Made for all mamas everywhere during the fleeting, sacred hours between baby bedtime and my own— No doubt, as some kind of private therapy. As I work, I think about the people to whom I want to send these simple words— one of them being myself.
I was a fully-supported first-time mother weeping over the beauty of the new life in my arms, yet swallowed up in the throes of mourning the loss of another life (my own). Oh, how I wish that mama could have heard and believed these words every day she trudged through the fog of the settled cloud around her. I wish I could go back in time and overflow her mailbox with admiration for the warrior she was becoming, and with reassurance that these feelings did not mean she was doing anything wrong.
And so now, I paint — frantically wanting to offer up this message to newly-crowned mamas— to convince them of their strength and assure them that there is a future beyond the fog. I want to offer a prayer to their power and to tell them over and over and over again (no matter how many times it takes) that they are a really, really good mom. And that is my hope— That these words will fill the ears of the mamas who need to hear them most (which is all of us, really).
This is for the mamas at work who must say a guilt-ridden goodbye to their babes every morning— And for those at home feeling guilty for counting down the hours 'til bedtime each day.— For those who struggle to find a semblance of their own identity while pouring their entire being into their children. It’s for the Earth-angels known as “Mama” to a child they did not carry, and for the mamas whose babies are not Earth-side— who go to battle with the sun each day, for it’s another day spent without their child. And finally, for the mamas who are not yet (or might never be) mamas of the flesh, who are fighting (or have fought) so hard for motherhood, yet have come away with empty arms. Rest, Mama. Know that through your courage and through your tender mothering of the deepest desire of your heart, these words are true: YOU are a really, really good mom.
I see you all. I am you. I made these for you.
Update: SOLD OUT (Thank you, friends!)
Yard to Table - 2020
Behold, the fruits of my pandemic coping strategy— A book of 15 kitchen-tested* (*false) recipes for your lil’ home chef to make with ingredients from your backyard— written and illustrated by a tired mom. It’s laminated within an inch of its life (for waterproofing purposes), and my hope is that it will provoke neighborhood walks and hikes and a zest for scavenging natural “ingredients” during these seemingly Groundhog’s Day-ish days.
There is some mild adult humor because sentences like “Grab your nuts (acorns) and get to cookin’!” were my sources of joy at times during its creation.
Real Talk: It would be better if I wasn’t carrying around the anxiety of the world these days. If nothing else, it’s a perfect reflection of where we all are right now— Doing the best we can, not sleeping very well, not giving a second thought to the consistency of our font size, and making damn sure we do anything it takes to preserve our children’s sense of joy. (And also making jokes about nuts while we face it all because we have to preserve our sense of joy too, duh).
I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out looking like some mom made it in her kitchen, but it kind of looks like some mom made it in her kitchen. But when an archaeologist studies this in 500 years (which will be possible because of all the lamination), they’ll first probably say “Certainly, all this food tasted like shit…” and then they’ll pause and say, “…but they seem to have really, really loved their kids.”
My wish for you, parents, is that you will get an hour’s peace, reading sleepily witty cooking instructions to your child while they happily mix you a refreshing Sandgria With A Sanded Rim (recipe #13).
Update: SOLD OUT (Thank you, friends!)
A Year of Gratitude - 2021
Something I've been pondering a lot lately is gratitude. Sometimes it’s in moments of heart-filling warmth, and other times-- when the walls are seemingly caving in a little more closely— recognizing gratitude has been a forced practice. I don’t know another time that I’ve ever experienced such an all-consuming dichotomy of fear and thanksgiving.
Because the opposite is a disaster, I’m attempting to embrace the things I CAN control this year — for now, I’m focusing on the connections I make and foster, and the words and feelings I express to those I love. I have never been so grateful for my family and friends and network of support (you!). Last year painfully taught us not to take a single day or relationship for granted — a lesson that will likely be glaringly present for us for a good chunk of this coming year, as well. It’s high time we embrace the gratitude we have for our people because we’ve gotten a taste of what it feels like to lose them. While it is necessary and healthy to honor our hurt and our fear and our sadness, boy would it feel good to collectively and intentionally cloak each other in some sunshine.
My idea (and personal goal) is to establish a monthly ritual of sending some gratitude and joy out into the world — to anything or anyone I am grateful for (a friend, a business, a teacher, a stranger, a pet, etc.). I’ve made kits of 12 cards/envelopes along with a list of optional prompts if you’d like to join me in this practice (or you can make your own!).
I don’t want to hold back this year, even if it feels a little uncomfortable at first. Expressing our gratitude can be powerful and life-giving, and hopefully contagious (the good kind). I am so grateful for YOU!
Update: SOLD OUT (Thank you, friends!)