My Husband

 

If I had written this morning, I would’ve told you about trying to write between morning tantrums, and then again amidst yogurt and blueberries and lots of chatter, while we watched the caterpillars in the container on the dining table, caterpillars the toddler found roaming the fennel fronds out in the garden. The garden now overgrown, jungle-like, tomato plants leaning on each other like drunk friends at the end of a long night. I would’ve forgotten to tell you that her dad took her outside to the garden, that in fact he was the one who spotted the caterpillars, who thought to get the little carrier from the garage and collect the fat critters carefully, fronds and all, a tiny, temporary habitat for her amusement and inspection. If we were a still life painting, we’d be called “Mother and Child Breakfast with Caterpillars.” You see, the father is not at the table. He’s already gone off to work, even on a holiday. Every day this man works. And yet, in the early morning hour before he goes, he finds a moment to walk to the garden with the bumbling, mercurial toddler, to spy a small creature, to gentle it into a container, to ask his daughter, what colors do you see? I don’t write enough about this man. All he does. All he is. Truest heart.

(Post 230 of 365)

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Self-Trust: 29/365

There was a period of time in my mid twenties when everything got away from me. I got away from me.

As I did the hard work of climbing up and out of that dark place, I often felt shaky and uncertain. I didn’t trust myself. Whenever I had to make a big decision, or sometimes even a small decision, I would run it by the three people I trusted most. I believed their vision was clearer than mine, that they could help me find the right answer. It became a pattern, the not trusting myself, looking outside myself for the answer.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when it changed. It’s been a while now.

I trust myself completely. My gut, my heart, my head.

 

Tiny Details: 22/365

I’m pretty good at painting tiny details. It feels meditative and relaxing. I made this today for my beach-combing, rock-collecting valentine.

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The design I painted here is an inexact copy of the artist and illustrator Phoebe Wahl‘s 2016 valentine. I adore her work! Phoebe just won the Ezra Jack Keats book award and I can’t wait to get her new book Sonya’s Chickens.

Since I’m emphasizing scale, perhaps this photo makes more sense.

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