All of last week we talked about the story of St. Martin and how important it is to help those in need.  I gathered many bags of unused clothing and toys for a local group that allows mothers to get the items they need free of charge.  We also worked on our paper lanterns, each new day completing the next step. We used Grace’s tutorial, and they went together beautifully.

I don’t know how many times I have done wet-on-wet watercolor painting with The Boy, but this was the first time he really enjoyed the process, and he was so excited that he called out, “I made orange!”

As we did with Michaelmas, we kept the celebration simple, and once again it worked perfectly. Before we set out for our lantern walk, there was much grumbling from The Boy, who did not want to leave home.  But we pushed though and I’m so glad we did.

We went to a local park, and let the kids play on the playground for a bit.  After that, I gave them each a gift of a hand knitted hat.  (I really loved Grace’s idea of gifting hand knits on Martinmas, but I knew there was no way I would get sweaters done in time.  Will have to think ahead next year!)

After they donned their hats, we read a story called The Lantern, lit our lanterns and went for a walk through a beautiful wooded area.  Our timing was perfect, the sun was almost gone, and the woods were a bit dark but enchanting.  Seeing the glowing lanterns bobbing through the woods at sunset was a beautiful sight!

I was a bit concerned about giving the kids real candles, but after getting the opinions of a few moms, I listened to my heart and came to the conclusion that the flame is part of the experience.  We talked about how to respect fire, how to keep a flame safe, and why we needed to keep the flame contained.  I am so glad I did because The Boy was far more conscious of his movement than he usually is, and he was so proud of himself!  Not only was he not scared of the dark woods, he wanted to lead the way. He was really in his element, and I love to catch glimpses of my children when they are so perfectly doing what they seem to be meant to do.  I was so touched at how profound an experience it was for The Boy.

We returned home to a bubbling pot of simmering tomato sauce and we had a simple meal of cheese tortellini and sauce.  Before bed, we read the story of Martin and the Poor Man.

Another sweet and simple festival.

After all the time, and all the fuss that was made (or not made) over this painting, here it is, finished and in its frame.  I have so many thoughts and feelings tied up in this painting.  I started it in 2007, and had to stop working on it because I found out I was pregnant with The Girl.  (Toxic pigments plus growing fetus equals not good.)  So I put the painting in its intended frame, and hung it on the wall of our kitchen because I couldn’t think of a safer place for it.  And there it hung, as a metaphor for my life, with so much unfinished business. So much of myself only “half-done.”

And that’s how I feel right now, as an adult.  Half-done.  I feel a lot better about myself than I did in my twenties.  More confident.  Smarter.  Birthing my son at home was one of the most profound moments of my life.  It’s an experience I will never forget (even though I remember it through a fog of hormones). A few months after becoming a mother, I asked The Daddy Monkey if I had changed.  He said, “You seem like you know more.”  And he was so right. That’s exactly how I felt, but I couldn’t articulate it.

Even though it comes off as sounding self-centered, I think that’s a great reason for becoming a mother: it forces you to take a good look at yourself and change what you don’t like. To improve yourself in ways you never thought possible.  But I feel like I have so much more to learn.  So much more that I want to do.  These children have taught me that life is so fleeting.  So impermanent.  They have forced me to grow and to grow up.  And while I have on occasion had to drag them kicking and screaming to do something they didn’t want to do, they have sometimes dragged me kicking and screaming into this work of selflessness, surrender, and service.  And it’s made me a better person.

I have my share of days when I want nothing more than to be alone to create.  Frustrated that my life seems like an endless line of chores: cooking, laundry, housework, repeat. But six years after becoming a mother, I am just now learning that life is just that: half-done.  Some things get completed, others don’t.

It’s sometimes hard for me to be okay with things being never completed.  If this painting taught me anything, it’s that it’s okay to leave things incomplete, even if it’s only temporary.  Sometimes you have to take a break from what you’re doing to kiss a skinned knee, make a snack, read a book, or have another baby.

I set this painting aside for over three years, and it took me all of five days to complete it.  That’s how it is sometimes.  It took me three years to learn the art of surrender.  Three years and five days.

Here is what raw determination will get you in just one day.

This was the scene in my dining room today.  While The Girl napped, I painted for the first time since I found out I was pregnant with her, over three years ago.  This is the painting I had to stop working on, and it has hung in my kitchen, unfinished, for three years.

I hardly remembered what to do today, but then I remembered why I love it so much.  It was terrifying, clumsy, and exhilarating.

I’ll share progress soon.

This pretty paint box was about the highlight of my day.

Another sick day today.  This time it’s The Girl.  104 fever.  I hate the worry that comes with mothering.  Not knowing when to call the doctor and when to just let nature run its course.

So we painted today.  A lot.

Eiffel Tower, painted by me, November 2002

Dear France,

I love you.  I love your language, I love your chefs, I love your crepes, and I love your music.  I love your films,  I love your perfume, I love your painters, and I love your flowers.  I love your icon, I love your fashion, I love your croissants, and I love your wine.  I even love your smoking.

Someday I hope to come visit you, and speak your language fluently.  I would love to live in your capital one day, in an incredibly chic flat, perhaps in the 18e arrondissement.  Mostly I like saying arrondissement.  Although a little chateau in the south wouldn’t be too bad, either.  Perhaps for the summers.

Dear France, please wait for me, and know that while I live here in Florida, my heart yearns for only you.

Avec l’amour,

~Rose

Dear reader, The Daddy Monkey and I watched Coco avant Chanel this weekend, and it was breathtaking!  Even The Daddy liked it, believe it or not.  It made me fall in love with France, its romance, and its language all over again.  As if I needed another reason.  If you haven’t seen this glorious film, starring the radiant Audrey Tautou, please do add it to your queue.  I don’t think you shall be disappointed.

Every once in a while, I will be able to coax him into participation.  It’ll even be his idea on rare occasion.  “Let’s do art-ing,” he says.  It usually ends in frustration, because for him art is a full-contact sport, not an activity to be participated in quietly and calmly.  Usually these art-ing sessions end with him literally throwing paint around, my walls and floor becoming the latest canvases of his Jackson Pollack-esque dance.

I try so hard to stay in the moment.  To remember that for him, art is about the process, not the product.  I try not to instruct or lead him.  I try not to get upset when paint.  Gets.  Everywhere.

I was recently reminded of the artist Carl Larsson, by Alicia, who mentioned him at Posie Gets Cozy.  I was originally introduced to Larsson’s work by my very dear friend Peter, who is also the man who married The Daddy Monkey and I fourteen years ago.  Peter was from Denmark, and a very cosmopolitan man.  He was an older man, very stuck in his ways, and an incredible chef.  My first cooking encouragement came from him, as well as the recipe for his indulgent Cosmo’s Potatoes.  He died of lung cancer just before The Boy was born, and I miss him.

After being reminded of Larsson’s work, I visited (once again) the official website of Carl Larsson’s estate and his home Lilla Hyttnas, in Sundborn, Sweden.  Thank goodness I know someone who lives in Sweden so I can go there someday!  There on the homepage, was a photo of beautiful little Swedish children at their easels, painting en plein air.  And then it occurred to me like a flash of lightning.  If I want The Boy to make art, I have to show him how important it is to make art.  Of course he doesn’t do it because I never do it around him.  For me, art is a solitary affair.  So I decided to meet him halfway.  Spring is in the air, so let’s take it outside.

I taped unlined index cards all over our little easel, set up watercolors on the table, and he went for it!

The Girl even got in on the action.

Here’s my favorite one.  We all painted a little bit on it, and I love it.  This one is going into a frame.

This was so much fun, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.  It was so nice and warm outside, it was a glorious day.  I was relaxed because I had no fear of paint going everywhere.  I didn’t have to clean it up right away, so the kids went back and forth between playing and painting.  We painted standing up, we painted sitting, we painted standing still, and we painted moving.  They each took a turn in my lap, and it all worked.  Everyone was covered in paint when we were done, but I’m okay with that.  It was worth it.

It was so much for for everyone, and it gave me the chance to be the mother I want to be: happy, engaging, encouraging, relaxed and loving.