The Artist Presently Known as Newt

Sunday started out so well. The kids and I slept in (my husband’s working — lately it feels like that’s all he does). The kids ate dry cereal for breakfast so I didn’t even have to make anything. And I read the paper while they read books. It was dreamy.

Photo by PartlySunny

Then I gave them the lowdown on the week. They both have to do Nevada Day reports on whatever Nevada-y topic they feel like picking. Newt’s doing the Hoover Dam — a report plus drawing a bunch of pictures because that’s what Newt’s all about. Elfie’s doing Sarah Winnemucca — a report plus making a crazy hat because that’s what Elfie’s all about.

So good. . . everyone’s on track. I hate doing this stuff because I’m constantly reminding certain people (who will not be named but just happen to be the first born and have a penis) that there is a timetable for these projects and that on the night before, say, a presentation on China is due, the last-minute, fantastical plan of creating a family tree — with photos that date back five generations — may not turn out exactly as envisioned.

Anyway, everyone’s cruising along until I decide to talk and all hell breaks loose. Newt is working on his rough draft and drawing some pictures of dam workers underneath what he’s already written. He does this sort of thing on every single thing he writes. But because all I’m thinking about is Señor Procrastinator, I’m focused on the best and most efficient use of time. So I say, “Maybe you should draw those on a piece of paper that you can actually use for your final presentation.”

This sets off an hour-long, back-and-forth argument/stand-off/crying jag/personality analysis/literary critique that gives both of us a headache and makes me wish I were the Christopher Reeves Superman who could fly around the world and turn back time.

The problem is, Newt and I clearly do not see eye-to-eye when it comes to the creative process. He draws not to get something accomplished. He just draws to draw. You’d think I’d be a little more sensitive to this sort of thing, being who I am and doing what I do. But in addition to being “creative” and semi “artsy,” I’m also the “Come on people! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” person at my house. And today, those things clashed.

It all ended up just fine — diffused, of course, by his little sister who saves us from these things most of the time. She has a knack for putting people back together (which is a good thing, since her mother is constantly nit-picking something apart).

Not the best “Sunday in My City.” But at least the majority of the “dams” that came out of anyone’s mouths referred to barriers that hold back water.