Category Archives: Journal entry

How NOT to Throw a Pity Party

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I attempted to throw a party yesterday.

It was a pity party.

I don’t know why. Maybe it was because my husband was out of town. Maybe it’s because my 4 year-old has a lying problem. Maybe it it was the fact that by the time I got both kids to school I felt like I’d put in a full day’s work and I didn’t want to do anything.

Maybe it was all those things, but the final straw were the violas.

Poor violas!

I bought violas the other day with the intention of potting them and making a pretty little display for next to my front door. Yet, almost a week later there they sit in their disposable plastic cups from the nursery, dying. So when I pulled back in the driveway after dropping my little one off at school and saw these poor wilted violas, my pity party festivities began.

Have any of you ever thrown a pity party? They’re very easy. You don’t have to decorate, in fact, decorations may ruin your pity party, and you don’t ever ever clean up. They happen mostly in your own head. You can try to invite other people to your pity party, but the guests usually just pop in for a moment and don’t stick around. The most important part is the playlist. The playlist consists of hits like, “Why can’t I get it together?” “I’ll never be a success,” and the ever popular, “It’s not really my fault.”

Perhaps the most important element for a successful pity party is at least some degree of melodrama. So, with that in mind, I picked up one of the little cups of violas, the one that, in my opinion, would have been the prettiest had it lived, and carried it inside. My intention? To paint a portrait of my failure.

How annoyed are you with me right now? Are you rolling your eyes? You absolutely should be. Sidenote: I had other work I needed to be doing. Other paintings on my easel, etc., but when you have a party to plan…

So, here I sat with my mostly dead violas in front of me, watercolor sketchbook out, fully intending to not only paint a portrait of my failure, but then to blog about it! (Good Lord, that melodrama was turned up high!) There was one little flower that was still alive…a symbol of what could have been had I not failed them (Can’t you just hear the cello music?).

See the one live bloom? I was going to pose the question, “Does that one flower make me a success or a failure?” Oh the drama! *eye roll*

However, something went wrong. I started painting and sort of lost my party theme. Instead of listing how I had failed, I got lost in doodling the details. The dead blooms changed from something to lament to just something to observe…something to depict. Instead of something to fix and change they became something that simply are what they are.

By the time I finished my watercolor sketch, my pity party had really petered out. So, I left the party and got to work. Successful parties need engaged guests and a pity party is no exception.

Oh, and a weird thing happened. A couple hours later I noticed my violas had perked up. Maybe they were just chilly outside. Or maybe they were playing dead for attention and suffered from their own share of melodrama. Who knows?

Out with the old… eventually

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Christmas 2014 when my daughter was 3, my father-in-law and his wife gave all the grandkids boots. What a hit! My little girl wore hers constantly- I even had to talk her out of wearing them on the beach- and they quickly became her trademark. But, like kids tend to do, she’s growing. Quickly. And by this past Christmas it was time for a new pair. They were replaced by a pair of brown boots with colorful stitching on the sides. She took to them immediately. It took a little longer for me. They were so grown-up and I wasn’t ready.

She’s getting so big, so fast. The 4-year-old in brown boots is so different from the 3-year-old in pink boots. So different and yet the same. I love watching her grow up. I love watching her change. But it also breaks my heart a little. So when I requested she pick out some things to give away and she brought me her pink boots, I almost cried. The sentimental packrat in me wanted to hold on to them… just because. She’s right, though. It’s time to move on. But not without commemoration and one last look.

Pink Boots- watercolor journal entry

Little darlin’, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter…

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Molly's Tree- pen and ink doodle

Molly’s Tree- pen and ink doodle

There’s a certain pleasant tension, a pressure of life that’s seems palpable in Spring. Moist air weighs on tender new grass, which in turn stretches up toward the sun. Buds push their way through branches’ fingertips and unfurl into fleshy leaves. Tulips and daffodils press their way upward through soft, fresh dirt. It feels like all of nature is pulsing. Can you feel it? Whether you realize it or not I bet you can. Is your step just a little lighter? Do you long to shed un-needed layers, whether of clothing, flesh, or sadness? It’s Spring. Get outside and soak it in.

Daffodils- watercolor sketch

Daffodils- watercolor sketch

Violets- watercolor sketch

Violets- watercolor sketch

“Wasted” Day

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The day did not look promising.

Mother’s Day Out (along with all other schools) had been needlessly cancelled due to the threat of “inclement weather,” which in the end, presented itself only in dreary rain. I had a to-do list a mile-and-a-half long, restless energy, and a two-year-old who wouldn’t even let me check my email without destroying things in a bid for my attention. Frustrated and focused on “not wasting the day,” I buzzed around her, attempting to check items off my list, snapping and sighing in annoyance. And then little arms wrapped themselves around my legs. And then a little voice said, “Mommy, can you hold me?” And then I got smart and stopped wasting my day.

Instead we snuggled up on the couch and watched a movie. We made a dozen marker drawings.We used up all her finger paints and created a mural on the wall of the bathtub. Then we rinsed it away and used up some fancy bath gels I was saving for a rainy day (What better opportunity?) and splashed around in the foam.

And the wasted day became a success.

It’s all about balance… well, mostly

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ImageArt is a pretty sedentary activity. Luckily my other love is exercise of many different forms. One of my favorites- yoga. Often times during the relaxation period at the end of class when my thoughts are flowing gently ideas are formed, solutions uncovered, connections made. This morning, however, my revelation came during a balance pose. Having a revelation during a balance pose, by the way, can make you topple, so I gently tucked in the back of my brain to ponder over later. Now is later.

Imagine this: You’re trying a pose that seems unfamiliar, unnatural- say, for example, something on one foot (or in this case, on your head). You wobble, you teeter. Then what do you do? You laugh self-consciously or panic, you scrunch up, you shrink in, you become smaller. Do that, however, and you most assuredly will fall. However, if you keep your poise, lift up, expand with control, stretch out and grow you have a much better chance at success.

It seems to me that the same thing happens when we meet challenges or unfamiliar territory (or even just awkward situations) in life. If we become self-conscious, fearful of failure, insecure, and shrink into our small, seemingly safe little box, we most assuredly lose our balance. Instead, expand with control (“with control” being the optimum phrase here). Stretch. Be strong and test your limits. You still may fall, but I can almost guarantee it will be with more grace. And if you don’t fall? Congrats.

I’m not writing this from a position of authority. I’m really writing this TO myself. This is my challenge for myself in the upcoming year- to live expansively, generously, openly, un-self-consciously, without fear and shrinking… and if I fall, to fall with grace, then get back up and try again.

Morning Musings

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It’s dark inside the house and out. A melody wakes me from a dream and I roll away from my sleeping husband. I hush the alarm and stand there a moment, considering the silence; considering returning to the still warm bed. I think about the day ahead… about what needs to be done and the few chances I will have to do what I wish with my time. Decision made, I go to the kitchen for some coffee and, as cool blue light begins to seep around the edges of the window panes, I begin my day with pen and paint.

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My Little Treasure’s Treasures

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They’re everywhere. They tumble out of pockets, they rolls with the broom out from under furniture, they’re in almost every allowable container in or outside the house.

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Rocks. My little girl loves them. And I’m not talking exotic or particularly beautiful rocks. I’m talking gray driveway gravel, pea gravel, garden rocks. She collects them, she gives them as gifts, she plays with them, she even sometimes bathes them. She plays with other toys, too; I just can’t help but smile at her penchant for rocks… I admit it’s partly because it reminds me of my fondness for mossy bits of bark. I guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.