Sunday Sharing-Take Two

Last Sunday, I posted a painting I'd done of my son, so it seemed only fair that I post one of my daughter this week.

This is also based on a photo of my daughter. It was shortly after she was diagnosed with Autism but before we knew she'd also share my diagnosis of OCD. B has a strong interest in science and math... as well as things being a very specific way... a rather perfect way. You've never met a perfectionist until you've met B. She learned how to use white-out in Kindergarten so she could get her coloring pages just right. I love this photo of her (the one the painting is based on) because you can see so much of how she was. With B, even her weird little quirks are charming and sweet. Her stopping to stare through a magnifying glass was just so "her."

Children change everything... including how you view yourself. I'd been hiding my OCD for twenty-eight years from everyone. Sadly, this isn't so far from the norm for those with OCD. You become adept had hiding the darker side to you... and OCD is dark. It's not clean and precise as Hollywood would have you believe. When we found out that B's quirks were beyond the quirks of just Autism... and that she also had OCD, I knew it was time to stop acting like I had something we couldn't talk about. Since then, I've been brutally honest about my OCD. I never want B to have to hide things like I felt like I did. B changed everything. She made me look at myself and realize that I was hiding things within me that I loved in my daughter.

Raising a child with OCD when you have OCD yourself is a challenge. Our quirks don't always play nicely with each other. She likes repetition. I despise repetition. She has a peanut butter and honey sandwich cut into four triangles every day for lunch. I can't follow recipes because making something the same way twice makes me feel trapped. My husband sometimes has to intercede... especially when it comes to homework. B takes a very, very long time to do homework... because it has to be just right. She's gravitated toward preferring math because there IS a right answer. I hate math for the same reason.

Luckily, my husband is as free from quirks as his wife and kids are quirky. If I haven't mentioned this before... I love my husband to pieces. If not for him, I'd be a mess. He can tell when I'm going slowly mad inside from things that probably don't make sense to him. The husband isn't afraid to dive into the chaos that sometimes exists between B and me to calm both our OCDs.

This weekend was pretty chaotic. We had my sister's four kids staying with us. Apparently, my two year old nephew wakes up every two hours all night and decides to play with hotwheels. I was so sleep-deprived by the time my sister picked up her kids this morning... it was just pathetic. Six kids under age ten was a little taste of insanity. One of my nephews got a raging ear infection and my sister had to take a break from her anniversary and run him to urgent care. It was... crazy. Still, everyone survived. We ate pizza. We watched Nanny McPhee. Some of them slept. Some of them didn't. It was fun. Crazy, but fun. My brain feels so incredibly scattered. Still, while we were at church, I kept thinking how blessed we truly are. Even in my sleep-deprived state, I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky my husband and I are. Crap... I don't have to deal with a spouse with OCD so I'm doubly lucky. ; )

I love B... despite and because of her quirks. I feel the same way about T. We've had a lot of stress due to their needs... but the road we're on right now... is a really blessed path. We're very, very lucky in so many ways, and I'd be a fool not to acknowledge it.

If not for B, I'd be still hiding a large part of who I am and that would be a shame because we all deserve to be loved for who we are... and not just the picture we present to the world.

Anyway, I hope you like the painting and have a good Sunday. *waves*

Sunday Sharing

This week has been crazy... not the least of which... my little T turned eight. You've probably noticed by now I don't post pictures of the kids for the most part, but this is a painting I did which came from an actual photo of T, so it's almost the same. ; ) He's much older now, of course.

T had a fun time at Chuck E. Cheese last night but it was crazy packed and his parents are a little overstimulated today. His sister gave him a dragon ninjago for his birthday. His parents gave him Epic Mickey... which he is busy playing right now. His paternal grandparents gave him a huge troll/goblin castle lego set. Some friends gave him dragon egg lego sets. He had a good birthday.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to share my news yet... though the world might find out via private messages, texts, and emails if I wait too much longer. LOL. This week has been so crazy. Hopefully, next week I'll be able to just blurt things out. Next week will be busy regardless. I really have to spend some quality time cleaning my house because I'll have my niece and nephews for a couple days next weekend. The following weekend is Kidless Disneyland weekend. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WAHOOOOOOOOO!

Have a good Sunday, everyone.

Sometimes--frogs MUST be kissed

Trust me. I know. Just boil your lips after....

LOL. This is one of my unfinished paintings that I nearly stepped on when I was searching for something in my room. A Twitter friend posted an amazing Jack Be Nimble story after a very strange Twitter conversation I had. (All odd posts were mine--not that you wondered.)

Anyway... yeah... that's a painting.

Flashing Friday (Painting/Honor and Reeve)

First of all, I feel better. Wow. I feel so much better. I'm not dizzy. My brain feels all clear and fantastic and I feel like eating real food today. Non-cracker food. (Why do I feel like I ought to explain that isn't an ethnic slur?) I'm so excited. I just felt like death on a stick all day yesterday. I don't know what that was or how I came about it, but I'm hoping that It'll be gone today. That was horrible yesterday and trying to relax just seemed to make it more obvious rather than make it better. Ugh. Anyway, I'm hoping... it's gone.

Secondly, I'm a huge slacker. I haven't done any Flash Fiction this week. I loved some of the prompts. I went to check them out yesterday and just trying to concentrate made me want to hurl. Geez... the sound of text messages coming in made me want to hurl. I was like this freaky little Gollum on the couch yesterday just lurking on Twitter while curled into corner. "We hates everything. We twitters, but we hates everything." If you don't believe me, you can ask Diana... I believe I sent her one of the whiniest, grumpiest emails in the history of emails. The phrase "What fresh hell is this?" was used. (I only drag out Shakespeare when I'm really grumpy for the record... or when I'm patronizing....) So, instead of flash, I'll be posting something personally revealing. Woo woo! Prepare to be flashed.

Here is a painting I did that I gave to my mom for a room she's decorated with a castle/medieval theme:

The book he is reading says, "How to Train your Princess to do Simple Tricks." It's one of the paintings that shows how strange my sense of humor is at times.

But, wait, there is more flashing to be done. I've been posting tweets from my Honor books, and post 140 characters of quotes is annoying the.... well, it's annoying. We'll let you fill that in with whatever you feel like saying today. So, I thought I'd post a section that I was already posting from last night that requires very little explanation. It's from Place of Honor (Honor #3.) It's long and imperfect, but no one is forcing you to read it, so quit your whining. (Okay, so there is still the tiniest bit of cranky left today.)

Anyway, it starts with Honor throwing a coin in a fountain:

I veered over toward a fountain. Reeve handed me a penny before I even asked. He found my desire to wish on stars and pennies to be amusing for someone who didn’t believe in fantasy.

It was one of the few sweet and non-violent impulses that I allowed myself. There was some part of me that wanted that kind of magic to be possible. It had to be. Right?

I stood with my back to the fountain, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

‘What do you wish for?’ he asked inside my head.

I peeked one eye open. “I’m not supposed to tell you.” I closed my eye and took another deep breath.

‘Why?’ he asked. I could feel he’d gotten closer to me and it made my heart jump around a little.

“It won’t come true if I say it out loud,” I said.

‘So…. Don’t say it out loud. Just tell me.’ His voice in my head sounded warm and deep.

“It’s against the rules,” I whispered while frowning at him. I could tell he was prowling around in front of me trying to force me to open my eyes.

‘What rules?’

“THE rules,” I explained. “The unwritten rules regarding wishing on anything….”

‘So, you’re saying that someone thought of our situation when coming up with unwritten rules?’ His tone was amused.

Reeve was really close now. I could feel the warmth from his body. It made me shiver.

He chuckled.

“Yes, they knew someday two people would come along who could hear each other’s thoughts and one of them would be vastly annoying about cheating on the wishing rules,” I said.

I scrunched up my nose. I was going to have to try extra hard to block him out so I could make a wish. Actually, most of what I wished for was right in front of me trying to annoy me enough to kick him. I frowned and said, “Actually, the frustrating thing is that if I did tell you what I’d wish for, you’d be forced to try to give it to me. That ruins wishes.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Maybe it’d be something I wanted to give you.” He said it in a husky voice that made me wonder what he had in mind even while I shivered again.

“Are you cold?” he asked amused… knowing that I wasn’t.

“Well, if that was the case, if you wanted to give me something, then you could do that without me forcing you to,” I pointed out.

Then, an idea for my fountain wish came to me. I wished Reeve loved me the same way that I loved him. I wished that with every part of myself… especially the girly part that believed in wishing.

‘You know what I’d wish for?’ Reeve asked.

I tossed the coin over my shoulder, opened my eyes, and asked, “What?” while raising an eyebrow.

He was staring down at my hips but looked up smiling. His smile was dangerously close to a smirk. That smile always meant one thing.

I cleared my throat and said, “Never mind. I think I know.”

‘Did you ever decide which step seeing you naked was on this path to mating? I’m guessing we’re not going through these steps very quickly. How many steps are there? Ten? Fifteen?’

His questions sounded vague and thoughtful. I got the feeling he might know more about the steps, so I decided not to attempt a stumbling and embarrassing guess. I didn’t have much input to give. I was four years old even if my memories of the world seemed a little older. He was four hundred and five. He must have gained some carnal knowledge in all those years.

He’d read books. Books had ‘stuff’ in them. I’d read a very interesting book that I’d borrowed from Pamela in which a vampire was the lead male character even. Most of the ‘pertinent’ descriptions had left me feeling a bit ill. I like to think that made me practical and rational. Seriously, who throws around the words “heaving”, “swollen”, and “engorged” thinking it sounds sexy when you could use those same words to describe viewing a case of gangrene. I think the fact that I was repulsed just goes to show you that I saw a more universal application of the adjectives in use.

I looked at Reeve who still had a serious look on his face.

I found it strange that he was wondering about seeing me naked again. I couldn’t figure out what the draw was. I was short and scrawny.

Reeve looked over my body as if considering a puzzle or writing up a checklist, and I shifted uncomfortably.

What if, once he saw the full me, he wasn’t interested anymore in me at all? Maybe he’d get tired of me…. Maybe he secretly wanted someone more like Callie. She looked so statuesque and perfectly perfect. Reeve was perfect. He was huge and muscled. I stared at the frown on his sculpted mouth.

Did it matter if there were any steps beyond kissing? Kissing was pretty amazing. My stomach jumped around like a wild thing trying to fly every time. Why clutter up something perfect with crass groping or my nakedness?

Reeve finally said, “From what I’ve seen, I think there are probably nine steps.’

“Yeah?” I asked aloud. Wow. He must have really thought this through. I might have made up a step just to make it an even ten, though. Reeve wouldn’t. He was strictly honest… sometimes to a fault.

Okay. So he wasn’t perfect… but I didn’t hold his honesty against him.

“I think we’re on two,” he calculated.

Two? Two wasn’t very far. Was he telling me this because we were taking too long?

“Your point?” I asked crossing my arms.

“I just told you,” he said in confusion. “I think seeing you naked is around step seven.”

“Step seven? What are steps uhh….? No. Wait. I don’t want to know. Let’s just get going.”

I started walking and then turned to see him looking at me from behind while walking very slowly.

“You’re starting to make this creepy,” I warned him while putting my hands on my hips.

“I find you fascinating,” he said honestly.

I felt my cheeks flush and my heart start thumping. I felt flattered and terrified. Was that the same as saying he loved me? Probably not. I wondered what step that was. Maybe it wasn’t one in Reeve’s mind. My heart started thudding… from dread.

What if he really didn’t love me? Now that I thought about it, fascinating wasn’t the same as a declaration of affection of any kind.

A snake swallowing a rat was fascinating in a grotesque way. That really clarified the definition in my mind. Fascinating could be documentary-worthy. Then, there was that woman with the world’s longest fingernails in the world record books. That was fascinating.

“It would be nice if it was before step seven. Maybe we could skip steps?” he suggested, dragging my mind away from vile topics.

“We can’t skip steps! That’s why there are steps.” I threw my hands up in the air for emphasis and to distract him from the sound of my nervous heartbeat.

It worked, because, for a moment, he followed my hands with his eyes as if they were saying something. It was wise of him, because most of my hand movements were making a statement. This one was saying, “SKIP STEPS! NO! Then we’ll get to the monster at the end of the book which is where you see me naked and freak out.”

“We can skip step five, though,” he said. “I’m more interested in seeing you naked.”

“We CAN’T skip step five! That’s an important step.” I had no idea what step five was. It could be sharing straws for all I knew. I was just not ready to jettison ahead to step seven.

“We could move step seven up so that it’s step four or five and just slide the remainder of the steps backward. We wouldn’t be skipping things that way,” he suggested.

I narrowed my eyes.

“You’ve seen me naked,” he pointed out.

I choked a little. Wow. That memory was both disturbing and good. “It wasn’t by choice. You and all the Hunters seem to think the Inner City is some sort of men’s locker room.”

“You were the first female there in five hundred years.”

“Just because you prefer for there not to be any mystery….”

Wednesday Wendy's Paintings

I don't have a fantastic picture of this painting--I'll have to get a copy from my sister. You get the weird bent of paper people dancing in the night, though. My favorite paper person is the loner sitting on the tape dispenser down at the bottom. He's tragically flawed. That's so hot.

A Rose by any other name would be called Tara

Above is one of my "goofing around with my new touch screen" pictures done with Paint. (I had Photoshop on my normal computer, but that computer fried. C'est la vie. It's minimalistic to have to work with a program meant for so little use. Yeah. That's it.)

So, I'm trying to pick a new name for my Dystopian's MC. Her name is currently Tara, and I don't know why I picked it because it just didn't fit her.

I've been going through IMDb looking for better names for her and for my NanoWrimo entry. I'd read somewhere recently about someone doing this, but I can't remember where. I've always previously gone through baby books... which isn't a big help for surnames... for the record. It's really fun to look up some of the bigger Hollywood movies and get down to the make-up artists and mix and match first and last names.

That's basically what I've done with my day. (I know--it's pathetic, but I'm sick, so I'm pretending it's not.)

Okay... back to my monologue on names:

Speaking of names, my son, T, has decided, at six, that he would like to go by the nickname "T.J." from now on. We haven't quite established if we're to implement this immediately or if he'll be doing this on a case-by-case basis. T was initially going to be called T.J. until he was born and we decided not to initialize because he didn't look like a T.J. He likes the way it looks-- two letters--side by side. I don't know what the expectation is, but it feels a little strange to suddenly start calling our son a different name. One of my brothers was known as "Dave" at work whereas we'd never called him that a day in his life. It was strange to hear that he was a "Dave." He didn't look like a "Dave" in my opinion. (I find it strange that we have these preconcieved notions of what "So-and-so" looks like based on names. I found out that Diana doesn't look like Wonder Woman today. I know... weird, huh?)

I don't have a nickname or a pet name even. Not really. I keep trying to get the husband to call me "bug" or really anything sweet, but he isn't like that. My mom calls me Wen-weet, and I really keep trying to get her to stop. (Wendy makes retching noises.) The kids call me "Mom" and "Mommy" and that's as close as it gets. Sigh. I call the kids all kinds of nicknames as does the husband--they're more pet names, though, not anything you'd put on a form as a "I go by this sometimes" sort of thing. (Wendy snickers to self and considers putting "Sweetie" in the next 'fill in the blank" that comes.)

I want to have a nickname. I wish it was as easy when an adult to get a nickname. Nicknames make you feel special like you mean something to someone more than you do to other people. I think other women get that, but I don't really think guys do. I shorten the husband's name (for that reason) and he gets annoyed, but doesn't say anything. He only lets me do that... which makes me feel special. I won't say all nicknames are like that or are something that one would choose, but some nicknames are like that. It's not like Wendy is easy to shorten into anything and rats on that, but still... I want a nickname.

Wow. This is so completely random.

So, as I was picking my names for my characters I was also thinking along the lines of "but they'll go by this" and picking nicknames for them. I like the process of naming characters. I also like the find and replace function for when I name people the wrong thing and I realize that half-way through.

Okay, I need to buckle down and pick a new name for Tara.... Poor thing. It's a good thing this doesn't happen in real life to people. ("Sorry... your father and I hate the name we chose for you fifteen years ago, so now we'll be calling you Penelope. Cheers.")

Okay, then... Wendy needs more sleep and to stop talking about herself in the third person.

Here is one of my surreal paintings. The shop on the left is for "new and rare mirrors." This just seems like it fits with my dystopian mood for the day. Everything is less crookedy in the actual painting, but I didn't feel like taking a new picture. Lazy day, remember? Slackeritude rules!

Oh... and the picture....

For those that don't know me, I dabble in everything. I have a split personality when it comes to my interests.

When B was diagnosed with Autism, six years ago... our world crashed and shattered. She'd lost all her language and we weren't sure if she was going to find it again. Everything seemed hopeless and awful. We did so much therapy both at home and at therapists that I thought I'd completely lose my mind... and possibly... even more serious... my sense of humor. One day, we were playing with puppets and I was making animal noises to correspond with the puppets. When I held up this ladybug puppet, I realized that I'd hit a speed bump. Ladybugs aren't exactly known for their noises. To my surprise, B growled on behalf of the ladybug. I burst into tears both because she was always so quiet but also because that was our dream... that our daughter would do the impossible and overcome this stereotype we had in our mind of an Autistic child. Shortly after that, I painted this painting.

That was six years ago and both my children have progressed with therapy and hard work to the point where they are mostly indistinguishable from their peers. I believe in the improbable, unlikely, and impossible.

I've used this image on business cards for several years as I did some painting on the side for a while to help deal with stress. It's at the heart of how I am when it comes to creativity. I wake up each morning and think "yeah... but what if...." Unfortunately, I can't go to sleep due to the same thought stuck in my head.

As I start this process of trying to get published, I still feel swamped with depression on some days... often related to lack of sleep or issues with the kids. Sometimes, it seems impossible that I'll be able to actually make money doing something I love. (The world is not particularly kind when it comes to artists receiving their reward while alive.) I know the statistics say that I'll be able to make more money working for minimum wage than as a writer. Still... we didn't make it to the moon by shooting for the clouds. So, if you're going to crash and burn... probably not a good idiom to follow a space exploration comment.... If you're going to gamble, you should always be willing to go all in... or go home.

Still... once you've seen a ladybug roar, nothing seems impossible.