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Here's an article on painting a simple sunset and snow exercise. I think that I might try it! Jeremy Ford is a lovely watercolor artist from the UK.
Try your hand at it! Sunset on Snow with Jeremy Ford
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Then….out of nowhere, this thing called labor…….this event that we have read about, talked about, watched videos about, taken classes about, anticipated…LABOR starts.
We grabbed the watch again and started timing. Eight minutes apart, seven and a half minutes apart, five minutes apart! It was 4:30 in the morning and I was POSITIVE that the baby was about to crown. We called the midwife, anticipating that she would wildly scream for us to call an ambulance and while we’re waiting, boil water …..maybe for hot chocolate! The midwife insisted that she talk to me. Me. The mother in labor. I was SO proud at how calm and collected I was, and I cooly informed her of all my inward labor-like symptoms. She rather crankily insisted that I did not “sound” like I was in labor,and to please go back to bed. The indignity! I AM in labor….I just have a high pain tolerance! How dare she tell me to go back to bed on this very-important-and-life-changing day! WE are having a baby today! Alert the maternityward that we are on our way! I went back to bed. It was 11:00 a.m. I was exhausted. Contractions had been steadily coming every five minutes for what seemed like weeks. We called again. My midwife consented that we might “possibly” need to come in. She was WAY too calm. We made the drive and I groaned dramatically at every bump in the road. Chris speeds. We waited very anti-climactically in a room for the annoying desk lady to enter our info. A woman is in labor here, people! Let’s hurry it up! And would everyoneplease stop acting so CALM! We were shown to a room set up with two beds and three chairs. I was hooked up to some impertinent machine that somehow tells the doctor how much pain I’m in. A doctor who was about 12 years old came in and calmy checked my chart. I gazed at him crankily and wondered if he was old enough to shave. My midwife perkily decided to check how many centimeters dilated I was. I began mulling over the fact that maybe they should have a different measuring system for how big things need to get for baby to come out. Something like feet....or yards. “Oh, she’s measuring 2 ½ feet! Baby is ready to enter the world!” No such luck. Cervixes are measured in centimeters for some strange reason, and mine was only FOUR! They will not even admit you at 4 centimeters! I groaned and wondered if I was caught in some kind of labor twilight zone. We drove home not saying much. I crashed on the couch imagining all kinds of awful things. Baby is stuck….baby is stuck…..baby is stuck….the thought ran through my addled brain rhythmically. It was 3:30 p.m. My contractions were SO strong that I could not even speak through them. We called. When speaking to the midwife, I gritted my teeth and groaned through contractions and told her in no uncertain terms that I WAS dying, it WILL BE all her fault,and my pregnant ghost WAS going to haunt her until the day she decides to kick the bucket. She said that I sounded like I was ready. How magnanimous of her. She was lucky that I was so busy having a baby or else I would have strangled her. In no time, my capable husband had me back at the hospital, I was admitted at eight centimeters and before I knew it, it was time to push. My first pushing contraction comes and after it ebbed, I glanced at the clock. “How long will I push? “ I asked….. My guess on this subject consisted of pushing two, maybe three times, definitely no more than ten minutes, tops. “Oh,2 hours is normal for a first,” I was calmly told. I glanced at my husband. He looked alarmed. Over my dead body was I doing this for 2 hours! Another contraction was coming, and I reached down and tossed the baby monitor off my stomach, smacked my husband’shand for rubbing those irritating repetitious circles on my arm and met it head on. I had that child in ½ hour. She’s here! I was foggy, exhausted,sore….and it was the happiest moment of my life. Tears ran down my face and the new daddy was laughing and crying at the same time. She was wrinkly,purple and red. She had wispy dark hair and perfect nails, a rosebud mouth and a little cone head, such tiny ears and huge dark eyes. She’s here. Chloe Elizabeth. Born on a sunny, crisp autumn day, October 17 at 6:02 p.m. And so commences this journey into motherhood, parenthood…..so ended my carefree days and so began my maturity in life. Nothing has stretched me more than motherhood. This child has changed my life and I will never be the same. I would die for this small person. And in the tumultuous times of parenthood, strong and unbreakable bonds are formed. For somewhere in that amazing cycle of life, there are timeless lessons that we learn. There is a breaking process and a growing process. We are forever bound up in the happiness and failures of that one little person. Our children not only hold our hearts, they are our hearts….a part of us…..a walking, breathing symbol of our love for each other. ……and yes, we mailed the midwife a picture. It is a picture of me, in a flimsy hospital gown. My hair is matted, my eyes bloodshot, my smile oh-so-tired….BUT there is a brand new person peeking out of that white striped blanket. Our journey has begun and who knows who she’ll be…. The weeks skipped by and oh-so-slowly my tummy started to grow.
We found out that we were having a girl and my nose was continually in the baby name books. I would lie in bed, sucking crackers and elbowing my sleeping spouse every time I found a good name. He would mumble affirmatively to any and all name suggestions, then claim ignorance the next morning when I assured him that we had discussed and settled on a certain name the night before! After a bit of marital disharmony, we finally settled on Chloe Elizabeth. It must be the most beautiful name in the whole wide happy world. Baby Chloe was joyfully moving around much of the night and sleeping during the daylight hours. This was difficult since I was accustomed to a slightly different schedule. Daddy talked to baby every night and I had sworn off eating anything resembling unhealthy food for fear of hurting the baby. Life was cozy and happy and sweet and quiet. I glowed and tossed my shiny hair frequently. I bought stylish maternity clothes and smiled at everyone. The world was a witness that being pregnant equals being happy and I was a shining monument to that very fact. Well,we had ridden the lovely highs of the second trimester and we seemed to be descending into the dark valley of the third. My step was not so bouncy. In fact,my ankles seemed to have fully morphed into my legs. Chloe’s kicking was no longer anticipated, but was borne with a grunt and a grimace. It took three stalwart men to pull me off the couch. I no longer needed to practice my pregnant waddle b/c it was the only walk I could perform. Heels were definitely out of the question. I stopped informing the general public that I was pregnant b/c they really didn’t have any doubts. I don’t think that people were being kind by opening doors or stepping aside,allowing me to go first. No, I think that they were dubious that I had any kind of maneuverability or braking action whatsoever and so were nimble for their very lives. We were now not counting months, but weeks, and then, suddenly, days. I no longer could hug my husband with my kettle sized stomach. We had adapted to hugging sideways. I could no longer reach the sink to do the dishes, nor tie my shoes. I was, alarmingly, too big for even my maternity clothes. I never really realized that this was possible. We were 3 days away from the Due Date, and we were miserable, each of us for differing reasons. I wanted baby out and I’m sure that hubby wanted to live with a sane woman again. My ever-so-intelligent midwife suggested that we have (clinically put by her) "intercourse" to move things along. Well, that suspiciously sounded like sex and that was OUT of the question at this stage. When theupper part of your torso rests on the lower part…….need I finish? Every ounce of energy and thought, every conversation seemed to center around "The Date". And then…….. The“first contraction”……..what excitement! What joy! It was 1:30 a.m. and I awakened my snoring spouse. He leapt out of bed with a panicked look on his face and grabbed his watch. Now we needed to time the contractions! We will do this diligently! We will follow every step on the bullet pointed sheet that is laying on the nightstand!!! We waited with baited breath. Nothing. Chris frowned and checked the bullet pointed sheet for, um, pointers. An hour later, my husband was snoring again and I was lying awake, willing labor to start. I did not care if labor was going to be the most horrific time of my life, I just desperately, insanely needed this small person to leave my bodily premises. Immediately! I will be a much more pleasant person to be around, I justknow it! Please, baby! To Be Continued...... The wonder hit us andwe gazed at each other in joy.
Please note the ability we had at that moment to gaze at each other in joy. (Get your fill of gazing at your husband, new moms, because after happy baby event occurs, there is no time slot left for adorable gazing.) We waltzed home on cloud nine. Hubby held every door for me and insisted that I not pick up anything heavier than a fork. Since this was the only allowed form of exercise, I felt like I needed to do it as much as possible to stay in shape. Unfortunately,this was skewed thinking and I was forced to take up walking/really-slow jogging to supplement. I decided on some new hobbies, which included napping and shopping for those adorable new born clothes. To help prevent the fabled morning sickness, I decided to have crackers at hand at all times. I nibbled crackers when I first awoke in the morning, on the way to work, midmorning as I typed, after lunch, before dinner, and after dinner. I was a very literal person. I am proud to say that I had absolutely no queasiness at all due to my cracker diligence. In fact, by bedtime, I was so sick of crackers that I would lie in bed reading and sucking the salt off the crackers. I then stacked the crackers in neat little convenient piles on the nightstand. My husband complained so much about the cracker piles that I relented and after licking the crackers, put them back in the bag. This apparently was also an unacceptable situation. When my husband desired to eat a cracker, he preferred the salt still on the cracker and the general crispinessof the cracker still tangible. It was great while it lasted but all good things must come to an end. So, soon I am looking forward to feeling that first little movement of my precious baby. One happy day, I felt it! I called my husband and excitedly explained the feeling! He was elated! The excitement deprived midwife patiently informed us that this wonderful feeling was probably gas since we were not far enough along to feel anything yet. I was decidedly grumpy. I decided to eat things that made me gassy and just pretend that it was the baby kicking. After all, where did that midwife get her degree anyhow? Who is the big high pregnancy expert that says you can’t feel movement at nine weeks? HA. I realize now that it was gas and I really had a very windy first trimester, until the day that I felt true baby bopping. My husband was relieved when we arrived at real baby movement and we could shut the windows at night. To Be Continued...... A collection of thoughts and experiences from one who has been there and is still there.
Ahhhh, motherhood! When one contemplates entering this state of life, one’s general thoughts are full of tranquility. Think of fuzzy commercials about those bath suds that are supposed to magically calm your energetic offspring to sleep (hopefully while not in the bath). Consider,my fellow mom, the pre-child days. Allow yourself to remember your pre-child daydreams of softly lit evenings spent nursing your precious infant before you sing him a lullaby while tucking him in for the night in your perfectly decorated nursery. Close your eyes and once again remember what you thought motherhood was going to be like. REALITY CHECK! I think the first reality check occurs the instant you find yourself staring at those windows on that news-bearing plastic stick. How in the world can they advertise those things as being easy to use? I was only married four months when I found myself staring in the mirror, pondering if that strange look on my face was one of terror or absolute joy. Of course it was joy! I was joyful in my extreme ignorance. Even if I wasn’t ignorant, I still would have been joyful. After all, what greater privilege can there be than to forsake all things chocolate and caffeinated for nine months? Plus, I had not yet experienced the oh-so-lovely experience of a small person jumping on my bladder or kneeing my cervix. My happy gushing tears, while initially alarming my husband, assured us that the hormones were sloshing through my body grandly and we had nothing to worry about……yet. So,there I was. I was not showing yet, since my trim young stomach was gallantly willing to hold things in,unaware of the losing battle at hand. I was already hitting the maternity clothes section at the mall with a vengeance and staring at myself sideways in the mirror. I practiced the pregnant mom waddle because I had once heard that it is so cute. I informed all people within earshot that WE are pregnant. I said this because I was SO happy. I also said this because I was wearing balloon-like clothing and I certainly wouldn’t want people to think that I was weird or unfashionable. Our first doctor’s visit was one of joy and excitement and the hubby took time off from work to attend. We entered the office and gazed in wonder at all the new baby snapshots on the walls, capturing that magic moment when baby is first born. I was awash with hormone-induced joy. Wait….good grief….does that woman know that her hair is unwashed and straggly? She should have taken a shower before she went to the hospital and then had her picture taken. Well, at least she is smiling….why are her eyes so red and bloodshot? These thoughts briefly pierced my brain before the joy hormone was again released. Why judge all these women for a bad hair day? Our name was called and we jumped up with big smiles plastered on our faces. We were ushered into a small sterile room and briskly informed that one of us was to completely disrobe. Hubby smiled, confident that the chilly naked one would not be him, and gallantly held my purse. My joy hormone seemed to be running low as I slowly slipped on the tiny white gownand tied the frayed straps. There were small tears around the seams of the straps as if previous wearers had quickly ripped off this scrap of material in their effort to return to the security of a warm and covered rear. For some strange reason, the padded table was only half the size of a regular person. My legs dangled awkwardly and I grippedthe table to keep from sliding off. The midwife helpfully placed my bare feet in these cold metal things that are strangely called “stirrups”. Yee-haw. At this point, I was thinking that I wanted off the baby roller coaster. My midwife seemed pleased that all was well in the baby growing fields. To my relief, we were done with the “table gripping part” and now we were on to the “finding of the heartbeat” part. The midwife magically extended the table, to my relief. I gripped my husband’s hand and smiled bravely until the chilly gel hit my stomach. I gasped. The midwife apologized, but I sourly noticed a twinkle in her eye. Then it was time to widen the slimy coldspot on my tummy by smearing the gel all around. This was all so pleasant. We heard a large slow whooshing sound which was suddenly is replaced with a higher,faster sound. My first thought was that there was an intergalactic battle occurring in my abdomen. So,this is what a baby’s heartbeat sounds like! I daintily wiped away a tear before it ruined my mascara. To be continued...... Homeschooling my three kids is a huge juggling act for me. Now, in my Classical group, there are moms that homeschool seven or eight kids and my face wears an expression of perpetual awe when I am in their super mom presence. Three is all I can do and it's a good thing, b/c three is what I have. I suppose if I had more, I'd find a way. Anyhow, the mushy brain title is probably perplexing you right now, but here's the deal and bear with me, if you can.
My morning starts off with my patient husband "waking" me up to get out of bed, oh, four or five times before I actually really wake and get out of bed. This happens around 6:30 or so. I shower, slap some makeup on, wake the kids (they are usually already up) and we all are dressed and have beds made by 7:30. Then it's down for breakfast. We all pat the dog, I usually burn the toast and someone usually spills milk, OJ, or a box of cereal before we settle down at the table for breakfast and devotions. We read, practice our Scripture memory, talk about it and pray. Then there's a flurry of clearing up the dishes, cleaning out the dishwasher and brushing of the many teeth. I announce the countdown until school starts "45 minutes until school starts! Better get all your wiggles out now!" and the kids will tromp on outside and run up and down the driveway like banshees, which is fine by me b/c I'm not really totally awake until I get the whole cup of coffee down and digested. Nine o'clock hits and we start school. Jake has a daily routine of complaining that it didn't really "seem" like 45 minutes! We usually argue this point all the way up the stairs, but I win and we start school. Here's where the juggling routine happens. See, I have it all perfectly worked out so that when 2 kids are doing work, I can teach the third and it rotates around pretty well this way. I have to say that I've been patting myself on the back a bit b/c this is the first year that I've been able to pull it off so perfectly. Granted, I didn't get this down until my THIRD year homeschooling, so this talent obviously takes a long time to pull off.....at least it did for me. Jake and Tirzah begin with handwriting and I begin by teaching Chloe her math. Then Chloe works on her math work and I teach Jake his math. Then while they both finish up their math work, I work with Tirzah with her phonics and reading aloud. While I'm finishing up with Tirzah, Chloe and Jake finish their math and take their Spelling words into their rooms where they say and spell and say again each word to themselves. Then they each ask each other their spelling words and Chloe likes to spell while using sign language. Then I do Jake's reading while Chloe does creative writing and Tirzah works on her numbers and then it's snack time. While I get snack, they all listen to their Classical Conversations CD lesson and when I get back up, I read a chapter from whatever book we're reading from aloud. Then we're off again, reviewing their history timeline cards, discussing them, reading about them (they memorize 8 per week) then reviewing their Latin and working on translation, singing their history sentence together, and either tracing our geography or chanting our states and capitals. THEN (and they love this) out comes Mr. Skeleton who talks in a funny voice with an Indian accent (for some strange reason, don't ask me why, it just suits him) and he points to different bones in his body and asks what their names are. Of course, we usually end up in gales of laughter at this point. Then I have to quiet it all down again for English grammar lessons, followed by dictation and copywork. We finish off the morning by looking up one interesting word in the dictionary, writing out the definition, studying the spelling and using the word as many times as we can in conversation throughout the day. Oh, and we practice reciting our poetry that we've memorized. Before you know it, it's lunchtime and it's at this point that I swear, my brain that started out the day in a lively manner, acts like it's been run over by a large and noisy truck....4 times at least. If my brain was a coffee hydrated grape at 9:00 in the morning, it is now a caffeine depleted raisin by noon. My poor brain. Usually, the only thing that can revive it at this point is absolute quiet while I eat a lunch of something healthy (like carrots and yogurt) and something not so healthy (like chips or chocolate) Then, like a marathoner, I'm off again, running errands, cleaning house, running to ballet or soccer or Classical (take your pick), planning and cooking meals, rushing off to doctor's appointments, all the while singing about the countries that make up the former USSR or the President's song naming all the US Presidents. By the time 5:00 hits, you know, I am exhausted, but it's a good exhausted. No, I didn't get everything done that I needed to get done. Yes, there are cobwebs in the corners and the dog needs a bath. No, I don't paint my nails or toes or color my slightly graying hair...who has time for that? But yes, I am satisfied that, darn it, this is what I've determined to do and I'm going to do it to the best of my ability, regardless of my mushy brain! I'm going to balance all this stuff or die trying. We all have to go one way or another and at least when it's my time to go, not only will I be able to recite all the states and capitals, speak some Latin, recite "Be Glad Your Nose is On Your Face" poetry, understand the complexities of ballet and recite 120 timeline history cards in order.......I'm positive that in my last few moments on this earth, if you lean in really close, you will hear me faintly singing...."the Russian Federation .....Tajikistan ......Turkmenistan .....Uzbekistan ....Khasikstan ....Kyrgikstan ....Ukraine, Molova...Georgia ....Belarus....Azerbaijan and Armenia ....these....are....the countries ....of the former.....USSR.....okay, kids...time....for....school!" I've wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. I vividly remember getting a doll every year for my birthday when I was a child. Each and every doll was dutifully dressed, fed and disciplined. I suppose I was simply mimicking what I viewed my own mother do every day. I loved it. Now that I am a mother and now that I am no longer in the sleep deprived state of toddlerhood, I have this enormous desire to put all of my energy, heart and soul into raising my kids and educating them. I can really think of no other area of social life that has been belittled and mocked as much as motherhood has been. Especially the "stay - at - home" kind of motherhood. We're accused of "wasting" our time, wasting our lives and talents, we're made fun of and looked down upon. But you know what? That's okay. It is not everyone's opinion that I'm seeking, it's my children's respect and love and education that I am working towards. To be honest with you, I was very doubtful that I would make it as a homeschool mom. After all, everyone that I know says that they "need a break" from their kids and that they could never "spend all day" with their kids. I won't sugar coat it. There are difficult days, but an amazing thing is happening to me. I am becoming one of those strange moms who "loves being around" her kids. I'm the mom that used to raise my eyebrows when they would gush these statements to me, and secretly, I'd be thinking "LIAR". But, it's true! Chloe is 11, Jake is 9, and Tirzah is 8 and I can truly, honestly say that I LOVE spending all day with them. I love seeing their faces light up when they've understood a difficult math concept or they've remembered that hard Latin word. It's amazing to me that lil' ole me has taught each of them to read. I didn't realize that I had it in me! There is no professional job in this world that could now lure me away from this job of motherhood. There are days when Jacob wraps his little bony arms around my waist and looks up at me with his heavy lashed hazel eyes and he says, "I love you, Mom. You're the best Mom in the whole wide world." I tell you what, there is no award or monetary job bonus that could be better than that. I WANT to be the best Mom in the whole wide world. Not that I will be, I know that, but I want to give this job my all. I want to teach my kids to respect their elders, love their siblings, use manners, work hard, be responsible, be honest and to most of all, love their Creator with their whole heart and soul and mind. Motherhood is such an awesome, thrilling responsibility and I think, too often, us moms get caught up in the griping about the day to day grunge. But, think about it! This very small person was given to you. She is a part of you and a part of your spouse. A living breathing reminder of your love for one another. It is mind boggling if you really consider it deeply. So, for all us stay at home moms, I know your hair has split ends and your pedicures are chipped. I know that your feet are spread out from wearing flip flops all the time. I know that "alone time" is an unheard of event. I just want to say HANG IN THERE! It's a long road, but you can do it! Teach your children to love you and to respect their father. Don't ever let your child hit you or yell at you or even glare at you. Sometimes it feels like a marathon, but as you're building character and patience, so are they! Push on, do your best, embrace the lessons and late nights and reach for that difficult goal of raising wonderful, respectful kids. *note* I am certainly not in any way undermining working moms. I think that moms who work have a lot of dedication and have a lot on their plates, also. This is an encouragement for those who know what I'm talking about in the stay at home world.  So, many people are incredulous when they find out that I homeschool. I've gotten the wrinkled forehead look, the concerned look, the smirk, the wide-eyed "I-can't-believe-you'd-spend-that-much-time-with-your-kids" look, the furrowed brow, the scratching of the head, the rolling of the eyes and occasionally, the wow-that's-great look. All these looks....directed at lil' ole me! Fancy that!
I've grown accustomed to all these looks, really I have. They don't bother me like they used to. I know what's coming next, too. I can almost mouth it along with the speaker...."So, what about socialization? That just concerns me!" This statement is generally spoken in a rather condescending tone of voice as if I am waiting with baited breath for their unsolicited opinion. I gravely reply that I almost never actually SPEAK to my children and they certainly are NOT involved in any programs with other children, nor are they really allowed to leave the house. In fact, they live completely in bubble, safely tucked away from all negative outside influences 24/7. I say this just to see the reaction from the speaker. Usually their face turns a funny color. Okay, people, homeschool kids are NOT undersocialized! If anything, I have trouble saying "no" to the enormous variety of outings to choose from involving other homeschool and school kids, playgroups, ballet, soccer, educational trips, neighborhood kids, etc, etc, etc..... So, for the love of mercy, don't ask a homeschool mom if her kids are "socialized". It is THE most ridiculous, ignorant question I have ever come across. Now, I realize that us homeschoolers have acquired a reputation, sometimes bad, sometimes good. However, do all us homie moms a favor and simply listen without all of the preconceived notions that are probably stacked up in your head. Most of us do not grow and can our own food, we buy our bread pre-sliced and many of us are actually *gasp* stylish. BUT, even if we do spend more money on schoolbooks than on our nails, cut us some slack. We are a dedicated group and national statistics show that we educate our kids better and in less time for significantly less money than what our beloved government schools are currently accomplishing. Isn't it time to let go of the socialization issue? If that's your last punch, then everyone's out of ammo. ;) Just some thoughts from a homeschool mom. I've been inspired lately through some Facebook artist friends to attempt to paint more loosely. I really admire artists who can put a little dab here and a little dab there and voila! A lovely piece of art appears! I think that it is much harder to paint in a looser style than it is to stay within the lines. My grandmother was a lovely watercolor artist (see my previous blog about her with some pics) and while I really admire her style of loose watercolors, I think that I want to accomplish something between her style and my style. About 2 years ago, when I first started with watercolors, I would get lots of library books and practice as much as I could. I got a Jan Kunz book and I completed an exercise that I still have and still love. (see below)  Even now, when I look at this painting, I still love it a lot, but I really want to give my art more of a freer artsy feel. I had some other photos of poppies that I decided to work from recently and I think that I'm gravitating towards this style more. But then....I look back and I can't decide. Hmmmm.....  I've had my nose to the grindstone this week, painting illustrations....BUT today, when I finished the beach illustration, I just HAD to paint a quick study of something....It's kind of like a mental artistic palate cleanser. I stood up, quickly laid the color on and dashed my brush around....and whala! Art! (how does one spell 'whala'?)....it was so exhilarating and I feel so much better. Now, back to work I go!  |
About CadyI'm a wife and mother of four kids. I homeschool, paint, run, and garden! I am always interested in digging truths out of Scripture. Here, you'll find my thoughts on art, adoption, gardening, mothering, homeschooling, books and whatever else is on my mind. Enjoy! QuoteCreativity doesn't exist in a vacuum - like skepticism, it's a means, not an end. It cries out for a theme. To treat creativity as an end in itself is to assume godlike character for humans as though they could create ex nihilo. -J. Cheane Archives
August 2016
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