A Tribute to Sarah Silverman and My Mom (but not in that order)

I stopped watching “kids’ TV” and converted myself to a strict Comedy Central viewer around the ripe age of 10 or so.  Having an older sibling means your parents take it for granted that you already know the difference of wrong from right a little sooner than expected, and also that you don’t really need as much censoring (thanks, Ash!); therefore, I got away with a lot more.  I’d come out of my room to tell my family some insanely inappropriate joke I had just heard on TV (and probably drop some serious profanity), but then I’d tell them “it’s ok! It’s just a quote!” and they’d laugh and it worked.

About a year ago, I watched Sarah Silverman’s  HBO special “We Are Miracles” (for which she won an Emmy), and in my true fashion,  I told my mom this amazing quote I’d heard from the show, “Stop telling girls they can be anything they want when they grow up.  I think it’s a mistake. Not because they can’t, but because it would have never occurred to them they couldn’t.”  My mom laughed, and replied “isn’t THAT the truth,” in a disgustedly agreeable tone.  (here's the artwork it inspired)

I was never aware of any difference – other than anatomically – between me and a boy.  I wasn’t an overly girly or tomboyish child; I was never told “girls do this” or “boys do that.” But most importantly, I was never even told I could do anything I wanted or be whoever I wanted to be.  I just knew I could. There was never a doubt that Mom supported what I wanted to do, or that I should have any reason to think I shouldn’t.  The boys I grew up with knew I was smart, and they never challenged my abilities or intellect; in fact, most of them admired it.  It honestly wasn’t until college and adulthood when I experienced it on my own and figured out boys could be nasty and try to make me feel I was somehow inferior because I was a girl or because I wasn’t an engineer (never mind I could derive calculus in circles around their asses).  I’m glad my mom didn’t try to warn me about these [dudes].  They were meant to be foreign to me, just as the audacious concept of “you can’t because you’re a girl.” 

Mom is a doer.  When she visits, she can only sit still for like 10 minutes before she says “what can I help you do? Do you have laundry? Do I need to wash bottles? Need any groceries?  What about yard work?” LIKE NO MA, LET’S JUST SIT STILL AND ENJOY EACH OTHER’S COMPANY BUT IF YOU’RE REALLY ASKING THEN YESSS! THERE ARE SO MANY BOTTLES AND GROCERIES AND WANNA PULL SOME WEEDS? OH GREAT, YOU EVEN THOUGHT AHEAD AND BROUGHT AN EXTRA PAIR OF GARDENING GLOVES AND STYROFOAM CUPS WITH LIDS AND STRAWS SO YOU CAN TAKE A LEMONADE OUTSIDE?! GEEEEEEEES STOP BEING SO THOUGHTFUL! (I use all caps to express my enormous appreciation because even though Mom is always so helpful, it still amazes me how truly selfless and prepared she is.  Occasionally I see it coming through in my own habits, but nowhere near Threat Level Ma. Perhaps with time…)

Everyone who knows my mom knows that she’s a strong lady, but to attempt describe her contagious positive attitude, generosity, strength, professionalism, devotion, resilience, and unconditional support and love would just be insane.  It’s book-worthy, really.  We’ve even picked out a title and a photo for the book cover and it’s called “You Can’t Make This Sh*t Up,” but that’s for another day; however, here would be some chapter titles:

• Epic Birthday Parties (Magicians, Survivor Theme, Professional Sporting Games, Limo Rides)
• Treat Bags: Any Occasion, All-Encompassing, Delightful and Surprising
• We Don’t Say “Shut Up”
• If My Daughters Really Need Something, I Only Know They’re Serious if They Perform it in Song or Dance
• The Ninja Disciplinarian: How Ashley got in Trouble in 1996 but Didn’t Tell Hayden Until 2014
• That Time She Saved a Life Instead of Letting it Waste Away on the Floor
• Play the Game. Be the [Ball/Test/Deadline]
• The Broken Child: Hayden’s Year of a Broken Foot, Mono, and 2 Jaw Surgeries
• June 2010: 4 Moves. One Month. One Ma.
• Catfish
• No Seriously, Mom’s Other Car is A U-Haul (it).

I love you, Ma.

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A Bird's Life

Martha loved birds.  Her upward-sloping backyard provided the perfect view to bird watch from the french doors in the kitchen.  I probably knew way more about birds than the average six-year old, and any gift to Martha was typically hummingbird or nature-themed.

We spent the last two years of her life reminiscing and enjoying our limited time with her.  Each time we visited, she seemed to have sentimental gifts for us- a piece of china from her wedding gifts that matched our décor, a 1950’s Clemson doll for the baby we were expecting, an old medical dictionary. At my last visit with her a month before she passed away, she gave me a stack of my old drawings she had kept in her bible.  Even though she often retrieved these drawings to show off, I didn’t expect her to give them to me, but I am so glad she did. Dated July 1992 (which meant I was 4 years old), was a series of drawings I made representing a bird’s life.  Martha and I talked a lot about birds, so naturally, I wanted her to know that I understood the concept of mama bird building a nest and laying eggs, feeding her new baby birds, teaching them to fly, and watching them leave the nest. Drawn on 4 separate sheets of note pad with what could only be the most basic of ballpoint pens, my four-year-old self created an art piece that I would replicate for my own child's bedroom. 

With an old piece of particle board, fabric, paper, and a marker, I re-drew these birds in the exact four-year-old fashion and fixed them to my fabric-covered board.  I painted Martha’s prayer, and now this hangs above Ellis’s rocker.  These simple drawings impacted Martha’s life, and now that I have a daughter of my own, I understand not only the importance of teaching her about family and nature, but also the sentiment of treasuring her talents and sharing them with the world so she knows just how loved she is.  I cannot wait to see what sparks her imagination and gets her mind racing (at the moment, it’s putting things in and out of containers and petting the dog, but she’s damn good at it).

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I've Got Friends...

When you’re from a small town, go to college for Art/Architecture, join a sorority, and go on to work in a creative field, you’re bound to have a very wide range of [awesome] friends.  With the exception of a handful, most of my best friends have come from my “adult” life, and unfortunately, I don’t live anywhere near them. From Boston, Chicago, to South Freaking Korea, my best friends are scattered all over the Carolinas/United States/Earth and range in careers from stay-at-home moms, teachers, designers, architects, doctors, and more.  This diverse group of personalities and influences keeps a creative mind on its toes, and I’m so grateful that they challenge and encourage me.

Working at Frenzy introduced me to many of my dearest friends.  If you ever need a good cry when you’re struggling with the oddest combination of complete life fulfillment and lost purpose, FaceTime with Savannah Fink, and she’ll have the most encouraging words to lift your spirits and remind you that you’re valuable.  Savannah has the most kind, patient, and artistic mind, and I’m waiting an ungodly amount of time for her to return to this country.  Last time I saw her was in February 2013 while I was on the brink of the most miserable time of my life, and one phone call from her shortly after will forever go down in my book as the most thoughtful and supportive acts of friendship.  I’ll always remember what she said, “Sometimes when you think people want to be left alone and need their space is the exact time that they need you most, so I had to call.” (our other dear pal Rachel, me, and Savannah- our last time together).

When Savannah left, I knew replacing her would be tough not only for our company, but also for me- I needed a strong, smart, creative, funny, and supportive gal to work with in an otherwise dude-driven office. When we received an application from a fellow Clemson graduate named Millie Davis whose resume [and admitted Facebook stalking] resembled Savannah with eerie similarities, I knew we were set.  Millie and I hit it off right away, and I am struggling to even find the words to describe how much she and I have in common, so I’ll just leave it there. Millie (and her boo Trey) could rule the creative world.  I’ve never seen two people whose ability to design and create be as beautiful, clean, and effective as theirs. Their skillsets are so vast across the arts, and I spend a lot of my time trying to cultivate a plan where they can move to Charleston, be my neighbors, get married, and have a baby boy who will marry my daughter and they would have the most beautiful wedding the world has ever seen…

I hope everyone is lucky enough to have a job that introduces you to lifelong friends and then can write a blog about it that will be seen by a whopping audience of 200 people.

Anyhow, Millie is a wonderfully talented photographer (like duh).  She took this one incredible picture that begged me to paint it.  My inspiration for artwork comes from a variety of sources- most are a combination of sketches and photos and take a little back-end work before putting them on paper; however, her photograph was so beautiful and simple that I worked straight from it.  After receiving Millie’s emphatic permission, I created this artwork and hope she finds it marginally as beautiful as her photography (below).

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Ellis's 1st Birthday Party and General Amazing-ness

Let’s get something straight here- I love parties and themes and kid’s décor and seeing all of the beautiful Pinterested-out parties with the signs and assorted-by-color candies and party favors just as much as the next person; however, WHERE DO THESE PEOPLE GET THE TIME TO DO THAT SHIT? (Somewhere in 2012, Pinterest decided for every 20-to-30-something woman that all things must be declared with a chalkboard sign- just one of many trends that I’m not sure I’m “on board” with—did you see what I did there?). I get to see my husband for about 2 hours a day, and he gets about 1 day per week off from work.  The remainder of my time is spent with Ellis and trying to keep dog food out of her mouth, so I don’t exactly have any extra free time to make customized party hats and a high chair tutu.  If you do have that ability, power to you.

I remember seeing a VHS tape from my one-year birthday party.  The setting was the illustrious space in our family room of our home, completely decked out with all of the raging mauve and sepia-toned furniture and floors. There may have been a few balloons, but what I remember most about the tape was hearing my grandfather’s hearty laugh and the familiar sound of my grandmother’s soft voice, neither of which I’ve been able to hear in 20+ years.  Ellis won’t remember the frills from her party, but she will remember the faces of who was there, and if we’re lucky to find a 1980’s tape recorder, maybe she’ll receive the gift of eternally freezing her family in 2015 and enjoy hearing and seeing our lives together from whatever space station she lives on as an adult.

For this reason, we kept her birthday pretty chill- just family, a few friends, some neighbors, and homemade cupcakes. Oh, and lots of booze.  If you decided to spend your Saturday afternoon with us, you deserved a beer or four.  So when it came to custom ordering something for her party, I didn’t go for this adorable, sparkly outfit, but instead I got my old company, Frenzy, to print these koozies I designed.

Ellis received lots of toys, and also this breathtaking poster. 

I must take this time to brag on our daughter in true paragraph form (as opposed to chalkboard form) and remind myself and everyone else what a wonderful and unrealistically easy baby she’s been.  She’s unbelievably low-maintenance and never picky: she’s been sleeping in her bumper-less crib since she was 2 months old for 12 hours a night; she skipped rice cereal and baby food and went straight to vegetables via baby-led weaning; she never used a pacifier; she never needed her arms straight-jacketed to her body; she is an ideal rear-facing passenger; she doesn’t really tune-in to TV, and she has no idea how an iPhone works (she thinks it’s this really cool rectangle where my mom and sister live and appear to talk to her occasionally, so she looks at it and smiles.)  She has 8 whole teeth and brushes them each night, and while her 12-month checkup was somewhat of a nightmare, she still loves meeting new people at Publix and being escorted out by the kind old men who bag my groceries.  She walks, talks, and knows an incredible amount of commands and tricks.  While a majority of this is due to her inherited personality and sheer luck, the rest is attributed to listening to my doctor and the highest AAP recommendations.  Here’s my PSA: choose your pediatrician wisely, and listen to her advice (and if you're lucky enough to live in Charleston, you should see this wonderful woman).

I say all this with tons of pride and caution, but thanks for reading!

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"Oh Give Me a Home," by my sis, Ashley Kay Childers

My name is Ashley, and I’m Hayden’s older sister.  I’ve been obsessed with her since she was 2 years old (when she was a baby – not so much), and I have been bragging about her art for just as long.  Hayden is incredibly talented, and I could not be more delighted that she is sharing her paintings and helping make happy and colorful memories with you.

She’s also been sharing some about her personal life, something that we’ve historically not been big fans of.  But so much of Hayden’s art is inspired by personal stories and memories, and I’m excited to be a guest blogger to write about a piece she just made for me, inspired by what will likely be the most memorable and intimate moment of my life.  As I said, we haven’t typically been big fans of publically sharing personal stories, but I think there are a lot of good messages here about our lives, love, and the end of life.

In her previous blog posts, Hayden talked about Martha, our second mother.  Not everyone is lucky enough to have a fantastic mother like Hayden and I are, and certainly most people are not lucky enough that they get 2 fantastic mothers.  Martha loved Hayden and me unconditionally just as if we were her own. 

Martha lived with a chronic disease for years.  We rarely talked about it outside of our homes, but I don’t think Martha would be mad at us for talking about it now, especially when her story could help other people.  Martha and her family planned well, and they worked with her doctors and Hospice Care of South Carolina to make the most of her last few years.  This is called palliative care, and the idea is to provide comfort, reduce suffering, and improving quality of life.  It’s a hot topic in the health care industry, and I’m lucky that I get to work with an organization that is very interested in learning more about how to help care for patients with serious illnesses.  

Patients with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease are very often high utilizers of the health care system with ER visits and multiple hospital readmissions.  During the course of her disease, Martha was only admitted to the hospital once.  That’s amazing.  She worked with her family, physicians, and Hospice nurses to make her wishes known so that we could all plan for the end of her life.  [Cut to Professional Ash for a second]: These discussions and decisions can be very difficult, but you don’t have to wait until a disease diagnosis to have these conversations with your family.  There’s a are a number of organizations and tools out there, such as The Conversation Project, to help empower people to talk about end of life care with their loved ones, and April 16 is National Health Care Decisions Day.

I will be forever grateful that I was with my mom and sister when we learned that Martha had suddenly declined.  As Hayden mentioned, we were so lucky to be able to spend the last week of Martha’s life at her house with her daughters, just like we had as children.  When we were kids, if it was a weekday and we weren’t in school, we were at Martha’s.  So many of our memories involve her cooking, baking, crafts, stories, songs that she made up on the spot, and lullabies that she sang us over and over.  Our favorite was “Home on the Range.”

To me, Martha is love.  There is no reason that a woman who is not your real mother should care for you, feed you, nurse you, and treat you like your own except for unconditional love.  But Martha did.  She encouraged us, bragged on us, disciplined us, and taught us how to care for others every day.  Her home was a place “where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day,” and that is what I want for my life.

Without a doubt, my most colorful memory happened in the last hours of Martha’s life, and it is without a doubt the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking moment of my life.  My mom, Hayden, Ellis, and I were spending time with Martha when Ellis started to cry.  Hayden told Martha “I sing to Ellis, just like you sang to us,” and she began singing “Home on the Range.”  Hayden didn’t realize that while she was singing, Martha’s 3 daughters and husband came into the room.  We all cried, and I cried enough that it made me want to hold Sarah’s hand and sob into Carol’s shoulder.  You should know that I hate when people touch me, so I was clearly out of sorts.  Carol later remarked that it was like a [majestic] bird had suddenly landed on her and she didn’t want to make any sudden moves that could scare it away.  You wouldn’t call Hayden a “good” singer, but it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. 

In that moment – in that room – were the people who’ve loved me most in the world.  And 5 of them aren’t even related to me.  The people in that room continue to shape my definitions of family and love, and they’ve perfectly shaped Hayden as a sister, as a friend, as an artist, and as a mother.  To watch Hayden sing in front of our 2 moms to my niece was incredible, and it will forever be my favorite memory that’s become my daily reflection, “Oh give me a home.”  To see how Hayden has been inspired by Martha’s life to FINALLY! (amiright, Ma?) share her art with you makes me so proud. 

I can’t imagine that more than 5 people read this far, but if you did, thank you.  Apparently blogging is cathartic.  Who knew?!  Maybe that’s what all the fuss is about.  

(Note from Hayden:

Well my makeup was on point until I read this. Thank you to my sister for writing this and to everyone who reads.  Here is a link to the artwork that was inspired by this story)

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Where the Tigers Play

This week, I was commissioned by a dear friend to create something for a very special baby.  This baby, Guy, has some serious Clemson roots- his last name is Hendrix (ever heard of it?).  Even though I was sure this baby boy had already received a multitude of orange gifts, I still felt it necessary to create something Clemson-themed. 

Being commissioned to create a piece of art is always interesting and poses unique- but fun- challenges.  Sometimes customers have exact ideas of what they want; others present a mental collage and need some help tying it together; and some just say “I trust your creative mind!”  With this case, it was the last option which always adds a little pressure, especially given the recipient!  In my previous job, I learned a lot about how to work with customers to create designs, so I feel it’s important to include them in the process, even if they leave it completely up to my creativity.

What I finally decided to make was a little homage to Clemson’s Alma Mater – I pulled the second line, “Where the tigers play," and incorporated it with a little tiger cub playing with blocks which spelled the baby’s name “GUY.”  I sent my friend a visual aid to get her approval, and of course, it was a hit. While out to brunch, she even ran into Dabo Swinney and showed him the proof, and he and his wife apparently loved it.  So there’s my claim to fame.

Thank you, Mrs. Lyles, for the opportunity to create something so special and personal! 

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Colorful Memories

I have a freakishly good memory.  And by “good memory,” I could not tell you what classes I took my freshman year of college, but I can certainly tell you about the time in first grade when my friend stole my crayon out of my Spacemaker pencil box and how mad I was because it was my favorite “green blue” color. Not “blue green”- that one was dull and muddy, but “green blue” was more intense and turquoise.  I could also describe the situation where Martha yelled at the old man across the street and she was wearing a matching knit navy blue shirt and shorts, or all about the pattern of my favorite red floral leotard from my glory gymnastic days. 

Using descriptive colors always serves as my “proof” that I’m remembering correctly.  My mom thinks it’s hilarious because apparently it’s an unconscious habit.  When I’m recounting an event, describing the surrounding colors seems equally as necessary as who was there and when it happened.

This theme of my life is actually so significant that it inspired my mom’s most epic wedding toast to me and my husband Ryan on the night of our rehearsal dinner.  (My mom is LITCH-rally the most thoughtful, hilarious, smart woman, but she is a horrific artist), so when her toast is complete with a giant drawing pad of crayon drawings of my life, you can imagine the entertainment she provided.  She prefaced her speech with an annotation of my habit of color-recounting, and then proceeded to show her drawings of memories and stories of my life which included EACH family member and friend in the room, leading up to when I met my husband and our new life together.  

By the end, our cheeks were sore from laughing (not only at her creativity and narratives, but also at her stick-figure drawings) and streaked with tears. She toasted our lives to “happy and colorful memories,” and I can’t think of anything more appropriate to incorporate into children’s lives and my art.  As a person who still vividly remembers the colors of my nursery and the art that hung on the walls, I want to provide these memories for my daughter and all other families who find the joy of teaching their children through art.

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