The Final Invitation

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I’ve finally gotten around to finishing the invitation for my and Scarlett’s baptisms this morning.

A small gathering like this hardly calls for even sending invitations, much less making them custom, but if there is one thing I’ve learned in recent years, it’s that sending out a few invitations never hurt. And neither has killing two birds with one stone. Right now my life is centered around the building of my portfolio, so that I can go on after that to find an illustration agent. Not only have these invitations been great practice in portrait drawing, they’ll be one of the first official additions to my portfolio -- not to mention, a very special someone’s box of keepsakes.

Illustration Friday: Soaked!

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My son has never experienced a bath without Mohawked hair and a beard of bubbles.

Before he was old enough to do it himself, we did it for him. He knows no other way to get clean.

Baptism Invitation Idea

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On the 12th of June Scarlett and I will be getting baptized together. I’ve been confirmed into our church for some time, but I’d never gotten around to setting an actual date to be baptized. When we had to reschedule Scarlett’s from the original date two weeks ago, Spencer and I both came up with the idea -- literally in the exact same moment -- to take the opportunity to do mine as well. I’ve been waiting to have my baptism for a long time, so the thought of sharing this special day with my daughter means a lot. We never made a big deal out of Matthew’s baptism, and in the end I was left kind of wishing we had. So I knew that for Scarlett’s baptism I wanted to throw a little something to celebrate.

Which gave me the perfect excuse to make my own invitations. This is one of the ideas.

Letter To My Lollipop

Pin It Dear Scarlett

Here’s the thing.
I could spend this time telling you about all of the wonderful ways that your personality has blossomed and sparkled this month:
How you squeal DADA! for everything that gets you going. How you devour plain spinach the way that I’ve only ever seen other babies your age eat chocolate frosting. About how the park to you is only good for napping but you could play with your own toes for days. How you love to twirl your binky inside of your mouth -- or better yet, put it in our mouths, just to snatch it back and laugh when we pretend to be confused. How you have this terrible habit of perpetually and totally casually pinching the skin off of anyone who holds you. How we’ve come up with names for all of your cries because each one has practically got a personality of it’s own. How some of your smiles make you look just like your dad, and other wonderful smiles make you look unmistakably like me. How every sound you make is already uncannily feminine, and how a pretty little flirtatious look from you can literally stop strangers and family alike, right in their tracks.

I could spend this letter telling you about all of the beautiful firsts you’ve had:
Your first (indiscriminate) word. Your first time in a swing and down a slide and in a sandbox. Your first taste of many foods. Your first overnighter at mom-mom & pop-pop’s. Your first real-deal belly laugh. Your first time getting from one place to another on your own. Your first giving of kisses and hugs.

But I tried. And that letter was no shorter than 2 pages long, no matter how many things I left out. So this month, I just want this letter to tell you, that you are one of the single greatest happenings to have ever graced this planet, much less my life. These past two months stand out for me not because of how many things that you learned or inches you’ve grown (or more appropriately haven’t, you little pipsqueak), but because they have simply been two more months that you were mine.

You are my sunshine, kiddo. And for reasons to many to name and too big to describe, I love the living, breathing, daylights out of you. Forever and ever, amen.


Also, why your insatiable curiosity has not been a bad thing to have around this month:

Illustration Friday: Safari

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I think it’s impossible for someone who has ever been shopping for nursery furniture EVER in their life, to see the word SAFARI and not think of cute, pudgy jungle animals. That word is forever softened in my brain -- don’t blame me, blame Babies ’R Us.

Now that my little jungle animal is old enough to safari on his own (or at least pretend), it’s rare to find him trudging through the backyard, or the park, or to the dinner table any day of the week without his khaki explorer vest on and a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck. For this weeks illustration theme, Matthew joined me in raiding our bookshelf for a little inspiration, where we found a lot of pictures of terrible, toothy deaths offset by cute baby animals at play. Matthew peeked up at me from over a page where baby lions were crouching behind rocks and pouncing over one another, and asked if they play pretend like he does -- and from that outrageously adorable question, these guys were born.

In Light of the Chance

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From the moment each of you came into my life I’ve been absorbed by the thought of your futures. Absorbed, obsessed, completely consumed... However you choose to look at it, the truth is, it’s just always on my mind. So it came as no surprise to me that when I learned about the little girly-parts growing inside of my pregnant belly fourteen months ago, that I have nearly every day since then considered your pending trek into motherhood at exhausting length. Some might say that’s a little premature, and normally, I’d agree with them -- with as obsessive as I am about the future surrounding you guys, I don’t deny for a second that I have a tendency to think a little too far into it sometimes -- BUT.

This is different. Because this: this time that I’m experiencing with you right now is a time that you’ll experience someday down the road, too with a baby of your own, and that is a time that being the mother of a daughter really counts. Trust me, I know from at least one end of the experience, you will probably never again after your infancy notice my existence as much as you will when you have a small kid yourself you need advice about taking the best possible care of.

And when you do, I want to be there with the answers. Which of course means… you know, actually learning them. Which is where I am right now.

When labor pains began with Matthew, for instance, I took that epidural like it was my job. Didn’t think twice about the alternative, didn’t bat an eye. But with you, for the first time, it was different. Because with you, I was suddenly aware that there was a possibility someday down the road you might want to experience a natural delivery with your own child. And if that day ever came, I knew from the start, I’d want to be the one you called on for advice, for stories, for comfort. There’s a fifty-fifty shot you’ll give a shit about having a natural childbirth someday -- and honest-to-goodness, my girl, I don’t have a care in the world either way -- but, in light of the chance that you might, I saddled myself with the decision to experience it myself, first. In a large sense, for you. And I didn’t think twice about the alternative, didn’t bat an eye.
(*Sure, I threw up and screamed and begged for death a little bit, but in the alternative universe that is the experience of birthing a child -- that is the closest equivalent.)

In the first few weeks of Matthew’s life at home with us, Daddy let me sleep for half the night, while he took half the night shift on himself. Again, I didn’t think twice about the alternative -- (are you kidding; I slept!) Then you were born, and once again, it was different. Because with you I knew that there was a possibility someday down the road you might be on your own with a sleepless baby -- hopefully not entirely, but very possibly through the night. And if that day comes, in the morning of those long, dark, restless hours, you might need someone to call for advice, for stories, and for comfort. And in light of the chance that you might need to call on me, I have stayed up with you every night of your life. So that I might survive the experience before you. And as difficult as it is even for me to believe sometimes, I have done it bearing only sleepy, gracious smiles, knowing that I have been doing it for you in light of your future. When it gets tough, I think about the stories we’ll share over lunch someday, and I trek through, never thinking twice about the alternative.
(*I think it’s also worth mentioning here that you’re eight months old now and I can count the number of times you’ve slept seven hours through the night on one hand. With fingers left over.)

And then again, with Matthew (poor kid, I know…) when breastfeeding got complicated, I backslid to the bottle without a whole lot of scrutiny. I just did it, and when I found out how much easier it made life for the both of us, I never looked back. Until, of course, you were born… with that little mosquito-bite chest of your own, and with it the potential to need motherly advice on what it’s like to survive things like mastitis and clogged ducts and engorgement and public humiliation when the blanket you use to cover yourself in a public place is conveniently and inevitably pulled down in the few split seconds that exist between the time you whip out your breast and the time it takes to actually get the baby latched on, leaving you totally exposed while a wailing baby directs all attention to the wardrobe malfunction at hand. Again, only a fifty-fifty chance you’ll even need it -- but in case you do, I’ve got the battle scars to help you through.

Before you were born I’d never cooked spinach in my life, much less for an infant who could give a shit less whether what she eats comes from a jar in a store or a pot on the stove or underneath the seat of a city bus. I’d never boiled blueberries or pureed carrots, or mashed bananas by hand to flavor yogurt myself. Until you were born.

You, my love, have made my life exponentially more complicated by adding to it pressure and expectation and responsibility beyond what I already had with the siblings that have come before you, combined. But you’ve also made me reach for my potential. You’ve made me finally learn to consider, when it gets tough to juggle my own interests with the needs of my family, that even if it kills me -- you will learn from example that your dreams don’t take a backseat to anyone or anything… not even motherhood.


I hesitate to say that you’ve made me a better mom, because it isn’t these things that make or break the realness of a mother -- but you’ve certainly helped me to become the kind of mom I’ve always wanted to be. And Lord knows, ladybug, I eagerly await the day that I can do the same for you.

And onto the next...

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This is a card that I made my nephew on Saturday for his baptism. I’m not nearly as happy with the way that this one turned out, but it served it’s purpose as an experiment in hopping out of the old comfort zone.

Most importantly both this and the last ‘husband and wife’ piece that I posted Friday were done in a single day. That, for me, is incredible progress. I’m a notoriously slow (meticulous, but admittedly slow) worker -- or at least I always have been. Keeping up with a house, a husband and 3 kids (not to mention a baptism, family portraits and two birthday parties this weekend!) while finishing two pieces in a single day is like wild improvement. I'm not saying you need to call me a supermom for that, I'm just saying I won't stop you...

I’m also happy because the last card that I made for my niece’s 1st birthday printed very poorly from Staples -- and I wasn’t sure why. But Ralphie’s card came out picture perfect. There wasn’t even any pixilation when the man at the print station accidentally filled the entire page of cardstock with the image first instead of fitting it into a greeting card style format.

I have to admit, the anniversary card was kind of a personal home-run. Even though it was experimental for me, it came together almost effortlessly and the end result was pretty dead-on to what I’d envisioned. Even though I had a photo reference for the anniversary card, I ended up only needing to briefly peek in on it from time to time. It helped that in college about 185% of what we did were self-portraits, so painting myself was cake. But when it came to Spencer, I was very surprised at how naturally he kind of just fell together. In the past (I’m talking before we had kids, past), when I’ve used him as the subject of portraits, he’s almost always ended up looking a bit off. I guess four years experience of looking at the same face day in and day out really makes a difference. The only real challenge in the anniversary card was playing with textures and off-setting the patches of color to stylize the end result -- something that took me out of my comfort zone, and ended up turning out pretty cool.

Plus, really? I mean does it not just make you want to lay a smooch on that man, or what?

Ralphie wasn’t terribly difficult to draw or paint, but the strokes definitely did not come to me intuitively. Babies change so much so rapidly at this stage that unless they’re your own, it’s difficult to have a natural feel for the way that they’re features come together. He’s already new to begin with, so I’ve only ever held him a handful of times, and each time I had, his looks had noticeably shifted with age from the time before. The best reference photo I had to use was one in which the sun was beating down on him pretty hard. It was the best for lighting up his features, but terrible for the expression on his face. Not that it isn’t adorable -- it just ended up making the card feel very somber in the end.

I knew that I wanted to try the same stylized portrait idea for Ralphie’s card, but maybe soften and pull it a little more together. I envisioned this great marble-y texture in the background with color-boosted highlights similar to what I used in my hair for the first card -- But it never really materialized that way. I just had to laugh a few times because no matter what I did, the card seemed to feel so gravely serious that it kept reminding me of a funeral portrait! Not the kind of feeling you want to portray in a card meant to celebrate a special day in a baby’s life. I ended up relying a lot on the text to liven it up, which then made it difficult to coordinate so that the words didn’t look out of place on the image.

I think this was one of those instances where it would have just ended up overworked if I kept chiseling away at it so I’m glad I kind of had to call it quits in order to have it done in time. Better to take what I learned from this experience and put it toward the next one.

Btw: when I post art on here, I am always, always open to both ideas and criticisms. Always. Always, always. This is one instance I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the end result -- if you’ve got a helpful tip or design idea (even if you aren’t an artist) you’re only helping me by letting me in on it! I love to get feedback.

Always!

Because If Nothing Else,

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We are the shit at being married.

Unfortunately, when we decided to get married the weekend of Mother’s Day two years ago, we didn’t take into consideration that the only people on Earth who’d be willing to watch our 3 Hellions on our future anniversaries would be our mothers. So we won’t be celebrating for another week still. The good news is, I get to finish the card I’m working on.

Of Binkies and Reading

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“Alright, sucker!” I say pulling him up onto my lap, “Ready to get our Reading Time on?”
“Yeah, suckers! Let’s do it!” (This is his new response to everything. Sucker. Not exactly mannerly, I know -- but it get’s him pumped up about shit. So we let him say it as long as it’s not directed at anyone.)

I pull up the Stepping Stones Together website. He points to his name when we log in and we scroll down the list of books. He picks a book about Trucks because he recognizes the word. He points to the title I CAN BE LIKE THAT TRUCK and says, I want a truck one. Right off the bat, I’m thinking that this isn’t going to go as smoothly as an easier book might. The title alone is six words long. Even though he’s in high spirits now, I’m considering the fact that he hasn’t had a nap today… A little against my better judgment, I click on the title. “I CAN BE LIKE THAT TRUCK,” I begin to read.

He snuggles in closer to me, fidgeting his little rear end into my lap and tucking his head under my chin. He pops his binky into his mouth. I kiss his hair, clicking on the next page. He is not supposed to have his Binky. It’s the last remaining pacifier to be snipped, and he’s clinging to this one harder than the others. For the past few weeks he’s started to sneak it in randomly throughout the day, knowing that the strict rule is that binkies are JUST for bedtime. I look at this from a practical point of view: he’s readings and he’s quiet, and the baby is sleeping just a few feet away. I’ll let it slide just this once, I decide. Maybe just until we get our Reading Time done.

Suddenly he shoots up, almost clocking me in the chin. “Look, Mommy! See? They’re dumping the rocks! Just like THAT TRUCK!”

“Good job!” I lower my tone. “Take out your binky when you talk, though. You know the rule.”
He pops it out. He has to wipe a little bit of spit from his chin, which is (and sounds) disgusting. He repeats himself in a voice that isn’t muffled by the pacifier.

The next page is even better. The truck goes VROOM in all capitol letters -- with an exclamation point. He knows that an exclamation point means that he gets to YELL the word. He makes me read this page three times before moving onto the next, each time reading VROOM with me, even though it isn’t his turn yet. I have to tell him to take his binky out each of the three times he asks.

The second time, it’s his turn to read. He pops out his binky, and he reads every page effortlessly. His voice is clear and proud and handsome. The caption on the last page is two sentences long, this time. Thirteen words all together.

“I CAN STICK OUT MY TONGUE RIGHT NOW… LIKE. THAT. TRUCK. CAN THAT TRUCK DO THAT?”

“Matthew, that was phenomenal!!” I flip. “You did so wonderfully, buddy! Now we’re all done! You did it! You read another book, and now we get to cross it off the list… That’s 38 books that you’ve read ALL BY YOURSELF now! Mommy is JUST. SO. PROUD of you!” He goes in for a cool low five.

“Who’s Momma’s biggest boy?” I ask as he hops down from my lap. He pops the bink right back in.
“Matthew Spencer Stucky,” he muffles through the pacifier. “Cause I’m a big kid, now, suckers!”

Illustration Friday: Beginner

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Ah, puberty. The most graceless of beginnings, am I right?
You can fall on your ass a hundred times learning how to surf or couple skate backward -- but no one escapes puberty with their dignity intact. Nobody.

It started for us when her dad’s shaving cream kept inexplicably winding up cap-less and abandoned on it’s side (in true Mary fashion) at the bottom of the tub… Even though he never shaves in the shower. I guess it took her a couple of weeks to work her way into a true, full shave, because it wasn’t until then that I found what could only be described as a small blonde animal peeking out from under the blades of my new Schick Quattro.

I don’t think I’ve ever stolen my dad’s shaving cream, but I think we can all relate to the excitement of actually being allowed to shave for the first time.

So yesterday I bought her a pack of multi-colored Bics to call her own and a can of women’s shave gel in some kind of trendy, tropical scent. In seconds, she was ripping into the shower, smiling like she’d slept all night with a hanger in her mouth.

For the past month or so, the poor kid has basically been the face of puberty. Pimples, friendship-demolishing-crushes, excessive sweating, and -- it’s no surprise with the way that this girl outruns all of the boys in the neighborhood -- underarm odor that is just about out of control. We’ve had to stop accusing her of not keeping herself clean after we realized the odor starts coming back only an hour after a shower and three coatings of deodorant. She’s also been up to her neck recently in all of the heavy talks about sex, drugs, and peer pressure. Including the special week long health seminar her 5th grade class has been eagerly anticipating all year long. She comes home everyday more mortified than the last by what the teacher explained about their bodies RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE BOYS!! She also comes home everyday saying, “And did you KNOW--!?!” and thinking that every twinge of discomfort felt anywhere within reasonable vacinity of her abdomen is surely, surely, THIS TIME, really, really her period coming. Seriously, she’s worse than a dilated woman the week of her due date.

I keep telling her it’s nothing to be excited about (BELIEVE me, kid) -- but then again, who am I to rob her of the only silver lining she’s got to hold onto through this whole pubescent ordeal? So if a can of Strawberry Tangerine Skintimate and a small box of “just in case” liners makers her day, I’m all about humoring it.

~~~

For this week’s illustration:
I kept it sketchy. I wanted it to feel like a drawing, so I left it in graphite and exaggerated some of the lines so they’d show through even after I added the digital color. Since the only thing I knew about this concept going into it was that my character (who is kind of half Mary/half myself at 11) would be concentrating, I was hoping the sketchy feel would help to keep it from becoming too static. It was also important because of the subject matter to keep it anatomically correct on some level without becoming photorealistic. I purposely didn’t use reference for anything, (even when I wanted to) and I gave her some playful, overstated features, like big, awkward feet and long, bony limbs which also help describe her age.

One of the things I want to push myself to improve on is producing things faster. Having the kids around to remind me that I don’t have six hours everyday to pour into detailing a piece of fabric in an illustration (the way that I did when I was in school) has been a great exercise in learning to prioritize how I put my time into a piece of art; how I basically say what I want to in the least amount of strokes -- much the same way I had to push myself to do when I animated in college. I had to get pre-teen 'Mar-Icia' done in two quick sittings since Monday was our 2nd wedding anniversary and yesterday was Story-Time at Barnes and Noble and we had a playdate in the afternoon… and considering the fact that I whipped her up quicker than anything else I’ve posted on here so far, I dare say I might be getting this mother/artist juggling act down!

Never Let 'em See You Sweat.

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The thing about having a super smart little boy is that at the end of the day, he’s still a little boy. Being clever beyond his little years only gives him an edge over me.

3 year olds and edges are a terrible combination.

Keeping up with 3 kids normally requires hyper vigilance. Keeping up with MY three kids, basically requires super powers. Sometimes I get close to being the kind of mom my blog might lead you to believe I am. You know, the good kind. But the truth is any great feat that I manage to achieve is usually soon thereafter countered by some kind of small catastrophe a better mom might have seen coming.

Especially if she weren’t busy flashcard quizzing her infant… or drawing… or peeing, like I always seem to be.

Today, Matthew told me that he locked his sister in her bedroom during her nap. It was fine until I couldn’t find the key. Then it was still fine until she started to cry while I was busy looking. Then it was still fine until I picked up my phone to call Spencer and saw a text message saying that he was injured at work, and in the hospital.

Spencer and I have a running joke that Matthew only pretends to love his sister so that when he actually succeeds in killing her one of these days, it’ll look like the innocent accident of a normal three year old. I’m beginning to think we’re onto something. When his response to my key inquiry via text message was something along these lines, I knew he’d be okay. Apparently he just came close to losing an eye and needed a few stitches.

At this point, any afternoon we all get through alive is considered a success.

Illustration Friday: Lesson

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This week has been a mess. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned as the mother of these three it’s that wherever there is a mess, there is sure to be a lesson.

It feels like every lesson for my little birdies is a major exercise for me in the art of Winging It. I can’t always keep them from falling, but I can promise to be there if ever they do.

I would have loved to go in so many different directions with this week’s Lesson theme, especially with everything that’s going on around here lately. I definitely was not the first person to fly with the baby bird idea, but it’s important to start beefing up my portfolio with some of the animal characters picture books feature most often. So birdies it was.

Only, like us, my birdies don’t always get it the first go round.

Mary's Decision

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The neighborhood is all aglow with the buzz of Spring.
The sharp drone of mowers up and down the street whirring through rows of lawns reborn and dearly missed saws into the house Sunday morning. It is the most thrilling sound in the world to me, like bells at Christmas or cheering under the finale on the forth of July. There is no better thing to wake up to than coffee being sipped on over the chirping of birds in the front yard, especially after a long winter with a difficult newborn.

How I have waited to introduce Scarlett to the world in the bloom of Spring. At last her first dreadful winter is over. I feel like winter is the root of all evil in our lives, and it is finally, finally over!

Spencer and I spent most of the weekend doing yard work while the kids played outside. We planted azalea bushes out front, pulled weeds, and swept the helicopter leaves out of the boat. Mary laid a blanket down in the grass and played with Scarlett while Spencer and I went to town on the flowerbed. We got some work done, but we also spent a lot of time just leaning over the neighbor’s fence, chatting about cars and ant-poison and how they’re trying to get pregnant while Matthew ran around their side of the fence with the dogs.

It was almost perfect… until Mary told us that she was offered cigarettes at her mom’s house earlier in the week.

Now I don’t write about Mary very often on here. This blog is meant mostly to record the milestones of our younger children. Part of that is because when I started this blog I knew that many of Mary’s upcoming milestones would be peppered with things like shaving her legs for the first time or finally filling out her new training bras… things that an eleven year old girl might not want her step-mom flapping her jaws about over the internet -- so we decided to give her a little privacy. The other part was because of her mom. Mary’s relationship with her biological mother is not a wholesome one. She lives with her father and I for a reason, and that reason, to summarize, is that her mom is not mentally healthy. Earlier this month, for example, Mary’s biological mom tried to have Spencer arrested for allegedly attempting to murder her. She showed up to court in a fake neck brace and was laughed out of the court room when she was caught in about half a dozen lies twenty minutes in (twenty minutes that cost us over a thousand dollars in legal fees). It’s hard to kill someone when you haven’t seen them in over a year, but that’s what we deal with whenever this person remembers that she has a daughter and decides to come around.

“It was like something out of a sitcom,” Spencer told me the day of that particular hearing (one of many we’ve had over the years) - only to Mary, this is not a sitcom, this is her life. And these little episodes aren’t much fun to live through, much less look back on once they’re over, so needless to say I choose more light-hearted topics to write about on our family blog.

Last weekend something came up with Mary that I thought I might post. Something refreshingly funny that brought her to near hysteria: Spencer and I decided that she was too young for a cell phone. “But EVERYONE has a cell phone!!” she sobbed, “I’m the only kid in my whole class who doesn’t have one!! Everyone else’s parents lets them! I just don’t understand! It’s so unfair!” When the bedroom door slammed behind her, muffled hysterics being cried into her pillow were all that could be heard for almost half an hour. It was the most dramatic show of emotion I’d even seen in my life: the normal emotions of an American pre-teen girl.

Spencer and I looked at each other when Mary stomped off, stunned in silence for a moment, not really sure how to react. And then, in the exact same moment - I’m talking as if on CUE, we both just started to laugh. It’s never easy when your kids are hurting… no matter how big or small the dilemma, but it felt good… SO, so good to know that these are the things that bring her to tears nowadays. That after so many years of legitimate strife and heartache brought on by the antics and/or absence of her biological mother, that she has finally reached such a point of normalcy that something as trivial as not getting a cell phone is what makes her sob into her pillow. We laughed at her overreaction, because it was silly, but we also laughed that day because we were celebrating a triumph of sorts. We’d prayed so many times in Mary’s younger days that she could grow up this normal.

The whole cell phone catastrophe was a triumph. But this weekend, when Mary told us that a group of twelve kids approached her at a sleep-over with stolen cigarettes, Spencer and I were quickly reminded that we are far from out-of-the-woods. Mary is at a tough age now, where even children who are brought up under the best of circumstances, in the most wholesome of families, with the best educations, thriving in the most prosperous of societies deal with making decisions that effect the direction of the rest of their lives -- Decisions they are not ready to make on their own, but that they must.

This isn’t the first time she’ll be offered something illegal. Next time it may not be cigarettes. Next time she may not say no. We have tried so hard to protect Mary from the effects of her mom’s bad decision-making; to give her as normal an upbringing as we could possibly provide in the time that we had with Mary away from her mom and the effects of her poisonous influence. Everyone is subject to peer pressure, but we have always treated Mary as if she were at a disadvantage because of her mom -- we have always thought longer and worked harder at drawing the line between right and wrong for her… we always knew that this is where it would come to blows. This is where we knew it would count: The day that Mary was faced with a decision to make of her own -- on her own.

This weekend I learned the answer to something I’ve spent the last five years of my life mauling over when it came to every decision I’ve ever made regarding Mary: whose voice it would be ringing through her ears the moment she walked away from her first real decision.