ask and you shall...

squee! Eden rocks. Now vote, motherfucker, vote!*

*This is in no way a quickie cop-out music post to fullfill the honor of Teh Awesome Music Meme** bestowed upon me by Sabine @ Sleepless in Cologne. (Bine, I still have your doodle. I suck- I think I'll just scan the damn thing and email you.)

**Said meme means I have to figure out how to post a video, which I've tangled with in the past. But it was Sketchcast. I think YouTube I can do. Yes.

show me the freaky love, people

So, yes, I am aware that begging for blogosphere cool points automatically makes me less cool. I do not care. All I want for ChristmaSolstice is to be nominated for Freakiest Blogger.

I don't plan or want to win, but I. Want. That. Button. Gimme.

I'm pretty sure I'm better qualified for Freakiest than I am for Hottest Mommy (Hi, I recently had sex with my husband for the first time since, what... spring? Um, not that long but yeah) or best parenting blog ("TV is the devil; I declare it so!" "OMG Molly luuurves Curious George it is the best show in the werld! Did y'all see House the other day?" And yes, that is my breast in my baby's mouth as I chug a beer. Why do you ask?) and some crackheads nominated me for those last year. (Which is me kidding, because that was killer, even though I never got around to putting up my brag buttons. I'm busy, yo.)

So I'll trade ya. Somebody nominate me and I'll post the prolific doodling I did stranded in Pittsurgh in a software class with no computer. Said doodles include a self portrait, a full page drawing of Stonehenge with grassy patterns under a randomly abbreviated solar system, and a Family of Boo caricature thing.

the burgh & the boobs

We are safely in our hotel near Pittsburgh, despite the torrential rain and a teeny wrong turn that cost us .75 and 30 minutes on a toll road. We've been to dinner with Laura who is adorable and interesting in person- much as she is on my instant messenger, and Dan, who is freaking gorgeous very interestingly geeky and quietly smart. Dinner was delicious- did you know they can make tofu-ish stuff from wheat gluten? Then they can saute it in really good sweet sauce and sprinkle sesame seeds on and it's so good meat & potato guy liked it? I had no idea. Was telling Laura that I think gluten is a dirty word from work. (It's a common avoidance diet for autism & PDD.) This dish is fabulous though. I fear my doggie bag will not survive until lunch.

So the breast pump I brought is a pain in the ass, thank you Evenflow. Great suction, but it backs up if I don't keep it at exactly 90 degrees vertically. Also, dumping breastmilk down the drain is painful, as I'm sure if I'd only tried I could find a little preemie in the area who needs some expressed milk and would be more grateful than my baby. She flat out won't touch breast milk in a bottle anymore. So, I dump. I had a small internal pep talk that if Molly would be one of the rare toddlers who decide to wean after a short separation from mom, I still nursed 18 months, which earns me Milk Goddesshood in my culture so yay. (And the sleep... there would be sleep...) The chances of that are so small they may not actually exist outside of second-hand anecdotes.

I have done amazingly well with the mama separation anxiety. It helps knowing Molly's not having any. I still hate that I spend less time with her than I'd like to, but it's incredible that I have the grandies' safe happy home where she loves to visit. I miss her little sugar cookie self but I'm so, so excited about this king size bed in a nice clean room in a place not-home.

Also helpful is Molly's great timing in deciding that today would be a good day to learn to talk back to the telephone. Hearing "Mama!" and some babble and "Bye Bye" was delicious. She's at a kind of crossroads phase between baby baby and big toddler that is a roller coaster between clinging and exploring and it's wonderful.

 And now I surrender the laptop- actually in my lap for once, on a nifty lap desk thingy- back to Bu the Master of Flash, making damn fine babies, and driving in the rain at night.  

seven weird things

Via OhMyGoddess I'm So Jealous Of Her Hair Sugared Harpy:

Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog. Yeah, I probably won't. Do it if you catch this post. Or not if you don't want to. I'm flexible like that.

1. I hate when my nails grow longer than just a tint bit of white showing. It feels dirty.

2. I have 12,543 weird OCD compulsions. One of them is that I have to check and recheck my alarm is set about 3 times.

3. I prefer odd numbers.

4. i prefer lowercase letters, and my signature is not capitalized. i follow the rules in the post on the blog because i admit it is easier to read capitalized sentences and i worry you'll think i'm either pretentious or lazy. i do vent my lowercase love in my titles usually.

5. Another OCD thing is flexing my (freakishly long) toes against my shoes in rhythms that I see or hear: music, or mile markers on the road or whatever.

6. I have a fetishy desire to own Catholic paraphernalia- rosaries, saint medallions and cards... but I'm a shameless heathen.

7. Several lay people have theorized that I might have absorbed a twin in utero- they think that explains my birth defects.

Tagged:

Laura Without Labels
Heidi- Hortus Deliciarum
Lexie- This Wabi Sabi Life
Kathy- Available Light
Brooke- Urban Earth Mama
Coffee Betsy
Mere Mortal

oh, my eyes!

Bear with the seasonally inappropriate (meh: snow flurries...) dayglow butterflies and wildflowers please, until I have a chance to modify the graphics that came with this adorable but really fucking perky Sandbox skin. And lemme get a w00t for custom CSS! I was daydreaming today about making little buttony doodles for my sidabar headings and wondering if that's even possible- and trying to imagine how the hell you google that. Then in my search for Sandbox styles, I found this.

It's interesting but slow, learning by reverse engineering. I'd much rather learn from a book, actually. Or a hawt software instructor who is into weird, voluptuous, lactating, blogging chicks- like I get to learn Flash from Bu next week. Assuming, still, that the clients OK my sitting in on his class. In case of rejection, I'm packing the sketchbook and journal.

the yoni bush, in bad photos

This is the bush. So the leaves mostly blew off, and have faded to some pinkish colors that really reinforce the whole yoni thing. The weird motion blur I did accidentally is kind of nifty maybe, if you think of autumn wind. Yes, I'm reaching:)

sa-weet! spurlock attacks consumerism

Just discovered this: Morgan Spurlock's "What Would Jesus Buy?"  Rock on. Because my lack of spending is a radical activist statement that in no way springs from my abject poverty.

I am such a fountain of holiday fucking cheer today. Can you stand it? The perky Daisy will rear her little lovebead-adorned self when I wake up in the morning and realize it's Sweet Potato Casserole Day. We do not believe in marshmallows; we use crushed walnuts and then we burn it a little and it is crispy, crusty heaven.

yoni leaves

Here is a poem that fell out of me. I am in deep love with this modest little bush that lives by my front steps and has beautiful leaves still on with piles of shed leaves beneath her like a crochet blanket. I've felt drawn the past few days to creating something Andy Goldsworthy like with her leaves. Maybe just lay them out in a spiral on the ground...I have a need to collect them and treasure them. Then another post with a tiny thing about the yoni shape led me to this:

she sheds brilliant leaves in piles beneath her
each is a tiny yoni shape, a goddess gateway
i adore her in her simplicity, unpruned
for a year at least her growth
is wildness in the yard of a quiet home

i research yoni, beloved small word, to explain
why it is important that her leaves are formed just so,
and happen on a ritual that is
taboo and secret and sacred
and it whispers the reason to me

that watching her pour her leaves
on the earth is profound
because i shed too, red in rhythm like she does
with the turning of the sun
i bleed in circles with the moon

and to see the pouring of red unashamed
of its intensity falling in stark contrast
to the dark autumn earth
pulls me into the circles of time
and renewal and
each shedding of blood
is an autumn in a tiny world

so let me tell you about pittsburgh

This book is not that great, even if you are a 19 year old art student bound for the Art Institute (which is even more not that great, er really less great, than the book) and the incredibly tiny hovel apartment that your boyfriend has procured for you two and you can't bring your cat even though you love the cat so much and you named him Stonehenge but you're 19 and really, really excited because It Is A City and He Is Very Cute And Pierced and so the cat will be OK with your mom and this book must be incredible but really, not so much.

If you click on the 'more' I promise to resume traditional albeit boring sentence structure.

baby e

and his mama are peachy:) He has two middle names! (I love that.) The surgery went well and they are very healthy, in case you wondered. And thanks for the good mojo:) I cannot wait to lose this cold so I can snuggle newborn babyness.

thoughts re: 'the business of being born' documentary

My church screened the new documentary The Business of Being Born Saturday. From an art/critical/analytical stance, the movie is not wonderful; it's OK. The content was great, and it was empowering to see this information in a film that's getting some attention, but I doubt that the AMA is going to watch it and think, "Oh, wow. Our whole profession has fucked up royally."

It's infuriating to see some of the doctor's arrogant contentment with being completely ignorant of the natural process of birth. Many had never witnessed a non-medicated birth. I really think, based on my acquaintances' birth stories, that most doctors haven't. There was a lot of talk about the "cascade of interventions" and some exposition to show how interfering in labor creates fucked up labors.

I was very moved that Ricki Lake (who is the executive producer) let Abby Epstein include footage of Ricki's homebirth. It was so incredibly beautiful. I feel like her being a public figure and knowing that people gawk and gossip and judge,  but being vulnerable and showing her body in its most intimate, intense moment is a kind of a little gift to women as a whole. An offering to try to help bring back our ownership of our bodies.

The showing here was a benefit for the WV chapter of a midwives organization whose name I can't remember right now. They held an informal little discussion afterward. I left feeling some kind of emotional charge and purging that was hard to process.

oh mother of god, somebody

remind me that I'm not going to DIE from a cold/allergies whatever has been squatting in my sinus cavity since mid-October. Fuck. Cannot breathe. Sneezing hysterically. Have been lying in bed since 3 daydreaming about nice ladies in white coats with stethoscopes and weird nose-looker-inner lights handing me comforting bottles of magical antibiotics. Bu suggests it could be a sinus infection, but since there is 1) only clear snot and 2) antibiotics usully don't really help any faster than beating my head against a wall and desperate prayers to the God Sudafed, I will persevere.

I will try to refrain from teh whine after this. And from further descriptions of my snot.

brain imploding

Worst part of graphic design = math.

This shit is blowing my circuits. I hate detail work, so WhyGodsWhy am I doing this for a fucking living? Someday maybe I'll be able to hire an funky undergrad geek to create all my guides and templates and then proof me 200 times and I'll just do the pretty. I cannot work today! Fuck.. asddsfdfgfmbnmbnmnb!@!!!

meme: 8 X 6

My last name starts with E. Thanks to Bu and my eventual decision to take his last name after hyphenating for 6 months and realizing that's too many fucking letters. So I'm tagged, by Eden. Thanks! You are a freakin' gold mine of reasons not to work;)

8 things I am passionate about:

1. breastfeeding 
2. vegeterianism (vegan wannabe...)
3. spirituality
4. journaling- currently, of course, blogging
5. feminism
6. books
7. art
8. getting myself & family greener

8 things I want to do before I die

1. visit Europe
2. earn a doctorate in art history
3. have a single person art show
4. get a huge, ornate tattoo
5. eat creme brulee
6. learn to sew
7. make my own urn, and Bu's
8. reach my own conception of my own potential

8 things I say often
1. "No Touch!"
2. “Fuck!”
3. “Where's Molly? Peek-a-boo!"
4. “Hello, Unnamed Kids Clinic, this is Daisy” (only real names of course)
5. “Wanna watch Buffy? Which season?”
6. “Can mama have a smackeroo?"
7. “I love you.”
8. “Bloody hell!"

8 books I’ve read recently (not necessarily finished; not necessarily novels)

1. Goodnight Moon
2. History of the Breast
3. Where is Maisy's Panda?
4. The Nursing Mother's Guide to Weaning
5. Inside, Outside, Upside Down
6. LLL presents: How Weaning Happens
7. TykeOsaurs
8. Here on Earth (just started, literally like on page 2.)

8 songs I could listen to over and over

1. Wings for Marie/10,000 Days (Tool)
2. Rhiannon (Stevie's acoustic version)
3. Little Earthquakes (the Tori)
4. Paralyzer (Finger 11)
5. Lateralus (Tool)
6. Black (Pearl Jam)
7. Arms of the Angel (McLachlan) 
8. Reflection (Tool)

8 things that attract me to my best friends

1. Intelligence
2. Honesty
3. Silliness
4. Open mind
5. Passion
6. Sweet nature
7. Loyalty
8. Creative

Tagged: everyone doing NaBloPoMo.

teh intarwebbe, it is my heroin

Eden, you cyber temptress! I'm holding you personally responsible for the last 1 hour and 15 20  minutes I've spent mucking around on Flixter. I kept thinking of new favorite movies- but the bulk of my time was spent drifting between skins- Evil Willow, or Jack Sparrow. Jack wins out, but only because of readability.

People, there is too much stuff on the web. I could procrastinate infinitely. My epitaph is going to be a URL! Except, it'll be on an urn. So maybe it'll have to be a tinyurl. *snort*

So really, my plans, laid out here for some kind of abstract acountability:

i'm officially the village looney chick...

Bu presents as evidence the fact that I stole my neighbor's trash to put it in our recycling pile. But, dood: why would you put pizza boxes just loose out with the garbage? It would be like 10 seconds extra to throw them in the bag the city provides and they pick it up for free.

Except... What's that? Oh- they don't pick it up. Bu just IM'd to say* the garbage picker- uppers took my cardboard. I have to call the city and raise Persephone on their asses.

*Bu is racking up the husbandly brownie points. He almost didn't call- what I know won't hurt me or whatever- but he did! And last night he cooked dinner, which was my favorite Italian thing** then he cleaned up. Then, he bought me my domain and a CSS upgrade! See the Century Gothic text? Pretty... I am daunted now by being suddenly thrust into CSS world which, on WP, is requiring considerably more knowledge than on Blogger. But I will overcome. I am on my way to full-on geekhood and nothing shall stop me. Except that Dreamweaver suddenly refused to allow me to copy/paste.

The domain's not live yet, but by this evening www.daisybones.com should bring you here. Which means...drumroll plz... nothing at all to you. Feed readers & stuff can stay the same. I just get the thrill of a real domain. I need to see if I can change the favicon. I lurve favicons.

**Pasta Primevera and 345 pieces of garlic bread.

bye, sophie B!

 

Sophie's "real mom" is coming to get her. It's the end of an era. *sigh* I'll have to take the hand pump to Pittsburgh. (More on that awesomeness later.) Happy Birthday very soon to her little boy!

swirling

i want to know everything
i want to be everywhere
i want to fuck everyone in the world
i want to do something that matters

There are all these ideas swirling all the time- 1,000 things I want to
write
paint
create
say
do
change
imagine
fix 
begin

but there is no focus and they overwhelm me and the inspiration comes when I'm

working
driving
waiting in line
nursing
showering
trying to sleep
trying to pay attention to Something Important

and none of the brilliant dynamic things ever gets done ever.

about that aversion...

So Leigh, and my cousin, and maybe somebody else, asked me why I hate teh bunnies. If you had seen this book as a child, you'd have the phobia too. Look:

And the roots go even deeper. When I was 1, my aunt brought me an inflatable pink Easter Bunny. It terrified me. And as it happens, I have a nasty allergy to rabbits. They cause a hellacious asthma attack, the red swollen eyes of death, and if I touch the little twitchy fuckers, pretty inflamed hives.

And to illustrate my Solidarity in Bunny Hatred, I offer this, as a little Ode to Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins (and almost) Harris:
And here is Anya's musical outpouring of disgust and loathing. If you're not a fan the lyrics will make considerably less sense and yet remain totally hysterical.

Does this post seem a little repetitive? It's because you read this one.

hospitals & babies

This story gives me a small black hole in the pit of my stomach. It brings back the moment I was in the waiting room while the Souster was having a C-Section delivery of her first baby. He is my little Aries elfin buddy boo, is Mr. V. He's also betrothed to Molly, but don't tell her yet;) He is named after my mom, conceived at the time of her dying.

ban comic sans

See, this just works on so many levels. The only thing worse than bunnies is Comic Sans abuse:)

quotable neil

Lookit: Neil is the quote of the day! I've seen this before, somewhere. Speaking of Emporer's did you know Neil wrote an installment of The Sandman about The Emporer of America? V. v. good.

a hanky for you, and you, and you

 And me. Gods, why are we all afflicted with the Snot of Doom? Argh.

Molly got her flu shot today. My local moms group has been abuzz with the endless vaccination debate. My friend V met Dr. Robert Sears and got a list from the lecture about what brands of the flu shot have mercury. Molly's didn't. It does have traces of formadlehyde and something else, but for whatever reason I'm only obsessed with the thimerosol/mercury shit. I'm still second guessing a little but but whatever.

She did not cry. But then she had a blood test we put off at her one year check up. It was hellish and I wish I'd told them to stuff their lead paranoia up their asses. They missed her teensy veins and had to poke both arms and it was a teary baby nightmare.

boobs

OK: I've perfected the "eclectic" header and subtitle-catchphrase-slogan-one-liner-whatever thing. Yes, those are boobs. My boobs. Because they rock hard, even though they are more pendulous and cushy than actually, um, rock hard. Unless the baby sleeps chez grandies, in which case, at 7 a.m., they are definitively rock hard. Bu made a fabulous double D's breastfeeding joke the other day... can't remember it. Maybe vitamin DD or something.

So I bought this book when we had a small bit of disposable income: A History of the Breast. I was digging the cultural aspect of it, the feminist readings of  nude art, the goddess statues and all that jazz. Hadn't really considered the lactation function of the boobs much then. And it arrived, unfortunately, with some juicy thick novel or other and ended up neglected on my shelves or the piles of overflow books which far outnumber the shelved ones.

So I dug it out when I cleaned the closet & studio, with even keener interest than when I bought it, for now boobs aren't just
1. hot
2. artsy
3. goddessy
they are also The Twin Fountains of Awesome Noursishment and Comfort Issuing Forth from My Very Body.

The punchline to this convoluted story of a book? Molly's obsessed with it. It's her favorite book in the house right now, and she flips from page to page. She likes the pictures of the Willendorf figurine the way Bu likes a steakhouse menu.

And speaking of Bu? Ergh: This is what he named my boobs:

back to the Blix

I'm settled, for now, back with the Blix template in all its green and teal goodness. New font-a-lisciousness in header: gartentika, breastbomb, pussycat. (They're all free. Google 'em.) Coming soon: header gallery.

I don't think we can afford to host a site. May settle for custom CSS upgrade and buy a domain to point here. I needz a real domain! My ingenius survey reveals that you all love "daisybones." Me too. I'll scrap the other strange idea:) Or maybe WordPress.com will implement a pretty white minimalist three column template with a custom header with all the text in Century Gothic. Then I'll be happy for free.

venting sadness

This fucking dog situation's going to give me a bloody ulcer. I've called this woman (Bu said she's the last hope or Bailey's kicked out) who is in an adoption network. I had to fight tears back after listening to her voicemail message with all the other dogs she has for adoption.

I'm not a dog abandoner! I'm an adopter. I feel like the single biggest hypocrite on the planet. Why? In. The. Hell. did we take this dog on? Bu's brother, I could slap you. Or myself. I'm so sad and mortified making these calls.

And dear gods, never ever list a pet on petfinder.com. They suck! I'm getting spams out the ass from fake people who want to eat her or sell her to Cover Girl for animal testing or some shit. Remind me, upon achieving financial stability, to give pETA like $50,000.

AAAAAAAAAAAtrtgfdghgfhgfh meltdown,
daisy

P.S. I don't even really hate bunnies. I just hate fake bunnies and also am allergic to real ones.

you mother get up come on get down

Tradition is what you resort to when you don't have the time or the money to do it right. - Kurt Herbert Alder (via Quote of the Day widget. Am all about iGoogle lately.)

Bu would agree this is me up and down.

I'm curled up with chamomile tea and Laura Love and I'm trying to relax. Feeling teh stress. I think I'm going to implement a Saint John's Wort savings jar. Or get really down with the sickness and see if the clinic can hook me up with SSRI's again- paperwork be damned.

You know what I hate, rockingness notwithstanding? In that Disturbed song, dude pronounces demon like "dee-min." Sully The Yummy but Frightfully Mediocre from Godsmack does that too. Fucking grates. It's deMON you idiots.

And why has my cold lasted three weeks whygodswhy?

That is all. Back to my tea and whatever you were doing.

for alexis:worst at what i do best

Because I didn't want my LexieBoo to worry, I'm offering up the reasoning behind my angsty Nirvana quote. It sums up my tendency to be perpetually in my own way. The ticktock brain that never seems to let the soul blossom. I have the talent for the art but not the drive to create, and I'm a good mama who with anxieties writhing around in me.

A wry observation that occured to me while musing and radio-listening. I'll outgrow the mood soon.

I had a huge revelatory post about OCD and anxiety, all written up in my head, in between the gears and springs and microchips. Then I saw that TB at Soul Gardening wrote about identical symptoms and I felt better and forgot to have my epiphane post. Shit... I never commented to thank her for that important and brave post...

I "came out" to Bu about my plethora of mild OCD compulsions and had the realization afterward that it's an energy that can be harnessed. I coped OK with my post patrum visions like TB describes, probably because I've had them always and they just found a new subject. I have learned to live with them, and I say a little prayer and do a visualization and let them pass through me. I might do better with meds or herbs. The cost is daunting, though. And I'm not in dire straits or anything. I'd know if I were:) I've been there-very Girl, Interrupted Lite.

So, there's my little foray into the shadow self. I'm happy with how comfortable I am integrating it into me, having the awareness and acceptance.

implications of single babydom

Edit: And have y'all seen Idiocracy? It was soooo B movie, but it definitely made me snortlaugh a few times. The smart peeps had fewer and fewer kids, and the dumbasses kept having more until the human race was in a sad sad state.

Interesting column in local paper dealing with the demographical results of the western world's smaller families.

All the scary talk (read sarcasm here) about those Muslims fucking like bunnies made me think maybe I should pop out a little army of patriots, asap. *snerk*  It is interesting, though, to ponder. I've never thought of the issue as any more complex as "World overpopulated. Single child family very greenly commendable."

Emotionally, I'm on the fence I think. When I see a big ripe pumpkin of a pregnant belly I wanna fill up my uterus with a little kicking munchkin so badly it's crazy. When I thought I was, though, I was contemplating jumping off a very high bridge. I think I'm still rationally on board with the singleton idea, and I've decided I won't be able to really guage my emotions about it until Molly's weaned. Unless it became an enormous overwhelming need, though, the campaign it would take to convince Bu would be fairly pointless:)

productive

O Mah Gawdduss, Fabulous! An extra hour. Waking at seven (ok, seven-ish) felt like 8! So I have been in exemplary OCD cleaning mode- seriously, I fanned the sleeves of my shirts and spaced the hangers evenly. It's an illness: utter chaos or hyper-organized, I recognize no gray areas. There are labeled boxes. (The Birdy was screeching most of the time, but damn, the child has got to learn to be not-touching me for five fucking minutes. She'll do the parallell activities thing with Mamaw but not at home.)

So the closet's immaculate, and the studio, a.k.a. where the devil lost his poncho, is improving muchly. Great study in negentropy. As was the Bird's first movie experience. We saw Bee Movie. It's young to attempt that but the clinic had a fundraiser so if we had to bail it was still good spending. She did pretty well. There was an extra large helping of Nursing In Public, and then a dead-to-the-world nap.

Speaking of um, dead, I guess... and cleaning... after perusing my entire Non-T-shirt-or-Jeans wardrobe I have to say I'm like 90% hippy and 10% goth, if that.:) Also, I think my clothes are 40% too "old," 40% too "young" and 20% age appropriate and also awesome.

sketchcast #2: my man

http://sketchcast.com/view/s1F5yKy/

This one is too much fun. The sounds fucks up a little but it's listenable:)

I have the house to myself All. Night. Long! w00t! Bu's in Pittsburgh teaching, the little bit is at the grandies' and I'm off to rent an "artfag" movie that Bu would hate. (Souster recommends Perfume.) Then I'm going to watch Johnny Depp movies until I [run out of batteries] fall asleep. Oh, solitude, thou art bliss.

*Edit* They didn't have it, so I got Pan's Labyrinth. Finally. And then had a crazy awesome chat with Laura, whom I'll get to meet at the end of the month and I am delirious with squee about that. And now I take the bath and watch movie and sleep the deep silky sleep of toddlerlessness. I'm kind of 5% mommyguilting about how often I let her have sleepovers but she luuurvs it and the grandies do too and I am fucking allowed to need time away that is not work related. OK, bye.