Letters to Holly

Tuesday, May 17

Straight Cash, Homey

I went to the bank yesterday to get money for this week's convention. I made a change purse last year from one of those ubiquitous blue, zippered pouches, and I cut out cardstock dividers to separate the denominations. I debated about how much to withdraw and waffled between $100 and $200. The latter seemed overly optimistic, and I figured that if I was doing that well in sales, I'd just recirculate the money I was taking in. So $100 it was, broken up into four denominations. As I stood in line, waiting and waiting for the uncertain customers ahead of me to ask the tellers about seemingly everything involving money and banks, I tried to remember what I did with last year's money. I couldn't recall anything about it following the convention, and I reckoned I put it back in the bank. Why wouldn't I?

Apparently, it's because I'm an idiot because I found last year's stash in the change purse when I got home. My change purse is now overflowing. (Note to any would-be robbers: I'm freshly instructed in Body Combat. I will air kick you in the air face.) Sadly, I will not be able to shop at the convention. I won't have a chance to walk around while the vendor tables are open. But I will be attending a convention in Charlotte two weeks later, and that show is bigger with more offerings.

I also cut up four more artboards to make blank sketch cards in the again overly optimistic notion that there will be a run on wallet-size artwork. But, hey, whatever I don't use this year rolls over to next year.

With this, I really am through with convention stuff. I might make another sketch or two, but I consider that warm-up exercise than a lingering chore. The museum show is three days away. I can only wait. 

+  +  +

The sidekick refuses to sleep through the night, and we are about to strangle him. He awoke at 3 last night and stayed awake despite all Your Sister's ministrations. I got up to take a turn around 4, and he nodded off only to pop awake as soon as he was lain down. I took him to the living room to maybe play himself asleep, but he only sat there. It was eerie. He sat perfectly quiet and clear-eyed for ten minutes. I decided to change his overnight diaper and took him back to the living room to hopefully wind down. I turned off the lights to help him gear down, and that's when I realized we've always put him to bed with the nite-light and heart-sounds bear. Maybe he's over-stimulated.

If he was fully awake in the living room because the light was on, maybe he thinks it's daylight and time to be awake. In the nursery, I turned off the bear and light, and he again nodded off, but this time he stayed out when I put him down. And thus he stayed for another three hours, allowing Your Sister to sleep away the strangling urges. We now have a theory to pursue, reducing our feelings of helplessness in the face of his inability to sleep. If this works, I'm not ashamed to admit I wanna medal for figuring this out. My alarm woke me up this morning, and I let Your Sister sleep while I made coffee and heard the boy sleeping and strutted to the workshop like George Jefferson. Fatherhood: Fuck, yeah.

Almost forgot: He can point to commonly identified objects. You name it, he finds it.

+  +  +

We began our new diets yesterday. I learned how to use the Weight Watchers point calculator, and we gobbled popcorn with abandon.   

Picture of the Day
McDonald's once had a cast of characters. They seemed to have peaked with the Fry Guys.

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