sketchblog – Page 97 – Stephanie Sicore

June 6, 2006

SPC: Pop Art: week 1

Summer is saturated with mass-production. The sun destroys anything left outside. So after lingering twilight, chasing fireflies and each other around the flowerbeds, toys stay outside night and day. Our home has stretched out onto the lawn. Plastic toys will only last a few months in this climate.

This is an inflatable swimming pool that I bought last summer. I also bagged sand toys, beach balls and a Slip and Slide, but these have all been shuffled into the other toys, buried in sand and punctured by piercing UVrays. This pool has lasted longer than I imagined, knowing when I bought it that it would destruct by Fall, like summer plastic tends to do.

It’s beginning to get a fair amount of use, now that we’re baking our way towards the double digits. And every day we drain it, like I’m doing (with Ford) in the photo above. I don’t have time for stylized puns on Pop art. Take this as a nod to mass production. We like it. Well, maybe not, but it’s convenient and cheap and beautiful when you’re short on cash. And who isn’t, when you majored in Industrial Design in school?

And you can see more Pop art self portraits here.

Speaking of mass-produced: balloons. They are in high demand at our home. Chas loves them. We can drive by Blockbuster (our fallback now that all of our Netflix movies have gone awol) and Chas will scream for boobahs. BOOBAH!!?!? BOOBAH?! BOOBAHH?! like some heroin addict. JUST! ONE! FIX!!!
We brought home two of the Blockbuster balloons with us on Friday, and Ford picked one up to practice the properties of static electricity.

So he rubbbbbbed the balloon on his nappy hair a minute and then I watched him hold the balloon over a small mount of sugar. The sugar flitted excitedly on the table. “A sugarstorm, mom!” He passed the balloon over a pile of punched paper holes: “Dancing dots, mom!” and then he passed the balloon over an ant trail in the kitchen: “Mom! Check it OUT!” And, sure enough, the ants were flicking up onto the balloon. Can you see them? They’re tiny pharoah ants (otherwise known as ‘Piss Ants’ by my father in-law, the entomologist). Science is so funny.

June 5, 2006

Absoutely NO Metrosexuals Allowed

The pool in our neighborhood is open. It sits on the lake and adjacent the playground so it’s layered with the summer sounds of ski boats, laughter and shouting. All of the children are an inch taller, more sinewy than last year and a lot louder. I’m crowded by the youngest, with open arms for Chas, who is jumping off the ledge and into the water. Ford bobs and squeals with the more experienced swimmers. He’s riding atop a blue pool noodle and flashing everyone with Damon’s goggles and a wide smile full of straight, sweet little preschooler teeth. Some of us parents are lining the poolside, legs submerged, beers in hand and busy catching up. Many of us haven’t seen each other in months, and we’re quickly retying our seasonal connections. After all, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming months. The pool is the great common denominator during the long summer languor, and there’s something for everybody here, where nobody frowns upon beer bellies and mismatched bikinis.

June 3, 2006

I, Cattleprod

I sat on a little wooden bench this morning, Chas on my lap, beside the swim class. I decided that Ford needed a nudge. He wouldn’t get away with negotiating or opting out of the coach’s instructions. It took preparation, but I was ready for the work.

So we took a jog this morning, both kids in the twinner, and I coached him on the challenges he’d have to face. I told him it would be difficult, but that he would do it anyway. After all, that’s the definition of a challenge. We talked about all the things he could do once he was able to swim: we could kayak on Town Lake, ride in Papi’s pirough in the bay.

Lo! Did it help. Spastically joyful after each effort, Ford squirmed all over the pool steps and shouted silliness. He made me so proud, I think I wore a smile for hours afterwards.