song bird

I think I might have eaten a booger this morning, but I can't be sure.

Birdie has taken a hard stand against morning naps and so we wrestle it out in the rocking chair. She slaps me in the face with her flailing free hand and works up a froth of spit and boogers to try to repulse me. To any regular person it would be a great defense. But I'm a mother, and it takes more than snot to send me packing.

It's our morning smack down. I hold her close to me and I make sure to never ever lose.

And I sing. Sometimes hymns, but mostly I sing Native American chants that I make up while I pat her bottom to the beat.

We sing a lot in this house. Not well. But we do sing.

Birdie Sings a Ballad from April Meeker on Vimeo.

I thought I had a hang nail this morning and I went to bite it off with my teeth but it wasn't a hang nail. It was salty.

I went ahead and swallowed anyway, because after all, I am a mother. These things don't phase me anymore.

fat camp

The stress has come home to roost. And when I say "come home" I mean on my thighs.

I may or may not have been eating Now and Laters and Fritos into the wee hours of the evening on more than one occasion.

So.

I was totally game when I came downstairs to find that Natalie, a.k.a. Rosie, had typed up a weight loss plan for me. Evidently she was a little tired of hearing me complain about tight jeans as I stuffed as much bread pudding into my mouth as possible.

I was genuinely excited about our twice a day work-outs and smaller portions of healthier food.

"And", she added, "Only one sweet per week."

"Yes. Yes. You're right. No more bread pudding! Skinny jeans here I come!" I was really getting pumped up.

"And..." she held up her hand to calm me, "and I hid your secret chocolate stash."

Excusez moi si vous plait?

When Rosie was little, her taste buds didn't develop correctly and she doesn't like chocolate so she had no idea what she had done. I stood in stunned silence and watched her prepare to eat her lunch.

That chocolate stash was there for my health! I heard once on Oprah that eating an ounce of dark chocolate everyday was like taking a vitamin and I have lived that gospel for some years now.

I tapped my finger on the counter and slowed my breathing.

"Okay then, put the moussaka back in the fridge." I said right before she took her first bite.

"Really?"

"Yes really. Healthier food. Remember?"

So far, I'm up two pounds.

truth

Let us begin by committing ourselves to the truth-

to see it like it is and to tell it like it is-

to find the truth, to speak the truth and live the truth.

I'm going to level with you here.

I'm in over my head.

I've been running a show that is too big for me to handle. I'm at my limit. Strung out. Kaput.

And Jenny is to blame. She is the one that said, "You can do it! You have to do it! Everyone will help." Dear sweet girl that she is. God love her, she's just a sucker for a good party and she couldn't abide the fact that I wasn't going to throw the Meeker Extravaganza this year.

She talked me into it. Damn her.

I've have spent the last few weeks of my life in a haze, choking on what I had bit off.

Rosie worked diligently to save my sanity. She picked up the slack. She changed poopy diapers and loaded the dishwasher and and cut and pasted and arranged things to look just the way I like them. She is a saint and when I look at her I think I can make out the slight aura of a halo about her head.

But still...

I had a moment earlier this week when I swore that I was going to call everything off. No party. No Secondsister Winter collection. No church stuff. No more screaming baby. No more getting showered in the morning.

My little sister sent Thom an ant farm for his birthday. Isn't she sweet? Isn't she just a peach? I was so thankful I sent her daughter a full pack of Lick-Um-Stick sugar powder.

Anywho, she sent these ants and I was sitting, in despair, on The Boy's bed watching the ants. Let me tell you, those ants, they are hard workers. They seemed to be in a frenzy to move the sand around to create a little cozy space deep down in the habitat. They moved the sand grain by grain until they had it just so.

In my delirium, I realized something. And bear with me here, because this may seem like a very odd analogy, but like I said, I was a little crazed at the time. I realized that I could really learn something from those ants.

For the past month all I've heard is bad news. This person is getting divorced. This person's child has scarlet fever. Bankruptcy, family fights, death, rehab. No one had good news to tell me. I was getting down right depressed.

I realized Jenny was right. We needed a party. We needed to create a cozy little space where things were good and fun and lighthearted. And the way to make it happen was to take it on grain by grain.

So Rosie and I worked like the ants. At times crawling over each other to get the job done. And Jenny, because she is true blue, showed up at the eleventh hour to bust her tail and help us out.

And then the guests showed up. Fifty or so people with smiles and veggie platters and baba ganoush. And some of them had really good news to share. This person is pregnant. That girl just sold her first novel. This couple is being considered by two birth mothers! Weight loss, new jobs, goals met, birthdays!

And in just a few hours, it all became worth it. I nestled with my friends in our happy little space in the Universe and we celebrated. AND we raised a nice chunk of change for a family in need. I always have a raffle with really great prizes donated by all my uber talented friends and this year we raised more money than ever before.

I find that each year, more than anything, this party, this crazy party, reminds me what great friends I have. They are generous and funny and interesting and I really don't feel worthy.

So the truth is this:

It is only possible for me to live a creative, artful, fulfilling life because I am surrounded by people willing to help me. In a way, my entire life is photo shopped before you see it here. I seldom mention all the dirty work behind the scenes, but you should know, the truth is, there is dirty work to do and I have an army of amazing cronies that are there for me.

So if you are reading this, and you are one of those cronies, I just want to say thanks.

I owe you one.

The quote at the beginning of this post was taken from Richard Nixon's nomination acceptance speech.

Now that you know my secrets, the truth of how I do all the things I do, we must never speak of this again. I really like the photoshopped me.

annika & brie

I know, I know.

I've been flying a little under the radar lately.

What can I say?

Things are crazy.

I am smack dab in the middle of having company stay from out of town, setting up my new art room, planning a big party, working on my Winter jewelry collection, helping friends that have had surgery and slopping up baby barf every minute or so.

I'm a little busy.

I can't wait to share photos of the new room with you, but that might be a while in the making, soooooo.

I thought I'd post a few sketches I did a while back for a friend of mine who is starting a new business that may or may not require my services. It's all up in the air.

And quite frankly, I'm okay with that.

I really don't have time to give to anyone else at the moment.

So don't even ask.

Unless you are having surgery. Then I'll see what I can do.

a little spark of creativity

Okay guys, here's the deets.

I know some of you are wondering what this Spark thing is that I have been talking about. Go here and all will come to light.

The inspiration behind Spark is this talk by Dieter F. Uchtdorf which I think every women should watch.

Photo credit: Jefra Linn

I'll be demonstrating stamp carving and teaching a jewelry making class. The other classes are going to be equally as great. The four ladies behind the event are amazing. I'm totally stoked to be working with such great women!

I created a stamp just for the Spark event.

I want you to come! There is a limited number of spots available so get your trip planned and get your Spark on!

the big escape

This is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the guilty or innocent. We don't believe in crap like that.

Sugar Daddy started a new tradition. On Saturday mornings he takes the boy and the wild beast to Dog Beach. They stop at Leucadia Doughnuts on the way. Finnigan and Thom run around like banshees in the sand and surf and get all their energy out for the day.

I stay in bed and cuddle Birdie. It's wonderful.

A couple of Saturdays ago the boy came home with a pet. Now let it be known that I love animals and believe all children should be allowed to learn and grow through the responsibilities of caring for a pet.

But...

I'm not big on pets of the little variety. Mainly because they stink. Gerbils=stink. Birds=stink. Lizards, turtles and snakes=stink and creepiness.

I've never wanted my house to be a kid house. You know the type. Toys strewn about the living room. Science projects by the sink. Stinky little pets in bedrooms.

But I'm afraid it's becoming inevitable. The boy came home with a crab. His father, knowing it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission, had stopped at the pet store and bought an aquarium with all the bells and whistles.

They set it up in Thom's bathroom. "Eugene" had his new home. (Eugene, as in Eugene Crabs from Spongebob.)

Eugene stayed huddled in the corner for the first day, then he burrowed under the rocks.

Or so we thought.

On his third day at the Meeker house Eugene went on the lamb.

I was on the phone with my dad when I spotted something in the far corner of the kitchen wedged underneath the cabinets. I got closer to have a look and gasped into the receiver when it dawned on me that I was looking at Eugene's corpse.

It seems his gamble didn't pay off.

But what a display of sheer determination! People, this little crab crawled out of the tank and down the bathroom cabinets. He must have gone through Thom's room, down the hall, took a hard right, and scaled down two flights of stairs. At that point I can only imagine his excitement to see a door leading outside. Freedom at last! But he still had a ways to go, down the hall and through the kitchen. He must have been simply exhausted. I wonder what went through his mind as defeat overcame him, as he realized the door was shut tight, that he was slowly drying out with no where to go.

Poor Eugene.

"What am I going to tell him?" I asked my dad. "He's going to be so upset! He only had him a couple of days!"

I tried to break the news to Thom as gently as I possibly could. I put him on my lap. I stroked his hair and explained that Eugene was no more. I waited for the tears.

"Good." he said. "Now I can get those fish that I really wanted at the pet store."


Such sentimentality.

sweet sweet honey bees

MySpace Music Playlist at MixPod.com

I'm not a passionate person per say. I have a handful of things that I feel very strongly about. But they could all be listed on my palm with a Sharpie.

Family. Faith. Fashion. You know, stuff like that.

But political things boggle my mind and although I surround myself with opinionated people, I am usually reluctant to take a hard stand on things. I don't want to be like all the people walking around blabbing that the world was flat just before Magellan debunked the whole system.

I like to keep my options open. What's that about saying less and seeming smarter?

But I find that I have become down right passionate about the lowly plight of the honey bee. Did you know that they are dissappearing?

Antropologie recently got on board to shed light on the problem.

I just love Antro more and more.

Hagen Daz ice cream has been running a huge campaign to save the bees for a while now. You can read about what you can do to help here, on their site.

I thought I would start my own hive this past Spring, but instead of a queen bee, I brought home our little princess. The hive was put on hold, but not forgotten.

Maybe next spring...

Secondsister Honey. I like the sound of that.

she sleeps

And a peace fell over the land.

And the people were happy.

I went to see Hans to get rid of my hag hair and to hear the gossip. Hans is a show in and of himself. He told me I need a staff.

Should I be offended by that?

He told me all kinds of juicy little tidbits about his ex-wife and about opening day at the Del Mar Race Track. He told me about all the different hats the women wore and the linen suits the men wore. He described what a mint julep tastes like.

I told him about the baby barf and described what it's like to eat your lunch while you water the plants and scoop the dog poop in the yard before the baby wakes up and the barfing starts anew.

That's when he said I need a staff.

People- my staff has arrived.

Rosie recently graduated with a degree in Human Performance and she fled the state of Utah for the balmy San Diego climate. She moved in with us until she finds a job and her own place. She is personal trainer, cook, childcare and girlfriend all wrapped into one.

She is my staff.

Do you think she would be offended if I introduced her as such?

bogged blog

Here's a question for ya.

Why is it that when mothers of young children wear skirts, said children love to lift up the skirt and expose things that mother's seldom want exposed?

I was waiting for my burrito at Rubio's and watching a little girl slowly push her mother's dress up until an entire hip was exposed. The mother was paying for her food and didn't notice.

I, of course, got a good laugh at this, because, well, it is funny as long as it isn't happening to me.

It reminded me of the time I was paying for books and I felt a draft only to discover that Thom's head was against the small of my back and he was holding up my skirt for all the world to see.

Thank heaven it was a book store and most people's noses were buried in their books because, I guarantee, with the kind of underwear I wear- it wasn't a pretty sight. These saddle bags have a few oats in them.

Here's another question:

Why is it that sticky baby fingers always find the tender hair at the nape of your neck?

And this:

Why is it that the baby always spits up in the few seconds before you put on a dry bib?

To be honest, I'm totally bogged down in parenthood right now. Birdie was diagnosed with acid reflux and the boy has a ragging case of End of Summer Obnoxiousitis. For me this means there is a whole lot of crying going on at my house and quite frankly it has lead me to ask myself another question.

Why is it I don't drink?