Archives For family

Summer Blooms

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 17, 2013 — Leave a comment

Hydrangea, original photographyDown my sidewalk, between the rows of tall Monkey Grass, you meet my front steps. The beige paint is weather-worn, showing patches of brick red and copper underneath. We sit on these steps often; we welcome friends and family to our home; we watch the rain and wind during summer storms.

My baby learned to walk by going up and down the path, with the flowers on the big hydrangea bush as her goal. The hydrangea stands to the left of the porch, under the window, drooping under heavy clusters of rich blue flowers. A backdrop for the softest, greenest part of our yard, the hydrangea sees a lot of summer play. The kids play in the sprinkler before the blooms, making sure they get enough water in this Southern heat. The kids wrestle in the grass, picnic in the shade, and play with neighborhood cats. Our baby loves to smell the flowers and gather as many as she can hold in her tiny arms.

The flowers, so dense and colorful, overflow vases all around our home, and are always a sweet treat from my little boy to his mama. They bring life to indoor spaces, and beauty to our home.

Bouquet, 6x7 watercolor on board

Bouquet, 6×7 watercolor on board

Mother Hen

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 3, 2013 — Leave a comment

I woke up early to the sound of the baby crying, impatient to be lifted from her crib and deposited into her high chair for some Cheerios. The other two were scurrying around in their pjs, building legos and sewing felt animals, asking for their breakfast.

I stumbled my way to the kitchen for some coffee, and had one of “those” moments: where everything feels like Groundhog Day with Bill Murray.

All I heard was “Mommy, mommy, mommy” and I felt really tired. 

For some reason, colorful barnyard animals have been popping into my head at these moments of heightened “sensitivity,” we might say. And this morning, as I sipped my coffee, I thought of a bright orange mother hen and her chicks.

A protective, attentive mother, a bit tired, perhaps letting out a sigh during a moment of weariness. Warm and cozy, but feeling a little irritable.

Well…that description came to me after I drew it. My first thought was of a tired, grumpy chicken.

I ADORE my children. They are unique, precious and beautiful to me, and I devote my life to their happiness, well-being and care with all my heart…

But, occasionally, a mom feels grouchy about being a mom, at least for a moment. And it’s okay.

We shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling like it’s Groundhog Day, when the cycle repeats and beats us down. We still gladly protect our little chicks– we still fix their breakfast, comb their hair and smother them in love and kisses.

The weariness passes quickly, and balance is restored…

Mother Hen, 8x8 pastel on card

Mother Hen, 8×8 pastel on card

Summertime and the livin’ is easy…

 

Summer break has come to Alabama. Routines change and slow, the weather heats up, and the leisurely way of Southern living sets in. Time to relax and stroll, swing and sip, sleep in a bit more, and play with the kids.

This weekend, I felt less like doing my “serious” art, and more like playing. First, the kids and I made duct tape shoes.

Later in the afternoon, while baby was napping, we went outside for some “free painting,” thanks to a huge roll of beige wallpaper I’d somehow acquired. I love to watch kids paint.

My daughter went for splatter painting and “graffiti,”

while my son painted a stormy ocean with a rainbow.

Days like this make the hard days worth it.

message

“One of these mornings you’re gonna rise up singing
And you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky
But till that morning, there ain’t nothin’ can harm you
With daddy and mammy standin’ by”

-Ella Fitzgerald, Summertime

Painting Day, 8x11 watercolor on board

Painting Day, 8×11 watercolor on board

The Siege

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 19, 2013 — Leave a comment

Once upon a time, down the hill and around the curve, there lived a small woman in a castle of painted brick and siding. As the flowers bloomed brightly and the vines curled gently up the wall, the woman prepared for her day of honor: a day when the small folk in her care brought tokens of love, thanks and devotion for her days of tireless service.

The woman, who thought herself queen over her realm, received gifts of breakfast, priceless art, blossoms and praise as she reclined on her pillowed throne. The sun lit her day, as the small ones brought smiles into her presence.

Later in this day of tribute, the tides began to turn. There was a shift in the small folk’s demeanor.

Thus began the siege.

It began with a small rebellion by a 5-year-old boy, who called strike upon his labors. No laundry would he fold, no dishes would he put away, no rooms would he clean! He attacked the firm walls of authority with persistent whining, crying and the stomping of feet.

The woman, adept at handling unruly charges, placed him calmly in the corner of reflection until he relinquished his fight. As she took on his labors and folded the clothes of the residents, the boy continued his barrage of shrill protest, chipping rhythmically against the walls of her patience.

Fighting back against the siege, the woman hummed calming melodies as she attempted to retain her stalwart composure. But the battery did not cease.

Hours later, the dinner bell announced the time to serve the feast. The woman, offering treasures of coin to the oldest small one, farmed out the undone chores to the responsible peasant. Meanwhile, a tiny villager ransacked the palace kitchens, scattering plates and bowls all over the dirty floor. The boy continued his attack with tears and the gnashing of teeth, wearing down the resolve of the barely-standing battlements. Continue Reading…

You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, for especially in the month of June. There’s a wealth of happiness and romance, all in the golden afternoon. … 

-Alice in Wonderland

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

A quiet Saturday in May, we decided to take a stroll through the neighborhood. Our boy on his bike, Spiderman helmet secured; our eldest first trying out her roller skates, then after squeals and crashes, switching to her bike, sans training wheels; the baby in her stroller until Mommy’s hip sounded like such a better place to ride; Daddy helping the cyclists-in-training.

Golden Afternoon, original photography

The sun shining golden through the shade trees, heavily laden with rich green leaves, adds warmth to the unusually cool Spring day in Alabama. We wind our way in an unplanned pattern through the web of streets and sidewalks. As we’re admiring the fresh cut grass of a friend’s home, half-jealous as ours is still in need of a trim, a sweet scent teases our senses. Briefly caught on the soft breeze, the smell conjures immediate memories of childhood. For a moment, we are all enveloped in a completely carefree moment, gathering around the happily discovered honeysuckle vine, relishing the tiny drops of nectar that hide inside each flower.

A song floated into my mind on the tails of the honeysuckle vine, and I slowly spun and danced down the street singing it to my giggling dimpled baby girl, as the big kids successfully pedaled home. I noticed a neighbor on a porch mid-(not-so-graceful)- spin and, I’m sure, badly sung version of the Alice in Wonderland tune, but I shrugged off any embarrassment and continued our freely twirling walk home, experiencing for a moment that pure, open and innocent enjoyment of all the good things in life.

 

It seems to be a normal part of life that days never proceed as planned.

Office PrankI’m a planner…a list-maker extraordinaire. At work, I’m known for my broad use of sticky notes, so much so that the other day I found my office covered in notes, a joke from a supportive friend and coworker.

My expectations are so regularly thwarted by the not-unwelcome interference of life in family and community, that I’m slowly learning to relax and enjoy each moment as it comes, whether its on my list or a curve ball from left field.

As an artist with a “day job” and young family, art usually must take a back seat. I don’t have as much time as I used to for reflective, (I won’t even try to say uninterrupted) creativity. When I encounter a long stretch without creating, my mood definitely drops and I have to find a moment for at least a quick sketch.

My baby girl is about to turn one year old; my son will be starting kindergarten at elementary school in August; my 1st grade daughter has lost four teeth and can write her own stories; I’ve been married almost 11 years to my wonderful husband. Those busy days that usurp my sticky-noted lists are bearable-and enjoyable- because I know how fast time flies.

One morning before school, an amazing teacher and friend spoke in tearful reflection about her youngest daughter in her last year of high school. She shared some very wise, yet simple words that have settled and taken root in my heart:

“I look back on when my kids were young and realize it didn’t matter if my house was clean. Time with them has gone by so fast.”

I think of those words and that emotion often. When I get frustrated by my derailed plans, or my crumby table, or the mountain of laundry, I look at my family, at the trees, at my hands, and remember that life comes as a gift to us, one day at a time.

If I don’t relish life as much as I can, as each moment passes, it seems to pass like water through my fingers.

I am thankful for this day and all that it brings; may my eyes be open to its moments, and my breath be deep enough to absorb the minutes and make them count.

“Always remember that the future comes one day at a time.” -Dean Acheson

Making a List

Making a List, charcoal and conte sketch on paper

Vacations…

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 23, 2013 — Leave a comment

Well, I’m back.

I had a brief blogging hiatus due to several types of “vacations”…

The first type of vacation was not so much fun: it was a work-caused vacation from my sweet husband, who was whisked away on the wings of a metal bird to places of consultation. Packed neatly in his carry on bag was the computer. Alas, no blogging to be done! And my whirlwind of a schedule with 3 kids and work did not, this time, allow me to schedule any prewritten posts. As we jokingly and lovingly say to my hubby, “Go make the money, Daddy!”

The next vacation was the absence of the computer, which was sadly left behind in a Nashville hotel room. Several days later, it returned home after days of treacherous travel in a cardboard box. Blogging delayed.

The last vacation was a splendid one…Spring break trip to visit my fabulous sister and her family in the old Southern city of Savannah, Georgia. She lives around the corner from, I have to say, one of the most beautiful streets in the world: a quiet walk along the Bluff, with the peaceful marsh on one side, and gorgeous old homes on the other, pillared and canopied in huge, ancient oak trees draped in Spanish moss. A-mazing. The fuchsia azaleas were in full bloom, and keeping my handy iPhone in my back pocket, I snapped photos wherever we went. I was, as always, overwhelmed with the beauty, the uniqueness of that place. Being with family always makes me feel nostalgic, so I took lots of photos of the growing brood as well.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from the trip:

Lovely Girl

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 11, 2013 — 2 Comments

 

Nora Grace, 8x10 pastel on paper

Nora Grace, 8×10 pastel on paper

Baby Nora

An unexpected gift to our family, this little girl is joy in the flesh. Sweet and soft, small and patient, she is a little light, bringing dimpled grins wherever she goes. Each time we hold her, we breath in life a little more deeply, pause and linger over the moment with a little more care. The gratefulness we feel because of this precious girl is inexpressible. I spend each day gushing over her: squishing her cheeks, waiting for her smile and her sweet, tiny voice to call for me. She lives surrounded by love, as I hope she always, always will.

“Lovely girl won’t you stay, won’t you stay, stay with me” -The Lumineers

My kind and ever-patient art critic

My kind and ever-patient art critic

It’s the moment when your artist’s angst is at its peak. Your anxiety and self-doubt threatens to swallow you whole as you contemplate your progress, your vision, your work-in-progress. You turn and address your spouse: “Woe is me! I am but a worm in the world of art! This eye is not right! This brush stroke out of place!” The profuse encouraging support fails to reinflate your confidence. You know something is artistically awry and such flattery falls on deaf ears. You ask for serious improvement suggestions. Bad idea.

It’s the moment when you soar in self-satisfaction over your seemingly greatest achievement. Your triumph is palpable as you gaze lovingly at your finished product. Eyes misty and senses blurred, you see only an image of perfection. Then you look more closely. And you see a flaw. Then another. You turn and address your loved-one: “I thought it was perfect! But, alas, I see flaw after flaw after flaw! How can I remedy this calamity?!” You’ve asked for a critique of your art-baby. You’ve opened yourself up to criticism. From a much loved, highly involved relation-of-sorts. Bad idea.

Whether in highs or lows, we are all – not just artists! – so very sensitive to criticism. I know when, in my own personal melodrama, I’ve asked for my husband’s honest and open and I-promise-not-to-get-upset opinion, it is a farce: I will get upset. It’s like asking if you look fat in a dress. No answer is acceptable.

True, true…art is free and open and without rules. As artists we can paint or draw or sculpt or carve however we want, whatever we want, and who’s to say if it is good or bad, right or wrong, perfect or imperfect. But, still…some things are better than others, and most things can be improved.

So, our lesson for today is this:

Don’t be so hard on our invited critics.

Or else don’t ask if the metaphorical dress makes you look fat.

My poor husband…how does he put up with having an artist for a wife!

My grandparent's WWII Salt & Pepper Shakers

My grandparent’s WWII Salt & Pepper Shakers, original photograph

I was standing in the kitchen eating a good, homemade southern biscuit with a nice pat of butter in its middle, when my senses whisked me back to another house, another tasty biscuit, another just-melting-but-still-cold piece of butter.

My grandparent’s house, Birmingham, Alabama circa 1991: In front of me, at chest height while sitting, is my Granny’s oval dining room table, shiny with wood polish. Around the table, on rounded and puffed, aqua-upholstered, carved wooden chairs from an era past, sits my family – my Granny with her curly gray hair, my Grandaddy topped in a gloriously soft white tuft, my mom and dad, and my little sister with her freckles.

Eating my biscuit in my own kitchen today, I remembered how things were to be done at that family dinner table. In this formal Southern dining room with it’s sheer lace curtains, the African violets bloom in the window, and Granny’s pastel portraits of my four great grandparents hang in gilded frames upon a wall-papered backdrop. In this room, your mint iced teas must sit on the silver coasters, and the tiny salt and pepper shakers – brought home from France in WWII – are set within reach. The fresh biscuits are always served in the ventilated and covered red warming dish. Continue Reading…