Welcome, Sweet Dog

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

Welcome, sweet dog.
We've waited patiently for you
and now that you're here
our house feels just right.

We've all needed your
unconditional love, butt wiggles
and playful boxing capabilities.
We just didn't know how much until now.

Our grief over losing Molly
is safely tucked away,
but not forgotten.
An ache we will revisit from time to time.

But you're here!
With energy!
With sweetness!
With us!

Today is going to be awesome.

Now

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

What is it all really about?  This life?  Family connections?  The stuff we acquire and then purge from our lives?

I feel like there are so many lessons in every day living and, to be quite honest, I don't think I've given much thought to them until I entered my fourth decade.  Before turning 40, I just lived my life without much examination.  Or, at least, it feels that way.

Having a child brings so many situations circling back to you to think about.  Parenthood is like this big mirror and you can either look away and start fresh with your views or take a minute and examine what's in front of you.  What are you bringing to the parenting table from your past?

As my son navigates his pre-teen years, it's becoming more clear to me that I'm parenting from a standpoint of been there, done that.  And I should quickly confess that it's easy right now.  I'm not gloating, but taking a moment to really let that sink in.  I know that hard stuff is coming and I'm trying to relish in the now.

Now he likes to spend the weekends with us.

Now is when he wants to watch silly DVDs and read books about Greek Gods & Goddesses.

Now the library is one of his favorite places to visit and grab a frozen yogurt and talk about his day.

Right now the wildest thing he wants to do is wear the same thing every. single. day.  But even that is morphing as of this week.  He finally relinquished his grey hoodie sweatshirt and I could not be happier.

Now he wants to share his art and play on his iPad.

Now is the time he practices his trumpet in his room before school.

I'm loving right now and feeling confident in my parenting.  I know that whatever the future holds, I'll be ready and until then?

I'm enjoying the now, too.

Time [6th grade version]

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

The days are slipping by so fast.

Yesterday the boy got his first pair of eyeglasses.

Today he had his hair lopped off and he looks a little like Eddie Redmayne.

Tomorrow we get a family dog.

Spring break is the week after next.

One more quarter left of sixth grade.

One more quarter left until I start Summer school.

One month until G turns 12.

He turned in his report on the Hindu Holy Trinity this week; tennis lessons; science test; and I finally let him play around with an Instagram account.

How did this happen?

The painful colic, the skinned knees?

His dressing up and acting like a dog?  Long gone, I tell you.

Typing up papers on his own computer.

Picking out brand name t-shirts so he can give the appearance of cool and to help offset the glasses mentioned above.

The mirrors.  Oh, the looking in the mirrors business is at an all time high. The self-awareness kicking into high gear.

All of this wonderful.

All of this hurts a little bit, but then smooths out into mama pride and acknowledgment of his next phase.

And the love.  The overpowering, all encompassing love I feel for this little human; this life.

Nothing quite like it.

Mornings

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

My mind wakes up before my body is ready.  To-do lists are drafted in my head before my feet even touch the cool wood floors.  My bare feet shuffle across those worn Douglas fir planks and head toward the living room.  I click on my desk lamp, open my computer and then take a few steps to the left to stretch my body and absorb the view before me.  

Some mornings I greet the dark and other mornings I greet the sunrise.  It makes no difference to me what kind of view is out there, I'm just happy to meet the day at its inception.  Something about this small act of taking the time to recognize the start of a new day centers me, grounds me.

Quiet blankets my home.  I rub my son's back and kiss his forehead.  This is round one of trying to get him out of bed.  My husband, the night owl, is still in bed and I gently close the bedroom door so he can rest a little longer.  

I set about making the morning coffee and take pleasure in this simple morning ritual.  Grinding the beans, filling the tank with filtered water and pressing the start button.

The day can now begin.

back to school

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

I'm reading the iconic The Elements of Style Illustrated by Strunk & White & Kalman  and all I can say is - it's about time.  This is the back-to-the-basics, definitive guide for writing.  I ordered the updated version featuring Maira Kalman's illustrations and it's so gorgeous.  She's one of my all-time favorites illustrators.

I have a lot to learn in terms of sentence and paragraph structure and the do's and don't of writing.  This will be a good first step.

In other news, I registered and signed up to return to college today!  I'm working on getting over myself on a lot of matters that hold me back in living a fuller life.  I'm embarrassed that I never finished, quitting when I received my first-ever letter grade "D" in a sociology class.  Good grades came easily to me during my earlier school years and I was in no way prepared for college.  Instead, I took the easy way out after a full year at the J.C. and went to work in a law firm.

In fact, working in a law office was my sole line of work until I was 32 years old (minus the two weeks I worked at 31 Flavors, but that is an entirely different story).

On my 16th birthday, I was hired at a small law firm and worked as a part-time receptionist and file clerk after school.  This was a dream job to this Virgo who had a boyfriend at the time.  Organizing paperwork and I didn't have to work nights or weekends?  Sign me up!  My parents encouraged me to keep this "good job with benefits" and school fell down on the priority list.  It's kind of haunted me ever since.  I've worked half of my life for law firms answering phones, processing client billings, filing and, in the end, supporting two attorneys who also became dear friends.

In the end, I left that clerical life with a lot of knowledge about filing forms with the courthouse, editing and re-typing loan documents and ran towards the chance to run my own small business in the tiny hamlet of Bodega Bay.

I'm tired of thinking I can't go back to school.  I'm following through on this and showing myself, as well as my guys, that I can do hard things.

When I shared this news with my son, he didn't skip a beat and asked "So, are you going to study art?"

Why, yes.

Yes, I am.

Bandaid

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

I realized tonight that one year ago, on the eve of my mother's birthday, my first essay was published over at Mamalode.com.  Setting those words free and sharing them with the world was like ripping off my creative bandaid.  It hurt a little, but my artistic tendencies needed an outlet and it felt so good to have a way to express the feelings that had been bottled up for so long inside of me.

Ever since that nerve-wracking day, so much has happened.  I poured myself into different means of artistic expression that ended up bringing me so much unexpected joy - pens, good paper, watercolor and hand lettering.  Accepting my imperfect handwriting as an art form brought me a satisfaction that surprised and delighted me.  My imperfections could be celebrated and even appreciated for what they were - perfectly imperfect.

I put things into motion and tried them on for size.  Writing retreats, art workshops and a trip to the edge of the continent in Homer, Alaska fueled my need to make art.  Stories, poems and illustrations became the way I communicated my feelings and, as a result, I wanted to set them free and share with others any way that I could.

The Mamalode essay, Snap, was just the beginning for me.  There's a lot more hidden deep in dark within me that I need to turn into something beautiful.

One bandaid at a time…

Born Again

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

I once questioned a mormon missionary about why mormons don't use the phrase "born again."  The missionary simply stated that being "born again" was viewed as a process, not an event.

A process.  Not an event.

What a powerful and wise statement, right?

At the time, I wrote those words down on an index card and stuck it in my brand new bible.  I recently came across that 24-year old card and pulled it out to read.  I decided to use it as a bookmark.  It's since become a little mantra.

This weekend was spent heating kettles of hot water for tea, stoking fires and spilling the truth about a great many things to my best friend of 25 years.  Truths that had mostly been said only in my mind and not out loud.  At first, I parsed them out slowly and carefully, but by the end of our days together I felt the urgency to unleash them before it was too late.  Too late for what?  I'm not sure.

Truth telling doesn't come easily to me.  I'm often scared of how it will be received, how it will land.  I'm fearful of the fallout - knowing full well a lot of this fear is manufactured and adjusted to assist in keeping my secrets safe, guarded.

I found freedom in saying hard words and thoughts and confessions out loud.  I wrote down things that I wanted to be free of and wrote, in capital letters, the word GUILT and centered it in the middle of the page.  I read my list of shame and guilt to my friend, my witness.  I vowed to be free and move forward and to rid myself of the self-hatred.  I no longer want to operate from that place.

I positioned that ugly piece of paper on top of the small stack of burning firewood and bid it farewell.  I shut the doors on the wood stove and sunk into the couch and watched it burn and then double-checked the ashes to make sure nothing remained.

I felt born again.

for better or worse

[Us circa 1998]

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

for better or worse

that’s what we said 

oh so many years ago

when we didn’t know about 

the trappings of marriage

we now move through it all

sharing the roles we were made for

dividing duties

like seasoned pros

making lunches

reading bedtime stories

school pick-up

paying the bills

your stellar knowledge

of math & science

make me glad you’re the 

partner I picked to parent with

it doesn’t sound romantic

but, really, it is

how much we come together

to make this life work

our schedules synced

our mornings hum

our evening dinners

our days recapped

it’s not how i imagined it to be

when we said “i do”

but i think it’s so much

better, not worse

my life in metaphors, lately

My Mom & Dad circa 1969

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

I'm constantly thinking in metaphors ever since I stopped drinking.  As I prepared for my girls'  weekend, I found myself in my head quite a bit.  Normally, I would be packing my personal nine-bottle wine tote and filling it with special wines or the fixings for special martinis.

Instead, I packed up a box of assorted tea bags.

The weight of this intention was both heavy and light.

+++++

For the past 17 years, I've been wearing earrings that my mother gifted me when I was 27 years old and freshly divorced from my own first husband.  At the time, I appreciated the symbolism and sentiment.  They were made from two small diamonds that were once part of her wedding ring, from her first marriage to my father.

I've worn them every day since she gave them to me for Christmas back in 1997.  I took them off a few weeks ago and carefully set them in my jewelry box.  I said a little prayer for them and hoped the bad juju that I think they hold will wear off and be absorbed by the green felt lining of that little drawer.

The symbolism of this gesture was heavy on my heart, but I've felt about 10 pounds lighter ever since I shut that little drawer.

+++++

Waking up clear headed, instead of foggy and slow is new and, happily, preferred.  When the fog is rolling in over the hillsides, I'm reminded of how I used to feel.  Blanketed by regret or loss.  My heart cloaked in a thick sadness that is hard to share with anyone.

The beautiful revelation about fog is that it sweeps over the landscape only for a little while and then slowly lifts and retreats.  The world them seems open to me and I can feel the sunshine on my face.

The grey fog and the warm sunshine work together, in tandem, to help center me and start a new day.

The soupy fog symbolized my heavy feelings, but when it lifts I feel the weight of my burdens and thoughts rise up and leave me.  When they settle back down inside of me, they will be lighter after their journey.

my mind is packed

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

These six-minute quick writes are supposed to be just that.  Quick.  Only six minutes out of my day and somehow I couldn't find the time to do this today.

Starting the day off by waking up late didn't help, but I tried to salvage this mishap with making a healthy juice for all of us and joining my girlfriends for a barre exercise class in Santa Rosa, 30 minutes northwest of my home, starting at 9:15 a.m.

The camaraderie of those ladies helped jolt me from my morning funk and I easily fell into the sadist exercise regime also known as barre class.

The rest of the day was filled with work, doctor's appointments, grocery shopping, a makeshift dinner, homework help and packing for my impending Big Sur trip.  Just normal, everyday life items to tick off my list today.  I felt productive.  I felt a wee bit rushed.  I felt anxious about leaving my family for four days.

After tucking my son in bed and kissing him goodnight, I settled into the couch with my husband to watch a movie.

I felt nervous about leaving.

I felt nervous about meeting up with my best friend.

I felt nervous about not drinking this weekend.

I felt all of it.

All. Of. It.

I went to bed making small talk with myself about my strength, my impending journey.  My newfound ability to do small things for myself that will help me heal and make better choices for my mind, body and family.

My bags are packed and, now, so is my mind

the fog

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

the fog,
thick and pixelated,
blankets the world
just outside my window.

dewy, wet branches
breathe a heavy sigh
as the sun fights to emerge
through the slate-colored sky.

the sun surrenders.
grey wins.
the dampness is absorbed
by the ground, the air, the day

melancholy fills the ether,
sadness takes up residence,
reminding us to sink
into ourselves and feel

the fringe of darkness
just beneath the surface
of our body, our mind

with tendrils of love
and acceptance
gently traveling down
to the soles of our feet

we remind the darkness -
we are rooted,
we are strong,
we are loved; and
soon we are going to

shine.

The Door to Independence

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment
 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  
I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

Yesterday I caught a glimpse of the teenager that my son will be in a few years.  He glared at me, barked something about how I ruined his perfectly good day by enforcing trumpet practice and threw his prepubescent body on top of his bed and laid there in silent protest.

I walked away.

Took a few deep breaths and quietly chuckled to myself while chopping root vegetables that he will most likely push around on his plate during dinner.

It's coming.

He's almost 12 and the increased attitude and shift in him is happening right before my eyes.  Everyday he is recalibrating himself towards the man he will one day be.  Ratcheting up his opinions and pushing back when he doesn't want to do what we want him to do.  Forming opinions and testing limits.

I realize he's taking baby steps towards a great big door called Independence.  Leaving his mark and trying new things on for size are what's happening right now.  I'm here, not too far behind him, making sure he doesn't wobble too much or fall over.  Supporting him, acting as cheerleader and disciplinarian at the same time, has been my occupation for almost a dozen years.  I'm slowly starting to understand that right now he will need to scrape his knees a bit and brush himself off without me.  I know this is all normal and completely to be expected, but it's my first time, as well as my last time, going through this new phase with my only child.

The door to Independence is unlocked and ajar and he's approaching it with great speed.

I just know the man that will emerge on the other side is one I will be proud of.  However, I feel a weight of responsibility in making sure he has the necessary tools available to him to help open that door with strength of character and knowledge that he is loved by us.

I just wish he would take it a little slower.

Sleepless in Valley Ford

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment 

of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.
I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

Sleep has eluded me, once again, and I wake up groggy and congested.  I feel like I have a hangover, but I know that isn't possible this morning.  Since my breakup with alcohol, I've been sleeping through the night and rise early feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.  I'm intoxicated in a different way these days - by my newfound strength, the beauty of the natural world and watching my son navigate the end of his 11th year.

I'm not sure how or why I fell down the rabbit hole of insomnia last night, but I did.  The middle of the night used to be the time rewind the day and then beat myself up about all the things I did wrong or mourn the family (the family I came from) that once was.

Nighttime fostered a loneliness in me and I think that's why I overindulged with wine and spirits.  The void-filling seemed like a necessary task to get to the other side of the darkness, the sadness.  I'm sure on the outside people might think what does she have to be sad about?, but it's there.  Always.  I have a deep well of memories that haunt me when it's quiet and I'm left with too much time to think about how my life slowly veered off course once my parents got divorced.

I was 23 when my parents split up and it completely rocked my world.  When I looked back at my formative years, I desperately longed for the family that was.  What better way to capture that family than to hurry up and try to recreate one of my own, right?  Wrong.

Well, I immediately went out and tried to do just that.  I was engaged after just three months of knowing someone and married three months after that.  Played house for four years, devoted myself to church and emulating Martha Stewart.  I didn't drink at all during this time in my life.  I was divorced four years later.

After my divorce, letting loose and being the life of the party became my way of thinking I was all grown up and in charge of my life.

Ironically, my parents never had alcohol in our home and I only saw them drink once or twice while growing up, so I'm not sure where I got this ridiculous idea.

I guess I'll have this idea to ponder in the middle of the night the next time I'm sleepless in Valley Ford.

Proof of Life

{2010}

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment 

of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

The sliding glass door shuts and I'm left alone.  The morning routines have been carried out, coffee made and a load of laundry sits on the floor waiting to be loaded into the washer.

I've scribbled in my food journal, drawn lines in my art journal and now I'm here in front of this bright-white screen.  Not sure of what to say today and know that I run the risk of feeling like a broken record.  I'm only two days into this six minute daily exercise of jotting down words here on my blog and it feels weird, forced, unnatural.

Do you ever feel like you have so many things to do in one day that you don't know where to begin?  I feel it every day lately.  My creative pursuits used to be the items that fell to the bottom of the list and slowly, but surely, they have risen to the top.  I wake early to ensure time for these pursuits.  They are now the first things I tend to once I wake up and shuffle into the living room and take a seat at my desk.

Documenting our days, making marks on a page, taking photos - those are all ways for me to try and capture this time in our lives.  I feel a sense of duty to preserve our life in a way that will feel good for us to revisit later on down the line.  Not to be mistaken with making it picture-perfect, but just to have something to look back on and help assist with our foggy memories as we get older.

Proof of life.  I think that's the phrase that resonates with me.

Proof of this life.

Our life.

My life.

Rituals :: Writing + Drinking

As February is winding down, I realize that I haven't come to this space to write much this month.  To be perfectly honest, I have a hard time sitting down and sharing what's on my mind.  Part of me feels like who would want to read that?  While the other part of me knows just how much I get out of reading the work of other bloggers/writers and gleaning advice or shared experiences from their generous words.

I've been reading a lot of books about the craft of writing (like this one, this one and this one) and figured out that most writers are a little gun shy when they share their words with the world.  Also, editors are key.  When I write, I worry so much about the punctuation and structure of my blog posts that they end up taking me hours to write.  I'm my worst critic and I'm also a little bit afraid to be judged by what I'm putting out there.

Last week, my son shared some of his best work (according to him) from his sixth grade english class.  His favorite writing exercise is called a Six Minute Quick Write.  You sit down, set the timer and write whatever you want, quickly and fluidly, until the six minutes is up.  He stressed that you can finish your last sentence, but don't edit while you're writing.  Just write.

I love this quick write concept.  Aren't sixth grade english teachers the best?  Here's what he had to say about it:

"I know that Quick Writes aren't graded, but I really like them because they are a time to say how you feel about a certain topic and clear your mind.  I think they are a really good way to start your morning." - Grady, age 11

Gosh, I love this kid.  And his teacher really inspires him.  

Well this inspired me in a big way.  Therefore, I'm going to jump right in and attempt daily quick writes on my blog starting on March 1st.  No editing, no struggling with formatting, no photo collages or time spent editing photos.  Just me, sitting at my desk first thing in the morning and typing for six minutes.  I'm not going to overthink it.  I'm just going to write whatever is on my mind and hit publish.  I'm looking forward to this new daily ritual and hope it stretches me when it comes to writing (and sharing) on this blog.

February in Sonoma County means that everything is coming into bloom.  The magnolia tree branches are heavy and dripping with pink blossoms, daffodils line the roadsides and wide-open fields are a sea of yellow mustard.  Buds are breaking in the vineyards and camellia flowers litter the walkway into my office.  Hardy calla lilies shoot up overnight in my flower beds and the hillsides are thick and limber with fluorescent green grasses.

I love January for its quiet approval to hibernate, but I love February for it's unabashed beauty and reminder that, well, we have a long year ahead of us and I, too, want to bloom this year.  I like to take this time to plan out family vacations, read as much as humanly possible, hunker down and binge-watch tv series with my husband during this second month of the year.

Redhill Trail || Sonoma Coast || Valentine's Day || 73 degrees

February has also held a new focus for me.  My health.  I'm working on instituting a consistent exercise regime into my weekly routine.  Early morning stretching and occasional meditation, Zumba classes and local hikes.  

I've chosen to abstain from alcohol indefinitely.  

Let me say that again, so that it can sink in.

I've chosen to abstain from alcohol indefinitely.  

And while writing about this feels a little weird, I also want to be honest with myself and anyone reading here about how hard this actually is.  I haven't gone this long without drinking since I was pregnant with my son 12 years ago.  I used to own a wine bar and drinking was part of my profession.  I've been reading a lot of this woman's blog posts about her wine-free journey and it's been a powerful source of inspiration.  

I'm an all or nothing type of gal and I have long searched for balance in the adult beverage department.  I feel like I've tried the all model  and need to try the nothing model on for size.  And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger.  I can't keep indulging in wine and cocktails at no cost.  I have several health issues I'm working on getting under control and the simple fact of the matter is that drinking is not helping.

I haven't been a mindful drinker since I started drinking.  All or nothing may be considered the same thing to some, but I've got to give it a try and find out.

I can do this.  

I am doing this.  

I'm on Day 20 of my self-imposed alcohol ban and I feel really, really good about it.  

The positive take-aways have been that I'm finally sleeping through the night for the first time in years.  I have considerably more patience for my kid, my husband and everyday frustrations.  I've been waking up early and starting my day with quiet reflection and writing down my intentions for the next 24 hours.  

Addiction runs in my family and I just need to hit the pause button long enough for me to ponder why it is I like to drink.  It's hard to put this out there, but I know I need to do it to make myself accountable for this overindulgent habit I've curated over the years.  Living in wine country has been good and bad for me.  It's time to take stock of how I socialize and what's most important to me.

And with these soul-baring words, I'm going to switch gears.  I've said a lot here and I'm feeling really anxious about my new journey.  Thanks for listening.

I wanted to thank you for your kind words on my recently published essay, The Window for Play, featured on Rachel Cedar's 28 Day of Play blogger series.  Click here to read.  That piece was hard to write, but I'm glad it resonated with others.  I felt hugged by the comments and encouraged to do more truth-telling with my writing.

My new daily rituals of writing, as well as abstaining from alcohol, feel a little scary.  But I'm going to push forward and try it on for size.  As my clean & sober brother recently shared with me - The only side effect of not drinking is that you will feel really good.  What's so scary about that?  

Right, brother.  So right.

And with that - I'm out.  

xoxo,

Tammi

28 Days of Play :: The Window for Play

My essay, The Window for Play, can be found over at You Plus Two Parenting's website.  I am the featured blogger today in the 28 Days of Play blogger series that focuses on play with our children.

I spent a lot of time reflecting on my early role as a mother and how I slowly figured things out.  Please hop on over here and read.  I'd love to hear your thoughts and keep the dialogue open about the hard parts of motherhood, as well as the good parts.

Happy Friday, friends.

Sayonara! 2014

The quiet in the house is eery.  The guys left early this morning on a road trip to Southern California for the next five days and I have the house all to myself.  Motherhood nirvana, right?  I have so many things on my to-do list while they're gone.

Watching the PBS documentary on The Roosevelts was at the top of my list, along with catching up with the last disc of Orange is the New Black.  Oh, and Magic Mike.  Yes, lots of important DVD viewing is going to happen over here.

I used to start my new year with a four hour-long yoga class.  The instructor would ask us to write down our intention for the year on an index card and place it under our mat during our practice on New Year's Day.  My yoga instructor has since moved, but I still like to do the exercise of picking a word for the year and think about my intentions for the upcoming 365 days.

Last year's word, Acceptance, was a little vague.  I tried to focus on it, but found that opening myself up to new ways of learning, connecting with new friends and putting myself out into the world creatively did, in fact, help me accept what I am capable of.  But it all feels sort of calculated - like I'm bending my experiences to fit the word for last year.

Needless to say, I'm stuck on what word to pick for this year.  I'm going to let it percolate and see what happens.

I miss my yoga practice.  I should really do something about that.

Once I got home from work on Monday, I slipped into my comfy leggings, slipped off my bra and really hunkered down.  I had so much reading to catch up on - books, old newspapers, magazines, and blog posts written by friends and acquaintances.  

I was asked to contribute an essay to the 28 Days of Play series this coming February.  While I'm super excited about the prospect of writing and sharing my work, I was a little bit daunted in trying to find a head shot that would be appropriate and then writing my own bio.  As I'm sure most moms have experienced, I do not have a lot of photos of just me.  Seriously.  Out of about 4,000 photos, I had about a dozen of just me and only about two of those would possibly work.  

My new year's intention should be get in the frame!  

Where was I?  Oh, yes, the writing.  I was supposed to be writing while the guys were gone, but I often find that when I have deadlines, self-imposed or otherwise, I have to get my house in order.  Does that happen for anyone else?  Like, I have to organize my desk and write in my journal.  The simple act of writing quotes or illustrating a few pages in my journal feels like a mind-dump.  As I'm putting things down on paper, the creative wheels are spinning in my head and I'm having conversations with myself about writing and the project itself.

I finished reading Annie Dillard's book The Writing Life late last night.  So many thoughtful  ruminations on the process of writing in those pages.  Process is so important to me.  I have to enjoy the process of most anything I do or I don't want to do it.  Writing, making art, exercising, decorating, cooking - everything has a process and I'm learning to hone in on what I like about those things and really give myself permission to slough off the chores or acts that I don't enjoy.

Take letterpress printing, for example.  I love the look and feel of letterpressed works.  The craftsmanship and finished product is so good.  I took a workshop a few years ago at a local letterpress co-op and by the end of those four hours I knew I never wanted to step foot into a letterpress workshop again.  Don't get me wrong, I loved all the fonts and presses and thick, rich card stock.  No, where they lost me was with all of the tiny letters and tweezers and exactness of it all.  It's helpful to know what you do and do not like doing.  Admitting it was new to me and quite a revelation.  I loved letterpress as an art form, but not an art form that I would personally make.  Yes, I am a fan and will happily pay the premium for fine, letterpressed artwork made by someone other than me.

Okay, now I've gone off on a tangent.

Process.

Yes, it's all about process for me.  Process and documentation.  Processing it in my head and then verbalizing it and then writing it down somewhere (on my blog, in my notebook, in my art journal or in a Word document saved on my computer).

After a restless night of sleep, I finally decided to get showered (yes!), get dressed and get out of the house on New Year's Day.  I drove up the coast to the seaside town of Jenner and got caught up with a girlfriend.  We took a short walk along the Russian River shoreline and sat on the rocks and soaked up the sunshine during low tide.  She asked for my phone and snapped this picture of me because the light was like honey.

My first picture of the new year was of me.

Miracle of all miracles!

At the end of the five days, I was ready for my husband and son to come home.  I feel like I fed my creative soul while they were gone and had a lot of time to reminisce about all the good that happened over the last year - family adventures, a writing retreat, creative workshops, collaborations with writers and friends.  Our son changed schools this year and we stepped into the roles as parents of a tween.  So much growth happened within our family these last twelve months and I'm really proud of us for muddling through it together.

My house, as well as my mind, felt like it was in order.

Sayonara! to 2014.

I Heart Instagram

The living room windows are covered in a steamy, thick layer of moisture this morning.  I shuffle over to the xmas tree and plug in the twisted string of lights and a soft, golden glow gently permeates the space.  My body folds into the couch and I pick up my phone and peruse my Instagram account and smile at the bevy of images being shared in that space - french toast fixings; a North Pole party; winter solstice offerings; snow-crested mountains; slate grey skies melting into perfectly calm waters; and a new puppy for a beautiful family mourning the recent loss of their beloved dog.

I've wanted to write about my addiction to Instagram for some time now, but didn't know what I really wanted to say.  The word addiction makes it sound sordid and taboo, but it's not like that.

Social media has so many negative connotations, but I love my Instagram community.  I do not want to apologize for it or be embarrassed by sharing pretty things in that little 2 x 2 inch square on the screen of my phone.

I get so much inspiration from fellow artists, writers, bloggers, photographers, mamas, poets, designers + the alumni of folks I attended Write Doe Bay with earlier this year.  I love it.  I really do.  

Instagram has been a positive place to share parts of my life with others.  No, I don't show the muddy entryway of my home or the messy sink full of dishes.  Some would argue that I'm not keeping it real, but I would say to them - Who wants to see that?  

Beauty is what I find when I scroll through my Instagram feed and that's what I also personally want to share.  I try to find the beauty in my life and what we're doing and share it with others.  Our life is far from perfect, but there are some pretty perfect moments that make me want to shout from the rooftops that I'm alive, healthy and living in this amazing world.  A wee bit dramatic, but I think you get the drift.

There is so much beauty…

The austere, real beauty of the natural world.   

Beautiful children laughing, playing, doing ballet or playing a sport they love.

Creatives bravely sharing the beauty of their work.

The simple beauty of food - satsumas, freshly baked bread or a steaming cup of coffee.

The beauty of the written word as shared by authors, readers, bloggers and publishing houses. 

The simple beauty of human connection and friendship.

I have found as the days tick into weeks, months, and then years, that I like being alone.  Once social and outgoing, I'm finding that I like the quiet of my home and take great solace in reading the words of others.  Since I am particularly visual, images and photographs amp up the words I read and Instagram links me to a small world of friends who share many of my interests.

My words + Grady's shoe

And while it's true that I won't let my 11 year old son have an account,  I do share images with him.  He was recently inspired to draw his Nike tennis shoes based on a post an illustrator shared on Instagram of her own son's work.

This avenue of sharing has helped me to stay connected with my sister, as well as friends and family  that live all over the world.  I only wish I could get my best friend and husband to use it.  It's not their thing, but I wish it was.

Instagram has definitely changed how I use my phone and how I share words + photos.  I used to come here to this very blog to catalog and record our life.  It's been harder and harder to do so.  Mainly, I think, because of the ease of using Instagram.  It's a way of sharing an abbreviated version of what's going on with me or our family, but I long to sit and write for hours at my desk and save on my blog.  Oftentimes, the day does just not allow for such indulgences.

A really lovely opportunity recently presented itself when a woman I met via Instagram, Rachel Cedar, contacted me and asked me to participate as a writer in her 28 Days of Play series this coming February.  This never would have happened if I hadn't been writing and sharing my life on Instagram.  I'm super excited and will share more about this project in a future post.

Earlier this year, the publisher of Mamalode, Elke Govertsen, asked me to collaborate with writer Annie Flavin and illustrate the centerfold for their print and online magazine.  Again, I don't believe that ever would have happened if I hadn't put myself out there; by sharing my daily drawings on Instagram.   Sarah Geurts Miller, Mamalode's managing editor, asked me to participate as a guest poster on their @mamalode feed on Instagram for their #dayinthelifeofmamalode series earlier this year, too.  Mamalode also published essays I've written online and can be found here, here and here.  The social network of Instagram easily merged our relationship and helped us to share it with readers of our IG feeds.  I'd do anything for those women running Mamalode.  Absolutely anything.

What I'm getting at is that a lot of good has come from my willingness to share on this social media platform.  And while I try to temper my usage, it's a source of daily inspiration and camaraderie with my fellow community of Instagrammers.  It has become this daily source of joy and I'm not inclined to give it up any time soon.

Opportunties and friendships were made this year through this social network and I'm really grateful for them. I hope more of that good fortune spills into next year and I know I'll be ready to receive it with open arms and, most likely, a phone in one of my hands.

I'm not embarrassed or ashamed.  

Not one little 2 x 2 inch square bit.

Mamalode Issue 19 :: It's Complicated + GIVEAWAY

Earlier this summer, an email showed up in my in box that both delighted and terrified me.  It was from the publisher of Mamalode magazine, Elke Govertsen, asking if I would consider collaborating with Annie Flavin and illustrating eight of her poems that would be featured as the centerfold in the next issue.  EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS!  CENTERFOLD!  IN PRINT!  The theme would be It's Complicated.  Further explaining that while the theme could be interpreted as complicated, it didn't need to be.  

[To buy an ad-free copy, click here.  As a bonus, you also get an online version FREE.]

Well, I think I replied with some little joke about the J. Geils Band's 80's hit single Angel is a Centerfold and them immediately said yes.  HELL YES!  I quickly decided that I would use Micron pens and watercolors and, in keeping with the theme, keep my line drawings clean and simple.  I jumped up and down and shared the news with my husband and son.  And then it really sank in and I freaked out a little bit from time to time, but I think that's normal, right?  Right.

Mamalode gave me total creative license, but shared their preference for handwritten works.  Annie requested that her poems be read in a certain thematic order and that really helped me with my creative process while interpreting her words and sentiments.

I came up with a lot of the concepts while I was in Homer, Alaska in early August, which just so happened to be the publisher's hometown.  I was so fueled my the natural beauty that surrounded me, as well as an amazing ferry ride over to Halibut Cove, that I almost had too many ideas to sort through.  I frequented their library to look at reference books on native plants and Alaskan Native art books.  I took dozens of photos of their ubiquitous fireweed and tried to absorb all of the soul-piercing beauty and culture that surrounded me.

Fun fact ::  The Homer Library denied me a library card the week that I was there, so I had to do most of my looking and note-taking at the library.  Not a bad thing, but I really wanted a library card from Alaska.  And, yes, I'm a complete library dork.

I started working on watercolor paper at first, but then changed to smooth legal paper in the end because the watercolor paper was too textured and it was hard to drag my lines across the paper.  These weren't going to be originals for sale, so I opted for plain old copy paper and my Micron pens responded with clean, crisp lines for most of the illustrations.  I also played around with a Copic drawing pen [size F02] for the hand-lettering.  This pen was great during the assignment, but has proven schizophrenic when I tried to use it after the fact.  It barely completes a letter without breaking the line.  I'm so glad it held up during this assignment.

Motherhood, as well as the relationship between men & women, were always in the forefront of my mind while interpreting Annie's words.  Gender roles & stereotypes, assumptions based on those stereotypes & the perceived simplicity of youth were my guides.  The physicality of pregnancy and physiology of sex played a part in these line drawings, as well.  

Wanting to keep a simple color palette, I chose hot pink gouache to represent girls-women-females  and a vintage Prang turquoise blue watercolor to represent boys-men-males.  I did throw in yellow and chartreuse green to marry the two typical boy-girl colors throughout the series.  The pink and blue are symbolic and really pulled me into the stark, black lines and the stories being told through Annie's free verses.

Umbilical cords (inspired by Alaskan seaweed) were the backdrop for "Before I Was Me, I Was You"

A curvy, endless road that we're all on as parents inspired by "Each Time" 

Orgasms.  Big & Small.  Period.

Wonky flowers.  Each different.  Like our children.  Inspired by "Our Gifts"

Womb with layers of love stacked up like spoons + the baby at its core.  Inspired by "Spoons"

Double fencing and/or walls around the words in "The Way Home" serving as security; keeping home & those relationships safe inside.

Fish scales inspired by a line in this poem; also representing the number of choices we all have.

Radiant beams of light, positivity, hope.  Little rays of sunshine inspired by "When I Die"

I absolutely loved working with the Mamalode team and Annie on this project.  I'm so proud of what I was allowed to do and feel complete respect for creatives all over the world that put their art out into the world for all to enjoy.  It's not easy, but what an absolute gift.  One that keeps on giving in terms of inspiration, motivation and confidence over here.

Speaking of gifts, I'd like to offer a little giveaway.  Please leave a comment on my Instagram feed or in the comment section below sharing how you plan on making this coming holiday season a little less complicated.  I'd love to steal a few of your good ideas!  I'll pick one lucky winner to receive a print of your choosing from this collection (printed on 80# card stock).

UPDATE:  WINNERS SELECTED.  

I couldn't just pick one, so Amy Larson, Tricia Kushman Anderson & Rudri Bhatt Patel all win.  Thank you for sharing how you plan on keeping the holidays a little less complicated.  Email me your mailing address and the print you would like and I'll pop in the mail next week.  Thank you!

Mamalode will also be giving away one of my prints to a lucky reader next week.  Have you started following Mamalode on Facebook or Instagram?  Are you signed up to receive their newsletters?  Have you ordered their ad-free copy of this next issue?  Well, what are you waiting for?  Sign up and you'll have another chance to win a print.

You can also submit your genius to the editors at Mamalode by following this link.  Go ahead, do it.  The theme for next month's online issue is also It's Complicated and they're are accepting submissions right NOW.  Do you have a story to tell?  I think we all do.  What's yours?  Poetry, photographs, essays & cute quotes from you kids all accepted.

Annie Flavin is also offering a giveaway of one of our prints from this series.  Follow her on Facebook or Twitter for your chance to win.

This was my first illustration assignment and I couldn't be more proud or pleased with the results.  Thank you for taking the time to read this long-winded, promotional post and following along in this fun journey I'm on.

I can't wait to see where it takes me next.