Feeling creative

I feel a massive creative outburst coming on. Awesomely enough, it looks as if I might have a little bit of time this weekend to indulge it. I’m not sure exactly how it will manifest itself. Touch up the hood of my car and then design something crazy for the passenger’s side? Record myself reading a bunch of children’s books and poems for Jamie and Hazel and Ollie? Break out the watercolors? Finish the last few details on the still-unfinished Wild Things mural on my office wall? Head to Hobby Lobby for paint so I can work on the Lorax mural I started but never quite finished on the side of the garage? Work on a more permanent design for next year’s dragon-in-the-garden sculpture? Paint another random butterfly on the kitchen wall? Paint another lawn gnome? All of the above?

My boss is trying to get permission for me to paint my classroom ceiling. I want to cover it with test-taking tips and vocabulary words and all manner of educational craziness. My goal is to plan it now, then haul a bunch of tiles home, paint them over Christmas break, and put them back up when school resumes in January. I think the kids will get a kick out of it.

It’s funny: People think my fondness for painting on every available surface is strange, but it doesn’t seem at all unusual to me. My mom painted Winnie-the-Pooh characters all over my bedroom walls when I was about 4. When I was 9, I had to have a rainbow, so she broke out kitchen sponges and colorful paint and turned my whole bedroom into the sky. At 12, I developed an inexplicable fascination with palm trees, so Mom covered my wall with a vibrant sunset over the ocean, with big palm trees silhouetted against it. Somehow it never occurred to me to think it was odd that I lived in a house full of murals. It was just something Mom did because she loved us and wanted us to be comfortable in our surroundings.

How awesome is it that I can look back on my childhood and go, “Oh, yeah — we just took it for granted that there would be giant murals of whatever we liked on the walls”? And how much more awesome is it that both my husband and my boss are cool with the fact that I’ve never outgrown the need to have my favorite things painted all over the place?


The bleak December

Ah, distinctly, I remember,
It was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember
Wrought its ghost upon the floor.

— Edgar Allan Poe

I can’t believe it’s already December. It doesn’t feel like 10 months since I was celebrating the start of pitchers’ and catchers’ camp, or nine months since spring break, or eight months since EOI testing … and it definitely doesn’t feel like almost a year since the first Trip Guide ad landed on my desk.

It’s amazing what an endless series of deadlines will do to distort your sense of time.

I am SO not ready for another Trip Guide season. I need about three more bowls of chili from the Rock Cafe and a few Christmas decorations in the living room before I can even begin to wrap my head around that….