Brain Dump, or Therapy for the Impatient Mother

The youngest two Wafflers road-tripped back from the west coast with my parents after the wedding, stopping to play in all sorts of places along the way. I'm thrilled that they had the opportunity to create memories like that with my folks. When I think about the trip they're taking now, I think of my daughters as their future selves, snuggled in bed with daughters of their own, telling them the stories of the summer they hightailed it through the mountains with Mema. I can only imagine the silly conversations going on in that vehicle. They're due home any minute now. I'm delighted that they had the experience. It's awesome.

But.

I miss my kids.

I miss them so much that I cleaned their rooms today in anticipation of their arrival. And I asked Waffle Guy to hang new curtains for them. I baked them my Super Top-Secret Recipe Chocolate-Butterscotch Cookies of Ridiculous Goodness (with sea salt flakes). I laundered all their bedding with extra fabric softener, so it smells good, like the Middlest likes. I really miss them.

The weather, however, is not cooperating. Two lines of severe thunderstorms have moved through the area, slowing my family's homeward progress by a couple of hours. I normally love a good storm more than just about anyone, but this time, I miss my kids so much that I want boring weather.

And so, I'm here, writing to kill time. This sucks for you, the reader, because I have nothing to say, really. So you might be bored. In the spirit of consideration, however, I thought of some stuff to show you. Some of it might even be fun. We'll get through this together. It will be okay.

First, here's a picture of a palm tree in the sunshine through a rain-covered window. I took this photograph from a bus in Puerto Rico, where I went with the Middlest's school in June. It was one of the best weeks of my life.

If you hate trees, that's okay. I have a photograph of a baby bird, too. I didn't actually take this one. My amazing "escalator daughter" Taylor took it. We found the baby bird in Brooklyn. He was drowning by the side of the road in one of the craziest rain storms I'd ever seen, and there was no mama bird trying to save him. We watched. No mama.

So...we found a great organization in Manhattan that agreed to take him in and rehabilitate him, but first we had to smuggle him on the Subway from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side at rush hour. Every time the sweet little baby bird squeaked in hunger, I glared at the escalator daughters and told them to stop squeaking their shoes. It worked out perfectly. At the Wild Bird Fund, they named the bird Kate, which was nice of them, except I'm pretty sure it was a boy bird. There is absolutely no scientific basis for the male gender assignment to the bird, as I don't even remotely understand how to sex a bird. But I just have a gut feeling that it was a dude-bird named Kate. It's good to see that we've come far enough that the fellas want our names, no?

If you're the sort of person that hates trees and birds, all is not lost. Try this one on for size. Here's a photograph of a Ninja Turtle with Paul Bunyon in his head. He was made at an event at my new gallery by my awesome brother, Tylo, who knows a lot about what goes on inside the heads of Ninja Turtles.

If you're the sort of person who hates birds and trees and Ninja Turtles who have Paul Bunyon on their minds, then I'm afraid I can't help you. As a consolation prize, here's me with a motorcycle dude who is dressed up like a cow, and has a giant, helmeted stuffed cow on the back of his bike.

Now don't you wish you'd acted interested in palm trees?