Over 10 years ago, I started my first website. There weren’t a lot of personal sites back then, and certainly no blogs, but the handful of sites that I did know inspired me to start my own. I wrote about my days, sharing stories and musings, photos and art, anything and everything. I met incredible people, many who have become dear friends and one who even became my family. The website changed my life.

It has acted as a playground for writing and design, two of my favorite past-times. I have redesigned and reinvented it over the years, and it has served me well.

But lately, I’ve been dreaming of a new kind of place. A place where I can still chronicle my life, but somewhere I feel comfortable talking about work, too. Somewhere I can share all the inspiration I find on the web and in my neighborhood. And somewhere I can introduce the people I want you to meet.

So I dreamed up a new blog, Brunch. If we can’t gather around my table over a cup of coffee, at least we can connect there in that space.

Thank you so much for your friendship and support all these years. I hope you’ll come see me at my new home.

xo Christine

p.s. While I will no longer be updating this site, the archives will remain available for, like, ever.

You won’t believe this, but I am writing this letter a day early. It’s true! You turn 10 months old tomorrow.

Today is Father’s Day, and I have spent a lot of the day watching you and your papa enjoy each other. He held and entertained you during Sunday mass. He fed you carrots and squash during our Shabu Shabu lunch. He rocked you to sleep and took an afternoon nap with you. When you awoke—and, really, throughout the day—you played and laughed together. It was a joy to witness.

Your papa is a remarkable father. I already told him that a hundred times today, but I wanted to tell you, too, since I know that is the sort of thing that you may not realize on your own until you are much, much older. He has been caring for you since day one. I was recovering from my surgery and could barely get out of bed, so Papa was the first one to feed you, rock you and change your diaper. You had to stay in the NICU for the first two days of your life, so Papa kept you company. I wanted to be with you so badly, but my heart hurt a little less knowing that your papa was there. I knew he’d take such good care of you.

And I was right. Ten months later, and he’s still taking wonderful care of you. You are so lucky to have him in your life. We both are.

Since my last letter was only two weeks ago, you might think that not a lot has happened, but you’d be wrong. In the past two weeks…

You have crawled across the couch a couple times and once or twice on the floor.

Of course, you’d rather walk. You can stagger along the couch, holding on to the ottoman. You go back and forth and back again.

Your two bottom teeth have come in and I think the others are starting to push their way through too.

You have won the hearts of half a dozen girls. Whether the girl is 2, 10 or 30, you turn on the charm and before I know it she’s found you irresistible. (I don’t blame them. You are pretty cute.)

You have become a champion eater. You were already pretty good, but now you can eat handfuls of cheerios in a jif and inhale a cup of yogurt in no time. No wonder you’ve grown so big.

Summer is here now, and we are going to have a blast. You and your papa are going to spend a lot more time together, because school is out and he’s on vacation. I’ll be working a little bit more, but I plan on taking many breaks with you both. I want to take you swimming and to the Long Beach Aquarium, and I want to have many picnics in the park. Plus, we’re going on a couple of road trips and on your first airplane ride, too.

Doesn’t that all sound fun? I think so.

So, what are we waiting for? C’mon, let’s go! Adventure awaits.

All my love,
Mama

You’re already 9 1/2 months old!

I was 9 months old when I first came to America, so it has been especially fascinating and fun to watch you the past couple of weeks. Although I spent the early months of my life in the Philippines, my personal narrative really seems to begin when my mom, my brothers and I made that 15-hour flight halfway across the world.

In that same way, and like a good book that has started with a slow and steady pace, I feel as though your story is really starting to pick up.

You are learning, changing and growing so quickly now! I am afraid to blink because I don’t want to miss a thing.

You clap frequently and with fervor. At first, you clapped when I asked you to, but now you do so when we praise you for a “good job!” or when we sing, “If you’re happy and you know it…” You even clap when you want acknowledgement or attention. (It always works. We’re suckers for you.)

You also high-five, wave hello and goodbye, and play Close-Open with your fists, which you also pointed out is similar to the “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” motions. What a little smartie!

You are not crawling or walking, but you love standing. You love to lean up against the ottoman in the living room, pounding it like a bongo drum. You don’t always have to hold on, and sometimes you balance so well that you can clap at the same time (Attaway to multitask!). Everyone thinks you may just skip the crawling part and go straight to walking. That’s fine, but I hope you’ll give us some warning. We need to babyproof a bit before we set you loose!

You are trying to converse a lot more, repeating some familiar sounds, like “Dadada,” “Papapa,” “Mamama” and “Ahpppuh.” You say the “words” with such purpose that I am starting to think you have attached meaning to them. Now if only I knew what they meant. Luckily, you are good at communicating the essentials so I am able to keep up with your needs.

And you have teeth–or at least the start of them. Your first bottom tooth reared its head on Saturday, and the second poked through on Tuesday. I thought I hadn’t seen anything cuter than your smile, but I hadn’t yet seen your toothy grin. And oh boy, it’s a show stopper.

It’s fun to imagine myself at your age and see how you might be like I was then. The way your eyes disappear when you smile– that’s definitely me. And so is the way you eagerly “chat” up the people around you when we’re out. But your boisterous laugh and strong, bouncy, crazy legs, that’s all Papa.

And then there are the things that are undeniably us. Your love of music and dancing, your appreciation of food, your joy for life. Those are things we all share, and will no doubt continue to share as a family. I’m looking forward to it.

I love you, little man.

Your mama

You turned 8 months old a few days ago.

When you turned 7 months old last month, I missed another letter. I don’t have a good reason. I don’t even remember what was happening at the time. All I know is I started to write it one morning while you were napping, saved the half-written file when you woke up, and then you turned 8 months old. At least that’s what it felt like. Seriously. The days zoom on by and you are growing just as quickly.

The second half of your life has been full of so many firsts.

You ate your first solid food: rice cereal. You didn’t seem to know what to do with those spoonfuls, and I thought you needed to get the hang of it. But when I fed you bananas next, and you had no problems slurping and swallowing the sweet stuff, I realized it was just the rice cereal you weren’t eager to eat. Now, we’ve added other good foods to the mix–sweet potatoes, carrots, peas and more!–and you eat it like a champ. You also drink water out of a sippy cup. Of course, sometimes you’re happier to gnaw on the cup’s handle than drink the water.

You sat up unassisted for the first time too. I was away when it happened. When I came home, you were sitting on the floor with your papa. He had his camera in hand and you had a toy in your mouth. He took dozens of photos and a couple of videos, thinking you were sure to fall over any second, but you kept balancing yourself and sat up for more than 30 minutes. We were so proud. Now, sitting is old hat for you. You rarely lose your balance. And when you do, it’s because you’ve lunged for something just beyond your reach and ended up on your belly. You’re on your way to crawling, I think.

A few other firsts include your first playground swing ride (fun for you), first photobooth (fun for me) and first time sitting in a shopping cart (fun for both of us).

And just this week, you’ve started clapping your hands. I’ve been trying to teach clapping to you for a while now, and you surprised me the other day by clapping on cue. (”Clap, clap, clap!” I sang. And you responded with three claps, just like that.) Now you clap all the time: When we’re singing, when you’re eating, when I’m cooking, when we’re playing. You were already a cheery little guy with your smiling eyes and big ol’ grin, and now you’re adding claps to the routine.

It’s such an honor to witness and participate in these firsts with you. You are soaking up the world around you every second of every day, and I am watching you with baited breath, wondering what you will do next. My money is on your first word. You already have so much to say (or squeal, grunt and babble).

At least every other day, your papa and I look at each other, smile and sigh, and say how happy you make us, how wonderful it is to have you around, how lucky we are to have you as our son.

I love you so much, little Henry. More than any letter could ever say.

Always,
Your mama

A walk in a blooming garden with little H and our pals Maria and Nathan. A slice of pizza eaten under the night sky.

A bunch of ranuncula for seven bucks and the first basket of strawberries this season.

Saturday morning brunch with friends. Homemade waffles and thick-cut bacon. Talking about art and crushes. Freaks & Geeks.

The opening for an art show that I’m proud to be in. Delicious dinner, wonderful service, perfect company.

Swinging and laughing in our neighborhood park. An afternoon DVD and a bowl of popcorn. Lasagna for dinner.

A quiet moment to myself. This one, right here. Right now.

(Case in point: How often do I update this site?)

Maybe from the outside looking in, it looks like I have everything together. But now more than ever, ever since having Henry, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t do it all. I do as much as I can, and some days that means making sure that I kiss my husband goodbye in the morning, feed and change my son, and feed and change myself. Sometimes, that’s a good day. If I can take a shower, fix the bed, make a home-cooked meal, get good work done, do something creative and do something relaxing, too, well that is just a red-letter day. (And it probably means I will spend the next several days crashing because I did way too much the day before.)

The key throughout this continued effort to juggle and balance, I’m finding, is to be gentle with myself. I am learning to forgive myself, and I wish other women, especially new moms, could do this too. We are not perfect and to expect it of ourselves is just ridiculous. That’s the truth.

Yesterday, you turned 6 months old. That’s one half of one whole year, which is kind of a big deal, don’t you think? We celebrated by feeding you rice cereal for the first time, lounging around the house, playing, laughing and napping. I thought about writing this letter to you during different moments throughout the weekend, but decided I’d rather just hang out with you and your papa instead. I think I chose wisely. We had such a nice and lovely time.

Since I see you every day, it’s hard to see how much you’ve grown, but after recently looking at the photos of the day you were born, I realize that you are so much bigger. You are so long that when I cradle you, your feet dangle over the arms of the rocking chair. You aren’t chubby, but your face is full and your thighs are plump (and every inch just begs to be squeezed). You don’t have teeth yet, but we can see the glimpses of them growing beneath your gums.

You are continuing to learn about the world, and it is so fun and fascinating to watch. You are figuring out how to use your hands and legs. You want to grab things and go places. You can’t get very far yet, but you try. You are learning how to get our attention, not just with crying, but with cough sounds and squeals, and you have gotten pretty good at telling us what you need. You understand more than I expect you to, like you know that reading books with papa and me means bedtime is coming and that walking to the microwave means that your bottle is on its way. You’re constantly surprising me with what you know. Just this morning, I handed you a sippy cup as a toy and you pulled it toward your mouth as if you wanted to take a drink.

I am grateful that I get to witness you learn, change and grow. But I am just as grateful for the lessons you are teaching me.

I am learning to be more present. I have always been the type of gal who does a dozen things at once, but you have taught me to slow down and enjoy the moment. I have my hands full with you, often literally, so I can’t do all that I used to, even if I wanted to. Instead, I am finding joy in just being here with you. In feeding you, bathing you, changing you. I even watch you sleep sometimes. Everyone tells me how quickly you will grow up–and aren’t these letters all about how you’re already doing just that?–so I am trying to soak it all in while I can.

I am learning to take baby steps. I used to make to-lists a million miles long, and I’d be lucky to get even a handful of those things done. But now I realize if I make smaller lists, I can actually check things off. I am more realistic with my goals and more efficient with my time. As a result, I have gotten so much done.

I am learning empathy. Whenever I get frustrated by something you do or the way you act, I remember that you are a brand new person in this brand new place, trying to make your way. I realize that I’ve felt the way you do, and it helps me find patience and understanding.

I am not sure if any of this makes sense–if it’s evident that you are the one teaching me these lessons or how you’re doing it. I just know that you are. I know that I am a better person because I want to be, and that it all started when you came into our lives. I want to be a good person, for you, for your papa, and for me.

I love you so much, darling son of mine. Happy 6 months! And happy 6 more. Let’s make ‘em good.

Your biggest fan,
Mama

I am so thrilled to share this with you: I’ll be in New Hampshire this fall at the Pixie Sessions at Squam Art Workshops, teaching classes and basking in the beauty & magic of Squam Lake. I’m especially excited because I’ll be teaching with one of my favorite people in the world, Penelope, and bringing little Henry along for the adventure. (Very sadly, his papa can’t make it this time around. We are bummed about that.)

The Pixie Sessions is a four-day creative retreat devoted to families. There will be chances for learning, making and playing together. There will also be opportunities to take a class solo or explore our gorgeous surroundings. I had an amazing time at Squam two years ago, and I can only imagine how sharing the experience with my dear husband and darling son would have made it even better.

I’m teaching Printmaking, Mixed Media Journaling and Everyday Treasure Box, which is an ode to Joseph Cornell’s gorgeous assemblages. There will be so many other fun and inspiring classes that I’d surely be taking if I weren’t teaching.

Registration is now open. Check out my teaching schedule or find out more here.

You are 5 months old today. It’s past my bedtime and I am wiped out, but I want to write this letter before another day, week or month passes by.

You are fast asleep in your bedroom, where you’ve been spending each night all by yourself for almost one week now. I’ll admit that I still snuggle with you early in the morning, but for the most part you are sleeping in your crib like a big boy. And! You’re sleeping most of the night through! (Thank you so much for that. Your papa and I love a good slumber party, but the late nights we’d been spending with you were starting to take their toll on us.)

You are continuing to explore our crazy beautiful world, and it is such a pleasure to witness. You still love being outside, whether it’s sitting on the porch or going for neighborhood walks. You enjoy using your hands to play with your growing collection of toys, grab your feet and hold onto your bottle while you drink. You especially like putting things in your mouth. Anything. Everything. I know you’re teething and that it can really hurt, so I don’t blame you one bit.

One thing that has become very clear to those you know you is you are a mama’s boy. Of course, I would be lying if I said it didn’t bring me some joy. I like that you beam when I walk into the room and that your eyes follow me as I walk out of it. It’s a comfort knowing that I can almost always get you to smile with a smooch or a song.

In those first few days of your life, when I couldn’t lift you out of the bassinet or bend over to change your diaper because of the surgery, I worried that we were missing our chance to bond and you wouldn’t know who I was. Now I see how silly I was being. You know me and, in your way, you love me.

I love you too, little man. More than you’ll ever know.

We are so lucky to have each other, our family and our home. On the other side of the world, people are not so lucky. A devastating earthquake recently hit Haiti, killing thousands of people and hurting hundreds of thousands more. It is truly heartbreaking.

Beyond giving what we can to the cause, the best thing we can do at a time like this is love each other and be our best selves. Your papa and I are trying to do just that. It’s not easy, but we’re trying.

The extra sleep we’ve been getting helps.
The smiles you give us do, too.
So, please, keep it coming.

Love,
Mama