It's not Hollywood Blvd, but it'll do

Our local police conducted a prostitution sting in our neighborhood last week, and netted 40 arrests, both female prostitutes (one male) and male patrons. Although I had heard that prostitution was active in our area, I didn't realize it was so close, or so rampant. Mostly because the women I see on the streets targeted by the sting do not fit with any code I have for 'prostitute'. The women I see either look like me (28-40, pushing stroller or herding small children), or have too tight jeans, and filthy hair and t-shirts, and no bra as they spazz down the street. Is this the Midwestern version of a prostitute?

Contemplating this news story reminded me of my years in graduate school in Long Beach. After separating from (and eventually divorcing) my first husband, I moved into a two-bedroom two-bath apartment with friends from school, Dave & Kip, a married couple. The place looked nice, but we had many issues -- the walls were so thin that when the upstairs neighbors showered it woke me up, the local biker gang zoomed up and down the alley at all hours, and car break-ins were frequent. We wondered, right from the start, why the carport directly under our unit, always seemed to have two or three manky looking men hanging out. We thought perhaps it was because from the carport they could disappear down one of three streets were police to drive by. Then one night I came home late, to find Dave waiting up for me with a fantastic story.

Dave had heard a commotion downstairs, and gone down and found two guys fighting and brawling. He tried to shoo them away, then called the cops. The police scattered the men, then left. Dave went back down, having earlier seen someone in one of the storage closets in the carport, and noticed the hasp was broken. He pushed open the door of the storage closet, and a mans voice saying "whoa!", before the light in the closet went out. He thought he caught a glimpse of a woman, and kept an eye out. Later he saw a man and woman walking out of the carport, and down the alley. "You know how there are High-Class Ho's and Low-Class Ho's? Well this was a No-Class Ho!" He described her outfit, spandex bike shorts and ratty t-shirt, looking unbathed at best. And we realized why men were always hanging out in the carport -- they were waiting in line! It was the homeless prostitute!

Now I realize she must have moved to California from the Midwest.

Project Results: Art & Garden

The summer art project is completed, and although the batteries on the camera gave out while I was in the midst of photographing the pieces, I did manage to get images of some of the pieces. The project is one I have taught many times (and am in the midst of teaching again): Famous Painter Self-Portrait. So, take a famous painter and do a self-portrait (you, not the painter) based on the style and palette of that painter. It leads to many interesting pieces.


Self-Portrait as Kirchner

Self-Portrait as Rothko. This one confused some people, one thought I was kidding, some just didn't see how a Rothko could be translated as a self-portrait. This is pretty much a direct re-creation of Rothko's "#2". As soon as I saw the painting I saw how it could be interpreted as a face.

Self-Portrait as Modigliani.

Self-Portrait as Modersohn-Becker (not Gaugin, although there are strong similarities).

On Thursday we got home from shopping and found a surprise waiting for us.

A little background: On August 12, Arabella and I were in the garden and I found a bunch of large yellow, black and white striped caterpillars. We took the two largest and put them in Arabella's bug catcher, along with leaves of the plant we found them on (morning glory vines, I think). For a day and a half they were fine, then we found them hanging from the top of the catcher, and later that day they made pupae. I explained to Arabella that they MUST BE LEFT ALONE. But within 24 hours she had picked them off the lid of the bug catcher and was rattling them around. I put them out of reach (even high up for me) and explained that they might not be able to turn into butterflies if they were not left alone. I really doubted they would come out after their rough treatment.

But this past Thursday we got home, and as I put my keys away I noticed something odd in the bug catcher, A BUTTERFLY! We took it outside to let it dry its wings, took a few pictures, and left it alone.

I was hopeful that the other would also come out of its pupa, but so far, four days have passed and the pupa just gets blacker, but no butterfly. Arabella is a bit sad, but happy about the other, now liberated, butterfly. I don't know what kind of butterfly this is. Monarch? Viceroy? Something else?

This winter I will be thinking of how to make a butterfly cage for next summer so we can spend a little more time with the beauties before we let them go.

Gardening for children

Today another mother from Arabella's preschool told me, with a sigh, that Sam (her 6-year-old) was having difficulty transitioning from Preschool (and co-op) to the local public Kindergarten, which started just last week. "He told me on the way home today that it was different than he expected, he thought it would be more like preschool, lots of time playing and outdoors in the garden.

"And then he said, 'but, Mom, I can't even FIND the garden.' And I said, 'what garden?'

"'Mo-om, Kinder-Garden.'"

You never know until you need it

Yesterday was our rush day.

The Man was headed off to the far reaches of the Midwest (Illinois, but as far from Chicago as possible, mentally and physically, and cell-phone-ally), and after dropping him at the van-pool to get a vehicle, Arabella and I ran errands, culminating with taking the car to the shop for an oil change and an investigation into why there was a disturbing rattling coming from it when I started it up. Its only two blocks, so we walked back with her in the stroller, with car seat hanging on the back, and made side trips to the library and the mini park, where we ran into one of her non-school buddies. The weather felt heavy, like it might rain, but still humid and hot, and walking from the park the one long block was hard, made harder when I realized Arabella was holding her foot on the wheel of the stroller, slowing down my already slow slog. Like being hugely pregnant isn't impediment enough.

The car was done, but it began raining, and thundering and lightning too. We waited until the rain slowed, then slogged back to the shop ($49, oil change, air filter, welding back the little doohickey that holds the exhaust system onto the car), and came home. I felt everything was going well. We discovered the Man is in a part of the world that gets no cell phone reception, but has dsl, so he emailed to say he had arrived safe and sound. Seriously, my grandmothers farm in rural Texas gets cell phone reception, why doesn't small town Illinois?

And as I was about to shepherd Arabella up to bath & bed, the lights went out. All up and down our street. Arabella kept trying to turn on and off various lights, and then complaining that they didn't work, and I should fix them. The Man keeps about a dozen flashlights all over the house, and in the studio, and I can't find a single one, since we have them hidden from Arabella. And apparently from me too. I found my candles, and went hunting for matches, lighters, something. Since the Man stopped smoking in January, the lighters have become scarce. And the stove, though gas, has an electric starter, so I couldn't light the candles there. I didn't want to go rummaging around in the dark basement trying to see the flame in the hot water heater.

So I took Arabella (barefoot) and we sloshed over to our neighbors house. A week ago, our neighbor had a scare, with a young man the police were searching the street for hiding out in her sun room (fortunately not accessible to the inside of the house), so I was careful. She doesn't seem the kind to shoot through her door, but with the lights out and the sun room invader fresh in her memory, I didn't want to take a chance. I knocked ... very ... slowly. And tried to keep my face where she could see it in the twilight if she looked through the window. As it was, she was paniked but relieved to see us. And she had a lighter, but no candles. Just as I was lighting the candles to head back home, the lights came back on.

As I tucked Arabella in bed, she asked why the lights all went out, and I said, it was the electricity, in all the houses, that's what runs our lights. She said, "I don't want Lec-Tee-See", and I said, "but without electricity there is no tv, either," and she got a thoughtful look and decided maybe it wasn't all bad.

Middle Name Submissions

We're still accepting middle name submissions. Something to go with Sabine. Let us know.

Decisions on Naming

We have come to a decision on naming the Bean, her first name will be

Sabine

Arabella is very disappointed, as she thinks we should name the baby Arabella. When we point out this is her name, and it might be confusing, she just says 'yes, two Arabellas.' Can you hear the screaming from where you are?

We are still considering second names, but I think agreeing on a first is the most important part. Submissions for second names will be considered, so submit away.

State Fair

Yesterday we went to the Indiana State Fair. I don't recall the California State Fair being this much fun, but that might be because I only went with Dad, and he didn't want to do anything except look at the birds. And in my recollection the weather was gray and rainy.

But not for my kid! No, I had to go when Indiana is in the grips of a record setting heat wave! And I am humongously pregnant and waddling about. So I had a plan. The plan involved making sure we took the Man with us (which only gave us a two day window of a ten day event, since he works weekends), and leaving early in the day, so that we could get in maximum fun with minimum heat.

We left early Monday morning, so that we would have plenty of time to see the Pork Chop Revue, with singing and performing pigs, and took in plenty of other things along the way, like woodworkers, and quilters, and a huge and dangerous looking saw mill, with a team of oxen pulling the logs into place. We saw dairy cows and tiny two day old calves (the Man says he will never participate in "learn how to milk a cow" activities). We saw Border Collie Puppies, and Arabella rode an elephant. I missed the actual boarding of the elephant, but the Man tells me she hopped on with no help and scooted herself right up to the front. That's our girl.

We took a break for lunch (cheeseburger, hot dog, cheese fries) after the pig revue and elephant ride, but Arabella was getting crabby, and we had our meltdown on the day. It was brief, though, and after lunch we went to the water display (from the water dept, or conservation, or something) and let Arabella run around in the sprinkler until she was drenched. That helped her mood a lot. From there we rode the tractor train to the horse barns, and saw Percheron and Clydesdales. We skipped the sheep barns (since I knew they have a yarn and wool store and really didn't want to be tempted), and headed instead through the show ring (Percheron competition) and dairy barn. Then it was the Midway, and the Man and Arabella rode on several rides. Arabella, the fearless one, had a blast on all but the giant slide (the Man kept saying, are you SURE she's OK) where she didn't keep her feet together or in front of her, and came down in a big sideways starfish sprawl. She looked very unhappy, she sobbed as she came off, climbed into Daddy's arms , and said "again, daddy". She begged to go on the giant Ferris Wheel (not that giant, but Mommy don't do Ferris Wheels, pregnant or not), then asked Daddy halfway through, "why are we on this?"

Following the Midway (and burning through $20 in tickets in about 30 minutes) we ate a giant Funnel Cake covered in powdered sugar. I had seen them, but never before eaten one, and was surprised to discover that its a beignet. Except like lace. Then the breeze picked up and splatted the funnel cake into the Man's shirt, leaving powdered sugar all over him and Arabella. We shook ourselves out and headed over to the DNR building to tease the Man's coworkers and look at giant native fish, before heading home for a much deserved long nap.

I had a lady tell me I have a beautiful belly.

Seeing the glee in Arabella's face when she rode a kiddie roller coaster or saw the puppies or rode on her daddy's shoulders made my heart glow. We had a great time.

Summer plans

I really shouldn't look at yarn. I have too many things to do. I am pretty good at staying away from yarn stores at times like this (it's not too different from dieting, don't put it on my plate and I won't eat it), but the internet is totally different. "I'm just going to LOOK, I won't actually buy anything," I tell myself. I haven't bought anything, but it comes close enough ...

Things to do this month:

1. Buy a minivan. No, I'm not kidding.
2. Change our cell phones. Now that our service agreement has expired, we are shopping for a new service, something with new phones that doesn't jerk us around. Oh yeah, and that we don't lose signal walking into the house.
3. Clean out the 3rd bedroom, which has languished as the weird sewing room / guest bedroom, but come Ocotber will be a nursery. I must find a home for all the fabrics and yarn in the gargantuan wardrobe (it came with the house, I think because it was too big to remove, at least in one piece) and remove the wardrobe.
4. Find someone to come and clean the ventilation system.
5. Knit two more baby sweaters (one in black, one in purple) for the Bean, and two hats. And maybe, if I really get motivated, a baby bunting. I may deep-six the knitted bunting and sew one out of fleece. It takes me less time to sew something than to knit it, once I locate all the tools I need, but when #3 on the list is accomplished, this should be less problematic.

With the conclusion of my ceramic project, Arabella finished her summer preschool / daycare. She has been itching to get back to her "old" school (the co-operative preschool where she went all last year, and is all set to start again this fall). The good side of the summer preschool -- her alphabet and counting skills have vastly improved in a short time. The down side has been an increased amount of hitting and temper tantrums, and other unacceptable behaviors. It may only be a phase, but I think some of these rougher behaviors stem from playing with older and less disciplined children. Also, Arabella complained about her teacher yelling and about the older kids calling her "stinky" (I have never noticed her being more stinky than any other 3YO, so I'm not sure where that came from).

Why We Like Pasta

I get asked ferquently how Arabella is taking to the idea of having a baby sister. I think most people asking think that she is unhappy about the situation, or already showing jealousy. It's hard for a 3 year old to be jealous of something that hasn't appeared yet. Actually she is very excited, and has been trying to help me to put together baby stuff. She's looking forward to Mommy being able to pick her up again (the fact that she is less than 2 feet shorter than me not entering into her consciousness of why it is difficult for me to lift her), and run (rather than amble slowly) around the backyard.

But mostly, she is pretending to be pregnant too. She loves eating rotelli pasta, and then telling me she has macaroni babies in her tummy, and can feel them wiggling around. I tried to once explain that you don't get a baby in your tummy by eating it, but decided almost immediately to leave that discussion for a later date, so now I just agree with her macaroni baby assessment.

Arabella is part Italian, which may explain to some degree her love for all things pasta, garlic, sausage, and mozzarella cheese, but I didn't realize that Italian babies were made of pasta.

In other news

I have finished the knitting on a baby doll sweater forArabella's bitty baby to match the sweater I made for the Bean. I just have to sew up the seams and the ribbon closures. I'm planning on making a little sling for her to carry bitty baby around. She has a stroller and a carrying basket for the baby doll. She's probably better prepared than I am.

The Bean is not kicking so much as squirming and wriggling lately, it is entertaining to watch my belly move about. I am swollen in the ankles, to the point where I only just recognize the peanut toes at the ends of my fet, but not anything from arch to knee as being mine. And I have developed a mild summer cold, in the middle of a heat wave. I'm trying to keep my feet up as much as possible, but it is not easy. And my appetite is dwindling again, so I am planning to make an apple pie today or tomorrow (sh, don't tell the Man, I want to surprise him).

The ceramic project is very nearly done, and would have been much closer had I not glazed a piece that was due for shooting in bisque stage. I realized my mistake before it was fired, but I wasted an hour of work and felt like an idiot. Tomorrow is my last planned day of working on the project, we will see how it turns out.

The Drama Queen saga continues ...

Arabella is going through a particularly trying phase of being three. We were thinking that perhaps her behavior issues were stemming from a lack of sleep (she not only is waking early but often we can hear her up and running about long after bedtime, as late as 10:30). So two nights ago I told her at bedtime that she needed to Stay In Her Bed, not get out of bed at all until morning, when I come to wake her, and that we can hear her, so if we hear her running around we will have to come upstairs. After going over this, I said, "Do you understand what that means?"

She said: "Yeah, I have to tip-toe."