I am thinking about my 4 year old who drew a lumpy circle and said this is the best turtle he has ever made.
I am thinking about my 7 year old who had an elaborate idea in her head for a piece of art and eventually grumbled in frustration for not being able to bring her vision into reality (yet).
I am thinking of my 9 year old who lasted 3 minutes drawing until he was defeated and walked away.
I am thinking about the time I was in high school and fed quarters in random expired parking meters. A police officer yelled at me, I erupted in tears, my tender spirit jolted and confused.
I am thinking about the commitment it takes to mend the pieces that come with living. To endure even when you are not pleased with the results. To keep on showing up, even when the reason for doing so is not entirely clear.
I am thinking about the art of expression, which provides me such joy, even though I resist it.
I am thinking about our week away without the kids. It was a time filled with beauty, rest, and connection. It has taken some time to reaclimate to the family rhythm and my life here. It always does. I will no longer make it wrong.
My energy feels splintered and pulled in every direction as I start tending to everything I had neglected for a while.
I am thinking of ways I can recommit to myself.
I am thinking about the pieces of sparkle I created, and about the art I made, and how I share it as a way to offer beauty back to this world, and honor myself.