This sweet boy just turned 13.
Over the past few weeks I've noticed him revisiting favorite things from his younger years. On the brink of mysterious and unknown adolescence, there's comfort in the safe and familiar.
This is the conversation we had the night before his birthday...
Him: When I wake up tomorrow I'll be a teenager
Me: What will that feel like?
Me: You know what's even weirder? When I wake up tomorrow I'll be the mother of a teenager. It's weird because I don't really feel that much older than 13.
Him: You don't really seem that much older than 13.
Him: don't worry, that's a good thing.
So there you have it.
It's evident, even to my son, that for better or for worse, I'm a 13 year old trapped in a 46 year old's body.
And true to form, Max is not the only one doing some revisiting this week....
I needed to send a sympathy card to a dear friend, and I wanted it to be hand made but I had no new ideas. Days were slipping by and I couldn't come up with anything I liked, and so I went back to some of my old work and made these three blank note cards:
Prior to this I'd been struggling to do something - anything - on canvas.
Feverish layers of paint...
Just frustration and a stack of ugly canvases leaning against the wall.
(There may even have been hand-wringing, teeth-gnashing and profanity.)
It felt so good to take a break and do something that came easily to me that I just kept going with these small index card collages. And no, you haven't seen these before. (you've just seen these, these, and these)
No new ground has been broken, but I will take a lesson from the other 13 year old in the house and rather than berate myself, find pleasure and solace in the familiar, knowing there is big growth ahead.