Little Ears that Hear

Oh, dear . . . those little ears that hear.

I've got four of them in my house, you know. Two belong to Katie and two belong to Ella.

And I am often very aware of those little ears during the day. It has always been really important to me that those ears only hear things that will build them up and make them happy. That is what they deserve. And I work hard at that. Those little ears are the reason I stopped watching the news about eight years ago . . . children don't need to hear about the dangers in the world right now. If the TV is on when I am home, it is always set to either the PBS children's channel, or Disney (and I've been known to turn off both of those from time to time.)

I'm aware of those ears when PG and I talk, too, as the laundry room has turned into our meeting place for serious conversations about life and family. However, every once in a while we must slip and have one of those grown up talks in a place where little ears dwell. Especially lately.

You see, PG has been traveling so often lately that we don't have much time to have those serious conversations many partners in life have. You know, the "how are we going to pay the mortgage this month?" conversations, or the "what's left in the account for groceries?" sort of conversations. So lately, they are taking place whenever and where ever they can.

Yes, I am so very blessed to be taking this artistic journey in life right now, and following my dreams . . . but the truth is, I am constantly ridden with guilt that I should be out getting a "real" job that delivers a "real" paycheck every month. Starting a business is rough . . . especially when funds are low. And while PG has been so supportive, my own guilt takes over week after week.

We must have had one of those "talks" this weekend. And today, I realized just how those little ears work. You see, it's a rainy and gloomy day in Chicago, and I decided to drive Katie to school (instead of her climbing on the bus in the damp rain this morning). I dropped Ella off first, then took Kate on to her school. And she LOVES when I do this. She considers this our time to talk. And boy oh boy . . . does she talk. I hate to admit that I often find my mind wandering as she goes from one story to another (remember . . . she tells stories like her Daddy!)

But today, I heard her stories. Each and every one. Although one story really sticks out.

"Mom," she said, "I know that money is really tight right now and you and Daddy are talking a lot about not having enough money. And I just want to tell you that you really shouldn't worry about it. I mean, I know that it is tough . . . believe me . . . I know . . . " (which just cracks me up, that she . . . the 8 year old . . . knows). She continues, ". . . . but the thing is, that you are an artist Mom. And this is all really new and the right people just haven't seen your work yet, and some day soon, you are going to find yourself getting orders on the computer every single day, and you will be making a lot of money for our family. So, I am not worried, Mom. I believe. I don't know if you believe, Mom, but I believe. You're going to make it, Mom. Yep. My Mom is an artist, all right."

Those little ears.

Does she have any idea what she does for my soul? Will she ever know how she and her sister are the driving force behind everything that I do? That they are my inspiration?

And that because of them . . .  I believe.

Yes. I am blessed. I am an artist. I am a Mom. I am loved. I am poor. But I am rich, in all the ways that matter.

Peace, my friends.