Mother Inspired Art

Here it is mid-January and I am still not done cleaning my stupid office. I should have realized that twelve years’ worth of paperwork shoved in brightly multicolored files and hanging in six cherry wood drawers, would take hours to go through.  

Tucked behind files containing detailed memos outlining vapid techniques I should have used to improve my sales goal performance, I found a bulging red file.  A file so full of papers, I estimate one young spruce prematurely surrendered her life, only to be transformed to sit in an abandoned drawer somewhere in Northern Illinois, in an office vaguely resembled a pre-hoarders state.

I had forgotten about this file. This wonderful, fabulous file that contained drawings I had stashed away. Drawings made by my children at different ages: three, five, seven, nine, etc. Drawings they colored for Fourth of July, Halloween, Christmas, Easter, and Mother’s Day. Drawings they designed because they were inspired and feeling creative.  Drawings they designed because they were trying to artistically apologize to their mom over spilled kitty poo. (Oh come on now, you didn’t really believe this post was about to go down Sentimental Ave, did you?)

Behold: Mother Inspired Art 

I know, an explanation is in order.  So we have a cat.  And unlike those super cool, super intelligent cats that know how to squat atop a human toilet bowl, do their potty business, and then flush, our cat is a simpleton, and thus is limited to kitty antics that include eating Iams Indoor Weight Control/Hairball dry cat food and using a kitty litter box.  One of the conditions I stipulated prior to getting said cat, was that my children had to take turns cleaning the kitty litter. The kids, eager for a non-swimming pet, readily agreed to this commitment, and for the most part, have done surprisingly well at keeping their end of the agreement. However one day a few months back, I went downstairs to conduct a random kitty litter box inspection, and found the litter box and its surrounding area to be in a complete and wholly unacceptable state. Intense PG-rated expletives ensued, and before I knew it, everyone but the cat came downstairs to see why Mom yelling.

As is usual, the youngest daughter was to blame for my latest apoplectic event, for she had not properly disposed of kitty poop into the kitty waste container, thus leaving me to find pieces of kitty poop, along with kitty litter, strewn across the corner of the basement floor where the litter box sits.  In addition, the kitty poop container (think of it like a diaper genie, except for cat poo), was overflowing with kitty waste. Let me repeat: OVERFLOWING. WITH CAT WASTE.  I was not happy.

Art Explained
Instead of my usual yelling spree, wherein I get the bulk of my anger out in an impressive seven second burst of verbal fire, I stood incredulous, quiet fury seeping out of my pores like unrestrained steam.  My husband sat silently on the stairs and watched as I posed fatal hypothetical illnesses and insect infestations scenarios soon to plague our family, borne from poorly disposed cat poop and slothful children, to our now quivering 10 year old daughter.  I made sure to punctuate each statement with an exaggerated sweep of the ShopVac across the tainted concrete corner.

Meanwhile my other daughter, who surely must have contributed to the situation, was unconcerned with the potential fecal apocalypse brewing in our basement, and gave me the ubiquitous female pre-teen sign of disdain (the eyeball roll) and if hoofed it back upstairs. 

The Anatomy of Guilt
As evidenced by her apology drawing, my poor 10 year old didn’t stand a chance against the onslaught of guilt I heaved in her direction. A dissection of her drawing provides insight into the drama that unfolded that fateful Saturday morning:

This is the title of her drawing: I’M SORRY FOR MAKING A MESS! (Interpretation: JEEZ MOM, I WASN’T TRYING TO KILL US WITH CAT POO, I WAS JUST BEING LAZY). Notice the hearts and smiley faces, as she tries hard to ingratiate herself back into my good graces. 

This is me proclaiming my anger, while surrounded by a mound of stinky cat turds, uncontained kitty litter, and the overflowing container of cat waste, which is leaking lethal poo vapors out into our once pristine breathing environment. 

This contraption, which I did not immediately recognize upon first seeing her drawing, is actually the ShopVac that is supposed to be used periodically to vacuum up stray litter bits. Take a moment to admire her attention to details, as you realize that she included the attachments in her depiction!

This is the kitty litter box, with the lid off and the pooper scooper on top.

This is said 10 year old, apologizing, in tears, and apparently afflicted with feet shaped like ear muffs.

This is her father, silent and useless, sitting on the basement steps and angled for optimal “Mom is going bat-shit (or should I say cat-shit) crazy” viewing.

This is my older daughter and her reaction, although I would wager that her smile is probably the result of intentional artistic liberty.

And thus the KITTY LITTER INCIDENT OF 2011, as it now known around our household, has been forever documented through a drawing by my intrepid 10 year old daughter. While I am glad I found it in the file, seeing it sent a quick flash of regret deep in the crevices of my heart because it simultaneously reminded me that my children generally don’t mean to disappoint, and that I have successfully mastered blending and using Catholic, Italian, and motherly brands of guilt. 

I've also realized it just might be one of my most favorite pieces of artwork ever.

Why I Have Been Missing In Action

Hello my bloggy friends, there is no real rant today. Mostly just an apology.  I have been missing-in-action from the blogging world for the past few weeks due to the holidays (translation: my family was home every day and messing up my computer time with their constant frivolous needs). Thus I am sorry I haven’t kept up with your blogs and that it has taken me so long to post on my own.

During the holidays I also started a huge project that was long overdue: cleaning my upstairs home office.  Its appearance was bordering a pre-hoarders state and I didn’t want it to get to the point where one day I’d find my cat, eeking out her final breaths as she lay wedged under a pile of books and old Allure magazines that had fallen upon her because she had accidentally wandered into the wrong room (plus there is only one way to really deal with the stress of the holidays, and that is to add onto it with the stress of a larger-than-life-do-it-yourself home project). My home office was where I worked my ‘real’ job every day for years, until I decided to quit my career and upheave my life in the summer of 2010 to embark on my belated self-discovery stage (wherein I ‘discovered’ I liked to watch a lot of mindless reality TV and pile additional crap in my home office that I didn’t feel like dealing with, while simultaneously ignoring my untidy house).

The goal I had for cleaning my office seemed simple: I had to touch every single thing in the room to determine if I should keep, file, toss, or sell it.  What I didn’t count on was the fact that I would have to thus far touch approximately 1,043,789 items…including receipts from 1998, a picture of me from the 80’s wearing a hideous knitted fall themed sweater, and a photocopy of the lyrics to a Spice Girls song (Wannabe, in case you are wondering).  I also learned that I have on hand a lifetime supply of: address labels (Avery, in white, clear, laser, and ink jet formats), sticky pads, Sharpies, binders, miscellaneous computer/fax/phone/printer cords for equipment I no longer own, paper clips, pens, HP ink cartridges #57, and lastly, envelopes (four types yo - letter, large, self-adhesive, and bubble-padded). If ever there is an office supply armageddon, come over to my house to get stocked up. I have to admit it has been cathartic to finally come to the conclusion that I was never going to use memos I wrote back in 1995, and could thus throw them away.

And as if cleaning my home office was not enough of a task, I have also committed to moving my soon to be much leaner home office, down to the main floor. It is a smaller room and was theoretically the spot the home builder designated as an office.  I however turned it into my kids’ playroom and lovingly hand painted it with cartoon animals when they were wee tots. Now they have outgrown it and need something bigger (and something stationed over the garage, so I don’t have to hear Ke$sha’s ‘singing’ about the popo). This means that not only will I be moving furniture up and down stairs, but I will also be undertaking a painting job that will require more serious attention than normal. Confused? See exhibits 1 - 4:

Exhibit 1: The Bears

See..they are in love, isn’t that sweet? They are also large, have four coats of nutmeg brown paint applied to ‘pop’ their red hearts, and are detailed and outlined in black permanent marker. Those buggers will need to be sanded off, wiped down, and then primed over twice before my new shade of burnt amber paint can even think about going up.

Exhibit 2: The Pink Rabbits

I had initially planned on painting two baby rabbits, one to represent each child. But alas, my arm got tired during the painting session so I only finished one (unlike Leonardo, I had little patience for painting above my head). No doubt one of my kids is going to be talking to her shrink about this lack of motherly dedication in fifteen or so years.

Exhibit 3: The Fluttering Birds

I actually love these little birds.  They are my personal Woodstocks, and I like to think of them precariously fluttering through life with the goal of getting to a birdfeeder that will supply them with big fat seeds, while offering them protection from stupid squirrels and other varmint. I will be sad to see them go.

Exhibit 4: The Kid’s Reindeer Height Chart

Ah, the fate of this reindeer, which has measured my kids' heights since they were 6 months old, has caused much consternation in our household. I wanted to retrace my kids’ growth on butcher paper, which I could then neatly roll up and store in a closet (specifically the closet upstairs, in my soon to be prior home office). Yet the kids and the husband wanted to keep the reindeer and height chart in its entirety, and my husband added the special stipulation of not wanting it in our new home office (and yes damn it, I will have to share an office with him again. He’d better keep it clean). Anyway, I was like: Huh? What kind of cockamamie thought process is going on here? You want to keep the reindeer and height chart as is, but not on the wall it is painted on? Can you explain how this idea could come to fruition? And as I was thinking these thoughts, my husband proceeded to explain that he would cut out the entire portion of the drywall, so that the reindeer and growth markers could be saved. This notion made me mental…he wanted to cut out a 6x4 foot section of drywall? And then what? Instead of taking my usual approach and telling my husband this was one of the dumbest ideas ever (second only to his suggestion of having a pot luck wedding), I decided to take a more logical approach, which led to this fine line of questioning by me:

Me: Honey, where would we put this 5+ foot large piece of drywall art, which will probably require some kind of custom made frame to prevent its disintegration, in the basement?

Husband: What? No, we can’t put it there.

Me: Oh, then would we put it in one of the kids’ bedrooms or in their new hangout room?

Kids: No way! (note, the kids replied in unison and they never agree on anything).

Me: Um, so in the garage perhaps?

Husband: No, there's not enough room in there now for all our stuff. (And by the way, 'our stuff' is a complete misnomer. It's mostly his crap and the kids' crap. For reals.)

Me: Oh, well no matter. We can figure where to put it later, I guess. I am wondering though, exactly how long do you think it will take you to patch up the drywall, and are you confident that you can do a good enough job so that our wall is not lumpy?

Husband: (no reply, only quiet realization that I had rationally put his inane idea to rest. I did manage to turn away from him as I gloated. After all the years of being married to this man, I have finally learned that logical questions asked of his engineering brain, work better than trying to explain to him why I think my viewpoint is the right one).

After that conversation, we decided to keep the reindeer where it is, and that all the other walls in my new office would be repainted (which lest you think is limited to only the animals exhibited above, know that would be a mistake. I will also be painting over frogs, a school of fish, an owl, a raccoon, a half crescent moon, and a dozen stars, as I may have went a little overboard with my playroom creations.)

I hope to have this all done within the next three weeks. Hmmm. You might have to wish me luck people.

p.s. No drawing today, however I am attaching a card I found during my office cleaning that I think describes me well.

Outside of Card

Inside of Card