In the tradition of centuries of cave artists, Finn is proudly following in their footsteps.  He takes after his mother, who carved and wrote, “I hat mom and dad,” and numerous other abominations anywhere she could find a blank space.  I have to admit that I am thankful Finn doesn’t understand he can use the pencil/crayon for public displays of juvenile displeasures (of which he apparently has plenty).  For now, I am satisfied that he seems to be using his space creatively.  What might it be?  A heart?  He and Liam?  A display of Oedipal/mammarian undertones?  Those are all the suggestions of others.  I thought it was a skull, probably mine.  That, or because of its location, and the time it probably occurred, it could be a fruit-fly.  I seem to recall swatting a fly, and then seeing Finn mimic me, but remaining focused on the wall a little longer than usual.  He’s an odd child.  When he dances, he does the Monkey…and no, we did not teach him that, it was a complete coincidence, and we are trying to figure out where he learned it.  It is a bit more interpretive though.  He keeps his hands like pincers, and his movements are very precise, very slow.  Whereas Liam, well, he likes to rub his belly with his sweet moves.

We have many lovely pieces of art, which I treasure, hanging on our walls, and now, I have one more to add to that.  It sits right above the dog bowls, next to the trash can…and I imagine that it will sit there until Nana gets here next weekend.  If I had my way, it would just stay there forever.  I might even paint a frame around it, or just cut it out of the drywall.

Will says grumbly things when I start mentioning Lebowski mini-fest, or a National Talk Like a Pirate mini-Yargh-down.  So, my new plan is to complete the demolition of the remaining carpet in the house and gussy up the concrete floors with some acid stain.  After that’s done (how long could all of that possibly take, right?) I will instead plan on having a Proust Fest with what else, but Madeleinesand tilleul tea, and maybe toast, as it seems to be what Proust was really dunking into the tilleul.  I have to say that I appreciate his replacing toast with madeleines, as they are quite a bit tastier than toast. 

So, where was I going?  Oh yeah, the floors.  Will has had plenty of grumblies and not a lot of conviction about the floor issue…my dining room and kitchen are still a sort of floor-grotesque.  They are floors…but, they don’t belong in any manner of livable space, or polite company (of which we know very little anyway ).  We have been ignoring the fact that we have a dining room for so long now, that when we used it last, I stepped on a mummified frog, several bits of worm-jerky, and some other stuff whose origins I do not wish to contemplate (apparently, these outdoor-belongy things are attracted to exposed concrete). 

Heck, that’s what G can do for me.  He can give me a hand with the floors, because I cannot abide them as they are.  I’ll even make him a cup of tea, and serve the madeleines on a doily.

So, I guess what it will boil down to is me scraping and cleaning and staining the concrete, and having my own little tea party, possibly while I watch Captain Jack Sparrow, The Dude, or my current favorite guilty pleasure, “Jack of All Trades“…eeeeeee!

Sound like fun?  You are more than welcome to join me!  I’ll hand you a face mask, a scraper, a set of “shpackle” knives, and we’ll make it an event to rival the [insert "fest" of choice here] of the year.  C’mon!  You know you want to!  Just be careful to avoid accidentally cleaning off any of our new artwork.  For that’l cost you all of your madeleines and tea!

Pru