the elusive quiet…

I missed Fotos Friday here at Mrs Metaphor but I thought I’d circle back around and show up with Support Sunday! For your consideration I have embedded this short video. It is safe for work and safe for home. Here then, is a peek into my creative process…


Want more information? Check out my Kickstarter page. The goal is to raise $6500 by April 1st to pay for publishing/printing/editing of the book.



I’ve been Facebook-ing…as you know but now also I’ve begun Twitter-ing which, it seems is just all about documenting what I’m doing all the time.

Every time I type up a “status” line on either of these I am reminded of an old Louie Anderson stand up bit about being in First Class on a plane so I YouTube-d that and found it. It’s kind of a long piece but hilarious, I think. The part I’m thinking of is actually at the very end…of course.

I’m only posting this because sometime at a party I’m going to make an obscure joke about it to one of you and I’m hoping someone will get it. So there’s that.

Binary Solo

You’ve met the Flight of the Conchords already here on Mrs Metaphor so they should be familiar to you…they should feel like family now, yes?

So, here’s some fun for you this week…no metaphorical implications come to mind immediately but obviously if something comes to you then I’d be glad to hear it.
: )

Stress Relief

I love my Aunt Barb…she sends me things like this all the time. Here’s a hint, put it in “manic” mode for hours of fun.

Stress Relief


I confess that I think one of my blogger friends may have posted this in the past but in my parenting stupor I just cannot rightly recall…so Aunt Barb gets the credit.  

Fortune Telling Fish

I’m trying to space ’em out…I really am. This one goes along with my strong desire for a Magic 8 Ball from God.


fortune telling fish

it does not take a scientist
to know
that it is all
about heat
rising from the palm
lifting up the edges
and yet
in the moment
all I want
is to think
that even this flimsy piece of plastic
knows more than I do

Rules of Engagement

My Lenten task this year is becoming more and more refined as I walk through each day. My sacrifice this season is to “choose the good.” You might say at first blush, “Well gee, Mrs M…that’s no sacrifice!” but you would be wrong, my friend. It does feel like a loss to let go of a way of behaving that I’ve grown accustomed to…quite a lot it seems. It has not been easy to give up these little battles without the usual fight or retreat into fantasy brain land. It’s hard to explain but just trust me, it’s not easy and it is a sacrifice. You do trust me, don’t you?Don’t answer that (unless it’s “YES”)

This is the moment though I wanted to put out there to you today. Observe Miles, my youngest…


It’s hard to tell from this picture but he was in character…as he is often. He decided today that he would smear pancake syrup on both of his hands and perhaps his face for this character. He was the “Silver Surfer” from the Fantastic Four. When he tried to leave my kitchen obviously I started in with the mama hissy fit and wiped his hands and face. He had a meltdown. He was shouting and crying and I was about to shout, myself….as I am apt to do.

In that moment though, here’s the thing, I decided to choose the good.

In this case  I felt the “good” was not to go Dictator-ville on the guy. He was in character and I was ruining his character. Yes, I’m the mama and I’m in charge of cleaning up the syrup hand prints around the house and yet, I kept thinking…choose the good, choose the good…and I chose to engage rather than enrage. (Like that? It’s copyrighted by me but you can use it if you want.)

You see I have these choices that I didn’t really see before. I had thought until, um, last week, that it was my JOB to be the killjoy. I had thought that imposing my iron will in my typical Bohemian Dictator style was just what the Dr. Phil ordered but alas, it’s never been a terribly good fit for us as a family.

In taking a minute to pause and consider the “good” I realized that all I really needed to do just then was engage him…so I did. I put down whatever I was doing and first smeared his hands with syrup again to get us to the peace table. Then I sat down next to him and said, “So tell me about your life here, man…what do you need?” and he began to tell me the story of his “character” and why it was important for the character to have sticky hands. Truthfully, I still don’t get why he has to have sticky hands but that’s beside the point. The point is that he was calm (albeit sticky) and I was calm (and actually amused) and we were having a little moment right there.

When we were done talking I said, “So, you know…you can do this in the kitchen but no sticky syrup hands anywhere else, right?” and he agreed. It took him about three minutes of playing and then he asked me to wash his hands and face off…so I did. And that was that.

I’m generally of the belief in the childrearing part of my life that everything works once and for about 5 minutes at a time and then next time it’s like a totally different television show so I don’t delude myself into thinking that what I’ve got here is a magic bullet. What I do have here though is a really nice moment and I treasure those, I gather those up and hold them close in me. Hopefully that is like a little emotional vitamin to help fortify me for the next time.

I need a lot of these but I’ll take them one at a time.

Overheard at my house….

Bear in mind that I basically avoided entering the conflict on this one because it was too good an exchange to not transcribe.  

Overheard at my house this morning

Henry (5) pounding on his sister Riley’s (10) door:
“Let me in!”

Riley from behind the door:
“No, I want to be alone”

“No, you’re not allowed to be alone.”

“Go away, I want to be alone!”

“No, that is not appropriate!”

Riley: (still behind the closed door)
“Yes it is…mom tell him I’m allowed to be alone!”
“No, nobody is allowed to be alone in this house.  Only dad is allowed to be alone!”

“Go away. Mom tell him to go away!”

“Mom, tell her to let me in.”

“Fine, you can come in if you tell me how much 5 times 5 is…”

Chet: (age 7, from downstairs)
“You can’t give him quizzes, Riley.”

Riley: (still yelling from behind her closed door)
“Yes I can…I can do what I want!”

“That’s not fair, I have no idea”

“Then ask him 1 plus 1”

“Fine, then you have to do a chore for me”

“I don’t do chores…”

This went on for a while but basically they decided amongst themselves that to play a game of Twister would decide whether or not Riley would allow Henry to come in and play with her.  Chew on that one a little while…
There’s your verbal snapshot of my life for this morning…