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“Baby, you are my sunny afternoon,

you sprinkle magic in my heart.” – Tulsi, age 5

It’s 5:08 AM and has over a year since I last wrote in this space. Much can happen in a year, like a 4 year old (now 5) blowing my mind nearly every day with the ways she dances through her magical world, so free, her heart and mind wide open. I finished the children’s book that I went to the Redwoods to research last year, and it was dreamy, really, how Tulsi actively contributed in my process. She “played” out the story and quoted many lines from the manuscript. Sitting side by side, we elaborated and refined drawings from my initial dummy sketches while looking at photos from our trip. She freely offered countless ideas of details to add (or even hide) in the pictures. I treasured her unpredictable and untrained color sense while we both painted color studies of every illustration. And during long days of painting, she would climb up on her step stool next to me, gift encouraging “wow”s, thoughtful questions, keen observations only a child would notice, and even draw in wee details! It was such a treasure sharing this process with her.

The publishing world moves at a comparable rate to mine these days (ha), so even though I shipped off 20 illustrations mid-March, you’ll still have to wait until Fall 2015 to see it. I wanted to share a glimpse of LUNA & ME before I’m too engrossed in the next book(s). :) LUNA & ME, The True Story of a Girl Who Lived in a Tree to Save a Forest is a picture book inspired by environmental activist Julia Butterfly Hill’s two year tree sit in an ancient Redwood tree. Her story (and so many other environmentalists) inspire me to do what I can to care for our world using my own talents. One thing I love about this book is Julia’s example of acting from a place of love and compassion and then adding passion, dedication, faith, education, teamwork and endurance, to create change. And it is a magical, powerful story – one I am so happy my kids, and your’s, will know.

And recently, it has been awesome watching my incredible designer work her own sweet magic on the interior and cover design. So many people have supported this project, and I can’t wait to share it with you! – with Christy Ottaviano Books

Last week I came upon The M.A.P.P. Gathering, an incredible, growing ocean of mamas, coming together to relate and share, encourage and ignite each others’ flames. The Gathering is a series of interviews with some amazing, wise, gentle, BRIGHT soul-mamas who are all wholly passionate about their mothering AND their “work”: Brene Brown, PhD, Jennifer Louden, Renee Trudeau, Jill Savage, Sara Gottfried, MD, Pamela Slim, Kelly Rae Roberts, Tsh Oxenreider and Andrea Scher (links on the M.A.P.P. site). The gathering was initiated by Lisa Grace Byrne who I keep thanking over and over in my head and heart — and I have only listened to 3 of the conversations so far!

Lisa describes it as, “a collection of intimate conversations with a handful of mothers who have followed their passion and are making a beautiful difference in the world.” For any mamas out there, you know how connecting intimately with mama-friends can be a saving grace…and how it gives you strength in countless ways? I think you might find that (and more) in listening to these conversations while nodding and saying “YES!” and reflecting on your own walk of motherhood.

I feel like sometimes on this path of mothering there isn’t a lot of time to reflect, with days passing so quickly and diving straight into my art in any “me-time”. Rare alone-walks (thank the goddess, are happening a bit more and more) seem to be the best time, although honestly, I enjoy going empty and silent, too. That is why The Mother’s Wisdom Deck project (coming May 1st) was such a gift for me even though it was fast and furious. I poured so much of my experiences and emotions, courage, endurance and intuition into the paintings, which helped me grow as well as reflect inwardly. And HOW I am ready for even more connecting and mama-energy and honesty and opening on this path. We (the authors of the Deck and I) are currently creating another mama-community-site, which is set to launch in a couple weeks. I hope you will join us then AND upon reading this post, run over to The M.A.P.P. Gathering to sign up and join the expanding, awesome conversation of mothering. I know you will be grateful you did!

A couple days ago, Tulsi pulled a piece of paper and a few new markers out of her “Christmas Calendar” we made together (more on this soon), and the note read, “You are an artist. Your art makes people smile. Make a picture for Nama and Tapas and mail it to them.” She was SUPER excited and wanted to get right to work just moments after climbing out of our cozy bed. She stared at the paper and said, “Me don’t know what to draw,” and I suggested, “You could draw a picture from the time you were with them when I went to New York City.”

Tulsi stayed with my parents for a whoppin’ 52 hours while I went to NYC for the children’s book art show, etc., and I can’t tell you how much my heart and head ran around with this decision before I made it (supported by Patrick and my parents). Some of you might not think a couple of days is a big deal, but it was huge for me. And for Tulsi. We had not spent more than 5 hours apart since the first day of her life, when we’d been separated seconds after her traumatic birth. So it was not an easy decision. Would she feel secure that I would come back? How would she sleep? Would she be distant from me after? And of course, I worried about something happening to either one of us. I know it might sound silly to some mothers who have already grown through the early years, but as a mother, I know your whole heart and being are in every present moment, and you feel each phase fully. It is “everything” in that moment. I knew ultimately she’d be ok, but of course I still questioned if it was necessary. And when some friends quickly responded, “It’s fine — growing pains are good for her,” I cringed and hesitated even more. I mean, she’s only 2 1/2. I didn’t want to force growing pains — or push her to grow up faster than she needs to. But the more I felt into it, I knew I needed to go to NYC for me, and well, it’s a big step for a mama to ‘take time’ for herself. It’s always easy to put that aside for later.

And so I went. And she stayed. And she wailed when I left (but for a mere 30 seconds my mom said), and I cried in line at the airport, too. In an instant, I was on my own, and it was odd. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Or how to walk. There was an open space. And even though Tulsi was on my mind a lot, I breathed deep and appreciated my mind and back relaxing. I had lunch at a sidewalk cafe with an old friend and a sweet dinner with two mama-friends, relating in that mama-to-mama way, with a glass of wine. It felt slightly like a forced vacation (albeit work), but I was happy I went. Tulsi learned to walk like a penguin, that monkeys like hammocks, too, and she learned all about baseball.

When it came to night, I didn’t sleep much at all. My mom said Tulsi didn’t sleep well either and that she rocked her a lot of the night. I loved that my mom said she didn’t mind at all, because she knew it helped Tulsi feel secure, and I immediately wondered if my mom misses those rocking-her-babies days, like I know I will miss someday.

As I watched Tulsi draw Nama and her, and describe all the details, I knew how important those 52 hours were, for her, too: ”This is Nama holding me like a baby, rocking me. Her arms stretched out. She has boobies. I have nipples. She has a belly button. I have a belly button.” She drew both their eyes wide open and said they ”were looking at each other”. And then she colored purple over her own face and said, “Me close my eyes and sleep with Nama. She hold me like a baby.”

What a beautiful moment, a gift, that she will always carry with her, that came from those 52 hours

This is a collaboration Tulsi and I did together although I only made the left eye and mouth. She is in a phase of wanting me to paint or draw with her. She knows the word “collaboration”. Ha. So I play, too, but I try not to screw up anything she has done so effortlessly. Tulsi calls this one, “Talking guy”. She loves to look at Picasso’s books. It shows. Watercolors have always been scary for me, but Tulsi is helping me get over my fear. Kids have no fear.

Here is another collaboration — she made the drawing a few months ago. It’s a family portrait: That’s me on the left, Oso got cropped off a bit up top, Tulsi is on the right with her mouth wide open, and Papa is big and center with the funny hair and big nose and smile. I added the 3 creamy collage shapes and used an antique varnish to mesh it with a wooden box frame. It was our father’s day present for Papa.

I love playing art with Tulsi. We get lost in it and forget about the world. I hope she always remembers that sacred place she can go to.

How awesome every single “first” is. Side by side this morning drawing, Tulsi draws her way into her first “fun guy”, all by herself. She laughed out loud cause it was “fun” to make, too. Don’t you wish you could remember your own first “fun guy”?

A friend found this sticker in a store in Boulder, CO. I don’t know who created it, but I had to share it. I’m pretty far from being enlightened, but I do feel enlightened about life in ways I never was before being a mother. Every path has something powerful to teach us, and I am grateful to be walking this one.

Not that I feel like I know what I’m doing all the time — I wonder whether I can do more or if my choices and instincts are ‘right’.  I was meditating on that recently, wondering if it’s ok that I don’t take Tulsi all the way to town for tumbling or music class or storytime like other cool moms I know. Is it ok that we spend our days tiptoeing thru the woods after coyotes or lying in the meadow watching clouds sail by and leaves fly? (A mother’s mind can question herself a lot if she lets it.) And after a few minutes of slight panic, I thought about how we all just have to walk our own walk and play in whatever way feels right for us. We can be inspired by each other, but it’s perfect for it all to look differently. These little years are our unique gift to our babes.

I’ve been trying to remember every day — especially when I’m tired, or when my mind wanders to a project I’ll work on when Tulsi falls asleep, or when she’s trying to tell me something that requires total stillness on my part to understand her, or when she doesn’t eat, or nurses a lot at night, or when she is watching me interact with others — that being her mother IS my practice right now. I’m not sitting in the mornings, and I don’t have my stellar home yoga practice that I used to, BUT mothering is a 24-7 meditation-heart-asana practice, so of course it will be the most challenging (and amazing) practice I could do. Especially if I keep this in view. Let thoughts float in and out without judgement…and soften. For now, being as present as I can, and following her lead, and sharing my loves with her, and answering her endless questions, and cuddling+smiling often, and being gentle and forgiving (to myself), and staying OPEN to learn from other mothers, and even giving her space when she walks away, I can do. Each day, each moment, is my chance to practice and grow. If I stutter or make a mistake, I have another chance with my very next inhale. We all do. And what a beautiful thing that is.