No Place Like It

In Case You're Interested...

2010-01-04T17:40:00.005+01:00

And I'm not letting this one anywhere near the pink girly nail polish.

SO HELP ME GOD!

Happy New Year!

Note after your initial comments of love:

LITTLE MISS NOT YET BORN!

This announcement is after the second ultrasound.

I wanted to announce the news that another 'butterfly bottom' would be among us soon and this was the only "It's a Girl" image I could find on the internet that didn't make me want to gouge my eyes out. Yes, there's a stork in the image, but no, Little Miss won't be making her appearance until sometime late April, early May. Believe me, when that day arrives, after all the complaining I'm bound to put the internet through via twitter and FB (at the very least), you'll be sure to have deets.

I wouldn't make you suffer through the 'OMFG, MAKE IT STOP!' messages without deets, dear internet. I'm not completely heartless.

However, this also proves that my communication skills are DIRE! Proof that my blogging skillz are zapped out. It didn't even occur to me that the stork would imply BIRTH!

KISSES! HUGS!

Funny Anniversary

2009-11-17T07:29:00.001+01:00

I just looked at a calendar and realised that today is this blog's fourth anniversary.

How funny.

I don't want to go all melodramatic on y'all, but I think I'm going to take a break from blogging. Maybe I'll retire this blog. I don't know.

Today is a bad day to make decisions. I'm a bit crickety from fighting off a cold the last couple of days but essentially I can tell you that I'm feeling restless and bored.

Again.

Lord save us.

Maybe I'll start another blog with a bit more focus.

Maybe a knitting blog.

I dunno. There are an awful lot of American knitting blogs and they all scare the beejeezus out of me with their crazy kind of awesome (that may be an oxymoron for many people, but you should see the fancy things some of those people make. From scratch (ie, from the sheep. No lie.)). Also, a lot of the time, I have no idea what the hell they're talking about.

But I am intrigued by all the new yarns and designs out there. Seriously, for a kid who grew up with Mary Maxim yarn kits and shit from Michael's Craft Store, I'm seriously in heaven.

Now if only I could get to my Ravelry account from work. Apparently it's on the same level as porn sites for the old firewall...

Anyway (coz I was digressing), what I'm lacking in is focus. Generally and this for a very long time. My brain is all over the place. I'm feeling uncertain about lots of things. Whether illustrating is right for me (this could be because I haven't had a project in some time, but also because I feel like I've lost my passionate interest). Whether I'll be able to get anything off the ground at all in the near future with a babe in arms and what that might be.

I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of limbo and I'm not sure how to slough off the brainfunk this time. Or even what I want to do.

Even reading other peoples' blogs is doing nothing for me. My interest level is leaking away on a lot of things. I wish I was more active but until my maternity leave, I'm pretty much stuck at my deskjob, waiting for someone to give me something to do. But rather than spending my days wanting to draw, I want to knit.

You'd think, with all this time on my hands, that I would have more inclination to write this blog. Strangely, that is not the case.

Maybe this blog is a casualty of the times. Are blogs really waning? Hélas.

I'll invariably still be online. On twitter @jchevais and facebook (I'm Jennifer Wenham Chevais. If you friend me, tell me who you are (sorta) so that I know you aren't some spammer coming to stalk my profile).

So... with that in mind, I bid you au revoir*

*(which, if you didn't know, means 'til we meet again'. If I was definitely going away forever, I would have said 'adieu' which means 'until we meet again before God'...)

A Visit to Dr Shiva

2009-11-10T07:12:00.002+01:00

Mr C has this strange relationship with a client that I can't figure out. His code name is Dr. Shiva and suspiciously, he sort of reminds me of a weasel. He has an answer for everything and many hands in many different pots.

"Dr Shiva, il s'occupe de tout." (Dr Shiva does everything).

Right.

So we've been looking into buying another car (finally) that doesn't stall all the time (it used to be embarrassing and scary but now I'm an old hat at getting halfway through a traffic circle when the engine dies). Which means that we need to figure out a way to get rid of our old, dangerous, car.

Mr C's motto: When in doubt, consult with dubious clients.

Saturday, I fired up our clunker, piled the kids in and took the car to meet Mr C who wanted to see if Dr Shiva could figure out a way to get rid of the thing. Without our liability coming into question, of course. Our meeting spot was in front of Dr Shiva's "business" premises (which consisted of a dry cleaners and a "taxiphone"/epicerie.

Explanatory aside: Epicerie is a 'mom&pop shop' which is sometimes called an 'arabian' store (l'arabe) perhaps because they're usually owned by North Africans (Mr C thinks Dr Shiva is originally from Pakistan though he could be from India. It's not really something you ask). Taxiphone is a non-word referring to telephone booth rental, internet services and fax machines. Why taxiphone? No Freaking Idea.

Dr Shiva looked at the car, asked Mr C how much he wanted for it and said no problem (we knew he would). The two of them talked trash for a couple of minutes and then Mr C wrapped it up.

All this time, the kids were watching Dr Shiva. Entranced. Perhaps it was his pot belly. Perhaps it was his lovely smile. Perhaps it was his bulging round eyes in his perfectly round head. They shook their heads as though waking from a dream when he asked them if they were thirsty.

"Wha?...." had barely come out of Kilian's mouth when Dr Shiva thrusted a cherry coke in his hand.

Then he looked at me, "How about you? Would you like something to drink?"

I hadn't yet had time to say it wasn't necessary when he put his finger to his nose à la Santa Clause, winked and then disappeared towards the back of his shop.

"Here. This is perfect for you." He handed me a box of herbal tea. "This blend has been very successful in my shop. It's a special tea to lose weight."

...

"Um." I looked at Mr C and could see a grin flirting with his eyes. "Thanks?"

We were about 50 yards from Dr Shiva's shop when I burst out laughing. "He just insinuated that I'm a fat cow!"

"I told you that Dr Shiva s'occupe de tout. He's a man full of ideas!"

"He gave you a box of tea too. You planning on drinking any of it?"

"Are you crazy?"

New Work Monday #41

2009-11-09T07:02:00.000+01:00

41 weeks, which is, coincidentally, the number of gestation weeks as counted by French medical practitioners.

I know.

FASCINATING.

So today, I have for you a relic of my old life:

The Known Universe
Copper plate

This little monstrosity is what made me decide to study Jewellery & Metalsmithing in art school instead of Fibre Arts.

Now what you need is context. I took the Metals Foundation class on a lark.

Coincidentally, I had a SUPER HOT teacher. Seriously. For an 18 year old girl, Jeff de Boer? With his 'L'Oreal Prince Charming "I'm Worth It"' feathered hair thing?

OMG. SWOON!

Yeah. Always a good reason to pick a career path.

Stop JUDGING ME!

So, ANWAY! We were doing a crit (in case you don't know, a crit (short for critique) is where everyone in the class focuses on one piece of artwork and then TEARS IT ALL TO SHIT... or not, but dudes, it has GOT to be stellar for that to happen...) when Jeff picked up my Universe piece, threw it on the table and said it was shit.

But he said it nicely.

He said that it was shit NOW, but that it had potential to be something really interesting.

And something in my nubile young body fell for this and said, hell yeah, I'd love to wrestle metal into weird lumpy shapes for the next four years and then never touch a hammer or solder another piece of metal for the rest of my life.

Unless you count those plumbing incidents.... Knowing how to solder has been useful in France.

But I digress.

While this may be starting to sound like I hate Mr. de Boer for leading me down a path I couldn't follow through on, it is not. I admire the fellow greatly. Seriously.

It was because of him that I never once churned out something valuable and jewellery oriented (considering my major, this was quite the feat). It was because of this initial experience that I couldn't settle down in my first job as a jeweller's apprentice (ok, it was work experience) because setting gems bored the everlivingcrap out of me.

The man who made samarai costumes for cats and dogs inspired me to make corsets and hats during my school years, rather than brooches and earrings. He inspired me to try and figure out how to bring metal and fibre arts together. No. My attempts weren't always successful, but I still kept trying.

I still keep trying. No longer in metal OR fibre arts, but I still keep trucking.

Slowly.

That's not too bad a legacy, I think.

Definitely not an Iron Maiden

2009-11-04T07:29:00.001+01:00

I've mentioned how I'm a zombie in the evening.

It ain't that much better in the morning.

This morning, after a week off, Mr C was getting ready for work. He popped into the bathroom while I was showering and asked if I knew where he could find a bottle of water so that he could fill up the iron.

I had no idea (bloody typical really) and he wandered upstairs on the hunt.

Shortly after I came out of the bathroom, found the pants I wanted to wear and ughed. They need ironing.

However, Mr C hadn't yet finished his ironing and he still hadn't come downstairs with a jug of water, so I hitched the pants that he'd been working on over my shoulder and started to iron my own trousers, reasoning that I would cede my place when he came downstairs.

Dudes. This is the logic of a multi-tasker. Really. And I did it in the morning. I am a super star.

However....

Yes. However, when he came downstairs, he saw me ironing. WHAT HE DIDN'T SEE was ALL THE SHAMPOO on his trousers from where they had been sitting on my shoulder.

Zombie girl is at least mostly clean. Though gooey.

ACK!

Thankfully, Mr C reasoned that it would be quicker to let me finish ironing and went right into the bathroom to shower. Scrambling and somewhat frantically, I drenched his pants with water in order to rub the shampoo out.

OUT DAMN SPOT!

RUBBING WITH THE VERY TOWEL I WAS WEARING.

Fortunately, no one was around to witness the ignominy of me wrestling with a pair of pants.

Naked.

Soon though? SUCCESS!

However?

Dripping wet trousers. ACK!

OMFG!

So I did something I've NEVER DONE because of the dangerous precedent which could be set. I ironed his slacks.

It was to DRY THEM. I SWEAR!

But now, still feeling guilty, I started ironing his shirt.

Let's get something straight here. I'm terrible with an iron. There is a reason that I iron everything inside out. It hides the burn marks.

His shirt ironed, I slunk upstairs to get dressed.

Mr C, when he was all groomed and dashing, he came up to me and thanked me for ironing his things.

"A little kiss for my trouble?"

"Of course!"

If he only knew...

New Work Monday #40

2009-11-02T07:59:00.000+01:00

You'd think after 10 months of posting every Monday, I'd have something a little more polished than this today:

Sigh.

It's been an ups and downs sort of ~~life~~ week.

This is a little WIP that, if the person who it was drawn for is amenable, will be inked and used for diabolicle purposes.

Actually, no. Not diabolicle purposes.

Just stuff. Good stuff (I'm assuming).

Some nice, possibly low key, possibly high key, warm fuzzy stuff.

...

OK. Full disclosure? I'm not sure if the person in question will even be interested anymore because I ~~sort of....~~ ~~possibly.....~~ definitely kept forgetting that I had promised to do this drawing.

BECAUSE I AM AN EEGIT!

It doesn't matter that this drawing is "volunteer" work. I didn't come through and I feel terrible about it. It's not as though I've been terrible busy with other stuff.

I like to call it pregnancy brain, however one can only go so far. Especially seeing as how I promised this in ... what.... MARCH?...

Volunteer work and myself? An intoxicating and compelling elixir of never knowing if that thing'll get finished, where it'll dog my brain til my eyes are clouded with brainfarts.

Now, next on my list is figuring out a banner for a conference in March that I'm not even going to.... and I believe I promised a write up on French healthcare....

After those two things, I think I'll let myself be done with "volunteering" for awhile. I like to volunteer, but at the same time, feel largely harassed when doing it (or rather, the idea of when I'll eventually get around to doing it) and then at the end, when I've spent hours on a thing, I have a hard time staying magnanimous when an especially tedious thing that I'd finally accomplished, gets a sort of non-thanks. Or doesn't get used at all.

OK. Full disclosure? I guess I'm an attention whore.

Bother.

Stranger is the Night

2009-10-30T07:59:00.003+01:00

Lately I've been dropping off the radar at about 10h15 pm or so. This is the time of day when my body is so heavy and exhausted, that even the idea of going to the loo before heading upstairs to bed seems a deeply, and unforgivably, onerous task.

Bother.

So last night, despite passing a pleasant evening with my MIL while the kids, their father and their grandfather were downstairs watching a space opera on the telly (they are loving the borrowed Battlestar Galactica series I brought home), I eventually hauled my poor beleaguered body upstairs to lie (delightfully) between cool sheets before dropping off asleep after a smattering of pages from my book.

Zzzzz.

Imagine my disheartened and grouchy surprise when Mr C wandered upstairs to bed a couple of hours later. I didn't hear him enter the room, but I sure as hell was brought out of my slumber when that ~~git~~ fellow snuggled up close to my warm body. Dude was FREEZING!

"Go 'way." I mumbled and turned away.

Wheedling. "Take me into your arms."

"No. Ge' lost." I could feel the tentacles of sleep reclaiming me when Mr C hiked up my shoulders from underneath and forcibly pulled me towards him. I thus ate chest hair.

Then he proceeded to coo and snorfle into my neck. Waking me up completely. Not from desire, mind. Let us get that straight.

No.

Peevishness.

Lovey doving is fine. I'm just as amenable. But not after pulling me from a sound sleep. Oh no. You're more likely to wake up my caustic side. With a side of acid.

"Your parents know now? How did you tell them?"

"They ambushed me. Together. A concerted effort."

Aha! Bloodshed.

However, now I could not sleep. I was wide awake and my limbs were no longer willing to slumber. They wanted to move about. They felt rusty. A condition I have noticed on a couple of occasions already and each time has brought about a disconcerting feeling. I tossed and turned.

"I'm sorry for waking you."

Grumble.

I finally gave up and went downstairs. Mr C followed me and proceeded to eat all the dairy in the kitchen. I ate an apple.

He went back to bed.

I fired up my twitter feed and complained.

I slowly hauled my butt back upstairs. Laid down and waited. Praying that the need to wee wouldn't hit me again until morning.

Finally sleep overcame me. And I dreamed.

I dreamed about a baby.

A relatively small one. The baby wasn't crying or anything but I still remember feeling slightly terrified.

Because the baby was covered in poo. Poo I tell you! Newborn baby goo. Covered.

And I was running out of baby wipes.

Poo baby was in a onesie and had those little spindly limbs that newborn babies have that sort of jerk around like facial tics and every time I wiped one limb down, another would be slimed over.

You know the guy condemned to push a rock up a hill for the rest of his existence?

It felt like that!

Lordy, lordy. What in the hell am I getting myself into?...

Baby Tripping

2009-10-28T07:39:00.004+01:00

Mr C has still not told his mother that there'll be another face in our house come May 2010.

Don't ask me why, for I cannot tell you.

But as his parents are at our house this week, I can tell you that I'm enjoying the kerfuffle that has since ensued.

I didn't expect this. In fact, I expected that his mother would get all confrontational and uppity with me, the one who wanted her to be told ASAP because I know how much she adores my children already on the ground, but no.... it has not been that way at all.

She has been slowly wearing her son down. With questions. And I'm enjoying Mr C being backed into corners.

BECAUSE I'M SURE SHE KNOWS. She took one look at me when she got to the house, at my already distorted shape and penchant for comfy clothes, and there was a spring in her step. A twinkle in her eye.

I like to call it mischief.

And now.... ?

The game is on.

Mr C vs. Mrs C Sr. A battle of wits and wiles.

The first night? I overheard her ask Mr C about how tired I looked. How run down. Was there anything the matter?

He replied that I had recently been off work due to high blood pressure.

Hmm. Technically the truth. But not the full truth.

When I came home from work on Monday, the children were silent. They took me aside and said that Kilian had made a gaff in mentioning that he'd rather a little brother than a little sister (don't blame him really). But that upon their souls, they're sure that Mrs C Sr hadn't [seemed to hear or] reacted to their chatter.

I doubt that very much. Mrs C Sr is sneaky.

She's just biding her time. I can well imagine her giggling on the inside.

Yesterday was the humdinger though and it was then that I realised that the "not telling" thing had turned into a game. Mrs C Sr.... ever the one to keep busy around the house, started folding up our clean clothes and came across a pair of my pants.

And a particularly bizarre set of pants at that. Maternity pants.

Of course she went right to Mr C and asked him what maternity pants were doing in the house. In the wash.

His response? That I had just found them among my things and was washing them before returning them to a friend.

Shameful. A bald lie.

Though funny.

Now I'm wondering what other things I can lay around the house to trip him up.

A book of baby names? Should I buy a soother and place it someplace obvious?

IDEAS PLEASE!

New Work Monday #39

2009-10-26T07:57:00.003+01:00

Medusa
Paper & Ink
18cm x 26cm

This little creation sprung from a half-baked idea. I was walking in the metro, minding my own business when I saw an exhibit poster of native art. It was of a wooden head with a headdress that I could only remember half of and it was when I was in a part of the metro I'm never in (usually).

Well, wouldn't you know it, but damn, that little wooden head stuck in my brain and nigh on drove me mad, so Saturday morning, while the kids were watching cartoons, I tried to draw something out.

Zippola. The face was all right, but damn if I couldn't figure out what kind of headdress to give the face. I did a number of attempts and they all looked strange (don't even get me started on the headdress of cutlery. It was not pretty). So I started going all lapping fire, as I'm wont to do, and lo', you put a snake's head on the deal and everything is golden. It all came together.

As I was inking my little sallow-faced, sad Medusa (which I was quite pleased with in that HER eyes are closed), Brenna came up to me and said that it was amazing.

Further, she said, "Maman, of all the artwork in the world, yours is the most artificielle."

Um.

"Really?"

"ABSOLUTELY!"

"What's artificial mean again? You know how I sometimes have trouble with French words that sound like English ones."

"It means awesome."

Oh.

Thanks.

Emptying the Brain Junk

2009-10-22T07:48:00.000+02:00

I don't know what I feel like writing about today.

Awesome.

I feel I should write about something though. Got niggles flying around in my head and yet, I stare at this space and my brain stays blank when I think about what I could actually write.

Maybe I should write about all this fantastic sleep I've been getting lately.

Or the fact that I'm dragging my ass around by 8pm. That my daughter spends dinner time acting out things that happen during the day and I look at her (slightly hating) and tell her to get a move on, eat your damn dinner, spaghetti is not a toy, etc. ad nauseum.

But that's no fun. I'd probably enjoy the theatrics if every muscle in my body didn't want her to stop moving around so energetically.

You probably don't care about my metro experiences either. Not that they've been bad, only that they've been draining me of my will to live. Status quo really.

I haven't even been doing much drawing either lately. Which is terrible. Really terrible. I even have a niggle for an illo in my brain. The only motivation I have in the evening, when the kids are finally tucked up, is for knitting. Gah.

Productive and yet, oddly, not. Phooey.

So. OF COURSE. At this moment, when it is completely natural for me to dead tired, I'm feeling slightly antsy. Creative-wise... why can I not get my butt in gear? Why can't I get anything "started".

It doesn't help that I spent the morning trolling Stephen King related stuff. He started from nothing and got "somewhere". And when I mean "somewhere", I mean doing the thing he loves to do.

Sometimes I wonder, really, what I love to do.

(UH OH, I SEE A TRAINWRECK OF EMOTIONS AND FEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLIIINGGGSSS COMING UP.

BATTEN THE HATCHES!)

I may have mentioned this before, but sometimes, I feel like I'm not really good at any one thing. That I'm relatively OK at a bunch of things and that, because of this, my attentions are continually refracted and aren't allowing me to really excel at that one thing that'll propel me into "something".

Bah.

Shouldn't I be working my tail off to try and bring in a commission (or two)? Should I work more on marketing or the actual work? Have I lost confidence in myself? What about that little story that I started writing (of which I've posted 3 chapters to an online writer's group and have gotten some nice constructive comments in return)? I've sort of planned out a few more chapters. Why haven't I done anything about them?

I don't know what the answer is. I'm not sure why my motivation level is at a zero (though of course I understand why my energy level is at a zero. Should I just accept that these two are related?).

Mid-March I'll be on maternity leave. That'll leave me almost 2 precious months, where the kids'll be at school that, though I have good intentions, I will probably SQUANDER because I. am. a. lazy. cow.

And after the baby?

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Especially when you consider summer holidays.

Excuse me while I have another fit: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Oh my. I'm out of breath.

Add to all this, that my PLAN is to take parental leave (subsidized in this country), but would love to somehow figure out an "at home" regular paying job for the long term. My original plan (that I hinted at earlier this year) was to see if I couldn't find a job as a cyber-English teacher. But honestly, I don't know if I can be bothered to do coursework for this by getting the TEFL (though one or two of you might insist that this certification isn't necessary).

Translation may be possible, but I'm not keen enough on that either. I mean. It wouldn't be a passion.

So.

I guess I'm wishing I could figure out how to do "something" that I'm keen about and be able to still eat.

Though there is something that I found heartening which has been attributed to Stephen King (I found this on his wiki). This is what he (apparently) wrote:

"If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn't bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented."

I didn't write something in my case. I drew something for a book cover. I got sent a check. OK. The check bounced (because it was drawn on the wrong bank account) but the second check didn't bounce and yes, I paid a bill with it.

I think. I might have done something frivalous with a part of it.

So I should be thrilled, right?

Or maybe I've got the one hit wonder blues. If you only knew how I got that gig (ie, with no sweat or tears), you might realise that I have no idea how to get gigs like that regularly. That one literally fell from the sky.

And I think a part of me doesn't believe that I'm good enough to get past the gates if I really have to work at it.

Hmm.

New Work Monday #38

2009-10-19T07:26:00.001+02:00

A statue of Charles de Gaulle found in front of the Grand Palais near the "bottom" of the Champs-Elysées.

The following is inscribed in the base of the statue:

Paris
Paris outragé
Paris brisé
Paris martyrisé
mais Paris libéré

Paris
Paris: Outraged
Paris: Shattered
Paris: Martyred
But Paris: Freed

It's much nicer in French.

A Fish Called Wonder

2009-10-15T07:06:00.008+02:00

This morning I had the first ultrasound for BB3.

What can I say other than it was A.MAY.ZING.

The photos are all dark, so it wouldn't be beneficial to post them here, but I can tell you that BB3 is an animated little fellow. He was all over the place, flipping and flopping like a fish out of water.

The doctor had a little bit of trouble getting BB3's measurements because of ALL THE EXCITEMENT that BB3 seemed to be amusing himself with.

Now this side, now that side, off into the corner, ooh look, is that candy over there? LEMME CHECK!.... Etc etc.

BB3 was finally nailed down and we know that he's about 53 mm now (that's an increase in 36 mm in what... 3 weeks? Crazy).

The doctor surprised us when he went into ultrasound 3D. WHICH IS VERY COOL.

"They didn't have this 10 years ago!" There was a distinct note of awe in my voice.

"Nope. There've been 2 generations in ultrasound technology since then."

Unfortunately, he didn't give me any of those snapshots which showed us the face, the arms AND FINGERS!

I SAW FINGERS!

So I'm pleased to say that everything is going swimmingly.

Which I was sort of wondering about because, now that I'm 35 years old, I'm a lot more prone to gnawing my brain raw. You know... worrying about: defects, bizarre birthmarks, rare and not so rare chromosonal diseases, etc... than I ever thought about when I was pregnant in my 20s. Where I was all, problems? What problems?

What pleased me the most about the whole visit (other than having a well-organised doctor who was on time for the visit), was that Mr C made a point of coming with me.

And while you may all be unsurprised, let me tell you that Mr C didn't feel the need to be present for the ultrasounds of neither Kilian nor Brenna.

I don't think it was because he didn't care. I think the reasons were more cavemanish, if anything. This time, Mr C has been 100% more supportive that I hardly recognise him. But I sure as hell am thankful.

This morning I was thinking about how we've changed as a couple. We went from newly in love, to hassled new parents, to bitterness and discord and now? I don't know. It sort of feels better than that newly in love feeling. There's a feeling of trust and feeling so good in his arms that I just can't describe.

And I'm so thankful that we get to experience the wonder of this "new parent" thing again now.

When I think we're finally ready.

Life with the Interloper

2009-10-13T07:55:00.001+02:00

After the ob/gyn visit confirming that I am, indeed, knocked up, I showed Brenna the image the doctor gave me. Namely this:

She looked at it. Puzzled and then said, "That blob thing is a baby?"

"Yup."

She looked at me like I was playing her. Babies obviously do not look like blobs of.... "How big is it?"

I look closely at the scan, "17 mm."

"17 mm? Wait a dog-gone minute. Let me get my ruler." She goes and rummages in her school bag, brings the ruler back and says, "This is 17 mm, right?"

"Right."

Brenna stopped. She looked at me. Looked at her ruler. Looked at me and then burst out, "If the baby's that small, why are you so fat?"

....

I wish to god I knew. As far as I can tell, my innards have gotten the message that there's an interloper and have been doing some restructuration. Most of my clothes don't fit me anymore and the ones that do, make me feel ridiculous.

It's like my uterus is Moses and everything else is the Dead Sea.

So, if you'd love to get rid of that stash of maternity clothing, I'm a taker.

I'll pay postage.

New Work Monday #37

2009-10-12T07:19:00.000+02:00

Parisians don't generally look up when they are in the street and it's a shame because there's some strange stuff up there on the rooftops.

This roof can be found on the corner of Marbeuf and Clément Marot in the 8th.

Whammy Post

2009-10-07T07:08:00.006+02:00

If my unfunny little cartoon has been clear (which I doubt because I have been decidedly out of it lately), then yes. I have lost my mind.

If it hasn't been exactly elucidating, perhaps this'll help:

For the love of all that is holy.... There is only one. It has a heartbeat.

Due sometime early May? Late April?

Doctor says May 7th. The Internet says April 30th.

So....

Spring.

New Work Monday #36

2009-10-05T18:10:00.003+02:00

Queen Astrid Square, 8eme arrondissement
Watercolour

Looking towards the Eiffel Tower from the Square de la Reine Astrid (Astrid of the Belgians).

Something I learned with this little painting is that I hate providing Parisians with the spectacle of a poor git painting on a bench. The added spice was when colleagues wandered up and started chatting.

Yeehaw.

New Work Monday #35

2009-09-28T07:47:00.000+02:00

or Lame-Ass Edition because I forgot to play with photos last night for today:

Serenade
Microsoft Paint

I drew this on Microsoft Paint.

With a mouse. My hand hurts now.

Funnily enough, what you see above, is, apparently, indicative of a current trend in mass market French illustration. What I mean is: Everytime I've entered a competition in this country, my work tends to lose to stuff which looks a little like the above.

Okay, I'll admit that that work is a bit more polished than what I've posted here (ie, probably wasn't done on a computer that hemorrhages every time you try to do something "creative" with it) but it isn't far off.

Sometimes I wonder why I bother.

And then I see images like those by Benjamin Lacombe and I'm all, Damn it, mood does exist in this business in this country.

Thank the heavens.

Now I just need to figure out how to get my stuff up to snuff and start scoping.

Looking Ahead

2009-09-25T07:14:00.001+02:00

I was making dinner last night when Kilian came up to me for a chat.

"So, I was talking to my teacher, and she said that if I want to be an engineer, then I need to have the BAC S (Science High School Diploma), which means a lot of math, science and I'll need to take English and German too."

I stopped. I turned. I stared.

The hell? Isn't my son.... like... 10 YEARS OLD?

Shouldn't he be dreaming about being a rock star or something?

Still a bit stunned, I slowly got the following out of my mouth... "O...K..., then. Well. Um. Since you start junior high next year, I guess you'll know how to start picking and choosing your options."

I almost felt like lying down then.

I'm raising Dilbert.

Hold me.

New Work Monday #34

2009-09-21T07:25:00.000+02:00

Tartan Fat Rabbit
Fabric

I received a sewing machine for my birthday last week so I decided to give it a run this weekend with materials that I had around the house.

First, I trolled all the luscious little softie sites around the web. I had no idea that softies had such a following or that so much awesome is out there. For my first sewing attempt (that I was damn well determined to finish BY THE GODS), I decided to go with the fat rabbit because it looked easy.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Actually it is pretty easy. What I wasn't reckoning with was my fabric.

A fabric that I bought in Edinburgh 11 years ago.

From the royal tartan manufacturer (or whatever).

REAL TARTAN?

It frays.

QUICKLY!

Don't ask me what tartan it is either. I have no idea. If you know, feel free to educate me.

At one point, Mr C walked into the room while I was working on the ears and asked me why I didn't make anything useful? Ever?

"If it makes me happy, then it's useful."

"Why are you brandishing that stitch-ripper at me?"

So.

I made some slight modifications to the original pattern because I HAVE THE POWAH! Also? I couldn't make the nose to work so I gave up because my bum was hurting from sitting so long.

Whatever.

I like it.

Mr C does too. He asked if he could make it his facebook avatar and then went and changed mine by accident.

Next up, the bat pattern I bought. Doesn't it look luscious?

Existential Question

2009-09-20T16:53:00.002+02:00

Kilian: 'Maman?'

Me: 'Yes?'

Kilian: 'How will we spend the rest of our time?'

Me: ... 'Um. Are you talking about the rest of our lives or just today?'

Kilian puts a finger on his chin and looks up towards the sky: 'Just today I guess.'

For pete's sake.

Kids.

Today

2009-09-16T02:36:00.001+02:00

Today is my birthday.

Today I am 35 years old.

Today it hasn't rained (yet). Woot!

Today I know that there is a very nicely wrapped (by my son) box waiting at home for me. I'm not sure what it is, but I have an idea.

Today some wonderful friends took me out to lunch. Bless them. Sally, Kathy and Vince. You guys rock. And then some.

Today I came clean on something to somebody. It felt good. I felt less stressed after.

Today my husband told me that he thought I was older.

Today my colleagues told me that they thought I was younger.

Today, I sent twitter a message demanding cuddly kittens on my desk by the time I got to work.

Today @france_normandy sent me a picture of a kid in a kitten costume.

Today @wearedinosaurs offered me a cake made out of kittens. Hell. They're carnivores.

Today @DeeGF sent me a lovely kitten e-card.

Today twitter delivered lots of beautiful Happy Birthday messages (Thank you everybody!)

Today facebook delivered lots of fantastic Birthday messages (including some Graffiti). Thank you!

I'm feeling pretty thankful for today.

New Work Monday #33

2009-09-14T01:10:00.002+02:00

This is a cool rooftop I noticed that looks onto Place François 1er in the 8th (not far off Avenue Montaigne or The "Where Japanese Tourists Try to Find People Willing to Buy Louis Vuitton On Their Behalf" district).

It sort of reminded me of something Edward Hopper might paint...

New Work Monday-Tuesday edition (#32)

2009-09-08T14:40:00.004+02:00

Below you'll find a watercolor that I did ages ago and put up on another blog.

Sorry dudes, I have been out of sorts lately. Technically speaking, you could say I've caught the crazy which is why I have been lax in posting anything at all.

So. Here you are. The liberty flame, which is topside of the bridge under which Lady Di ...

The Flame of Liberty that's stationed right near Metro Alma Marceau and over the Pont d'Alma.

There are still some pictures hanging on in remembrance...

New Work Monday - Foiled edition (#31)

2009-08-31T18:03:00.003+02:00

Today, the floods of disaster. Impossible to post pictures to blogger via the iPhone and I've no other means to keep my NWM promise to myself other than uploading a picture via Twitter FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

http://twitpic.com/fzb9w

Yes, the photo was taken with the iphone and yes, I think this painting will be the last of the curly-cue square paintings. In fact, I have a bit of a hate on for this particular painting.

Gads, I'm so glad that it's done. I had high hopes for it since the night I started it, the telly had goat circus trainers performing (Saturday night programming in France, Oh My God The Hell) but helas it was to drive me as close to madness as any painting thus far.

Oh Well.

The Audacity

2009-08-25T07:26:00.005+02:00

There is an online store that I buy art supplies from fairly regularly that has, consistently, found ways to annoy me. And those ways are always new and surprising.

There was the time I misordered a moleskine notebook.

Which may have been my fault. I don't know.

Then there was the time that I changed email addresses and then lost my login password.

Holy fuck was the customer service representative snarky that day. AND she didn't answer my question. I had to set up a whole new login identity.

But this morning? I'm still sort of shocked. At the audacity.

Rewind to May. I received a large package at work from this online art supplier. I'm a bit shocked because, WTF? I didn't order anything!

Explanation: I get delivered at work because the art supplier uses a private delivery service. This means that if I were to be delivered at home, if nobody was home (which nobody ever is during the day), the stuff would go right back to the store and not to my local post office so that I could pick it up. I agree. It's dumb. And I don't have neighbors that I know well enough to impose delivery on.

My colleagues all crow around me because I'm a demon online buyer. "WHAT IS IT THIS TIME?"

"I don't know. I didn't order anything."

"Shut up. You order so much stuff that I bet you've forgotten that you did!"

I open it and under all the kraft paper packing, I see a bunch of stuff I'd never buy. Really. Fake parchment? Not my thing.

I look at the packing slip. I see my name and address but I see that the billing address is for some chick named Collette in Orléans.

I call the online supplier and am assured that someone will come by to pick it up the next day. I take it back downstairs to reception and then FORGET ABOUT IT.

Fast forward to last week when I received another order from this supplier. After I'm delivered my package, I get a call from the lovely ladies down at reception: "Dude, that package from months ago is still here. What should we do with it?"

The hell?

I toss around the idea of how nice I am and decide to call the people at this online shop again. Because it would suck if poor Collette in Orléans paid for stuff and then never got it. I'm assured that someone will be by the next day to pick it up.

The next day, while away from my desk, I get a voice mail. Could I please call to arrange pick up?

WÔT?

I gave the first Customer Service Rep the necessary information. Why is this difficult and WHY THE HELL IS THE ONUS ON ME? They screwed up. Not me.

I'm the nice guy. Nuance.

I don't call back because I am an ornery bitch. Feck em.

This morning, I get a call again. It went a little like this:

"We'd like to arrange pick up."

"Well, like I told your colleague, the pickup point is where I work. There are people at the front desk between 8:30 and 21:00, so really, it doesn't matter when your delivery person comes by."

"Hmm. OK. I see from our records that the package isn't heavy."

"No."

"Would you mind taking it to the post office then?"

Did I just hear that? THE FUCK?

"Are you suggesting that I take a bulky package that I didn't order... which was delivered to me by mistake because someone on your side screwed up.... Are you actually suggesting that I STAND IN LINE at the post office and PAY POSTAGE for it to be returned to you? Is that what you are suggesting?"

I think I might have had my Dripped in Death voice happening.

...

"So I'll arrange for someone to pick it up this week."

"Thank you."

HONESTLY!

____________________

Image Credit: Art Brut