Yesterday afternoon, my oldest daughter and I were driving home from school shopping. Our conversation was one in which I was asking questions regarding important info that she should know — things like telephone number; address; parents’ names — and she was answering. Then came this snippet:
Me: What’s my job?
Hannah: What do you mean?
Me: Where do I work? What do I do when you’re in school?
Hannah (thinks for a moment): Oh yeah, you’re an artist.
Me (heart melting): Thank you Hannah. You’re so sweet. I always wanted to be an artist. Though what I do for a job is teach.
Hannah: Maybe. But what you’re good at is art . . . and being home with us.
Huh. I really couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Unhurried. Finding the magic in the middle of living. Capturing a life of ridiculous grace + raw stories.