the clouds before the quiet

i have decided to take a mama break for a couple of weeks. this means i will not be blogging regularly, but whenever i have the time, energy, and desire to do so. sorry if this sounds too philosophical, or too cliché, but life goes by so fast and i want to stop and cherish these moments. obviously, all moments are precious, but i want to live these first weeks with my son slowly. i want to watch him get used to this world, and notice how my daughter grows to be a big sister. i don't want to feel (as i have done in the past) that my life is full of joy but i am not there to enjoy it. there is nothing more sad than that schizophrenic state (in which i have been) when you feel like you are happy, but cannot enjoy your happiness, as if you were watching your life as a movie, where good things are happening to an actor who is playing your part. ok, i'll stop here. 

a fact about me - in addition to the fact that i have occasional bouts of philosophical gravity like the one you just witnessed -  is that i don't like unfinished projects. so before taking this little break, i wanted to complete my cloud family. here are the latest members:

Baby

Swimmy (hommage to Leo Lionni)

and here's the bunch of them:

cloud family

before i go to live my happiness, i want to share words of wisdom i read in my daughter's first book which was a gift from my mom, called "Awake to Nap" by Nikki McClure. it is an unfinished alphabet book. at the end of the book, there is a note by the author:

I made this book while my infant son napped. I could only cut the pictures while he slept so the pictures are small and quick gleanings from my new life as a mother. The dining room table became my studio. I would put down my pencil as lightly as possible so as not to disturb the baby, hoping for a few more moments of work before I, too, had to take a nap.

The alphabet was never finished intentionally; the naps were too short and life too thrilling to justify going all the way to Z. I no longer had the attention span and neither did my baby. We were too awake.

in a way my mother's gift to my daughter was also a gift to me. a gift that told me to know what's important. i don't always know, but i am learning.

i am looking forward to not seeing you next week. maybe the week after. but please don't take it personally.