20% of all sales will be donated to the public art fund for Main Street Revitalization. Please consider supporting the arts as well as this venture on Main street. For our part we have thought long and hard and tried to make our prices as fair as possible in order to make the work available for all walks. If there is something that Shaun has done that speaks particularly to you, talk to us. We would love to make a deal, whether it is a partial barter, payment plan, or best offer.

AND for those of you attending the Bethany Banquet there will still be plenty of time to stop by after.

A few Saturday's ago I went out with my husband to a celebration and agonized over what to wear. Not because I am vain, but because clothes are rare for me. Very rare. I finally decided on a blue sweater with beautiful buttons and a favorite scarf wrapped around my hair, that after mostly falling out during all my pregnancies has been growing back in, springing with curls (my previous hair was straight). I wasn't happy with the clothes. I wear them all the time, I wanted to feel special not old, bland, wifely, and motherly. Some single women in the group were lamenting their singleness and I tried to sympathize. They jokingly said they couldn't wait to be married so that they could stop having to "look" so nice when they go out. Then, pointing to me said: "I wish so much that I could just throw on a sweater and a scarf and not care how I look" I know they didn't mean it to, but it hurt.

I often think of the other mothers out there and the struggles that they go through. Wanting to say I spend so much of my day wiping bottoms. Wanting time for more than chores and whiny kids. Wondering how it is that some women LOVE being home, but I don't. Wondering how I can obtain that. Or what is wrong with me, when I can't. Sometimes it has been so long since I have done anything other than mother, that I have no imagination for what I would do, if given the chance. I do love my children. Being a mother is the hardest thing I have ever done, and I feel like I need a muse now more than ever. That I need to feel like I "look" nice. I dislike being stereotyped just as much as the next person.

So then, a book of poems. The poem that I read sobbing over and over. Because it hit such a cord. Struck straight to the tender spot in my heart. Yet, on the next page a poem about loving her children so completely, and she had seen my soul, walked in my shoes, with its pains and joys to almost bursting. No other piece of written anything has ever meant so much to me. Ever.

I write this not to lament and not in a tone of self-pity, but in one of honesty that yes, some days are definitely like this. And if for me, for who else out there as well. So, for whomever you are, this is for you. This poem and my honesty.

Prayer to the Muse of Ordinary Life
by Kate Daniels

I seek it in the steamy odor of the iron pressing cotton shirts in the heat of a summer afternoon, in my daughter's ear, the warm pink cone, curling inward. I seek it in the dusty circles of the ceiling fan, the kitchen counter with its painted shells from Hilton Head, the creaking boards in the bedroom floor, the coconut cookies in the blue glass jar. The hard brown knob of nutmeg nestled in the silver grater and the lemon yogurt that awaits. I seek it not in books but in my life inscribed in two brief words--mother, wife --the life I live as mistress of an unkempt manse, volunteer at firstborn's school, alternate Wednesday's aide at youngest's nursery, billpayer, laundress, cook, shrewd purchaser of mid- priced minivan. I seek it in the strophes of a life like this, wondering what it could be like, its narratives drawn from the nursery and playpen, its images besmirched with vomitus and shit. The Prayer I pray is this:

If you are here, where are you? If you exist, what are you? I beg you to reveal yourself. I will not judge, I am not fancy. My days are filled with wiping noses and bathing bottoms, with boiling pots of cheese-filled pasta for toothless mouths while reading Rilke, weeping.

My life is broken into broken pieces. The fabric is rent. Daily, I roll the stone away but all is dark inside, unchanged. The miracle has not happened yet.

If you are anywhere nearby, show me anything at all to prove you do exist: a poem in a small, soiled nightie, a lyric in the sandbox voices raised in woe.

Release a stanza from the sink's hot suds where dirty dishes glow. Seal a message inside: encourage me to hold on. Inform me in detail exactly how to do it.

I'm sure that I have found my Muse of Ordinary Life, but most days I don't feel it. That is when I need this, when I cry out.

I've been so delighted to see the daffodils coming out and the weather turning so warm. I'm a little worried that we are in for it this summer! Still we are wearing sweaters and staying "cozy". In Minnesota people would go swimming in this kind of weather, and all you would see is shorts, at the moment they are getting excited about the possibility of temps between 30 and 40 degrees. Makes me grateful for the near 80 degrees we have been experiencing. Well, today my father sent me a picture that some friends of theirs in upstate New York took, of a road near their house. I thought I would share it with all of you.

I can remember large piles of snow that reached above my head. Digging into the giant heaps we would build tunnels and burrows. One winter we built a snow hill off the side of our garage, and spent many a day sledding off of it. There was always hot chocolate when we came inside, and the radiators were warm and ready to receive our winter gear, so that when we ventured out next they were toasty, dry, and warm.

Seventh Generation, a green paper products and cleaning products
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women's shelter in your chosen state - just for clicking
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Thanks for helping out.
Please pass this on.

On Saturday Shaun will be showing some of his work at the Normal Park Museum Magnet School NormalPalooza Arts and Museum Festival. (How's that for a title!?!) Come by and see us and some of his work. The Festival is from 10 to 5 rain or shine and there will be plenty to do and see. From what I understand there will be food and music and activities. For more information check out the Normal ParkNormal Park site. We would love to see you there.

Another painting by Shaun for your viewing pleasure. If any of you just happens to have a gallery and want Shaun to do a show... Or you want a piece, just let us know.... Also, I'm not a professional photographer so the photo does not do the painting justice.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4. “fried. She sat beside him on the rustic bench. He watched her”

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What can you touch? My computer room wall. (It’s green, Matt.)

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? Wife Swap. Yes, it’s true... On Monday nights, when Shaun is at work, you can find me watching Wife Swap and crocheting or holding the baby.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is. 12:32pm.

5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 12:37pm

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? A mocking bird going through it’s repertoire, a dripping faucet and the dryer reminding me of the mountain of laundry I should be doing.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? This morning. Mason and I played in the rocks with a spade. It was riveting.

8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? "Wait....What?" Matt Donovans wonderful blog... My favorite, and I have seen a lot of blogs!

9. What are you wearing? Gray sweat pants that I always wear when I am at home. Chances are if you stop by I will change them before I let you in my house. And Shaun’s shirt, which irritates him to no end. He says I leave boob marks and then he can’t wear it, he’s right. Shame on me.

10. Did you dream last night? Yes. I lost some of the kids and they kept multiplying and running away into danger. Hmmm... just try and interpret that one.

11. When did you last laugh? When I went to pick up the twins from preschool and they kept saying “I’ve got wuorms, mommy!” They had dirt cake made out of crushed Oreo’s and chocolate pudding with gummy worms. For days they told people they had worms.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in? It’s a junky room.... Green paint over old knotty pine paneling, some outlets, a light switch or two.... It’s absolutely thrilling.

13. Seen anything weird lately? My TV turns on by itself. I don’t like it.

14. What do you think of this quiz? This is a painful process for me.

15. What is the last film you saw? I don’t know. Just ask Shaun, I never remember what movie I just saw, even if it was just last night.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? A farm. And tons of art supplies. Clothes ( I need them.). I have to admit that I would hire a house cleaner and a gardener. A bunch of Tumbleweed Tiny Houses, so that people could take retreats on our farm and stay in them, and people that need housing and community to help them during a season, could live there.

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know. I'm very conservative. Really, I am.

18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do? Abortion. I hate abortion and what it does to women.

19. Do you like to dance? Yes. Matt, one of my best memories is of you dancing.

20. George Bush: Yuck.

21. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? Manessah. When I picked her name most people immediately said “well, what will you call her: Nessy, Nessah, Manni?” Um, maybe I’ll call her “Manessah", that's why I picked it.

22. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? My first child was not a boy, but my first boy is named Elisha. (Shows you what age group the person who wrote this quiz is in.) Speaking of which... Who does write these things?

23. Would you ever consider living abroad? I would really love to live in Africa.

24. What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gate? An embrace would be great. I want to feel his love and forgiveness melt through me.

25. Four or Five people who must also do this quiz in THEIR journal: Must is a pretty strong word and I’m going to mean it for just one person: Kristin Donovan on HER blog.

Writen this past year, and republished, unedited, in all it's true colors, here from the other side of the worst year of my life.

Last summer we found a large green caterpillar and after a few days of feeding him oak leaves and observing him, he spun a cacoon. He stayed in his jar through autumn and winter. Two weeks ago he emerged, a beautiful polyphemus moth. An ordinary occurance, that was so extraordinary to watch.

This past year has been one of the hardest of my life. Still finding myself a little stunned, I have been unable to talk about it much, let alone update my blog. The range of assumptions that have been made about me and what has been going on in my life has hurt me. The wrong assumptions made without information, and worse: the judgmental assumptions made with information.

I am called the muse of ordinary life. More than a few people suggested over this past year that perhaps during this hard time I was experiencing what it would be like to be faithful in the ordinary.

ordinary:

adj 1: not exceptional in any way especially in quality or ability or size or degree; "ordinary everyday objects"; "ordinary decency"; "an ordinary day"; "an ordinary wine" [ant: extraordinary] 2: lacking special distinction, rank, or status; commonly encountered; "average people"; "the ordinary (or common) man in the street" [syn: average]

There was nothing ordinary about this past year. It was extraordinary and a time of mourning for and longing for the ordinary. A lesson in how selfish I am. A lesson in how much I take for granted. So, for now I delight in the extraordinary that I find in the everyday ordinary. So I am back, and my musings over ordinary life continues.

We have birthed three children in that time. We conceived twins a month after our wedding. Apparently twins are a woman’s business, but I can’t help imagining that it was my husbands overly aggressive sperm that caused the egg to split. A fluke, most OB’s say. Well, I guess I dropped a fluke, if I had dropped two eggs then I would have had fraternal twins. Every day I can’t help but wonder about my identical twin boys souls. I pretend that Elisha’s spirit hovered just a little longer until the moment when the split occurred, perhaps this is why he has always been just a teeny bit smaller than his brother, Kaiden. It was hard to distinguish what was what when they were inutero. The tangle of limbs seemed an endless confusion of what belonged to who. Eventually they chose sides for the last part of the pregnancy, until a week before delivery, when Kaiden did a complete flip, dramatically pushing my belly ten inches to the side, he gave up his head down position for his smaller brother to be born first.

I pushed them both out in fifteen minutes, without a break. I strained as thirteen (most of them unwanted) people in my room imitated panting, grunting, and shouting at me to PUSSSSHHH! Losing it at one point I bellowed at them all to SHUT UP! The response was immediate “OKAY, WE WILL, BUT PUSSSSHHH!!!” They didn’t keep their promise. Kaiden was going into distress and without the aid of contractions I pushed him out to avoid a C-section.

Twins are hard. They are demanding and rarely ready for the same thing at once. Before I knew better, I thought of twins as needing to do their daily routines at the same time. ‘With one,’ I thought, ‘you feed him lunch. With two you just have to feed two lunch.’ It is rarely true. One will be ready to eat the other will have filled his diaper. When they are sick, they take vomiting crying rotations. I’m very sure they consult with each other “Hey, I’m getting bored with screaming, think you could take over for a while?” With another peer to consult about what is right or wrong, chances are it will go more in your favor, especially at the age of two. It is easier to justify playing with your own poop if someone else says “Hey, forget the spanking we might get, this is really cool!” Still, there is nothing like four adoring eyes staring up at you. Double cuddles, hugs, and kisses. The hysterical laughter of two little boys at the same time will steal your heart, and there are always enough people to play a game.

Their entrance into our lives has forced us to redefine what is important in life. It has enriched our days, exhausted our nights, and given me a mental break down, that ultimately changed our day to day lives in dramatically, lovely, ways. Shaun is more of a man than any I know. He sees the care of children as equal between us, and more important than any job. He knows that if a baby wants me more than him, that this is a problem about how much he has helped, and he has never allowed that to happen. He sees the line of his wants versus needs clearly enough, not to compromise his integrity.

The twins were nine months old when Mason was conceived. I could never explain the terror that I went through. God sent me grace despite my little faith. Mason is a gift from him. Serene as stone and as soothing as breeze, he tastes like fresh water and smells like, well, like him. A majority of babies smell the same with a powdery, sour, scent, but they all go through a change and one day, suddenly they have their own scent. They smell human. The day this happened to Mason I buried my nose in his hair sniffed, and it all made sense, yes of course, this is exactly how he should smell.

So, this weekend we will celebrate the sorrows and joys that make up our marriage. Both the good and bad that God turns to beauty for His called children. He is good. He holds us together and blesses us with faithfulness and love for one another. Happy Anniversary, baby, I love ya! ]]> tag:semsu.chattablogs.com,2005://244.22916 2005-04-28T20:46:36Z 2007-12-14T03:51:46Z