But on to the bidness at hand, yo.
Once again, I'm looking at the jpg version a couple days after completing the layout having a total "Monday morning quarterback" moment - I wish I had done this, this and this differently. I suppose I wouldn't change that much, but I would definitely bulk up the layering at the top of the zig-zag strip more. And I think that was my original intent. I must have seen something shiny and forgotten to add those extra two layers that I had in my mind. Oh well.
I used to be a better journaler. I didn't understand why people had such a hard time with it. These same people who said "I can't journal" would sit next to you and tell you all about their pictures, pointing, getting animated, clearly excited by the stories they had to tell about them. And yet here I am, with crappy, surface-y journaling. But if you sat next to me on the sofa, I'd probably start his curiosity about my cameras, but I would probably mention how much it means to me that this kid comes and sits with me for 15 or 20 minutes at time, telling me about his day, asking questions, telling me about what happened in history or what the coach said at speed and agility, or asks me about my day...or even just hangs out quietly. At the end of the day, when I've thrown in the towel on studying, when the kitchen is cleaned up and the laundry is folded, I'll head up into my bedroom, put my feet up, poke around the internet and put on whichever Real Housewives show is on that night. Bedtime for Ted and Molly is at 9 o'clock (still - why they don't protest this, I don't know...), and somewhere around 8:40 Ted will come in and flop on my bed so that he can see my computer and the t.v. and make fun of the Housewives (fair enough) or talk to me about whatever I'm looking at. I think it's cool that Ted likes to tinker - and frankly I should do a page on all the things he's fixed around here, or how I know he'll be a great dad and his yard will always be impeccable - but to me, the story that I want to tell, that maybe I'm afraid of jinxing (hell, I'm tearing up just writing about it here) is how much I love this kid and how much his daily visits are the highlight of my days.
And there's one other thing.
Those hands. Ted is 14. He shaves. He's taller than I am. He lifts weights and has muscles. His body is turning into a man's, and it's strange and awesome to see. But those hands - they still look like a boy's hands. There's something still round and soft and childlike about them. And I don't know why, but that makes me tear up a little, too. I just want to pop the plastic off the front of the clock and put my finger on the second hand to make it stop. Now. Right now. This is where I want to stop time and just have these kids, like this, right now, forever. This is a good place. And those pudgy little fingers are the reminder. They are the last vestige of his childhood.
Ok. I have to move on. Seriously, I'm at work, bawling about Ted's fat fingers and how he's growing up. I must look like a psycho nut job to my boss. :P
And here's the sketch for next time:
Once again, I don't have pictures or a theme/topic in mind, although I suppose my sub conscience is suggesting this be some kind of lovey-dovey relationship kind of page. We'll see.
Thanks for stopping by. It should be interesting how the next couple of weeks pan out - I start another class on Thursday so I'm assuming my work load is going to quadruple. :P But come hell or high water, I'll have a layout up on the 15th. I like this forced break too much back-burner it, even (especially) when I'm busy.
See you soon(ish)!