Aya Means... (Original Art)

'Aya'

14" X  18"

(Mixed Media)

Big Box Store....

My mission today... take Luna, aka 'Looney Tunes' to Day Care/ Bath.  Then go to visit hubby at hubby's office. Last, go to big box store with huge list. Return home and put perishables into fridge.

All with Little Blue Bird in tow.

We can DO this!

Timing is critical.  Little feathered creature must be recently napped and fed moments prior to her encasement into the highly suspicious and dreaded contraption called a 'car seat'. Plus have Friday chores that MUST be done prior to leaving the house as  I know I will not do them when I return.

7am... she awakens.  Change, feed, snuggle, dress in day clothes, feed, change, tuck back in for am nap.  It is 8:30am.

GO!

Downstairs, push power button for pre-prepped coffee.  Shovel yogurt into mouth while it brews.

Crap -forgot am weigh in.  Go upstairs. Subtract yogurt...gah... no bueno.  Move on!

Try to scold Luna into eating - receive mournful squeaking.  Give up and have a cup of coffee on floor with Princess Buttercup to convince her to eat.

9am... Gather, place all necessary items into car (i.e. extra outfit x2 (including a top for me), baby sling, four legged friend hammock and leash etc.)

Dress, apply mascara, brush hair.   Empty garbage, double check / add to grocery list, water house plants, do last night's dishes, clean coffee pot, update/ balance monthly bills, switch laundry, empty little box, vacuum -

10:50am... Hear stirrings of starvation and Luna runs downstairs to inform me her charge is awake.

Change, feed, snuggle, play, feed, change, tuck into car seat.

11:50am Load car with infant and canine. Lose more of hearing from outrage of one, celebration from the other.

12:10pm Doggie Daycare.  Sit in car extra two minutes to gather resolve.

Get Luna out first.  She is a twirling ball of ear piercing fur attached to a leash.  Extract second distressed tragic creature.  Luna tries to reassure her ward and her cold nose is rewarded with increased vocals.

Realize making scene in parking lot...

Haul both into Daycare...

Attendees are 3x usual. Check in machine is down.  Must hand write in.  Put baby seat in crook of arm, hang on to puppy with other, scrawl illegibly time, name, date.  Sampling of 'Communication' with staff below:

"Hi!  This is Luna!  She is here for a half day of daycare and a bath."
"Who again? Moona?"
"Luna!"
"LUNA?"
In reply to her name, Luna stands up, paws on the counter and also answers.
The harried person smiles,
"Oh hi squeaky toy, haven't seen you in well over a month or two." She looks at me, "Baby here yet?"

The giant car seat I am clinging to is clearly not obvious enough. I nod.  Mind you, we are both shouting over barking.  This is freaking tiny girl out and winding Luna to maximum excitement capacity.

I leave with even less hearing.

12:25p Hubby's office.  Baby peacefully asleep.  No evidence of before scenes to explain my tangled hair and disheveled demeanor.  She looks darling with her bow and angelic expression and doesn't stir once for the hour we are there.  Office full of males smile at the little sweet peaceful face.

1:40p I load her into the car to leave and hunger wakes her with vengeance,  Kiss hubby good bye, sit in parking garage and feed her.  Twenty each side plus a pant change.

2:40p Big Box Store.... This was down right entertaining.  First the little blue bird has recently napped and fed and has dry pants.  She is nothing but bright curious eyes.  To prevent the invasion of her space, (and cuz I love that she is so small I can) I carry her in the sling for this expedition.  My list is comprehensive and requires canvasing the nearly the entire joint.  Every single aisle there is an approach and comment.  Naturally the most common one is,  "How old?"

What follows is varied.  Everything from comrades, "I took mine out at 3 weeks!", a frown, "I took mine out only at 12...".

There are questions about her name, how labor was, how much did she weigh at delivery, or now?  Did I get vaccinated for the flu?  Am I going to get her vaccinated too?  Is she sleeping through the night?  Don't let her cry it out! Be sure to let her cry it out!

My favorite?  A Costco employee, "Ma'ma, we don't allow dogs in...."  he glances into the sling, "Oh, right, sorry!"

PS:  I never stopped moving, I smiled and sometimes answered.  Every now and again, someone would get a little too close (really, couple of times folks would just lean right on in to my chest) and sunshine would get nervous.  Each time, I rubbed her back, kissed her face as she searched my face for clues in a response.  She was out by the time we were checking out.

HUGE Shout out to the lady behind me who asked if I needed help unloading and then unloaded my cart before I could accept and then to the lady in the mini van who slammed on her brakes to hustle her hubby out to help me put it all in the car.

4:00p Home, in need a nap and a glass of wine,  I settled for chocolate and a cuddle with the darling daring little bird.  The thing is this.  While the unsolicited advice and judgement was a bit overwhelming, the plethora of genuinely sincere well wishes were bountiful...  I felt empowered.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

But seriously, this was one of the most intimidating days I have ever had.  Interviewing at General Dynamics was easier.  If I can do this, and do it pretty darn ok, then I can do anything.

Hubby was picking up the Luna girl so I could put away perishables

Motherhood/ Labor

Carefully I scrub the sole of my foot smooth.  This three minute shower has it's time allotted carefully; Soap all over, shampoo and conditioner at the same time, maybe shave underarms and at least one minute to scrub my feet.

I make observations and then, like little mice, they run around in my head, scurrying here and there. Unexpectedly showing up and making me jump.  I noticed, while pregnant, many Mom's forget their feet so I had promised myself, not forget mine. Not that my toes are particularly 'pretty' but they take me everywhere I have ever been.

Motherhood... it is the strangest difficult transition imaginable.  My relationship with everything is changed and I see myself, and everyone around me, with a different kind of awareness.

In labor, the women who aided us blew my, already rose-colored perception of women away. Women can be lifelines of a strength and grace I do not comprehend. Sometime between my dilation of 6 to 9 1/2, I lost myself until slender hands grasped mine.   She pulled me out of the tunnel.

I believe all living things are comprised of Four; body (instinct, physical reactions such as flight or fight), mind (logic, reason), emotion (love, hate, compassion) and that indefinable essence, perhaps something called the soul.

After labor this is no longer a belief.  It is indisputable truth.  I was a passenger and my body had become a stranger's. My body was in control.   This scared the shit out of me,

Funny thing, right?  Not the pain, not watching the mirror -what terrified me was my complete and absolute lack of control over my body.

After, when they handed me this tiny girl, with her dark startled eyes, the flood of recognition in my bones..... my arms closed around her  -I can not express this.  It was all of me, all four parts. Then watching my exhausted and overwhelmed friend, how he both shut out and wrapped his arms around me.... I saw, understood him and accepted.

The first week of postpartum was a blur of hospital and mild shell shock.  Yes I can recite the days and events, I have my memory, it's overwhelmed kaleidoscope of people, pain and dark 2am's looking at her face in wonder and watching my darling husband try to sleep.

Week two was joy and extreme physical awareness.  Not sure why this is when it showed up, a week later, but my body's protests are the second thing I thought about next to her gentle face.

Week three; the reality of parenthood started to set in.  My 'I-Can-Do-This' attitude rallies, pain subsides (comparatively).  I take short walks with little Luna, start to do small chores, walk up the stairs often to recover long lost muscles.  I see the stress on my man, on us and start trying to reconcile it.  This doesn't go well...

Week four.  My body gives me the bird. I wake up with a 103.4 temperature - mastitis.  This is Unholy pain.

Interestingly, I KNEW what was wrong.  I knew it was mastitis.  My body told me what it was.

This pain -, it is in my fingernails, my head is exploding, my eyelashes are scratching my skin, my muscles are pulling my skeleton apart.  THREE days until the temperature begins to recede. The only relief is when I nurse her so I over fed the little blue bird at every opportunity for days.  Relatives helpfully comment daily how 'lucky' I am to stay home for a bit.  I don't understand this observation and the fever makes me foggy and too weak to answer with a biting reply.

Week five was a see-saw.  The benefit of being this ill, was that I sat down for this week.  Really and truly (and finally -as my Mommy said), I sat down. I cuddled, soothed and sat. Too dizzy to argue with my body, my activities were limited to showering and feeding this tiny happy girl.

Hello week six!!  I feel... dare I say it.... better.  Genuinely, everything feels better.  I respect my limits now too. Yesterday afternoon, as I got up to trim the backyard ivy I felt the room tilt slightly. My response? I immediately took off my shoes, went upstairs and took a nap.

Daughter

Hello little person,

I was nervous, so anxiously nervous and excited to meet you.  I am not the most maternal person by any stretch of the imagination.  I worried I wouldn't have the right response when you at last arrived.

For months I sang to you, talked to you, laughed as you moved.  When I skied fast and sure, I willed the energy of the mountain to you.  My love of the clean clear cold to you.  On my one little flight this spring I thought about you,  I prayed my love of discovery, change and beauty would be yours. When my darling and I went camping, hiking, exploring, I hoped some memory of the smell of the dusty desert, the pine needles, the snap of the camp fire and blue berry pancakes and coffee would find it's way to you.

I carefully wrote up a simple birth plan and shared it with the doctor and hospital staff.  I found a copy of it this morning and snickered.

Labor was the most difficult, personally challenging task I have ever undertaken. Ever. I was not afraid leading up to it, which is my style,  I usually put off being afraid until I actually get to what I might be scared of.

I was afraid of labor somewhere around 7pm and at 9 1/2 centimeters dilated.  Contractions were waves; Pacific coast waves, massive-forceful-pummeling-cliffs type of waves.  They swept over me, drowning me in them. I was not 'I' and me was not me.  I was a passenger in the unbreakable rip tide and the current swallowed me in it.

I was hoarse for a week afterwards.  I will skip all of the details and move on to you.

At 12:34am, they put your tiny self on my chest, goo and all.  Your wide dark terrified eyes were searching all around you and I answered, "Hey there little one."

And your eyes, still too under developed to truly make me out, reflected recognition of my voice. Your cries subsided for a moment and I knew you and you knew me.

Mine.  Mine for this instant.  So very soon, you will begin to define yourself, belong to yourself but for the next couple of years, you are mine and I am yours.

In the dark hospital room I watched my sweetheart bath you, cuddle you close and watched you feel safe, Your little tense body, so exhausted, relaxed into his strong arms.  Later we all cuddled in the hospital bed together and we were all safe because we were all together.

There has been very little quiet since the small hours after your birth.  In the last two weeks, our diverse tribe, compiled of friends and family members, have come by daily to meet you.  Their support has been a loud distracting life line in a world of deprived sleep and overwhelmed emotions of joy and mild terror.  Honestly, I long for silence and an empty house with only the three of us present.  I am trying to be patient. Soon, everyone will go away.  After all, even my own Mother came for three short days.

Before I digress completely, I had nothing to worry about.  You are so perfect, (says every Mom), but you really are.  You are perfect.

Yesterday (Original Art)

'Yesterday"

Watercolor/ Inks

(Details: 11" X 14" heavy weight 140-lb paper.)

Available

Grandma's house

Gah...

Another one... 

Resigned I settled into watch the stupid dream unfold - when I hear the muffled sound of a chair dragged across carpet.  

I look next to me, to see a chair drawn up and - startled, I exclaim, "Grandma!"

She beams at me from behind her glasses and happily I sit down in the offered chair.  She sits down across from me.  We are at her kitchen table.  There are violets and little random metal figurines on the window sill and fresh coffee on the table.  

I take a nice deep reset breath in her house of fabric, books, teddy bears and time. It is such a relief to be here.  This place that didn't change, that always was. 

I swallow my silly salty reaction and for a distraction, I move to sit side ways and study the many dusty framed cross stitches covering the wall behind me.

She pats my hand, giving me a few minutes as she goes to rescue oatmeal cookies.  Returning, she brings mugs for the coffee and cookies for comfort.

Here is the thing about my mother's mother.  Although Grandma was a spitfire; a sassy opinionated bird of a woman, she never tried to tell me what to do or to think.

She never meddled.  At least with me.  Maybe, because just like her, there is nothing that will enrage me quicker than someone telling me what to believe, what I should or shouldn't do. I have more than a bit of her sharp temper and stubborn independence.

Like her I love fiercely, I make up my own rules and ignore convention. 

I tell her all about it.  About it all.  Twelve months ago in August to today and she listens.  Such a gorgeous and confusing year; Banff, skiing Christmas (and all winter long), People in it, Work, Work, Work,Yellowstone, camping...

At certain points she 'tsks' in sympathy, at others I flinch away from her glowering disapproval, and at the exact right times, she smiles and claps - she is the perfect audience.  

I get down to telling the last little bit of the pickle I feel/ think/ believe/ image I am in.  

As I surmise my tale, she nods seriously, but I catch her mischievous side ways glance; the solution is obvious to her....the pause extends as she sighs to herself and looks out the window.

I become exasperated and I counter her sigh with a fidgety movement that catches her attention and give her an eyebrow raised and her smiles widens. 

She shrugs, looks up and smiles reassuringly at me, "There is nothing wrong with more than one Grandma in the house."

........................

....................................
................................................oh.

Slowly my eyes smile too and in a moment I am grinning back at her, "Oh!"

She smiled again, patting my hand, 

"Get up and go to work today, ignore the fuss.  You love that man, you went looking for him and you two choose each other over everyone else.  Ignore his occasional misinterpretations.  Respect his fears."

Dishes clanked as she stacked them together and continued,  "When you get tired today, come home, sit down and read a book. Help that impatient and restless girl stay put. She needs to bake a bit longer. It isn't easy for her to be still, just as it isn't easy for you and your sweetheart.  " 

She stood and took my empty mug and went to her kitchen.  She leaned down to see me through the hanging tiny creations cluttering her view, "One more thing."

I paused, I had stood up to bring in the plate of cookies, "Yes?"  - but at the same time, I looked down to see the alarm on my phone going off and woke up.

A Blue Apocalypse Dawn (Original Art)

20” X 20” X 1.5”

Oil Pastel, Acrylic

I haven’t touched a paint brush since May.

MAY!  

There isn’t time.  Every day is a dramatically frantic run to the end and I am deliriously tired.

In the extremely rare moment there could be time, there is too much upheaval, too much noise.  I retreat to my safe place, the one room untouched by chaos, my small sunlight second room and hang out with my cat. 

I am not stressed, perhaps a little sad sometimes.  These last few weeks of the story that is just of him and I, they are so crowded and full of fires to be put out.  I want to sleep in.  I want to paint.  I want my sweetheart to have time to sleep in. I want one more day in the strange and beautiful place called Yellowstone.  Just one more day that is just about him and I wandering about a new place holding each other’s sunburnt hand. 

I am excited and happy for what’s next.  I am grateful to be with the most bossy and ultimately capable human on the planet.  

My body is heavy now; so heavy and busy and rich.  And every morning I am even heavier then before and it is harder to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth. 

I dreamed of this little girl last night.  She and he were discussing, in serious tones, Why, why Exactly, the swing that goes up then swings down.  They waved hands, heads tilted up and back as they talked about Why the clouds built in some ways rather then others and Why they dispersed.   I dreamed about the moment all parents face when they mourn their pre-parent selves.   I dreamed I loved him and her in a rashly raw and ludicrous way I didn’t know I could before.

Ah the anticipation of being first time parents...

It is the cobalt wild mustang, watching the rise of a fierce red dawn.

.....And I am out of Popsicles...