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

It’s late afternoon on a blustery and chilly day. You are sound asleep, and I am racing to get a few things done before you awake. This letter, already a day late, is one of them.

When I think about your fourth month, the first thing that comes to mind is how much fun you have become.

In the past several weeks, we have taken you to happening restaurants and bustling parties, and each time you weren’t bothered by the noise or the crowds. In fact, you couldn’t have been happier. You squealed with delight and fought back sleep. Your Uncle Tom-Tom, one of your namesakes and a social butterfly in his own right, was enormously proud. I have to admit, I am too. I am so glad that I will be able to take you out and about and share you with all the people in my life.

Even in the comfort of our own home, we have a blast. Your papa and I each have our favorite games to play with you, and you continue to humor us. Your papa lifts you in the air so you can fly like Superman, and I tickle you and smother you with kisses. Your coos and smiles have crescendoed into squeals and giggles, all of which are highly contagious. Sometimes, we don’t even know what’s so funny, but your laugh makes us laugh and pretty soon we are just cracking each other up.

You are getting stronger and smarter every day, too. You are rolling over more and more during our tummy time, and you are continuing to pull yourself up on our laps. Also, you have discovered your hands. Instead of balling them up into a fist, like you used to do most of the time, you are relaxing your fingers, batting at toys in front of you and grabbing my necklace and hair. My favorite is when you grip my fingers, as if you want to hold my hand. It melts my heart.

This past Sunday you got baptized at the church where your papa and I got married. We decided a long time ago that we were going to raise you Catholic, and it was a beautiful thing to see another plan become reality.

Dear HT, I so am excited to share with you what I believe, to show you what a wonderful place our world is and to impress upon you that you are so truly and profoundly loved.

In a few days, I will get to do just that because it will be Christmas. I’ll tell you more about it when you get older, but for now just know that it’s one of my favorite holidays because it is all about love—the love God has for us and the love that we have for each other.

Merry Christmas, dear and darling little boy. I love you.

Mama

The retreat will be April 30 - May 2, with early registration open now. You can enter to win a $100 wishcertificate that goes toward your registration, or be one of the first 25 registrants and get $20 off.

Classes and workshop details will be unveiled in the wishstudio next week, but I’ll give you a hint about mine: It will be a very good thing.

I’m finally starting to fill my sketchbook with good things, little doodles & big ideas, again, after almost a year of rest.

It feels—dare I say it?—good.

Photo by Nadine

As I wandered from room to room introducing little Henry to everyone, more than one person told me how weird it was to see me with a baby. I used to be the baby of the group, the youngest of all the children in the family, and now here I was carrying a child of my own.

At first, I rolled my eyes at the sentiment. I am, after all, 34 now, and have been all grown up for quite some time! But then I looked at my nieces and nephews who were toddling around when I was their age, and it made perfect sense.

And in that same way, I realized that someday, I would be like our parents—lolos and lolas—holding their grandchildren in their arms and marveling at the family that keeps on growing.