Jessie King Regunberg Jessie King Regunberg
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I love you more than all the Amazon Packages

HomeTrinkets and TreasuresI love you more than all the Amazon Packages

I love you more than all the Amazon Packages

Trinkets and Treasures

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ABOUT ME

I’m a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I’m not microwaving Trader Joe’s meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. I have written several children's books and regularly post very un-children-y musings to my illustrated blog. I work on commission when the project is right and am currently at work on several large projects, including a book of collaged illustrations and a large mosaic mural at a DC-based business. Mostly I spend my days surviving until bedtime and pretending to be a productive adult.

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imworriedmytherapisthatesme
Process video. Reformatting. Editing. X12 speed! Process video. Reformatting. Editing. X12 speed! #procreate #procreateart #penandink #pendrawing #journaling #journal #processvideo
Turning ⬆️ into 📖 It’s a long slog refor Turning ⬆️ into 📖 It’s a long slog reformatting all my hand-drawn/written pieces on my iPad to create a complete, digitized manuscript. It involves importing 📸‘s of all the illustrations and rewriting all the text in Procreate. 🤞🤞🤞 that the manuscript comes together and that my doodles and musings might someday be published so that I’M WORRIED MY THERAPIST HATES ME can become the book I lie awake at night fantasizing about ⭐️💫 #humorwriting #humor #penandinkillustration #pendrawing #journaling #manuscript #agentwanted
I wish I lived back in the time when plump bodies I wish I lived back in the time when plump bodies were the ideal of beauty. Not only would I have been considered beautiful, but my large post-baby breasts would be back up where they are supposed to be thanks to the lovely corsets I would undoubtedly be wearing…Sometimes when I’m not feeling confident in my body, all I have to do is look at a Botero to feel my form is worthy of celebration…Once when I was young, there was a Botero sculpture exhibit in Chicago, and my brother and I got to climb gigantic bottoms and thick thighs…My mother never wore a bathing suit. She made it very clear that her body was not acceptable enough to enjoy the water. I make a point of ALWAYS putting on a bathing suit in front of my kids. Even when I’m enormously pregnant and the only thing that fits is a giant polka dot swim dress…If I lived in the 18th c. my Oreo habit would appear on my body as a symbol of my wealth and success…Shoes are the very best accessory because they always fit and look good no matter the size of your body. If my husband understood this he would stop asking why I need so many pairs. #bodypositivity #bodypositive #botero #fernandobotero #oreo #bodyneutrality #shoelover #penandinkillustration #pendrawing #journaling #journal
When my 6-year-old asked me if the Internet was ju When my 6-year-old asked me if the Internet was just cookies and cakes being frosted, I knew I had a problem. But acceptance is the first step to recovery, so here goes: I spend inappropriate amounts of time watching those Facebook videos of buttercream being smoothed and shaped into petals, steady hands making perfect lines of glaze on cookies, and cupcakes receiving their pleasing poofs of frosting. And obviously I watch these videos on mute because A.) I don’t want my kids to know just how often this is what I’m doing instead of reading to them, and B.) does anyone actually watch the FB-recommended videos with sound? #asmr #asmrfood #parenting #penandink #pendrawing #frostingcake #journaling #journal
Sure, I haven’t used the bathroom alone in 7 yea Sure, I haven’t used the bathroom alone in 7 years. I’ve had to jump off the pot mid-use, pants around my ankles to break up a fight or save a child from certain death more times than I can count. But do you know what HASN’T happened in 7 years of potty-going? I haven’t experienced the panic of realizing halfway through a bowl movement that my husband “forgot” to change the empty TP roll. Constant toilet company means there is always someone there to run and fetch me a fresh roll. And without my having to yell through several rooms and down a flight of stairs. And in a day (week, month, year?) full of parenting struggles, this small perk isn’t nothing. #penandink #inkdrawing #journal #journaling #parenting #motherhood
I know what you're thinking. That frumpy woman in I know what you're thinking. That frumpy woman in sweatpants and Ugg boots has no business identifying with this superstar to the left. But I am, in fact, the real Fancy Nancy. You see, before 3 babies sucked every ounce of energy and giving-a-sh*t out of me, I was quite ornate in style. But these days I am quite impressed with myself if I leave the house in matching shoes. TRUE STORY: a couple years ago after several hours of running errands with a friend, she complimented my interesting style choice to wear 2 different Birkenstocks. And, indeed, to my horror, I had been all over NW DC in one black and one blue-floral sandal. This is what children do to you. But once upon a time I was the lovably rotund, accessory-loving, overly-dramatic favorite niece of Fancy Nancy’s illustrator. So when she received the manuscript, my aunt dug out some old boxes of pictures and got to work modeling the now world-famous character on yours truly. And let me tell you, having myself been thrust into stardom, being a celebrity is no joke. #fancynancy #penandink #pendrawing #journaling @robinglasser @momtothekings @jessie.regunberg.paints
Why is no one talking about what a smokin' fox PRE Why is no one talking about what a smokin' fox PRESIDENT ZELENSKY is?! I keep signing into Facebook expecting (hoping?) to be bombarded with sexy GIFs of the president in his green t-shirt, unshaven and oh-so-manly -- a real life super hero. Look, I get it, there are FAR more important things to discuss about this brave NATION and this evil invasion. But. Let's just take a moment to give thanks for this eye candy. I mean. He's a JEWISH comedian-turned leader-turned freedom fighter. So he's smart, funny, selfless and brave. And oh - did I mention he's a nice Jewish boy? A man my grandmother would have been proud for me to bring home for Passover. A man who can make you laugh AND take up arms in your defense. A mensch with chutzpah. Excuse me while I kvell. #ukraine #presidentzelensky #zelensky #notowar #lovenotwar @zelenskiy_official #freeukraine #yiddish #jewish #jewishartist #stopputin #standwithukraine
Recently my husband and I have been in a standoff Recently my husband and I have been in a standoff over a dude’s weekend trip he is insisting on taking during the height of Omicron. He thinks it is reasonable to leave me alone for 4 days with our 3 kids while he exposes himself to a disease that will not kill us, but could potentially force me to spend an unknown number of days locked in our house with my family, where I will be mother, wife, laundress, short-order cook, cleaner, quarantine-counter and Preschool, K and 1st grade teacher. So when my friend recommended I read her favorite book on marriage, I was excited to see that unlike the groceries I’ve been trying to purchase, this fine piece of literature could get to my doorstep in less than a day. I intend on passive aggressively reading this book in front of my husband so he can truly comprehend my rage. Which I’m sure is exactly what this foremost relationship expert would advise. #marriage #selfhelp #selfhelpbooks #penandinkdrawing #blackandwhitedrawing #omicron #pandemic
The other day my 5-year-old approached me with a c The other day my 5-year-old approached me with a conundrum: he is only supposed to touch his butt and p*nis when he’s alone. But he gets scared when he’s alone so he never gets to touch his butt and p*nis. To which his father responded: when your p*nis is there, you’re never alone. (*this story has been stolen from my very funny friend @rachyavs and her equally hilarious offspring)
In 1939, before crossing the ocean to his new home In 1939, before crossing the ocean to his new home in the Pacific, my grandpa spent a month in Paris with his two young cousins, Ernest and Frank Wohl, who were like brothers to him. After the war, my grandpa spent years trying to track down the Wohl brothers, only to finally, in the 1980s, find their names listed on transports to Auschwitz. His older cousin, along with his aunt and uncle were taken in cattle cars two whole weeks before his younger cousin. My 5-year-old requires my presence to fall asleep at night. Sometimes as I lie with him, wishing I could extricate myself from underneath his small, warm body, I think about little Ernest, all alone, riding to his death, and I give my baby an extra squeeze…In 2008, my brother and I accompanied my grandparents to Auschwitz where we spent time in an exhibit on Parisian Jews. Covering the walls were pictures of those who perished in the camp. When my grandfather spotted his cousins he quietly, with hand on chin, exclaimed “by golly,” before sinking to the floor where he spent the next several minutes staring up at the cousins he hadn’t seen for 70 years…my grandmother, who is the smartest woman I know, and who was valedictorian of her class, almost didn’t graduate from college on account - as family lore would have it - of an unjust and arcane graduation requirement to swim the length of a pool. Though her mind was sharp, physical prowess had never been her thing, and it took three tries and the support and cheer of all her friends to overcome this hurdle. She prevailed, much like the resilient German immigrant who escapes the Nazis and crossed two seas to find his way to her…And this is why, in my family, complaining only gets you so far. Because, how can you compete?! #familyhistory #ww2history #holocaustsurvivor #penandinkdrawing #journaling #journal #germanhistory #jewish #jewishhistory #jewishart
My grandfather escaped Nazi Germany in 1939 for th My grandfather escaped Nazi Germany in 1939 for the Philippines where his family, along with 1,000 other Jews, were offered refuge by then-President Quezon. In Germany, despite being chased home by Nazi youth, my grandpa had attended 1st and 2nd grade. He took a bit of a schooling hiatus as he made his way to Manila (how lazy!) where he picked back up in another language somewhere around 3rd or 4th grade at a Catholic school. But his education was again derailed with the Japanese invasion of Manila. To keep learning he studied his father’s medical textbooks in the evenings. For a brief time before the American invasion at the end of the war, he was back in school. But not for long. Fleeing the violence in his village, his family took to the jungle, living primitively; survival, not learning, was the priority. Emerging from the jungle my grandpa was bar mitzvah-ed and started and graduated from high school in the Philippines before crossing the ocean once again to Boston where he studied engineering at MIT. When I get too caught up in the impact of this pandemic on my kids, my grandpa's story reminds me that these are small potatoes (which, by the way, he still won't eat to this day after surviving on them in the jungle)…my great-grandfather did everything he could to prepare his family for life in the Philippines. On the journey there my grandpa studied and learned Spanish since their encyclopedia, published in 1897, listed the islands as a Spanish colony. It wasn’t until they reached Hong Kong (a week before their arrival in Manila) that my great grandparents learned that English had been the official language of the Philippines since the Spanish American War of 1898 - the year AFTER their encyclopedia was printed. To this I say huzzah for Wikipedia! Keeping kids from learning unnecessary languages since 2001. #ww2history #wwii #penandink #journaling #philippines #jewishhistory
Today’s weather here in DC calls for a repost of Today’s weather here in DC calls for a repost of last year’s blog about snow days and motherhood. And swipe for some cute snow-day footage from today ❄️ #snow #snowday #penandink #pendrawing
I have this stack of planners, calendars, and jour I have this stack of planners, calendars, and journals on my bedside table whose sole purpose is to shame and nag me. The pile continues to grow every time I spot one too beautiful NOT to buy at the Paper Source, or each time I open Instagram to feel bad about my parenting/body/wardrobe and am told by their advertising gods that if I buy this new kind of planner AND enroll in their online course in this very specific type of journaling, I too will end up the kind of parent I want to be with the body and wardrobe I’m meant to have. For the most part these planners remain empty and my life remains unchanged, except for the guilt, which grows as this stack becomes ever-more unstable. What kind of mother, I ask myself, can’t be bothered to write down the exact place and time of her child’s first word/step/lost tooth? As my self-esteem slips away with these memories, I find myself ever-more invested in my abusive relationship with these books. And tomorrow I’m confident everything will change when the mailman delivers the journal I found 2 nights ago which I know will be the answer to all my problems…
The only time I remember getting in trouble at sch The only time I remember getting in trouble at school (besides almost every music class because, I maintain, I had an anti-semitic teacher) was on a field trip to the Art Institute. I was in 3rd or 4th grade and could not stop giggling at the naked people (women) all around us. Given my generosity of heart, I had no choice but to spread the joy to my classmates. Shockingly, my teacher did not appreciate the joy and threatened punishment if I was unable to act with the maturity the museum required. Which I could not. I missed most of the field trip, but I still maintain that it IS silly to see naked women, lounging relaxed at a picnic among fully clothed men…After returning from Florence when I was 7, I wrote and illustrated what is still to this day my most clever work, recreated here: “Hey, David. Do you know why I have this mysterious smile?” “No, why?” “Because you’re so handsome.” #penandink #penandinkdrawing #arthistory #manet #michelangelo #monalisa
It’s scary when you take the leap to try to make It’s scary when you take the leap to try to make your fantasy a reality #manuscript #blogger #blog #imworriedmytherapisthatesme #journaling #writer #illustrator #penandink #penandinkdrawing
As I work on this manuscript, I’m experimenting As I work on this manuscript, I’m experimenting posting without the text in the caption to see how legible my writing is. Are you able to read the image?
Reworking old posts as I attempt to turn these blo Reworking old posts as I attempt to turn these blog/Instagram musings into an intelligible (and clear to read) manuscript. Thoughts on legibility and format for a future book?
Nothing makes me feel more legitimized as a person Nothing makes me feel more legitimized as a person than when a massage therapist confirms what I’ve been trying to get my mother and husband to understand for years: the profound depths of my suffering. When she describes the surprising tightness in my neck, what I hear is “I see you. I hear you. You are a martyr.” When she comments on the knots in my lower back, I know she is really agreeing that my husband SHOULD be the one to clean the kitchen every night and is granting me permission for a guilt-free nap…My mother trained me never to waste time. One must always be productive. Rest is for the lazy. So when I couldn’t connect my AirPods the other day while I was getting my nails done, I panicked. Who are these people, I heard her saying, who have time to spend on such frivolity? And if I’m not also listening to the Daily while my nails are being done, am I not one of the frivolous? The next thing I knew I was using my nose to turn the pages of my mobile Kindle. Because, as my mother taught me, looking and feeling ridiculous are loftier states-of-being than self-care.
Remember when you could walk down the street witho Remember when you could walk down the street without trampling lost-or-littered face masks? I fear my children will never see another fall where they don’t have to be careful of masks hidden amongst the piles of crisp golden leaves they play in…My 3-year-old is very jealous of her oh-so-cool big brothers who are, as of today, fully vaccinated. This has nothing to do with protection from the virus and everything to do with their vax cards, which, like their ipads, are something they have that she does not and therefore must procure. So, like any reasonable unvaccinated person who is worried about missing out would do, she scribbled on paper and forged her own. Problem solved…Do other people hold their breath when they pass people too close on the street? As if not sucking in the air for a moment or two will protect them from the miniscule soldiers whose only mission is penetration and infection. I know this is not how it works. I am perfectly safe outside. But will I ever stop this new habit? Probably not seeing as I still, at 34, hold my breath past a graveyard. Just in case.
Ahh, Thanksgiving. That most glorious time of year Ahh, Thanksgiving. That most glorious time of year when we gather with family and force our ungrateful children to at least pretend they are thankful for something other than candy in front of their great-grandparents. When a 5 hour drive with said children turns into an 8 hour journey from hell. When the only way you can mentally get through the trip and not abandon your entire family in the middle of the NJ Turnpike is to remind yourself, again and again, that at least it’s not the Holocaust.* When you’re grateful for your 3-year-old’s screaming because at least it drowns out your husband’s unending gum-chomping. When there is not enough pie in the world to fill the trauma you’ve experienced getting 3 kids to bathrooms in 5 different “emergencies”. For all of this, we give thanks *(I was halfway through a WW2 novel at the time and quite disturbed)…Have you ever had all the contents of a happy meal thrown at you, item by item, by a tiny sociopathic monster disguising themself as your spawn? Because I have. And let me tell you, that finely-diced onion mush on a kid’s burger – as delicious as it may be, doesn’t feel great stuck in your hair. But it does taste just as good and is therefore 100x less infuriating than the wasted patty that you would have happily eaten for your 3-year-old, but which is now coated with sand, goldfish crumbs, and wood chips on the floor of your car…I’ve decided that I must make nice with God. Perhaps I’ll start volunteering more often. Because if there IS a hell, I’m pretty sure I had a taste of it on the NJ Turnpike, and I would do almost anything to ensure that I never again experience that kind of ceaseless suffering.
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