From Chaos Comes Happiness

                              So . . . in less than 20 hours, I will be boarding a plane and heading to Rome, Italy, where I will officially be able to cross off number 12 from my bucket list.  Number 12 reads "Travel to Italy", in case you were wondering. It's right before 13, "Color my hair bright red like Lucille Ball, just once" and right after 11, "Run a 5k". I'm kind of glad I haven't had the nerve to do number 13 yet. I am not sure I'm cut out to be a red head, but the thought always lingers each time a walk down the hair color isle at Target. And while each New Years Resolution has me thinking about number 11,  I'm not quite there yet either. So I'm glad I am trying number 12 first.  Yes, Italy it is.  It's about 12:49 am the night before I leave, and I find myself sitting here typing this post at my kitchen table. I went to bed at 11 pm, but tossed and turned for over an hour . . . ...

          My girls start school tomorrow. Katie will begin 5th grade and Ella is starting 1st.  And I am . . . ecstatic.  I'm so ecstatic, that I almost feel guilty about it.  I love my girls dearly . . . and if you have followed my blog for any amount of time, you know how very much that statement is true.  But my friends . . . I cannot wait for them to begin school this year.  We have had an incredibly wonderful summer full of adventures and laughter and fun. We've traveled from almost one side of our wonderful country to the other. We've volunteered and spread good cheer. We swam, we danced, we slept over, we picked cherries and blueberries, we walked, we gardened, we laughed, we fed, we ate, we celebrated, and we played just about as hard as anyone could. And now, this momma is desperate to get a little normalcy back to her days.  With the small exception of the art classes I taught - I've hardly painted the whole summer long. A...

        I have a certain table covering I use when creating.    It's vinyl and strong and easy to wipe down. I bought it years ago at Kohl's, I believe. I originally bought it for a family gathering in the spring/summer season. But at some point, I must have put it out for a crafting day and gotten a splash of paint on it. Since then, it has become my official crafting table cloth.  And it makes me super happy. The minute I pull it out, I am reminded of the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of things created on its very surface.  I am reminded of the moments of pure bliss I've experienced when I am in that major creative mode.  I see the splashes I have made on it, and splashes the girls have made, too.  It certainly has a few story to tell. Like when I discovered who the artist was inside of me, and discovered the kinds of art I wanted to make.  Or like the moment when Ella painted a mustache on her face.  This weekend, I pulled it out...

I've been thinking so much about how I am raising my daughters these days. I want my daughters to know how it feels to help the world, and to know that they have the power to make a difference in it. I don't want them to think there are obstacles they can't overcome. I want my daughters to be grateful for all that they have, each and every day of their lives. To know that even though there are  wants , they truly have all that they need , and they have more blessings then they could even imagine. I don't want them to ever obsess over the labels on their clothes or the number of shirts in their closets. I want my daughters to think back on their childhood and remember the moments when they showed  kindness towards others. When they volunteered. When they made cookies for neighbors. When they prayed. When they loved, and when they were loved in return. I don't want them to expect things to be handed to them. I want my daughters to treat other...

             My sweetheart Katie, who just turned 10 the end of June, is having growing pains. She is changing by the minute, and going through some of those tough life lessons that so many of us have gone through in our lives. She is testing her independence and questioning some of my decisions. She is learning how to communicate and express herself more and more. And she is learning that her actions have consequences (probably the hardest lesson for kids to learn, I think.)  Tonight she told me that she wished she could go back in time and do some things differently (in her short 10 year old life). This statement did not sit well with me, her self-proclaimed "No Regrets Ever" mother.  "Why, honey?" I asked. "Why would you want to go back in time?" "Well, for three reasons," she answered.  "For starters, I would want to dress a little nicer all of the time. All I do is wear t-shirts and shorts and if I change how I look now, everyone wi...

We've been so busy the past week or so . . . from trips into the city, a day at the Art Institute, an over night at Nana and Papa's, and blueberry picking fun . . . my mind is racing. I think I've taught a few art classes in between, too . . . although I might be imagining that. Phil is in the middle of a nightmarishly hectic work season, and has to miss most of the fun. This makes me uber sad, and also gives me a for real experience of being a single mom. And let me tell you . . . it's exhausting. Our summer calendar has been filled out thoroughly and very strategically, with plans and opportunities for adventures at almost every hour. And it is catching up to me. I am  l o n g i n g  for some free time, as I've decided this constant activity is not good for my soul. I need quiet time. Unscheduled days. Moments when I can allow my head to move from thought to thought freely, without forcing it to adapt to ...

          I had a great moment the other day. A "sing from the mountain top" sort of moment. A happy tear jerking, good lump in the throat feeling sort of moment.  I opened a piece of mail . . . and inside was my very first . . . ever . . . pay check - for teaching art. For real. The dollar amount doesn't matter . . . because truth be told, I have opened pay checks for lots more dollars during this life of mine.  But this one was different. Completely. It was a pay check . . . for doing something that I love. And it was like a dream.  I held it up to Phil Guy and said, "Look . . . Look . . . I got paid. For teaching art. I got paid. Real money!" And his smile showed that he got it - he completely understood.  I could have stared at that check for hours, and I am certain I stared at it longer than most. But it stood for so much more to me than the money involved. It stood for  years of trying to find my passion - years of discovering who...