I am really angry with Whitney Houston.

Wait. Before you get all up-in-arms, let me explain myself. I’m a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. I’ve been down that road myself, so I’m not talking out of thin air here. I went into rehab in 1988 and haven’t gone back. I got sober not because I wanted to – because I did not want to, believe me. I got sober because I HAD to. Because I knew that if I wanted a life, there was no other choice. Because those I loved let me know that there was no other choice. And I stay sober for those same reasons. Some days it’s not so easy. Some days I just wish I could have a glass of wine or even go pick up an eighth and get a nice buzz on. But I can’t. Because I put my family ahead of my desires. Because the thought of my children seeing me out of control is completely unacceptable. And because those around me aren’t afraid to say “no, you can’t do that”.

I said all that because I want y’all to understand that I know something about this issue.

So, back to Whitney. Here is a woman to whom so much had been given. A voice that any singer would have cut off a digit to have. Beauty, fame, money, the ability to do practically anything she wanted. She got involved with drugs – pretty early on in her career as I understand it. Actually, my husband used to work security at a local concert venue back in the 80s. He tells me that he remembers when she did a concert there and he and another security guard had to literally hold her up for her first couple of songs because she was too wasted to stand.

I don’t fault her for getting involved with drugs, really. I understand it. I don’t know what her childhood was like or her growing up or any of it. Lots of people make a bad choice and end up getting involved with drugs. I do, however, fault her for not stopping.

Before you get all, “But, Christy, it’s hard!! Getting off drugs is so, so, so hard!”, I know that. Believe me, I know that. However, when your life falls apart so dramatically that people are making fun of you on television and your child has to be the parent, you absolutely have to reevaluate. You HAVE TO. You have a child – you have to get yourself together. Whatever it takes, you have to.

Here’s the thing. Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Amy Winehouse, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Heath Ledger, River Phoenix…..the list could go on and on. They surrounded themselves with people who didn’t tell them “no”. People who didn’t put their foot down and say, “You are not doing this any more. Either be done with it or we’re done with you”. It could have been the money, the association with someone famous – I don’t know. But you have to have people like that in your life. You have to have people who will hold you accountable. Who won’t let you destroy yourself. Who will make, enforce and carry out consequences for refusing to stop. Who won’t just stand there and make sure you have your drugs, get you whatever you want and pretend like it’s normal.

Officially, I hold Whitney responsible for her choice not to get healthy. Same with all the others I named. But they sure didn’t get help, either.

I don’t know. I’m just disappointed. Every time I hear about someone who let their addiction win, I get so frustrated. It doesn’t have to end this way. It shouldn’t end this way. We should all make the right choice – whatever it takes. Seriously. No matter how hard it is, how insurmountable it feels. Because there really isn’t an option. Our children deserve better. Our families deserve better. And especially each person involved deserves better.

I dropped Maggie off for her final performance of The Jungle Book tonight. This is her 2nd mainstage production at the high school and she’s only a freshman. She’s been inducted into the Thespian troupe already. She’s preparing for her musical audition that happens in a little over a week. She’s an actress.

As I watched her walk into the school, I was suddenly overcome with sense memory. I remember those days so perfectly. It all came back. The sound of the door as it opened. The echoy silence of the school hallways with the faintest sound of drama kids squealing far away. The squish of tennis shoes on the clean floors. The way the air changed as I approached Mr. C’s room – becoming charged with energy & excitement. The smells as you turned from the hallway into the room. There was a “hot” smell emanating from the bank of lights over the mirrors at the makeup “bar”. A thick smell of pancake makeup hung heavy with a lighter touch of aerosol deodorant, hair greying spray and AquaNet. You could catch an underbelly of feet and teenage boy if you paid close attention as well.

The noise in that room was almost always deafening. 10-40 teenagers practically vibrated as they prepared to bring that season’s play to life. Inevitably, there was some sort of drama (usually involving romance or sex) unfolding in hushed tones in some corner while one or more girls tried not to cry about something. One or more boys would be involved in stage combat – probably in attempt to impress the girls. The stage door would squeak open and slam shut with a dull thud as the thick towel taped to the top of the door hit the doorframe. People would come and go through that door to check on props, talk with friends or just catch a glimpse of whoever they were crushing on during that show. Techies ran in & out, checking with Mr. C about this, that or the other thing. Actors ran through lines in the room. Dancers ran through dances out on the stage. Lead actors went out to get their mike packs on and do a sound check.

I can remember the sound of the desks being dragged from their school-day positions to a place at the makeup mirrors – jamming the desk portion under the makeup table leaf that dropped to the wall when not in use. Criminy, that was loud. People fought for spots at the mirror – the well-established, “senior” actors having their own special spots that everybody just knew not to encroach upon. Others stood behind the desks doing touchups and checking their hair. More often than not, people would emerge from that mirror wearing makeup a good shade or two darker than they should, but never enough blush or a dark enough lipstick. The number of suburban white kids who looked like Native Americans or as if they were of Latin descent on our stage was too many to count. Without fail, in a valiant attempt to prevent hair from ever moving again, someone would get someone else in the face with a big shot of Aqua Net and the world would end. Someone else would apply horrifying old age makeup and look like a dirty hobo. Someone else would coat their whole head in silver hairspray and, instead of looking old, they’d look like David Bowie from the audience.

As the stage manager crackled instructions over the prehistoric intercom, people would rush to get their costumes on, ignoring the overpowering smell of must, mothballs and thick dust that permeated them. We’d feel beautiful or dowdy or fabulous or weighed down in petticoats and get our final preparations done. All the time, the electricity in the air became thicker and more palpable. Last minute reminders would be given (“Don’t step on me when you walk down the steps”, “Remember…it’s ‘step, step, TURN’, not ‘step, step, step, turn’.”, “I really need you to say that line louder because I don’t hear it”, “If you miss your cue tonight & I have to improv to cover you, I will punch you in the larynx.”), last minute warmups would be done, “Break a legs” would be handed out and the cue for “places” would be called. The lights would go down backstage and a hush peppered with awe, fear, excitement, panic and magic would fall backstage. Then the curtain would open or the overture would begin and we embarked on 2 hours of attempting to create something amazing. Something that would last. Something to be remembered. Something with meaning. Something fun.

I can’t believe that one simple action triggered all this for me, but it did. I guess that school’s front door will always have those memories waiting for me. I hope it’s the same for Maggie – that someday she can look back and remember how amazing it was to be a part of high school theatre. That it will always be as important to her as it is now.

To all those special, precious people who shared this time and these memories with me, I salute you. Dean, Jeff, Kevin, Anne (L. & J.), Tammy, Leon, Tim (W., M. & R.), Jannah, Kristn, Scott (all of you), Connie, Lisa (D. & W.), Mr. Casalino and many others. You all made that time even sweeter and I hope your memories of it are as vivid and special as mine.

 I had a great opportunity today. Apparently, Steven’s having some trouble at school with a couple of boys being rude to him. He says they’re insulting him. He’s having trouble with a couple boys who make comments about how they are awesome and Steven isn’t. And they call him a nerd.

Boy, did I burst out laughing. I told him, “They call you a nerd? You laugh and say, ‘Oh, yeah I am! Nerds are cool!!’” He looked so surprised. I sat there and ran through a whole list – you know who’s a nerd? Bill Gates. Steve Jobs. iPads & iPhones were invented by nerds. Video games were invented by nerds and nerds kick butt at them. There wouldn’t be Xbox360 or Playstation or Wii or Nintendo DS without nerds. Dude, I said, nerds are THE COOLEST right now. Look at Big Bang Theory – hugely popular show about nerds. One of the most popular podcasts out there? Nerdist. Some of the most popular things in culture are nerd-based, nerd-invented and nerd-loved. Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, comic books, video games.

Anyway, I loaded him up with truth and ammunition. Somebody tries to make you feel small? It’s because they feel bad about themselves. Somebody goes on and on about how awesome they are? It’s because they actually feel the opposite. People who are truly awesome don’t need to make sure everyone knows it. They just ARE. You want to disarm somebody’s ammo against you? Claim it. If they call a nerd or a dork, you claim it. “I sure am – nerds are cool!” They make fun of you for liking something? You say, “So?” Because, really, who cares if some other person thinks what you’re into is stupid? If you like it, it’s cool to you. That’s all that matters.

Plus, as I told Steven, you’ll end up having the last laugh in the end. Nerds rule the world. So just smile and nod and laugh quietly to yourself. You totally awesome little dude.

“Sometimes you’ve got to let everything go – purge yourself. If you are unhappy with anything . . . whatever is bringing you down, get rid of it. Because you’ll find that when you’re free, your true creativity, your true self comes out.” – Tina Turner

I really love this quote. It’s so true and it’s so simple, but it’s another one of those that you just lose sight of. So often we get blocked up by what makes us unhappy and we cannot be free. It can be so many things – things we dislike about ourselves or others, preconceived notions, other stuff we just can’t seem to eliminate. But those things are totally blocking our creativity. If you can’t get past the things you dislike about yourself, can you do LOs about yourself?? Can you write blog posts about yourself. Can you be truly free in your art if you’re all blocked up? If you can’t get past preconceived notions about what you can or can’t do, will you even attempt to do something you haven’t done before??

So…let’s let it go. Purge it. Take a few minutes and think about the things that are “blocking your pipe”.  What are you believing or holding on to that is just getting in your way? Maybe write them down, ball it up and literally throw it away. Don’t let what’s inside of you keep what’s inside of you from getting out!d

It’s official. We are eliminating our cable TV service in a few days. I’m done with Comcast, done with their fees, their crappy customer service and the rest. We’ve got Netflix, Hulu Plus services, a Roku on Steve’s office TV and a Google TV upstairs. With the Wii and a PS3, we can have all the other TVs access Netflix as well. I cannot wait to hand these cable boxes back to Comcast and walk away. We’ll still have internet with them, which stinks, but $100 per month is better than over $200, right?

Here’s a random thought. The Science Channel has a show that we just discovered that I think is hysterical. It’s called Monster Bug Wars. Somehow (haven’t figured it out yet) they pit 2 “deadly” bugs against each other to see which one is victorious. Big, nasty spiders, creepy beetles, gargantuan swarming ants. They show each bug and how it attacks & defends its territory, then bug experts talk about what they think will happen. Then they film the 2 bugs’ encounter and, inevitably, one bug dies and gets eaten by the other – the victor. The hysterical part is added in post-production. Because apparently the bugs themselves are not interesting enough, they add in tiger growls, lion roars, snarling, gnashing and other sound effects that are not at all indigenous to the insects being shown. In one shot, some sort of big centipede crawls to the top of a branch and kind of lifts half of its body off the branch, sniffing or sensing or whatever centipedes do. As it does, a great tigery growl comes out of the speakers. I burst out laughing. In another scene, as the two bugs encounter each other, the chorus of Carmina Burana bursts forth. Absolutely ridiculous and almost camp in its over-dramatization! Check it out if you have the chance.

Okay. Another change of subject. I am trying to be a better blogger. Meaning 3 things: trying to blog more often, trying to attract more readers and trying to encourage more commenting. I’ve got some ideas for ways to do this, but I’d love to get some feedback from all y’all. I know there’s not a ton of you out there right now, but could I ask a favor? If you read my blog and enjoy it, could you tell one person about it? Maybe link a friend to a post you like or hit that “Tweet It” button over at the right of each post? Like a post on Facebook (see bottom of posts) or share it on one of the other sharing buttons I have at the bottom of each post? I know I’ll never be the Pioneer Woman or anything like that, but I’d love to develop a readership of people who really like my writing style and what I have to say.

On  my end, I’m thinking about doing more themed posts. Back when I was doing scrapbook designing, I did a lot of writing about creativity. I’d love to share some of that and be really encouraging in terms of awareness, seeking opportunities, becoming open to finding creativity in our day-to-day lives. I mean, we all have a creative aspect to our lives. We might be a photographer, a blogger, a scrapbooker, a mom looking for suggestions or whatever, but we all need creative outlet in our lives. Sometimes we just have trouble finding it, y’know? So, I’m committing to write more and share more than just my ridiculous rantings. I also promise to respond to any comments within 24 hours. I’ve been pretty lame about responding to comments – though I read and take every single one to heart. So I will absolutely respond within 24 hours.

Any other ideas?

I just was fiddling around in my admin for my blog, updating & changing some settings, and I realized that I had some people contact me over the past 6 months or so that I was never aware of! I feel terrible because I never responded since I never knew these people had taken the time to write.

First off, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t get them, but maybe it’s because they were marked to email me directly and the email address was wrong. Hopefully, I’ve corrected it now.

Secondly, I wanted to address some issues that came up in two of these emails. These two readers were appalled with my complaining, whining and poor parenting of Henry in particular. They apparently are of the mindset that all I do is complain about Henry and that I do not see him for the blessing he is. That I need to stop treating him like he has Down Syndrome and just treat him like my other kids and expect the same from him. And that I’d better get off my big, fat butt and take the pacifier away and get him potty trained.

Let me say that if I have been primarily talking trash about Henry, I apologize. I use this blog as a forum to work out what’s in my head, what struggles I’m having, vent about things that are going on and sometimes to let off steam. I also use it to rejoice about awesome things that have happened, to try to spread awareness about Down Syndrome and to talk about my life day-to-day. I’ve always said that my main objective here is to be honest. If you’re looking for a blog where everything is rainbows and unicorns and I talk about all the amazing things I’m accomplishing and how awesome and perfect my life is, you’ve come to the wrong place. There are tons of blogs like that, if that’s what you want. I’ve never done that and I will never do that. You can count on honesty here. If I’m having a hard time or had a particularly trying day, I will share it. If Henry reaches a milestone or something fantastic happens, I will share it. If Henry’s behavioral issues make me want to take a hostage, I will share it. If you consider that “complaining” and “whining”, perhaps this blog is not for you. I consider it the truthful sharing of one mother’s journey. I don’t claim to be perfect and I couldn’t even if I wanted to be. I am doing my best, however, and I hope most of you can see that.

In regards to the specific addresses about Henry? I have 4 words for you. YOU DON’T KNOW HIM. Henry is not a typical child with DS. He is not an atypical child with DS. He is, I believe, I child with both DS and autism. At this point in time, Henry cannot be reasoned with. Henry cannot understand time out. (and to the person who suggested strapping him in a chair? Hell to the no.) Henry has a pacifier because his sensory issues are so overwhelming that if he’s not being tended to one-on-one, he has to have something to meet those needs. If he doesn’t have the pacifier, he jams both his hands in his mouth to the wrist (this is literal) and spends the entire day with moist, creepy hands and face – spreading germs everywhere and setting himself up for the worst chapping scenario in the history of winter. Without the pacifier, I have to keep his hands slathered in Vaseline to prevent them from cracking and bleeding. The pacifier is on a strap. He puts the pacifier in his mouth and then uses the strap to stroke his face, arms – whatever he needs. His sensory needs are through the freakin’ roof.

And potty training? Excuse me why I pee myself laughing. Henry has absolutely no awareness of his elimination functions at this time. I am 100% of the belief that you cannot potty train a child until they are aware of what’s going on down there. Otherwise, YOU are the one who’s potty trained as you put the child on the toilet every 30 minutes, hoping to catch him/her at the right time. I have tried. He simply doesn’t understand. He will get there, but at this time, it ain’t happening. And for anyone out there to second guess what’s going on in my household with children they’ve never met is so arrogant, I can’t even form words for it. Let me repeat it: YOU. DON’T. KNOW. HIM. Those who do understand everything I say and every struggle I’m having.

For those readers out there who felt that they needed to chastise and upbraid me, I simply ask that you don’t judge till you’ve walked a mile in my shoes. Just because what you order me to do has worked for child X that you know or met or heard about means 100% of nothing for me and mine. I pray that you will never be blessed with a child like my Henry because you will probably destroy him in your single-minded attempt to make him/her behave the way you “know” is right.

The greatest living contemporary artist is the Creative uninhibited child at play.   -Roger Von Oech

“Whoa” was the first thing I thought when I read this. How incredibly true this is. Who is more uninhibited than a child? After I read it, I thought about my Steven & how he plays. He doesn’t care what anybody else thinks – he does what he does & it all makes sense to him. He isn’t looking for mass approval or kudos or even understanding. He’s just expressing what’s in his brain. And it makes perfect sense to him. He creates things out of pieces that, to my jaded eye, have no relevance or connection – but he makes it work. As soon as I understand what he’s doing, it makes all the sense in the world.

Take some time. If you have children, take some time to watch how they play. How some pillows become a dangerous bridge that saves them from certain death. How they make what they have into what they need. How they’re not afraid to get dirty or silly or look foolish – they just let it all hang out.

And how can we, as artists, hijack that ability for use in our art?

My last post gave me an idea and I want to share it. I think this would be a cool idea for one of those “Right Now” moments – if you’re a scrapbooker or an artist or whatever. What a neat moment in time! Here, I did it:

Do it! Right now! Tonight! First thing in the morning! Your whole bookcase or just a shelf. Take a snapshot in time of what, literarily, is important to you right now. Maybe throw it in your journal with a quick jot about maybe why you chose some of these books. Or where you heard about them. If you’ve read them, what you thought. If you haven’t, are they on your “to-do” list? I think it really gives a look into where you are, where you’ve been. What you dream about. What you wish to change.

Do it! And, if you do, please, please, PLEASE leave a comment & link me to your picture, your blog post, your scrapbook layout.

It’s been a week. Every surface of our house is crawling with the plague.

Remember how I had this horrible tonsillectomy and was out of commission for 2 weeks so that I wouldn’t have to think about strep anymore?? Remember that? What a load of crap THAT was.

It started with Henry. He came home a week ago with one of his noses. All nasty and green and I knew he was sick. By the time the weekend was over, Steven was sick and I was starting to feel it. And Sunday night, William developed pink eye. So Monday I took Steven, Henry & William to the doctor. Henry had a sinus infection and Will had pink eye. Steven seemed to be just a virus. Tuesday, Maggie woke up sick and I was feeling it hard. I took her to the doctor and we both tested positive for strep. Awesome. Just awesome. And everyone I’ve told just goes, “But…wait….you had your…..you can’t…” and I just go, “I know“. By yesterday, William and Steven were worse, so I took them back. It looks like William’s developing an ear infection and he was running a fever of 100-101, so she put him on an antibiotic. Steven got nothing – still looked viral. Now 4 out of 6 of us are filled with antibiotics. To say that I’m annoyed would be an understatement.

So…what have I been doing? I got back into my crochet. A while ago, I had bought some random skeins of really, really fat, super bulky yarn because after seeing this on Pinterest, I decided I had to work up something like it. (By the way, if you’re not on Pinterest yet, snap to it. It is such an inspirational place if you have any interest in any type of art, craft, writing or just looking at pretty things. I’ve been on there for months now and I think it recently opened up for everyone – due to the massive influx of new pinners I’m seeing. If you’re there or thinking about being there, click here to follow me!

But, I digress. I bought 6 skeins of different kinds of the bulkiest yarn I could find (which is still not even close to what is pictured in my pin). I pulled that out to start making an afghan that I thought would come together quickly. Unfortunately, the yarn’s so fat and the hook is so big that I’m going through the yarn too quickly. And it wasn’t cheap yarn. Where does one find reasonably priced, incredibly bulky yarn? I had 2 skeins that were $40 apiece and I cannot use any more of that, thankyouverymuch. Even if I had the money, I can’t justify spending $500 on an afghan. That would be ridiculous and stupid. I found some on etsy for $12. I just hope I can get the afghan finished without having to buy any more. This will already be the most expensive blanket ever.

I also started on a scarf for Steve. I found a really nice pattern on Ravelry.com that is a really nice, masculine scarf. I’m using a nice charcoal wool that’s got some fiber-ness to it. In order to start it, I had to teach myself 2 new stitches – the Tunisian simple and Tunisian purl stitches. I thought they’d be hard, but they weren’t. They make a really dense weave that’s more like knitting than crochet almost. I think it’s going to be just beautiful, but it’s going to take a while as it has over 100 rows and I’m only on row 14.

I’ve been reading more and actually bought more books. I’m insane, I know. I got a couple more biographies that looked good. Starting with:

I’m about halfway through this one and it’s so fun. I remember seeing Willow when it came out on video and I loved it. (He was Willow, in case you were wondering) Reading how he got his start at age 11 in Return of the Jedi and all the following roles he’s played. I’m also still reading the Bruce Campbell book and it’s good. I really enjoyed reading about the nightmare of making Evil Dead.

I also bought

I know I’ve talked a lot about how my bookcase is just stuff full – almost exclusively with books I have yet to read. I thought I’d share it with you – give you an unsolicited peek into my psyche. You are what you read, y’know?

Okay – here’s a wide shot of the whole bookcase. Yes, one shelf is about half taken up by a basket filled with yarn. Let’s take a closer look:

On this shelf is all my zombie stuff. As you can see, I’ve got 4 big anthologies there, none of which I’ve read. There’s a Dave Barry, Graham Norton’s autobiography, Neil Gaiman, and Erik Larson behind the little frame. (That’s Steven as a baby in that frame, by the way) and a Dalek peeking from the right.

The next shelf is all books I haven’t read. Some (auto)biographies, some humor, some literature. And my big, fat, Walking Dead anthology. I actually think the only books I’ve opened are the Mindy Kaling, the Dawn French and the Walking Dead. So many books.

And the bottom shelf. Mostly scrapbooks, a couple of magazines, yearbooks. Plus a big, ridiculous Martha Stewart homekeeping handbook, and the Darrell Hammond and Carrie Fisher books I’ve finished.

So that’s my bookshelf. I don’t know if I’ll ever be finished. People need to stop writing, y’all.

Here’s to better health. And some big, fat, chunky yarn.

Hey! Welcome (or welcome back)! I’ve upgraded my blog theme and I’m really liking its features. Let me point a few of them out for you.

Up in the menu, we have “Home”, which is self-evident. Next to that is a link to a gallery of a boatload of my favorite scrapbook layouts. I thought that might be fun to share. To the right of that is “Me, A-Z”. This is a page I made a while ago that gives you, dear reader, a glimpse into my psyche. Please don’t run away scared.

Next comes “Galleries”. There are 4 subcategories under that filled with some of my favorite photos I’ve taken. After that is “Categories”, where you can find posts separated into different categories. Then “Archives” which will take you back to the very beginning if you like.

Underneath that is a new section that holds a link to friend me on Facebook, a link to my Flickr account, a link to subscribe via RSS, my Twitter feed and a link to “Like” my blog on Facebook. Oh, and a cheesy picture of me. Lame, eh?

Over on the right, there’s a link to check out the book I contributed to on Amazon. Underneath that is a link to subscribe to my favorite podcast, the Steve Dahl show. Just so’s you know, I get no benefit from either of those links. I just wanted to share things I love with all y’all.

In other news…I’ve actually been reading. I’ve been so far behind  - I literally have 3 shelves on my bookcase filled with books waiting to be read. Lots of zombie fiction, autobiographies, humour, and older books I’ve found at secondhand stores. Dave Barry, Erma Bombeck. I got back into it with Darrell Hammond’s new autobiography:

This was an interesting read. It’s not terrifically well-written, but it’s a good read nonetheless. This chap had a miserable upbringing. It’s weird – I can remember seeing him early on and being very unsettled by him. There was something in his eyes – a deadness – that made me very uncomfortable. I assumed he had a drug problem – I could sense that – but there was something more. After reading his book, it made sense.

Next, I picked up Carrie Fisher’s latest book, “Shockaholic” on clearance.

Again, I was surprised by the writing. Since she’s been a rather celebrated author, I did expect better writing. It was somewhat disjointed, but since she herself claims to be rather disjointed, it makes sense. I didn’t see a whole lot of point to a lot of what she wrote, but there was one story about Ted Kennedy that was fun to read. It was interesting to me – she made a point several times to point out how smart and interesting and amazing he and his colleague were. Then she told about how he spent the meal basically sexually harassing her beyond all measure. She held her own beautifully, but I found it interesting that behavior exhibited by the exalted Ted Kennedy could be looked past and she could still talk about his intelligence & awesomeness. Had this behavior been put upon her by, say, Clarence Thomas or George W. Bush, she would have probably crucified him. I was disgusted reading how Senator Kennedy talked to her…treated her. Of course, it fits completely with what other past behaviors he’s exhibited, but still. At least Clarence Thomas didn’t let a girl die, y’know?

Now I’m reading the Bruce Campbell autobiography, If Chins Could Kill.

I finally sat down and watched Evil Dead & Evil Dead 2 when I was recovering from my tonsillectomy, so this is a great companion piece to those. He’s even funnier than I initially thought. Again, it’s not incredibly written, but it’ll do. I’m reading it more for the stories than the writing skill, so I can overlook it, really.

Tomorrow I get to do something I’ve never done. It’s Steven’s turn to be the “host” at his Cub Scout den meeting, so I had to prepare for the activity. I’ve no idea what I’m doing or what’s expected, so I’m flying blind. We’re doing an art activity for the Artist badge, so I followed the requirements and got modeling clay, paints, palettes, paper. They need to mix colors, paint something, make something with the clay. I’m actually nervous because I don’t know if I’m doing this right or if I’m totally off track. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. I just hope I don’t embarrass Steven.