motherhood

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This Country is on Fire

And so, the story of my never ending painting continues.  This was my state of progress yesterday morning.  I vowed to finish it that same day, once and for all.  And my little men vowed to do all they could to help/distract me.   One of the little men was particularly distracting (one clue, the little man with less fur) as his first molar is making it’s first appearance.  Mi hombre comelon didn’t even want to eat!

The evening ended very strangely indeed, with a highly anticipated aguacero, and Owen insisting on being sent to bed without supper.

Yet more curious than all of this, was the smell.  At first I thought I must be imagining it.  But my husband assured me it was quite real.  “This country is on fire” he said, “that’s the smell of the rain putting it out”.

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I was woken up AGAIN at 5:00 this morning, but to a seemingly more happy Owen, who eventually ate his breakfast.

…And possibly, we have come to the end of The Never Ending Painting.  At least, I think so.  I’ll probably touch it up here and there over the weekend.  But it’s looking pretty done to me.  What do you think?

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The Crafty Mom

I like to call myself a painter, rather than an artist. There are musicians who can pick up any instrument, and then there are those who have a passion and ability for one instrument only. This is me. I used to draw, but now it seems I can only paint. And I only want to. I love paint because it is liquid and flexible. I can mix it, thin it, layer it, manipulate it however I please. In my first months as a new mother, when I had no time for anything other than Owen, I would think of the physical sensations of painting, and crave them like chocolate.

After a brief and frustrating stint with mixed media in Bogota, I accepted for good that I am simply a one media kind of woman.

And then, we had Owen. Now I am filled with desires to be that perfect adorable crafty mom. To knit toys and scrapbook and decorate. I bought a load of scrapbooking material, and since I’ve saved everything from our first dates onward, I will someday sit down and make that family scrapbook and it will be beautiful damn it.

I drove myself crazy for Owen’s first birthday, which we celebrated in February. I chose a puppy theme, and I wanted it to be perfect. The big show stopper, of course, was going to be the puppy cake. I found a photo online that was both cute and seemingly easy to copy. All I can say is thank God my mother was there, and Devorah, our housekeeper’s daughter. I was too anxious about every aspect of the party from the caterer (who was late) to the goody bags to even think straight. In the end, it was a joint effort. But I have to admit, that thirteen year old kicks my ass in cake decorating.

Devorah kept saying what a shame it was that we would have to cut up our little work of art. But hey, cake is for eating. And I think someone inherited my sweet tooth.