The little cracks that open into hurricanes, inequality, smokey skies, and loss. The children continue to grow. Part of their being swells space between the walls of my home, their essence, the questions they ask, the answers they have.

I become more me- each day, each hour, I become truer to myself. My children and I pull apart and grow closer with equal tension.

We learn to see each other, both sides going through moments of, “who are you?”. We want to know. My children can’t understand that there was a moment when they were no where. They ask if they were in my moms stomach before mine. They ask, “who took care of us?”

I don’t know how to explain. I say, “another time, I’ll explain. I’m too tired right now”

It’s always almost time to get up or almost time to go to sleep.

I found some time to stop time. I came to my studio today. Painted and worked in my notebooks.

I needed to be in my studio this afternoon.

I am overwhelmed by how many things I have in my mind to think about worry about at anyone time.

From the basic-food, clothes, sleep, exercise, to the cerebral-learning sign language, teaching my children right from wrong, my new book project I’m behind schedule writing, worrying about the government and the world and thinking I’ve given way too much of my time reading about the president. He’s a life sucker. I worry about the biggest hurricanes, the largest wildfires in history.

That’s when I can only work in my studio or write.

I am distracted lately. Not sleeping well.

But I still put paint to paper.