kidtopia

The latest projects were the kid's rooms. I did the girls in hot pink and mint green ("Tinkerbell green) and then I painted flowers on the walls. It came out nice.
(Sarah is into dolls in case you can't tell)

John's hero is Buzz Light Year. In a desperate attempt to get John to sleep in his bed I created a space room complete with solar system, etc. I pretty much can't draw, but I can do basic shapes.

These little globes on the dresser I got at Ikea and they light up. Pretty cool.

Identity Crisis

Almost every time I leave the house I get the same question from perfect strangers.
"Where did your kids get their red hair?"
I want to scream, "ME--YOU IDIOT!!"
But, I refrain and instead politely reply, "From me. In fact, my hair used to be as red as theirs."
I get looks of shock and awe--"REALLY??!!"
(Here is where I give them my evil eye)

My hairdresser (a copper redhead) and I have had many discussions about what color it is exactly that people think my hair is. She thinks it is clearly red (as do I). Yesterday my VT's came over and one of them asked the golden question. So I had to take the opportunity to ask. According to her I am definitely a blond.
See, here's the thing--as you well know, if you have been one color most of your life it kind of becomes part of your identity.
For you blonds, you get older and your hair gets darker. For us redheads, our hair just goes lighter and lighter. I colored it for a couple of years for this very reason. One day I had a lady say to me, "What a gorgeous color your hair is! You can't fake red like that, you know."
Well guess what? It was kinda fake.

It has been noted by several professors in my English classes that it is always the redheaded woman that is the deviant in Victorian novels and paintings--the fallen woman, the evil seducer of men.
It was beginning to make me jealous of my former self.

I finally took the plunge yesterday and got a large amount of dark red highlights. At least now people can attribute both my children and my fiesty behavior to my hair.

Because this is MY blog, I'm going to vent

I miss Peter.

Before the tax season started (and before I knew that Peter would be in California for most of the season) I told him I wasn't really looking forward to it. I know money is good, but I also know how there is going to be this big drought of time with him.
So now that he is gone for yet another three straight weeks people are asking--is he still gone?
Then they try to empathize, "I know! I hate having my husband gone--then I have to do everything by myself."
Hmmmm. . .
Not really the reason for me (bless him for trying) he just isn't really concerned about the household affairs that much. Like a lot of men, including my son, he can pretty much live in oblivion to the fact that there is a kid running around with spray paint, the dog is chewing on my new shoes and the phone is ringing. I have come to accept that this isn't intentional--he just really has this uncanny ability to ignore.
Just this last week I had another teacher tell me how amazed he is with Nathaniel because no matter what is happening it doesn't phase him--he can work right through it.
I bet Peter's teachers thought he had amazing focus too. . .
I used to get stressed about this and and try to analyze what it was he was thinking as he stared intently at a spot on the wall, but Peter assured me it is mostly thoughts like, "hmmm...I'm hungry."

ANYWAY--the point is yea, it's a bummer that he isn't around to help me move the piano or tell me how fabulous my cooking is. He isn't there to help put kids to bed, sit with us at stake conference, call the car insurance company or help me through my computer problem.
But that isn't really it, is it?
The hardest part is that I miss him. That's it. Nothing earth-shattering.
I want to see him and touch him and just have him in the house. I don't want to wait until he isn't meeting with a client to talk to him at night--or during the day--or in the middle of the night for that matter.
When I'm stressed, or sad, or hear something only-he-would-understand-insanely-funny I don't want to have to call and be put on hold. I just want him here.
Today he called and we just sat on the phone.
"So . . . (long pause) . . ."
Then he tells me that he doesn't really have anything to say and I get it because that is our way of sitting together right now--with long pauses on the phone mostly talking out loud to ourselves like we are in the same room or something. It's not like we have anything exciting and new to talk about. We just pretty much say the same things all the time.
me-- "so what are you doing?"
Peter-- "working"
me--"how are you feeling?"
Peter-- "tired, sick of talking to people, wanting to be home"
(duh--what is he supposed to say?)
We do this several times a day.

So I'm painting like a madwoman to distract myself (projects are good for when the man is gone) and listening to love songs on the radio that are making me sentimental.
Then I listen to Dr Laura in the car and I tell her "I would be my husband's girlfriend, but you see, he isn't here right now, but I have really good intentions for when he comes home . . . " Then I feel guilt for all the times he was here and I was mad at him.
I am so pathetic.