We’re just here

Jacks says, “No, we’re just here”.

Bouncing, my weight pulling down the airplane three-person teeter totter. We’re the only ones at the park.

Civic Center. Marin Civic Center. “The Mitten” in giant book version read on the library bus. I’m the most excited child here. Thank God. I thank my lucky stars. Kids clamoring on me. In a good way. Jack, Fiona, their best friend from school, on my lap, the baby brother making googly eyes at me. I’ve got it. I’ve got my inner light back. My intuition.

My hands are slightly clammy. I’m in my studio now. Jack and Fiona sleeping. Naptime. Naptime writing and painting and notebook entries. January 12th, 2016. Political talk in parents’ group. My two compadres from Fiona’s school. One lady from Israel, one from Mexico, and the therapist. A BRIGHT RAINBOW. We talk politics. I love them. Count my lucky stars.

Jack, Fiona, and I stop by the park today after the library bus.  It’s not raining but Jack falls more than regular as his feet slip of the wet rubber climbing structures. We all go on the teeter totter, I’m so big. I start bouncing it, saying “we’re on a rocket ship” going to space. “No, we’re just here”, says Jack.  I think, and say out loud, “Yeah Jack, that’s cool. We’re just here, on this teeter totter on a wet, strange, Thursday afternoon.” Last night I had a dream I was watching the babies play make believe and something inside me said, just let them play, don’t play make believe with them unless they engage first.

Just pure image. I’m buzzing. In realization of  my painting practice, which is really mixed media, lot’s of drawing, chance, texture, surprise. Always about memory. Time, everything’s about time.

Reading a ton lately. Trying to learn as much as possible. This story is about to end for the day. Jack and Fiona will be awake soon, and we’ve been having quality time lately. Poor Jack has another cold though. His poor nose.

I do wish I had more alone time today.

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist