Too much to love

I love my husband. My home. My children. My faith. My job. My parents. My friends. My family. My city. My neighborhood. My musical playlists (the last one is to the lament of almost everyone). Its pretty annoying. Actually, the only thing I really have to complain about is that my dog eats crayons.

That and (perhaps, come to think of it, relatedly…) my lack of time for illustration. I need it. Like people need alone time. Or gym time. Or bottle-of-wine-time. 

I don’t need those other kinds of times. But I do need time with just paper and ink. Pencil and water. So I’ve started soliciting-against other people’s needs and offering artwork in exchange for a must-needed-cork in my pathless artistic outlet. Because for right now, I need to illustrate their ideas. For some reason, I have none of my own. 

So a few weeks ago I created invitations for my niece’s birthday. She was having a Cinderella-theme party and I asked my sister-in-law can I pleeeee-ase try? Being a merciful person, she acquiesced and let me at it.

And believe me. I did. Just the few moments with the paper. My little ball jars lined up. I sketched, outlined, painted, scanned, put on a text-overlay (its called Harrington if anyone else happens to fall in love with it) and sent it to the printer (with a press!). I picked out envelopes. And you know what? They even came in the mail. It was all pretty exciting.  

And I think through the exercise I learned that just as the heart was made to love, my hands were made to create silly and completely useless pictures. And I am starting to really be okay with that. My guess is that H & S actually enable this freedom - and they always have enabled it. I used to blame it on the fact that I couldn't understand what they were saying that I just didn't listen (I really had no right to do that considering one of Henry's first clear words was - I kid you not - helipad).

I was grocery shopping with the twins recently and we were in the cashier's line; on the cover of one of the nearby magazines was a picture of the royal couple (of the British variety) and a speculation about their baby. Something along the lines of: Could it be twins? 

The woman checking out in front of us caught my gaze and said distractedly, “Twins! Wouldn’t that be awful?!”

“No,” I said. “I think it would be the greatest thing that ever happened to her...”