painting

No gold, sprinkles only

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It’s official: Bruno and I went on a date today, and we painted ceramics. It’s almost been three years since our first child was born — and two months since our second arrived — and between the two kids, I think we’ve been on perhaps five or so official dates. One might ask how our relationship is able to survive like this, especially with kids. Perhaps it’s really because we’re both stubborn, and bickering like kids on acid gives us purpose; and my husband keeps my spine in tact through nightly back fat massages and I keep him alive through daily meals. (Jokes aside, the “how” is that we just appreciate little everyday moments together, even when it’s hard.)

Today wasn’t the type of date where we spontaneously left our kids with my parents and ran off for a quick coffee next to their house. It was graceful: we had an activity planned, my parents were aware of babysitting the kids, and we left for a few hours. It worked perfectly, too. Keaton was more independent now, and while Gaia’s breastfeeding, she was fast asleep in her car seat when we dropped her off, so we knew she’d be in a cozy slumber for hours on end. And so we drove off, on our heist and mini adventure.

Painting ceramics was something I’d done a few times when I lived in Montreal, the first time being with my dear friend, the second time being with my sister, and the third experience being with Bruno and his parents. I missed the experience dearly and have been itching to do it again. It’s a fun and relaxing creative outlet, and I enjoy sharing the experience with someone I love, especially when there are plentiful moments of silence between us, which, in essence, is the ultimate presence.

Today’s experience was sublime. We went to Art Haven in Barrhaven, and while I was disappointed by the lack of variety of ceramics there — Ceramic Cafe in Montreal was an oasis — I still found the ceramic I’d wanted to paint: a little lady gnome. I love gnomes, and since I’ve been missing the little girl in me, she was symbolically the perfect choice.

I’m excited to see how she’ll turn out when she exits the kiln, especially the sprinkles on her skin. (I’d indeed chosen a shade of paint with sprinkles for her skin, because at this point in my life, I’m ready to retire as a functional citizen of society and become a unicorn instead.) I’m equally intrigued by how her black and brown highlights, reflecting my own hair colour, will manifest. The final colours will all turn out more bold and vibrant.

Bruno’s mug was intended to be a dragon in a den, but it turned out, in his words, to be a “demonic rabbit.” We were a few hours in to our heist, and he’d pondered whether or not to draw black lines for the wood effect since we knew our daughter might wake up at any moment. (Even on a date, time has a noose around our neck. We were very much aware that we might even have to leave without having finished our projects. Such is parenthood.)

On my end, even if I was constantly aware of the time and felt a pang of worry, on the whole, I felt the most peaceful and relaxed I’ve ever felt in a long time. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this calm. Painting the little gnome ceramic and being in my own bubble, while having a nice time with my husband, was my happy place today. I’m also proud of our little creations.

UPDATE. Here’s how they turned out! Pretty cute. 🙂

***

As I write about our experience painting ceramics, our daughter is officially over two months old. She was born in mid-December, just in time for the festive holidays.

Much time and many events and milestones have passed since then, and because the moments have gone, as well as their authenticity, I won’t attempt to rehash what’s already dissipated. But I must say that my heart never ceases to swell with happiness having her in our lives. A joke I made with my husband was that if we had a difficult firstborn, then the universe has to give us an easy secondborn. It’s a balance in the universe; it’s the order of things. Lo and behold, I was right.

Gaia is a sweet-tempered and easygoing baby. She’s also very social and adores social interaction and communication. She loves to listen intently, lift her eyebrows with excitement, and smile. She’d started smiling socially even before she turned one month old. I love it most when she waits for lady chats with me before bedtime. She anticipates me sharing my thoughts and feelings with her. She’s a chatty one, our little G.

To me, being a second-time mom is infinitely harder than being a first-time mom. Not just in the basics of juggling to keep two kids alive every day, whilst also tending to their conflicting needs. It’s not just having a split brain every waking moment and feeling like my hip will dislocate and hit the floor running to greener pastures. It’s something more complex and specific to our experience after having a second baby: it’s the pain of stark contrasts, the pain of ignorance, the pain of relief, and the pain of possibilities.

RAWR, it’s baby tiger!

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We experienced an insanely cute and proud moment this past weekend: Keaton had his first face painting experience ever, and he was the most adorable baby tiger!

(The kids’ face painting program and festivities were in homage of the Italian Festival that was happening last weekend.)

Excited for Keaton’s first face painting and bouncy castle experience — when I showed him photos of what face painting was, he, too, was looking forward to it — we arrived on site at the event early on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, the wind was so strong that the bouncy castles and rides were postponed. Instead, Keaton spent an adventurous morning exerting his energy at the nearby playground and playing alongside other kids, whose parents also waited patiently for the weather to be more forgiving. Alas, the wind persisted, so we informed our little man that nap time was nearing and we’d have to go home, but that after his nap we’d try the festivities again.

By the time Keaton had woken up from his nap, it was already late in the afternoon. But he woke up with the motivation and eagerness to continue on with his day, and excitedly helped us get him ready to go have his face painted and explore. It was a sweet and heavenly moment for us dishevelled and raccoon-eyed parents, as it’s customary for our little guy to scream our building down when it’s time to get ready.

As the weather gods had it, when we arrived on scene, the bouncy castles were still sleeping sheepishly flat on the grass — the wind hadn’t subsided. Nevertheless, face painting was our goal. The lineup wasn’t too long, but lo and behold, I had waited for almost two hours. I even laughed with the mom behind me and joked that we could’ve napped during the whole wait time. Luckily, the organizers and volunteers had bocce ball and colouring books to keep the kids busy, which Keaton and his daddy had spent much of the time enjoying.

Keaton loved bocce ball, or rather, his own version of it. He had the idea of rolling the balls one by one along the wooden panels. When the awesome volunteer saw his plans, she immediately jumped in to help him achieve his vision and helped him line the wooden planels and pop them at an angle so that he could roll the balls down. I could see she was amused as she watched him concocting his master engineering plans.

Our little guy has always been very curious, inventive, and idea-oriented, and loves to problem-solve. Thus, seeing him orchestrate a whole setup with the help of a perceptive and eager adult, was very heartwarming. Other kids also came to play alongside him. They, too, were fascinated; and I had the pleasure of helping out and showing them how to set everything up.

We were surprised that Keaton hadn’t grown too fussy after waiting for almost two hours to get his face painted. (Thankfully, he’d found and created his own entertainment!) When it was finally his turn, my husband and I expected him to sit for a few seconds and perhaps fuss or cry or run off after the first few paint strokes. After all, he’s a highly energetic little man that never sits still. But to our surprise and amazement, he sat still the whole way through! He was good at listening to instructions, too, such as when our lovely artist asked him to move forward on the chair or lift his chin. We could tell he was a bit shy, but very determined to see it through at the same time. Perhaps the feeling of the brushes was relaxing for him, like an ASMR effect. Who knew!

One thing’s for sure: my husband and I were flabbergasted. He was the youngest face painting client of all, and was so patient. We were deeply proud. We also felt a sense of love and community when other parents and kids gathered close to watch him get his face painted. He was just so good and cute! He was the first baby tiger, and everyone’s hearts melted. Especially ours.

Events in our lives have been challenging, and everything is far from OK, but these raw and sweet moments in life are what sustain us and give us joy and hope. I’m very grateful for our talented face painter, who had a magical effect on children. Keaton felt safe in her presence. As for us parents, she brought immense joy and endless smiles to our lives from this one beautiful exchange. We loved when she showed him his face in the mirror. We could tell how proud she was of her work, and how happy she was for him to see his tiger-esque self.

At first, Keaton was a bit reserved and uncertain to see himself in the mirror. But soonafter, he adopted his new identity with pride. When it came time for a bath, he was also very accepting that it was time to let go of his face paint. He thus looked in the mirror and waved, and said, “Bye bye, Roar!” Then, he proceeded to wash off the paint himself in the bath, like a big kid. I think our hearts swelled with warmth and pride all weekend.

Cheers to our little tiger, whom we trust, and will guide, to roar through life and all adversity to become the best version of himself. We love you, Keaton.

Colour me pretty

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It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged or done any journalling, or taken the time to ponder my thoughts and emotions. To those of you who’ve liked my posts, commented, or followed me, thank you kindly for your love and support.

It’s been almost two months since we moved to Ottawa — my childhood home. Sometimes I do miss Montreal a great deal, and wonder if we’d made the right decision. I miss our small cozy apartment, and balcony that’s adorned with fairy lights and colourful plates; I miss our neighbours and the children that we befriended since they were tiny peas; and I miss the parks that we used to frequent with our son. Most of all, I miss the memories. Especially memories of Keaton’s first steps and first explorations at his beloved playground.

Yet somehow, life is as it should be. I left Ottawa at a time when I was wounded and thirsting for life — longing for my sense of self and identity. Now, I’m back, in what I can now call my thirties — more seasoned and grounded, with a child of my own. (Still not any less clumsy.) I’m also reunited with my parents — I missed them dearly in the midst of motherhood and an unmerciful pandemic — and now, they’re able to build daily connections with their grandson, and he with them. I feel like I’ve come full circle in my life, and that I’ve had my closure.

I’m forever grateful for my parents’ role in our lives and how much love and support they provide us. Motherhood has been both challenging and rewarding — and doubly so during a pandemic. Fortunately, ever since we arrived, I’ve begun having some space to exist. My son is vibrant, perceptive, expressive, highly inquisitive, and amazingly helpful. But he’s also full of energy, demanding, and relentless. In Keaton’s 16 months of life, I can’t remember a moment when I truly felt at peace in my heart. His energy level and temperament is comparable to handling at least three children at the same time — and everyone can attest to it. Might I add that he’s the love of my life, and also the death of me?

Recently, for the first time, I noticed my hands visually shake when I reached out to grab my son’s smoothie and napkins at the counter. That day, since I was going to take a long walk with him to grab scones, I stopped midway to buy a fruit smoothie to entertain him — he loves smoothies — so that he wouldn’t grow fussy on our long journey. When I realized that I couldn’t control my shaking hands, even if I’d consciously tried to, I felt both self-conscious and heartbroken to see myself in this state — to viscerally witness my own struggle. “Is this what motherhood has done to me?” I ask myself as I feel my throat constrict.

Motherhood has gotten pragmatically easier in certain ways, and harder in others. I’m learning that the road to raising children is long, sweet, rewarding, clumsy, arduous, and full of mishaps and mistakes. And that most of all, Keaton needs a happy mother that takes care of herself and her needs. After all, I’m worn out to the bone and have raccoon under eye circles; I feel like a dried squid that’s hung out to dry for too long in the sun; I’ve lost all butt, with only skin and bone for some cute loving; and my sagging breastfeeding boobies might just hit the floor walking tomorrow.

But in the midst of all these comical adventures, I’ve found peace, solace, and gratitude in the daily moments. I’m happiest when I see my son in his swimsuit enjoying the waterpark; I’m happiest when he gives his daddy a reluctant but successful kiss on the cheek; I’m happiest when I see the unyielding love between my parents and son, and how much he laughs when he’s with them; and I’m happiest when Keaton grabs his Giorgio monkey and a towel for me, to signal to me that it’s time for milkies.

I’m happy when I see the sunny skies and trees towering above me; I’m happy when I exchange a smile with strangers and passersby; I’m happy when I’m able to lie down and rest my heart, body, and soul, and let it all melt into the comfort of my couch; and I’m happy when I cook meals for my family. I’m also happy right now, as I type this, because I’m creatively exploring the inner workings of my heart and mind.

I’m happy when I paint, too. When I do have some downtime late at night, I appreciate letting loose and being creative. I painted the two paintings above recently; it was relaxing, calming, and fun. I even listened to music and lit a candle. I forgot the feeling of adventure, creation, and possibility until then.

While I’m just starting to explore the world of paint and colours — I’ve got much to learn — I find that these paintings turned out quite cute and pretty. They’re meaningful to me because they symbolize, in many ways, my coming home to myself. I can’t wait to put them up on the wall above our couch, for some character and feminine presence.