Season of Motherhood August 2021

A new school year is beginning, bound to be full of unearthing new and wonderful things. Three of four starting a new year, and one for her first time ever. I can’t help but feel like I am starting a new year too. A year of discovery as I look forward to spending time with my youngest who hasn’t had my full attention since she was a newborn. A year to sift through store shelves without the feeling of being rushed. A year of rediscovering fiction for leisure... my list goes on. Here’s to a season of discovery for us all.

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Go next to the wonderful artist Diana Hagues to read her post in our blog circle.

Project 365 July

Artifact Motherhood July 2021

To my little loves, 

I can hear Grandma Bea say, “I don’t have favorites…” as a mother of four I know this to be true. However, I DO notice variations in the ease of parenting different personality types among you. It is not a matter of favorites; and everything to do with how we perceive and deal with challenges or differences that arise. It takes work on my part  to accept that you may do things differently than I would. That's where the challenge is for me, especially as you get older and more independent. I have to keep in mind that perspective is everything. So when it seems like we're rubbing against one another, like coarse-grained sandpaper, I want you to keep in mind that I am having to let go. Letting go, my dear, will always be a hard-hard thing for your mother to do.

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented April Christoper click here to follow the link.

Project 365 June

Bethel

I love walking into a clients home and observing how light supports their family’s story. Every client's home has its own unique story of light. Walking into a new space is a treasure hunt for me. This newborn session from New Year's Eve was a treasure trove of beautiful light and precious newborn details. The kind of sweet details that make your heart melt.

Project 365 May

May 1-31

One photo per day for the month of May.

Artifact Motherhood May 2021

Dear E,

In February bitter arctic air crept south. We aren’t equipped for such a deep freeze in Oklahoma. So cold, we had to blow space heaters on exterior pipes to keep them from freezing. It was the coldest winter I have personally sheltered through. Regardless, the winter wonderland before your eyes was absolutely irresistible. You were already out the door before I could warm myself over a cup of coffee. 

I didn’t see you fall on the ice. I just remember scooping you up off the pavement and attempting to console you, while trying to judge the seriousness of the bump you took on your head. After some observation, your dad and I decided he would take you to the ER. A few hours later we would begin to understand just how significant the fall was.

Eventually we found ourselves sitting in a pediatric neurosurgeon’s office. While the fall to your head caused a mild concussion, doctors discovered, through a CT scan and subsequent MRI, you had a grape sized congenital cyst snugly situated between your brain and skull. The surgeon explained just how much pressure it was putting on the left hemisphere of your brain, while also beginning to thin the bone it pushed against. The recommendation was that we remove the benign spinal fluid filled sac.

Leading up to your surgery,  I put on a brave and calm exterior while sifting through some intense lament internally. While preparing you, all you could talk about was spending the night in the hospital and trying their food.

Surgery day came, and we couldn’t have prayed for a better outcome. You came out of surgery bright, cheerful and very hungry. In between pain meds and studying the menu for your much anticipated meal, all you talked about was a cheeseburger. To my suprise, when it came time to order, you settled on grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“Do you know why I ordered grilled cheese instead of the cheeseburger, mom?” you asked, “because there are children here much sicker than me. I want them to have the cheeseburger.” You went on to explain how a grilled cheese sandwich was much easier for the cook to prepare compared to the cheeseburger. Afterall, there was no need to spend time on your meal when others needed special attention.

You: a little boy coming out of neurosurgery, with no thought of your own physical suffering but focused on the pain others experience.  The fact that you possess such an acute understanding for the plight and feelings of others, while having no concept of how a hospital kitchen works astounded me. It took a minute for me to wrap my mind around your sacrifice. 

This is the part of your story: your resilience, courage, and your continuous outpouring of love that beckons me to look inward and reflect on how I choose to love those around me. A  little boy a few years away from double digits inspires me in the most profound way.  It is how you love and the way you love that makes me pause and step out of my own selfishness; I desire to love in that way too. I pray that your heart continues to love radically, serve those around you, and inspire. Keep going my little love.

Love, 

Mom

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented Ann Owen click here to follow the link.

Project 365 April

A Project 365 is a photography project where you shoot and process photos every single day for an entire year. I completed one in 2016. After 5 years of some intense creative hurtles it is time to attempt another.

April 14th-30th

Season of Motherhood March 2021

Thawing

I've been tired all winter. Not necessarily from lack of sleep. The kind of tired that seeps into your bones... a cold and numbing tired. The effects of life relentlessly battering against my shore. I feel a thaw slowly creeping in. A thaw that ushers in warmth and peace, melting the aches and pains of my previous season.

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Go next to the wonderful artist Caroline Cuinet Wellings to read her post in our blog circle.

Autumn Shed

To my Children, 

We are well into Autumn by now, in fact I can see winter just on the horizon. Over the years I’ve noticed the Virgina Creeper is the first to turn a brilliant crimson. Letting us know the cusp of fall is upon us. It’s bright red hues, as they creep up our Oaks, always bring a sense of excitement for the shedding of summer’s green glory. Even more so this year, as I anxiously wait for 2020 to come to a close. 

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The changing of a season is always a transitional time for our family. This year is no exception. As I watch the trees shed their leaves from our kitchen sink, I can’t help but feel I am doing the same thing. Shedding emotions and summer routines as we begin a school year at home. 

I never imagined our little family would be on this path. I never dreamed we would gather around our table and dive into some of the conversations we’ve had over the past 11 weeks. I confess, the first few weeks were an intense process of decompressing from brick and mortar. There were a few tears and quite a bit of doubt from all of us. I quickly learned that teaching from home is MUCH different than brick and mortar building or a distance learning plan. I was constantly fighting the deeply ingrained concepts I learned in college while getting my special education degree. It took me a moment to realize those concepts were ideal for a classroom setting, but they don’t quite translate into a homeschool setting. It wasn’t until I shed those concepts and worksheets and expectations that I took the leap of faith to fill our home with conversations from books. To my surprise, everyone has flourished...including me. 

So here we are,  learning accompanied with a sense of wonder and excitement has poured into our home and your hearts. We are devouring books on The American Revolution, the Boston Tea Party,  and Paul Revere. American history has come alive, as we explore our ancestry and those in our family tree who fought in King Phillips war, the American Revolution, and the war of 1812. I’ve never felt such a sense of accomplishment as a mother as I did when you were diving into a book about the founding of the California missions and you immediately made the connection that the American Revolution had just started. Or the time you discovered a giant redheaded centipede climbing along our bricks, and you just about jumped up and down exclaiming that you had discovered an invertebrate. We are learning about fractions as we bake pumpkin bread, visiting Art Museums as we study the Hudson River School Artists and Native American Art.

I couldn’t be more excited for you all.  I am  proud of what we have accomplished here in our home. There is a new found confidence in you that I have never seen. There is a new found confidence in ME. I didn’t know I was capable of homeschooling you while still being able to function at the end of the day. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t absolutely terrified at the beginning of this process. The thought of being in charge of your education, teaching you to read, and keeping you on reading and math levels was daunting and terrifying. What if I mess up? What if I don’t do a good job?  I have discovered quite the contrary. We aren’t greeted with a sense of urgency during weekday breakfast or dinner routines anymore. It’s a different pace, slow and steady. This journey  is much more relaxed and fulfilling than I ever imagined, and we are right where we need to be. 

As the last of the trees shed their leaves on our little hill, I can’t help but feel we have been doing the same. Shedding what we have been told this process is supposed to look like and really and truly embracing the learning process--wherever it takes us.  As winter inches closer, the trees bare and life dormant, another season will surely bring on it’s own set of challenges, but I can’t wait to see how we blossom in the spring. 

Love,

Mom

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented Diana Hagues click here to follow the link.

Firm Foundations

To my little Loves, 

Every time we go to the pediatrician's office, the nurse asks if there are any new stressors in the family. I've always answered no. Enter Coronavirus, now I feel like I have an entire list to go through beginning with the death of our beloved pet, COVID, the decision to homeschool, and all the things in between. This has been such a raw year; we are riding the emotional roller coaster of this pandemic. I think the greatest lesson learned so far is the arduous process of letting go. We have been asked to let go of so much during this pandemic: school, community, grief, family.

We lost our family pet at the beginning of the year. I was deeply struck by the realization that as parents we are entrusted with teaching you EVERYTHING.  I don't mean the basics like walking, getting along with siblings, and schooling. I mean we have to lay the foundation for processing the big emotions--emotions that most adults have difficulty getting through. Grief was not a skill I expected to teach; it was never on my radar, especially at such a young age. But there we were, having in-depth discussions and navigating big sorrowful waves of emotion. Losing Gilly was your first experience in losing a loved one.  Not one of you grieved in the same way, each had a vastly different way of handling the process.  I've watched some of you deal with such sorrow in anger, others with confusion, and still others with great sadness. Every step of the way we worked through this new process and pain as family.

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Before you four were born, your father and I had many discussions about your education and carefully laid out THE plan. In retrospect, our journey with schooling has been one detour after another.  I've let go of plan after a plan, and after carefully discerning and reading and reading, we have scrapped THE plan and have committed ourselves to homeschool. It was not a commitment that came easily.  It was a bittersweet process of letting go of a school that we considered our home, while looking forward to and feeling hopeful about the opportunity to teach you this coming year. Intuitively, I know our experiences at our table will be just as wonderful as the previous one and incredibly meaningful to all of us.  

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As I sit here, I can’t help but reflect and feel that the beginning of the year foreshadowed what was to come. I’ve felt a weight on my shoulders, thinking now more than ever I must teach ALL the things. In preparation for our new journey, I was reading Teaching From Rest. Sarah Makenzie spoke to my soul, when she writes,

"... It is so exhausting-sometimes even demoralizing-to realize that our work raising up and teaching our children is never really done. But we must remember that we were never intended to finish it..." Sarah Mackenzie, Teaching From Rest. 

These words have resonated so deeply within me, I'm seeing its theme vibrate across many strings in my life and home, even through the processes of grief and relinquishing of control. 

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The author uses an analogy of the medieval cathedral builders and how they would toil away building these beautiful structures, knowing they would never see the finished product. Regardless, they did so with joy and labored with great care.  My job is very similar; we are at a new beginning, as we crack open our curriculum and have discussions at our kitchen table, I am carefully laying down the foundations, all the while knowing that your life and faith will finish what I am so meticulously building now. Brick by brick,  we will learn how to work through big emotions right along with our phonics and subtraction.  It is my fervent prayer as your mother, that when our time to gather at the table is over,  you have a sturdy foundation to house your beautiful cathedral. I would be lying if I said I didn’t long to see it finished in its complete and utter entirety. But I must remember, I was never intended to finish it. 

Mom

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented Jo Haycock click here to follow the link.

Season of Motherhood May 2020

“We don’t own our family history. We simply preserve it for the next generation.”

— Rosemary Alva

This is my why and this is my season of motherhood… Memory Keeper.

Season of Motherhood is part of ARTIFACT MOTHERHOOD - a project shared with other female artists who are documenting our journeys as mothers and creating memories for our children through our photographs and words.

Go next to the wonderful artist April Christopher to read her post in our blog circle. Or visit artifcatmotherhood.com

Supporting Details

I have been noticing details lately--specifically light. I don't know if it's my artsy eye or if it’s something deeper in my soul, whispering for me to notice--maybe a little bit of both? Suddenly I am aware the way light pours into my home highlighting the supporting details of my life: leftover toys from yesterday’s adventures, bottles and utensils dotting my countertops, and the endless baskets of unfolded laundry. This is my season, my truth, my journey, my motherhood.

I rouse to the stillness of my home. My first few steps out of bed are typically the most painful, figuratively and literally. Sharp pricks of pain shooting through my heels and up my toes, a direct result from continually and tirelessly making my rounds on the hard surfaces of my house barefoot, consoling a child here, putting out a fire there--the revolving door of troubleshooting between siblings, breakfast, lunch, dinner, laundry. These things continually keep me on my feet. This is my season.

As my first cup of coffee starts to brew, I begin opening all of the windows in our home. So inspired by the light’s ability to drive out darkness, I begin to write light on my heart ... patience, patience, wisdom, understanding, patience, calm... I pray. As the shades are drawn, the sun's rose and copper tones illuminate each room’s imperfect spaces, bringing warmth and joy to my achy bones. The light highlights the beauty of the unfolded towels in the corner. “We’re still here ... waiting,” they seem to say. Or the lone cheerio that greets me in the hallway along with a stray sock that didn’t quite make it to the laundry room, a stark reminder that there will be a day my laundry room won't overflow and the floors will be a little tidier. This is my truth.

In my bathroom, I find light dancing on my vanity and walls, pointing out the tiny handprint pattern that dots my mirror. I can easily let the handprint taunt me into immediately wiping it off. But instead, I choose to admire the masterpiece, thinking of the artist who left their sweet work. I choose to not stress over the mess but embrace the moment; this is a true reflection of my journey.

Typically, every morning starts the same. I follow the path the light lays before me and reflect on what it illuminates: the dishes that pile up in and around my sink, the toys left unattended, the handprints, spills, and dribbles that pattern smooth surfaces, and the trail of cheerios. It is not easy, but I am consciously choosing to find gratitude in these moments, rather than letting them irritate me. I know deep down I won't always wake up to these details. One day these spaces will be organized and clean because there won't be tiny hands and feet to come in behind me. After all, this is motherhood, this is my story, and these are the supporting details.

Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented Diana Hagues click here to follow the link.