Thursday, April 11, 2013
I have taken up painting in the last two weeks (I was serious about doing something with this Jeni Awerkamp).

I, of course, have no idea what I'm doing with the paints. I've never been an artsy one, so yes, this is big. What I do know is that I'm in a place to do a lot with myself. Young motherhood is the season for learning, exploring, and creating - no clients, finals, or grades attached.

So here I am. Painting. Why not, right?

I told my mom about this venture, knowing that she was a painter in her day, and she was thrilled at my bravery. As a vote of support, she sent me a well-kept turquoise folder from a water coloring class that she took in '93. It housed the pallets above, pencil sketches, and crisp, thick, water color paper.

Her pallets are my favorite.

The paint samples, smudges and smears took me to her past. The colors still bright, and her lovely handwriting clear, it's as if she was working with them yesterday and that suddenly - mid-project - she was pulled from her station.

What was the need - more toilet paper, a sandwich, a bandaid? And who was the demander - me?

I so admire my mother.

I'm sure that while raising us wild things she had moments of wanting to run, hide, and paint by her lonesome. She loves to paint. But I honestly can't recall a single instance of my mom I either don't remember at all, or she rarely took the time to do it.

Of course me-time for moms is a must (hello my mom took that class outside of home when I was two and Nick six-months-old), but cheers to my mother for balancing so well her wants and our needs. Never ever were we the runners-up of her priorities.

As in every other way, I'm trying to be just like my mother - via painting and all. That doesn't mean I'll make it, bless my heart, but I'll try!

Dreaming big and having a blast. I love this motherhood life.


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