this is...
This is not a post about how I haven't been to Paris yet.
This is not a post about how sad I am that I didn't have professional photos taken while I was pregnant or right after Ellie was born.
This is not a post about how I'm still thinking about the food Persephone made at the Feast Retreat (and how I need to make some in my kitchen).
This is not a post about why I (still) watch Grey's Anatomy.
This is not a post about Millie's chronic ear infection and how she's moved on to the needing to see a specialist phase and how intense, sad, and expensive it is.
This is not a post about how I want to teach more workshops around the country and how I'm wondering how to make that happen.
This is not a post about how much I really want to start an art journal practice.
This is not a post about me sharing how I really feel when someone says, "Soak up every minute. They just grow up so fast. You will miss this."
This is not a post about the incredible number of words Ellie says in a day or an hour and how much that sound delights every corner of my being.
This is not a post about how much I really want to be invited to a party where I can wear my never-been-worn favorite party dress.
This is not a post about how much I still love my hair cut.
This is not a post about how much I miss you.
This is not a post about the quiet moments when doubt sneaks in.
This is not a post about the exquisite taste of fig jam + goat cheese + prosciutto.
No.
This is a post about one family taking a walk in their neighborhood on a Sunday evening and finding the most incredible evidence of a Pacific Northwest Spring along the edges of the sidewalk. Walking, running, naming every color and every shade of every color, telling me which flowers to photograph, and chatting the entire time.
This is a post about getting back into nature in the simplest ways to clear one's head of all that chatter.
Yes, this.
(These colors inspired several of the new soul mantra necklaces in the shop.)
this is us in real, through the lens
Reader Comments (9)
The saying of "enjoy your kids while their little" is never a judgement on how a young mother is navigating life. It's a wisdom shared from mothers of a grown child, said with great nostalgia for the days when they were the center of their child's universe. It's said with longing for tiny arms wrapped around their necks, for holding hands, for sticky kisses, for everything being new and fascinating, for hours of "Why?" questions, for "help me tie my shoes please" and "can you read me another story". It's for days of feeling exasperated, overwhelmed and tired right down to the bone too. It's for the joy and messiness of raising a human being that means more to you than your own breath. Despite how endless it can sometimes appear, it goes too fast and suddenly they are grown people, out the door, building their own lives. It's what's supposed to happen, if we've done our job right, but there's always going to be that part of any mother's heart that aches for the time when they were small and sweet and ours alone. This is wisdom and understanding passed down from one mother to another.
Beautiful post, Liz. Thanks for taking me along on your walk . . . and for sharing the truths of the moment and the wisdom (and release) found in nature.
yes. beautiful. every word and photo.
I would love it more than anything if you did teach the workshops in other locations. Asheville, NC is a perfect place for it & I would do whatever I could to help you get it going! Media, ground work, planning help---you name it.
i really want to start an art journal practice too, but haven't really a clue how to start...
What an incredibly creative post!
P.s. I am sill hanging in there with Greys Anatomy, too. It would be like leaving family to give up now :)
Stunning photos! And you know, when you use quotes from clever and innovative people, you do appear the same ;) So, keep it up, it was a good read!
Gorgeous photos and words! Visiting your blog fills me up with joy and inspiration :-)
love, love, love this.