them either. They are for adults, not kids. And I don't have time for that anymore.

But yet I still keep them around because they are CHILDREN'S BOOKS, and in my world, you do not get rid of CHILDREN'S BOOKS.

Oh, the guilt.

"To Do" List

2010-03-16T08:19:00.002-05:00

At number 27 on my current "To Do" List: write blog post about our upcoming move. It's really coming. I promise. Well, not tonight, because Lost is on, but really soon.

Dear Micromanager,

2010-02-25T18:47:00.001-06:00

Hey there, Micromanager, how's it going.*

Micromanager, I've just got to write you a letter to get some things off my chest, because YOU ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY. Seriously, if I don't tell you a few things, I might snap and throw something at you, like a red Swingline stapler.

You are actually a composite of several micromanagers that I have known in my life. Some of you have been my boss, some of you have been my co-worker. A few of you have been my friend, but to be honest, not one of you was a close friend. Because, you know, of the driving-Ellen-crazy thing.

I took a personality test in the past (can't really remember which one... maybe the Myers-Briggs?) in which I had to answer a question to the effect of, "What personality trait drives you the most crazy?" After much pondering, I realized that I can put up with a lot of different personality types and traits. I am endeared toward socially-awkward geeks with all their nerdy Trek talk. I can deal with stupid people, misogynistic Southern jocks and fly-off-the-handle hotheads. I even have a soft spot for Borderlines, in all their dramatic kooky glory. But the one personality type that gets under my skin, much like one of those scarab beetles from The Mummy, is the micromanager.

I know that you are probably wondering what I am talking about, Micromanager, or thinking, "But I am just 'particular'!" No. No, you are not. "Particular" is wanting the crusts cut off your sandwich... it is not measuring the bread loaf, holding the arm of the knife-wielding sandwich maker and then creating a policy guide concerning future acceptable crust to bread ratio.

Oh Micromanager, here are a few examples of the things that you do that make me want to throw my stapler at you:

refusing to fully delegate tasks to others (it's the "partially" delegating that is the problem... if you are going to delegate, then release it entirely and trust that it will be accomplished. If you can't handle that, then do it entirely yourself.)
referring to rules or policies that I'm not entirely certain exist, except in your head
giving me a goal/project to accomplish, being completely satisfied with the outcome of that goal/project but still feeling the need to question the exact steps that I took to reach that goal, even though the goal is already completed and the proposed changed steps would not have affected the end result nor the timeline
complaining that others refuse to get involved enough in a group task, yet when we do, not giving us enough room, voice or authority to make a difference in the task
focusing on tiny teeny details, and not the Big Picture
forcing me to read books about cheese moving, parachute colors or anything by Stephen Covey
not recognizing the above behavior as slightly controlling, nor having a sense of humor about it

I have different stages of reaction to you:

quietly blending into the background ("Don't notice me. I am wallpaper.") That, of course, never works.
passive resistance ("Oh, yeah, sure, I'll get around to that later.") That, of course, never works.
passive-aggressive resistance ("Well, I would have finished that at exactly 9:47 but I couldn't see through the multitude of yellow Post-Its that you left.") That, of course, never works.
smiling while screaming in my head (quietly nodding while thinking, "ARGH!!!! WHERE IS MY RED SWINGLINE?!") That, of course, never works.
checking out ("La la la, I'm thinking about the Smoke Monster on Lost right now and there's nothing you can do about it.")

For a long time, I thought it was me. When I had to deal with you, Micromanager, I was left pulling my hair out and wondering, "Is it me? Am I a bad employee? A bad friend? Am I a horrible person for wanting to scream at you and run the other way? For secretly wanting to resist your requests and throw a wrench in your perfectly ordered machine?"

But then, a few years ago, it dawned on me that it's not me. It's you. For this simple reason: you treat everyone in your life this way. Realizing this fact has actually given me a lot more perspective and patience with you.

I still do not know why you feel the need to control everything in your life. I do not know why you tend to forget that people are people, and not just minor characters or robots. I do not know why or how you lost sight of the Big Picture in life. And I will probably never know those things. But I do think that God keeps putting you in my life to teach me how to let go, love and detach. Much like so many other things in my life, I am learning that I cannot change you. You are who you are.

When I find myself recognizing you in my life, time after time, I have learned that I need to do a few things to survive you: overly communicate, keep my opinions to myself and clear all decisions with you. Doing these things (and all of them are personally difficult for me) keeps you happier and slightly less controlling. I have also learned to appreciate that you do get things done, and the final products are generally of excellent quality.

So, dear Micromanager, let us make peace. (But still know that I am probably secretly thinking about the Smoke Monster while you are looking over my shoulder.)

Yours,
Ellen

*Notice I didn't end that sentence with a question mark. I did that on purpose, just to get under your skin. It's eating at you, isn't it? There's no question mark and there is nothing you can do about it. You can't stand it. Come on, just admit it. Hee hee!

Um.

2010-02-18T15:08:00.003-06:00

[After watching a funeral procession go by, I am thrown into the subject of the burial process with a five year-old...]

Ellen: ... and so then, they all go to the cemetery and say a prayer, and his family and friends bury his body.

Anna: What about his head?

My Baby is Five

2010-02-06T18:47:00.008-06:00

I can't believe my baby is five. Where has the time gone? Seriously. I've kind of been in shock today that I have a five year old.

The other night, I was trying to do some scrapbooking. I am four years behind, which means that I am still working on Anna's baby photos (we took an insane amount of photos that first year... the child has five full scrapbooks from her babyhood. I regret nothing. In fact, I wish we took even more.) I was looking at that baby in the photos. She's still the same kid with the same personality. I just happened to blink and suddenly, that baby is five years old.

Here she is at her Chuck E. Cheese party today, with her "boys," Caleb and Micah. I've always been impressed that Anna can keep up with them. They play hard, but they are good to remember (every once in awhile) that she is a girl and needs to be treated a bit more gently. Caleb can be especially kind to her. He held her on his lap for half an hour so they could all ride the "virtual rollercoaster" together.

Anna and Melody. Sometimes they are oil and water. Melody loves rules and order; Anna just wants to have fun fun fun. Melody can get lost in an art project for an hour; Anna needs attention after ten minutes. Melody will think things through carefully; Anna will worry about that later. But they've been friends since before birth (technically, Anna and Melody sat next to each other for eight months, while Bek and I were pregnant together, at our workplace desks.) Once they finally work out their differences, they giggle and giggle and cry when the other leaves.

Skeeball. Ahhhhh, Skeeball. I rock at Skeeball. I think it might be my spiritual gift, since I've never really figured out what mine is.

I think a lot of life's problems can disappear when you are playing skeeball with your sister. I even got one in the 10,000 pocket today. (Oh, and to further illustrate the difference between Melody and Anna... while Anna was freewheeling with the boys, Melody sat underneath me, feeding my machine with tokens and collecting all the tickets into a neat little pile. I called her my "Skeeball Elf.")

It was a good day.

Basic Math

2010-01-30T13:49:00.001-06:00

One very social only child + one small two-bedroom apartment + lots of snow = one mother pulling her hair out

Aging

2010-01-25T17:28:00.009-06:00

[Warning: This is going to be a shallow post, about things that don't really matter, you know, in the eternal sense. But it's still happening to me, so I'm going to write about it anyway.]

I'm 34 now, coming quickly on 35. I know that I'll probably get some comments from some older folks, along the lines of "Oh honey, you are still young. Shut up." I know I am, but that doesn't mean that I haven't been slowly dawning to some of the realities of aging.

Cosmetics, for one. Make-up never used to be a "must-have" for me. A little under-eye concealer, a little blush and lip gloss (always lip gloss, though. Gotta do up these "porn star lips" of mine, as pointed out once by an odd chap in high school.) Even back when I worked full-time, in my twenties, I wore so little make-up that my co-workers probably wouldn't have noticed if I just skipped it. And if it was the weekend? Forget it. No time for blush.

Now I wear cosmetics pretty much every day. Even on weekends. Even doing my mom thing. It's not that I think that I look like a gremlin without it. But after I put it on, I find myself looking in the mirror, breathing a sigh of relief and thinking, "Now that's better." Make-up makes a difference now, whereas five years ago, it really didn't.

Photograph-wise, I'm dismayed to find that I am turning into my own mother. I'm now horrified to see close-ups of myself on the camera. I instruct Jason, "Don't take any of me. Just focus in on Anna." It's like I can hear my mother's voice coming out of my mouth. And I never understood her, growing-up. I thought my mom was lovely in photos. What was her problem? She just looked like my mom. Now I'm looking at my own image with wrinkles, dry skin, unruly gray hairs, mommy cellulite thighs and discolored skin spots, next to my beautiful daughter's smooth rosy cheeks, and my robot alert sensors go off, "More of Anna! Less of Ellen! Danger Will Robinson! Danger!"

Ironic, because I used to be such a goofy camera queen. If there was a camera out, baby, I was in that shot... doing The Robot, acting like a baton-wielding Olympic ice skater, licking my friend's face, what-have-you. My final photography project in art school was black and white self-portraiture. That's right-- like fifty close-up photos of me, being artsy-fartsy by myself in my apartment. Horrifying. Seriously, I could not handle looking at myself that much, today. I guess I have officially changed.

[artsy-fartsy college photo]

And that's probably more of the issue than the actual wrinkles and gray hairs. I don't mind those things too much. I have all sorts of brave plans to grow old naturally (with the exception of my premature gray hair. I started going gray in high school, just like my mom. I call "UNFAIR" on that one. I've decided that I will "go gray" when Jason finally does.) It's more that I look at myself in those photos, or catch a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I wonder who that person is. She is starting-- just barely, mind you-- to look like someone I don't know. Which then leads me to start asking tough questions, like... "Under these burgeoning wrinkles, is there inner beauty?" "Do I like who this woman has become?" "Is it okay that this woman has not ended up where she thought she'd be at 35?" "Is there still time for this woman to accomplish some of her dreams?" "Were those dreams hollow and empty to begin with?" "What does God want for her life to look like?" "Would people recognize her from the hopeful, quirky girl she was fifteen years ago?" "How does she embrace what's grown better with years, but still retrieve the good things that she lost?" "Is that even possible?" I don't know the answers to these questions, and sometimes it scares me.

Hmmmm. Perhaps this post didn't end up being so shallow after all.

(I will add that, thankfully, Jason still thinks I'm hot and calls me his "good-lookin' wench.")

Question of the Day

2010-01-22T19:04:00.005-06:00

Do you remember those lovely days in college, when you used to get a care package from your mom? How it contained the most glorious things... like chocolate, toothbrushes, new panties, quasi-inspirational Chicken Soup for the Soul books from the dollar bin? Your younger sister's leftover Halloween candy? Socks with little kitties on them? How everyone made fun of you for your new pink Hello Kitty pen, but secretly they were oh so envious?

Well, if you got a care package in the mail today, what would be included in it that would make your heart sing?

You Can Go Your Own Way... But Your 4 Year-Old Will Talk You Out Of It Every Time

2010-01-20T21:45:00.002-06:00

[In the car on the way to preschool, listening to a Fleetwood Mac song on the radio]

Anna: Mommy, is this band a boy or a girl?

Ellen: Well, in this band, sometimes boys sing and sometimes girls sing.

Anna: But who is this? A boy or a girl?

Ellen: In this song, it's a boy.

Anna (very skeptical): No, I think it's a girl.

Ellen: No, really, it's a boy.

Anna: It sounds like a girl.

Ellen: Be that as it may, it's a boy.

Anna (still skeptical): What is his name?

Ellen (suddenly realizing that she is not going to win this one): Uh... Lindsey Buckingham.

Table Tuesday

2010-01-19T05:02:00.000-06:00

A weekly look at the junk on my kitchen table...

I Spy With My Little Eye:
coupons, wooden peg princess dolls, thermometer, American Girls paper dolls, Jason's hat, one daughter, Wal-Mart receipt, one daughter's security blanket

What Happens At Auntie Ellen's, Stays At Auntie Ellen's

2010-01-17T16:31:00.008-06:00

Isn't he the cutest little boy you've ever seen?

I'm a little biased, because I am his auntie, but I honestly think that he is the cutest boy. Truthfully, before the Pea was born (that's what my sister calls him), I didn't really get the whole "boy" thing. Women would talk gaga googoo about their sons, and I would nod along accordingly, but secretly I thought, "What a poor sad deluded woman. What could possibly be so interesting about a boy?" There is no pink. There are no rainbow sparkles. There are no Baby Lulu matchy froofroo dress sets. There are trucks. And Thomas the Train. And sweater vests.

But then the Pea was born and now I totally get it. I now understand that it is possible to love a boy. They are so totally different than girls, but still awesome. Anna would turn everything into a baby doll. If she had no baby doll, she would turn a truck into a baby doll. The Pea is the opposite. The baby doll becomes a truck. Or simply an implement for destruction and beating floors. Anna practices her fairy princess butterfly voice; the Pea growls like a tauntaun from Star Wars. Anna can snuggle for hours. I'm lucky if I get two minutes with the Pea.

So on Friday, I was charged with watching him all day. Yes, 12 straight Pea-filled hours. I have no idea why they trusted me with his care because I am terrible. When he is being naughty or howling, I tell my sister, "Oh, but he's so cuuuuuuuute. Let's give him a cookie." I'm just terrible. Here he is getting spoiled rotten:

He had more Puffs and cowboys on Friday than is probably allowed by law.

It was good for me. I was completely beat by the end of the day. I forgot about... toddlers. How can they be so squishy-wishy adorable and yet so darn exhausting? The Pea's favorite things to do that day: 1) Climb on the couch and stand up. Wait for Auntie Ellen to say, "Please sit down, Pea. You will fall and hit your head." Plop. Grin. Shuffle to next chair. Repeat. Fifty times. 2) Stand in his diaper at the water-filled sink with a handful of plastic frogs, with Auntie Ellen holding him to make sure he doesn't topple off the stool. Drop a frog on the floor. Wait for Auntie Ellen to pick it up. Throw the frog in the water. Laugh. Drop a frog on the floor. Wait for Auntie Ellen to pick it up. Repeat. Fifty times.

But I also remembered things I really miss about those years. Making their little toddler lunch, and spooning yogurt in their mouth. Being thrilled when they say something new (the Pea said, "Up, please!" and I was like figuring out who I could call to tell about his amazingness.) Seeing their face light up when they see somebody they love (the Pea loves Anna with a passion. I only realize how much he simply tolerates me when I see his face when Anna walks in the room.) Those toddler years are tough, but there are constant little bitty rewards.

Cartoon Wednesday

2010-01-13T06:00:00.000-06:00

Deception, Lies and Chocolate

2010-01-11T19:38:00.001-06:00

I am going to write about deception today, my friends.

For a demonstration for my little lesson, I will be using an ordinary object that I have sitting on my kitchen counter. An adorable little Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Palette that my mother-in-law was so kind as to give me for Christmas. I need to take a photo of the pretty chocolate wrappers anyway, because it's all going to be devoured really really soon. Lucky for the chocolate, it is dark. If it had been milk chocolate, nothing would be nothing left by this point, including the wrappers.

So here we have a plain ole' photo of the cute chocolates, using a flash:

Yeah. It's an ugly photo. I still want to eat that chocolate, but that's all the chocolate's doing. The photography, positioning and editing had nothing to do with it. (Note the banana and remote control sneaking into the shot, as if to say, "Oh sweet chocolate, we are coming to befriend you. Not eat you. Trust us." Don't trust them, naive little chocolate, for they have come to take you away from your beloved Ellen and do you harm.)

Now here's a photo of the same object, with a pretty good camera, in natural light, unedited:

Aha. Now that's a bit different, isn't it? Same chocolate. Same camera. Same passably-skilled photographer. Different positioning. Natural light. Completely different vibe.

Now, here's that same photo, Photoshop-fiddled:

I cropped it. I adjusted the levels and color. I added some grainy filters. All to make it seem like I am sitting in my little flat in London, waiting near the window in the late afternoon with my cat named Jean-Franco, for my lover to show up for chocolate and afternoon tea. You want to be me, don't ya? I'm so bohemian. I'm fabulous. My life is better than yours, isn't it? Well, guess what? I'm not in London. I'm in Arkansas. I'm not bohemian or fabulous; I'm still Ellen. And that's the same bit of chocolate from the first ugly photo.

You can even take that same photo and really trick it out. Make it look like some woodcut from an old limited edition of Jane Eyre or something. If you have a need for that. Which you probably don't, but here you go:

My point in sharing this with you is to show you that looks are deceiving. Too many women out there feel defeated because their humble abode does not look like a home from Dwell magazine or Apartment Therapy. Their gluey messy knick-knack doesn't resemble that adorable $65 one on the Etsy gallery. Their fondant cake does not look anything like the one in Martha Stewart Living. Well, guess what? Neither does theirs.

Daily, I have to force myself to be cognizant of those deceptions. In America, we are hit constantly with lies, lies, lies. Most of the time, the lies/manipulations are designed to sell us something... commercials, billboards, television shows, politics, movies, etc. But sometimes those manipulations are by people who, for one reason or another, just want to portray their life to the world in a specific manner.

Now I don't think that there's anything inherently wrong about wanting to take pretty photos of your crafts, furniture and kids and putting them on your blog, or writing about the 178th delicious dinner that you made your husband. Where I think the danger lies is when we, as readers, forget that everybody's life is messy and imperfect. It doesn't matter how charmed and funny and wonderful that particular blogger seems, or how marvelous her marriage, or delightful her home art studio.... in the end, it is still a manipulation of her real live actual life.

In my own life, I have declared war on lies. I want more of the truth in my life, because that's where peace is. I think that the war has to start with the little battles. I have to try everyday to not compare my own life to someone else's life... and it's not even really their life I'm comparing myself to-- it's just a fantasy. (I even hide Facebook "friends" who are prone to post I Heart My Perfect Life/Husband/Ideally-Spaced Children status updates.) At times, I have had to completely stop reading particular blogs. Sometimes it's just because of my own nasty envy bug; other times, I begin sensing that the blogger is actively creating a fantasy online wonder life and I start feeling icky. When I peruse sites like Anthropologie I try to force myself to see the drooled-over object for what it really is... it's not the answer to all my woes, it's just another overpriced purse.

And with that, I am off to eat some of that chocolate. And it won't look pretty, my friends. It won't look pretty.

The Virus Talent Show

2010-01-07T09:09:00.005-06:00

I'm gonna say it. I preferred my former swine flu over my current nasty cold.

That's right. I said it. So there.

Granted, I would have actually preferred to have neither, but since life didn't provide me with that option, I will admit that I was less miserable with the flu. And why, you may ask?

At least with the flu, I did not labor under the delusion that I could carry on with my normal daily activities. With the flu, I ran a 102 fever for six days and I planted my keister on the couch the whole time. I did not get up except to pick up Anna at preschool, refill my Sprite and pee (due to the aforementioned Sprite drinking.) I got a little sympathy and pandering from my husband instead of the instruction to "Cover your mouth when you cough, woman." I lost five pounds. I didn't feel guilty about letting Anna watch six hours of Wonder Pets on a Saturday afternoon.

And I didn't have all this blasted mucus and coughing and raw cruddy nose and irritated spirit.

In the American Idol of the virus world, I guess I would have voted for my flu over my cold. Although, technically, they are both kind of losers. Which is kinda like the usual season of the real American Idol, too.

I need a nap.

Cartoon Wednesday

2010-01-06T05:00:00.001-06:00

Table Tuesday

2010-01-05T05:00:00.001-06:00

A weekly peek at the junk on my kitchen table...

I Spy With My Little Eye:
Hungry Hungry Hippo, Mental Floss, a balloon mouse, a candy cane. a pink Bible, paintbrushes, a broken snow globe

A Visit to the Clinton Presidential Library

2010-01-04T05:00:00.000-06:00

My parents live in Little Rock now. My sisters and various husbands, boyfriends and other clinger-ons (ahem, small children) recently visited for some holiday cheer.

One afternoon, as my dad was driving several of us about town to "look at stuff" (i.e. making fun of big ridiculous houses we could never afford... a vacation hobby my family has been practicing for years), we ended up downtown, meandering towards the Clinton Presidential Library. I don't know that any of us, except possibly my socially conscious, slightly liberal, partly vegetarian youngest sister, were huge fans of the Clinton administration, but our interest was peaked. (We also had left our children with my mother and suspected that we would only be returning to poopy diapers and entreaties to play Littlest Pet Shop, so we were especially game to visit the museum.)

After an hour or two of pondering the library's halls of Clinton trinkets, 90's retrospective news displays and brief film of Bill's life, I had some thoughts...

1) Say what you will about Slick Willie... dadgummit... that man can just be so darn likable. He is a charmer. It's easy to see how he got to be President. I know perfectly well that he has a scamp in him, but watching him hug his momma and smile at a crowd and play his saxophone... I found it difficult not to be charmed. And hey, I am no dummy. I know what he's been up to. I've read the entire Starr Report. ewwwwwww...

My mother went to band camp with Bill back in the 60's. Many years later, in the 80's, my family ended up at a thing where Bill Clinton was there (I remember it because I shook his hand, then promptly went to go watch Pee Wee's Big Adventure with all the other bored kids in a cramped, stuffy den.) Apparently, my mother said to Bill, "I'm sure you don't remember me but..." And he stopped her, remembered her name, remembered band camp and even what instrument she played. I have no idea if my mom voted for him, but boy howdy, if it had been me, I just might have been flattered enough to punch that chad for ole' Bill. And if he remembered everybody he met like that... that's a lot of flattered, charmed voters.

2) When one (or the followers of one) gets to design one's own life museum, one gets to decide the content and how to spin that particular content. I was curious how certain events would be addressed in Clinton's museum. Personally, I remember half of the Clinton administration being dominated by Bill's, shall we say, indiscretions. I mean, the man was impeached. How does one tiptoe around that doozy, from a historical perspective? Lightly, but with a sledgehammer, I learned.

There was one small museum section entitled, something to the effect of, "Standing Strong Against The Nefarious Right Wing Conspiracy Led By The Trolls-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named." Except they did name them. Spews of venom were not spared against Newt Gingrich and Kenneth Starr. There was also a brief defense as to their innocence in the Whitewater scandal, and another small (but very angry) tirade about the amount of taxpayer money wasted on the investigation and impeachment. And that was that.

3) Politics aside, Bill's administration was planted smack dab in a prosperous spot in history. The 90's rocked compared to this past decade. Our country had not yet experienced the messy 2000 election, the horror of 911, double wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the gross intrusiveness of reality television, a world addicted to technology crack and now this nasty recession. Reviewing the 90's in those halls, I became wistful for the good old days (and I realize that it's pretty ridiculous that the '90's could ever be considered "the good old days") when my momma and daddy could meet me at the gate of my plane, coming home for Christmas during college. I still had a simple landline. I read the newspaper everyday. I wrote and received real letters on stationery. I visited a library when I needed to research a topic. I didn't have an email address or cell phone, much less a blog. None of us were obsessively checking our Twitters, Facebooks, blog comments, voicemails, RSS feeds, Blackberries, iPods, iPhones or iWhatevers. We were not well-versed in the love lives of the Gosselins, the Osbournes, the Simpson-Lacheys or Anna Nicole Smith. I know I sound like an old fogie... sorry.

That's about it. We left and returned home to a nephew covered in pureed squash and a daughter reading If You Give A Cat A Cupcake for the tenth time, and I remembered that this present time is pretty great, after all.

Dear 2009,

2010-01-02T08:33:00.007-06:00

So, ahem, here we are, 2009. You look well. Have you been working out a bit? Um... hope you are doing well in your retirement home... hope that your Bocce ball games and 4:30 dinners are satisfactory... hope that...um.

Look, I'll be honest, 2009, I'm kinda thankful for your departure. You weren't a bad year, really. (That would be your predecessor. *) You simply had some necessary difficult components contained within you. You were a year of estrangement, financial hardship, difficult decisions, waiting, disappointments and upheaval. Hard stuff.

But you were also a year of forgiveness, reconciliation, hope, prayer, thankfulness and learning to live happily with less. Good stuff.

In the end, I will probably remember you with fondness. You just won't be invited over for brunch much.

Sincerely,
Ellen

*Just for posterity's sake, here's what my letter to 2008 would have looked like...

Dear 2008,

You stink. We are no longer on speaking terms. I'm cutting you out of the will.

Goodbye and good riddance,
Ellen

Hello Again.

2009-12-24T15:35:00.004-06:00

When presented with the prospect of writing my first blog post since my life was turned on it's messy little head a year or two ago, I realized I basically have two options:

A) Tell all of it.

B) Tell none of it.

I have realized that if I wait until I have the energy and perfect wording for option A, then I am never going to get around to starting up this blog again. And I really miss writing it. So I've decided to just skip on to option B. I imagine that as we progress, option A will worm it's little way into the blog. Option A contains an interesting story, but a very long story.

For continuity's sake, though, I'll just say that, although many circumstances of my life have changed from when I last blogged, I am happily still married to Jason, still the mother to the fabulous Anna and still thankful to God for all of it.

Onward we go...