nice in nine

So the feature article in today's "Week in Review" section of The New York Times is titled "Play Nice." So, here we go again with one of our family themes for oh-nine. The question posed is will Barack invoke the "let's all play nice together" theme in his inaugural address. But the point is -- all presidents in recent history, at least, have promised that very thing. And is that what we want from our agent of change? I guess we could be nice about it, but could we please kick it? Already some of the choices at the inauguration itself seems too....well....nice. We fervent supporters are not really actually all that tolerant of the "other one"s. However, since we have managed to bring the political process up close and personal with our children, I guess we'll have to....be....nice. I hope we can.

no whine in 09

Over the break, after Christmas had come and gone, we were brainstorming our mottos for the next year. I wonder why, but the very first one thrown out there was "No Whine in '09." Are you getting a sense for a common sound in our home? A "pest" we'd like "exterminated?" The other one, which also makes a nice logo, is "Nice in Nine." That's very...nice...but not as punchy. So a week or so goes by, it's dinnertime, and C says, "Mom, I thought you said NO WINE IN 09!!!" Which is, most definitely, not what I said.

the eighth day of nine

drive kids to school, pick up husband from auto repair shop, drive to grocery store, secure groceries and prescriptions, drive home, put away perishables, check email, change clothes for the Y, drive to Y, work out, drive to the galleria, find great sale at the gap and get friend's birthday present, go to anthropologie where you originally wanted to buy friend's birthday present, see really wonderful things that you wish you could buy, glad you found something for your friend somewhere else cha-ching, drive to target, secure lots of home goods, drive to whole foods, secure some organic food, drive home, put away perishables, bring in all bags from target, check email, create ad for client, send pdf to client, drop off husband at auto repair shop, drive to pick up kids from school, bring home one extra friend, fight urge to take nap, make dinner for everyone else, drive to pick up one birthday friend, drive to pick up another birthday friend, drive to pick up third friend, drive to restaurant, have a wonderful three hours of cava, tapas and laughs, drive friends home, put on pjs, blog for the first time in over a year.

Shiny, happy people

What we've been through, oh, the past seven weeks, two days, eleven hours and three minutes, has been completely insane. There wasn't a day without extreme meltdowns, extreme pestering and extreme exhaustion (okay, the last one only on my part). And then, as usual, something happened. Ask my friends, "Whatever it is, it won't last forever." Not that I'm trying to publish a book of my own memorable, inspirational quotations...but this one works.

It (mostly) all began with a night out for pizza. The kids requested California Pizza Kitchen, and since pizza's not really on the "Beach," hey, that's just great. As we're eating and talking and making our way through the "I want more lemonade"s, C starts singing something. What's that, sweetie?

Above the din of our crowd and the restaurant he found the way out. This is what I've been looking for. This is what they are and this is what I will see in them and this is what I'll be.

Score one for REM.

Who’s the leader the next day?

Leader of the day. It seems to work at preschool – a five-year-old and two three-year-olds qualify as a day care facility, right? So when the time came that we all got big enough to race to the bathroom sink to wash hands before lunch and “discuss” whether we were watching trains or Little Bear, I knew I needed a strategy. Leader of the Day was born.

There are completely comical times where it seems we cannot make a single decision without knowing who the leader is. Despite the fact that there are three children in the house, there are only three of them and the pattern is pretty easy to pick up – R, C, G, R, C, G, R, C.... My sweet rascal boy C thrives in the knowledge of this system. With the coyest of smiles growing with each question, “Mom, who’s the leader today? Who’s the leader tomorrow? Who’s the leader the next day?”

There’s a certain feeling that comes over you as you patiently answer each question. Again. The expectedness, the security, the reassurance.

Right there in that empty space.

I readily admit, I am having a blast reading "Charlotte's Web" to R. "Mom, mom, are we reading a chapter tonight?" The excitement about reading thrills me. So, a child's path to reading starts with picture books -- it's all about the pictures. They look at a bright, colorful picture, parent says the word, they learn to say the word...but it's all about the picture. They progress to books with storylines, still driven by pictures. They start to memorize the story, using the pictures as prompts.

For our clients, we as graphic designers look for that balance between text and images to create a particular story as well. Time and time again, we educate the uneducated in the use of "white space" -- ahhh, that lovely part of a page. But, hey, if a client is paying for the paper and the press to print on it, well, there's room right here for another picture or blurb about so-and-so getting an award, right?!

"Charlotte's Web" is not full of pictures. It's the start of the pleasure of reading and being able to visualize it yourself, use your imagination to fill in the details. Every so often, the publisher has thrown in a line drawing, and R really enjoys when one comes up. "Is there another picture?" No, not yet. "But they could have put one, right there, right there in that empty space."

With any luck we can turn this "bad client" around before it's too late...

I’ll just marry someone to do the dishes.

Ah, it started out innocently enough. R, the 5 yr old: “I wish I was a grown-up.” He had woken up after half an hour by a bad dream; came downstairs and saw me reading a magazine. The glamour of grown-up life. He then talked me into some grannilla (granola) and I promptly returned to my dishwashing duty. We talked about all the responsibilities that come with being a grown-up and the myraid of fabulous things about being a kid. So, yeah, he basically got the don’t-wish-your-life-away schpiel. I did include that, like me, if he was a grown-up he would still be awake doing things like working or the dishes. “I’ll just marry someone to do the dishes.”

Houston, we’ve got a BIG problem...!