Family = A Big

Designs for sale

Baby Jane's getting into the family business. There needs to be no explanation when you consider that she's creating work far superior to that of her old man.

This guy is her version of something that i was working on. I know. It's so totally rad and much more interesting to look at than the original. I don't even want to do a side by side comparison. Her drawing is that much better.

This is what happens when you show up two minutes late to give a proposal at a meeting and you realize that you're really about fifteen minutes early. I think it's the logo for a new campaign to promote letting go... 

or grabbing hold... 

or both.

The bat loses its wings

My four-year-old daughter and i collaborated on this conceptual piece of music about a baby bat who takes flight for the first time, loses his wings, and then must reattach them before flying home to be reunited with his mother. The whole idea included making CDs accompanied by activity books and t-shirts under the title, "The Bat Loses Its Wings". We did that; and it all originated in the mind of that tiny little lady of mine. Over the course of several months, the two of us drew all the pieces of our little project together. We then decided, after much deliberation, that we would christen our little creative outfit/band: Call Me Kitty. 

And it was so. 

These two tiny friends helped lay the instrumental groundwork for the flight of our titular character. They are the major players in the Call Me Kitty arsenal.

Here are some stax of bats and bat-related activities that have since been distributed to the people with whom we shared holiday festivities.

Feast your eyes upon this pair of masterpieces completed by two of Baby Jane's young pals. This is the young artist's dream realized. Voila!

And now, without further ado, please enjoy the following ten minutes of musical whimsey which we call...

Movement I: It Was a Lovely Day

Movement II: Taking to the Sky

Movement III: The Bat Loses Its Wings

Movement IV: Falling

Movement V: Searching...

Movement VI: Glue

Movement VII: The Bat Loses Its Wings (Reprise)

Movement VIII: Going Home

Movement IX: Mama's Wings

Thanks for listening.

Sweet dreams, margot tannenbaum

And so begins the first full week of twenty thirteen. We've been undressing the tree of festivity and trying to pretend that our hearts aren't breaking inside. Sorry, olde gal, it's time to pull you limb from limb, stuff you into a box, and throw you into the garage until next year. When the time arrives, we'll have some friendly cutout head ornaments for your branches. Baby jane and i have been working tirelessly on them for about forty-five minutes. We know how much you enjoy the melodies of PEARL AND THE BEARD so we made an extra large one featuring their lovely faces.

See ya next year, you ole tannenbaum you.

Fresh conception

Metaphor cocktails

One of the super-rad things about having kids is when they come to you with ideas that are both super-ambitious and ultra-inspiring. For four years now, baby jane has been witness to my many creative shenanigans including sound recordings, live performances, not-so-children's books, screen printed apparel, and the like. Sometime during the summer, she realized that while perhaps lacking the resources and know-how to see it to completion, surely she could concoct a project far more epic than anything her olde man could dream up. And so, in a flurry of well-placed compliments and dangerous hand-gestures she shared her vision with me: A redemptive story of a bat told through music and interactive visuals lovingly packaged together with a screen-printed tee shirt to be worn and/or shared with one's beloved. 

"BRRRRRRILLIANT!" i exclaimed with great joy and anticipation. We quickly got started on laying out the narrative of her story. Months later, we began to demo the movements of the musical composition. Now, here we are and the dawn of november and we're in the process of recording, mixing, drawing, creating, et al. 

The other great thing about kids is that they typically can't read your mind. Of course, there are those times when you have in mind a certain way that they will create the artwork for a project you're collaborating on, yet they throw you a curve and steer the whole thing in a slightly different direction. (Mixed metaphors are fun, huh?) In this particular case, my simple idea of an illustrated booklet has been upgraded to a more robust, slightly bigger, interactive activity book by the young architect herself.

So there it is. I'm working on a concept album with my four year old daughter. I can only imagine that it gets even more exciting from here on out. Although, at some point, she's going to discover that her olde man is holding her back and she'll surround herself with more creative folk than myself to help her bring her art to life. Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Purple jane, purple jane

It's time we all reach out for something new.

That means you too.

Colour forms

This one is a portrait of daddy riding a bicycle, although it appears to be a tricycle and/or a mickey mouse head and/or partial drum kit. Note the wild and wooly mane bursting forth from that electric blue hoodie! Nailed it, sister.

Fireworks layered on two sides of single sheet of college-ruled paper. Depth. Colour. Radiant. Ain't no indiana drought gonna keep these fireworks down.

Self-portrait by the artist. She appears to be performing a new ballet move whilst her golden curls dance in unison atop her happy green head.

All original artwork by baby jane.

copyright (c) 2012, call me kitty, all rights reserved

Walk on, children

Half a week after returning home from a week of teaching, singing, and catching up with olde and neue friends, i feel i still haven't recovered. We're trying to figure out where to go from here. I tend to lean toward making to-do lists. That may not be a bad move, but i've got a strong sense that it's about time to be still and listen before making any major decisions. Who knows, maybe the answers will reveal themselves in the crude whimsical drawings of a soon-to-be-four-year-olde.

Most likely.

This little dude's just figuring things out...

Save ferris

Best notify my next of kin; this wheel shall explode.

Five (hundred)

"The Triplets on Their Fifth Birthday"

by Baby Jane (ink and crayon)

Many many many years ago, i set out to make some sort of interweb presence what would serve as a platform for thoughts and observations to be shared with someone and no one in particular. 

Mission accomplished, right? 

In this little corner of the blogosphere, i've shared revelations, posted farewell letters, hosted podcasts, sung the praises of peanut butter toast, bragged about friends, announced new projects and babies, remembered loved ones who have passed on to the other side of death, rambled on about music we love (maybe most notably young mc), recounted travel adventures, introduced the magic of pingu, failed at properly labeling posts, constructed mixtapes, and peeked into sketchbooks. 

It's been a weird thing - this web blawgh thing. At times, i've felt an inexplicable obligation to post crap on here; at other times, i've stumbled upon something that clearly must be shared with the universe. Why? Who can say for sure? I do know that the very few of you who actually follow what we've got going on over here have kept me doing this five hundred times. So raise a glass/mug/carrot to you and let's see if we've got five hundred more left in us. Cheers.

Portrait in crayola

One for papaw

It was brought to our attention that certain grandparents needed to see this photo.

This is huge

What this gal is wearing around her neck are ceremonial poop-beads. One might probably assume that such a name would indicate the raw material used in crafting the pieces in question. However, in this particular case, these beads are worn during a celebratory dance around her living room after the performance of a bowel evacuation upon the throne of porcelain found in the family wash room. Not every resident of the rockey home receives such fanfare after taking the kids to the pool. No no. This kind of hullabaloo is reserved for one tenant only. This monumental occasion marks the end of a very brief season of changing the diapers of multiple tiny folk. Hoorah.

Following the first official poop in the pot, an observation was made by the perpetrator (or 'poop-etrator' as it were) which likened the product to a deuce of brown bananas.

Livin the dream

Wow. What a week. Or two. To be quite honest, i seem to have lost all concept of time and space. The time loss has been made evident in the fact that i was almost certain that four hours had passed in what my wife informed me was actually closer to one and a half hours. The space loss refers more to that of the entire ground level of our home which has become overrun with projects taken on by the mustard room. Working and dining have become indistinguishable. They now exist as one singular entity. What does science say on the matter? Do not tell me for i fear that theories would cause my face to collapse, and this would be a travesty to my new haircut.

So there's all that. Also, as is the annual routine, our lawn mower stopped working. Our lovely neighbors next door were away, and my inability to operate the key pad to their garage door forced me to break in to the home of our good friends just down the road. After hoisting their mower into the trunk of my granny mobile, i chased a long day of work with a hot stroll across every square inch of our lawn while my daughter painted trees with water. Upon completing this heroic task, i hoped to immediately return the stolen mower to the scene of the crime. I proceeded to squat uncomfortably next to the oily machine and awkwardly wrap my arms around the base in an attempt to heave it back into my vehicle's barely adequate trunk. Did i happen to mention that this was right after finishing the job while the engine was still hot as rocky mountain oysters? Oh, well it was. I don't know the degree of the burn on the inside of my left forearm, but it looks as if a zombie gave me a hickey.

All in all, it's been an eventful few days. I haven't even mentioned how i spent a whole day working on projects for cgpc. Wait a sec, isn't that the place where you got fired five years ago and had your heart ripped out and handed to you on a communion platter. Oh, hyperbole, how i love you so. Anyhoozit, we completed printing the 200+ t-shirts we had taken on for their vbs, and i spent the remainder of the day surrounded by ladies while editing videos. Jealous? Did i mention there was complimentary kung pow chicken involved? It's called "livin' the dream". Deal with it.

Last, but not loveliest, baby jane got sick and hurled twice after spending the day at the kamikaze pizza emporium while informing us several times that her tummy hurt. Woops. She pretty much chilled on the couch for the next 24 hours watching documentaries on oceanic life and cuddling with her mama & papa & baby brother & puke towel.

See you on saturday. Wink.

Rainy day women #35

Hail yes

Royale bummer

After a brief visit with the ladies of the brew last night, baby jane came home with a handful of black & white funnies and a green crayola. She had spent part of the morning upon the living room floor violently breathing new monochromatic life into the likes of charlie brown and marmaduke before we noticed that several green streaks had worked their way into the carpet pattern. Needless to say, mama jane and myself were less than pleased. After determining that the incident was indeed an accident, we began spraying and scrubbing at the unintentional doodles at which baby jane remarked, "This is not going to be the best picnic ever."

Inspired by actual conversations

Intelligence quotient

So, here's the deal. I'm pushing a shopping cart through the parking lot of a certain grocery/super store on my way to pick up some prescriptions/ant-destroyer (two different items. sorry for the improper use of a slash. i really do feel awful about it). Well, anyhow, i've got my shopping buddy, baby jane, sitting shotgun in the retractable seat ready to coax me to the back of the store to spend a hot minute ogling over goldfish (real ones, not the crackers). We reach the road which runs between the parking lot and the grand entrance, and, like good scouts, we look both ways before continuing forward. A car approaches the stop sign which is positioned to keep pedestrians from getting plowed by frenzied drop-offs and primo space hopefuls. We politely allow the car to pass and wait patiently to cross next. It is clear, however, that the boat-toting truck immediately behind this car has decided that, because he was stopped behind the aforementioned car, therefore, he had fulfilled his obligation to stop at the actual stop sign. As baby jane and i are crossing over to the sidewalk-adorned entrance, the driver of this truck has decided not to wait for the toddler riding in the shopping cart to pass. He impatiently creeps forward, threatening to broadside us, while i lock eyes with him. I can tell by his sour expression that he is indeed receiving the "uncool, dude" mind-vibes i'm sending his way.

"What do we do when we come to a stop sign? i casually ask baby jane. "We stop," she replies quite frankly. "That's right, we stop."

So there you have it: A two and a half year old is smarter than a dude with a boat.

Case closed. You're dismissed.