I don’t. Have time to paint that is. Upon finishing every painting I make, I have this same series of thoughts: “When did I do this? How did this happen? Will it ever happen again?” You’d think I’d change it up from time to time, but no, it’s always this same progression of thoughts. So, how do I, a home-schooling mother of an 8-year-old, a public-school mother of a kindergartner (and yes, we’ve done private school too...are there any other options cuz’ we’re all about educational variety around here!) and wife to a self-employed music producer who regularly hosts clients/musicians who need to eat, and sleep on clean sheets, find time to paint?

I have no idea, that’s how.

The majority of my time is spent being a supportive wife (think: hosting musicians, cooking for musicians, cleaning for musicians, more cooking for musicians, being ok with how long it takes a man to play 18 holes of golf, etc.), mothering our two boys, cleaning, and cooking. And cleaning and cooking. Did I mention that I clean and cook? In my spare time (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) I like to paint and slooowly but surely, learn to play cello.

Besides wifing, mothering and painting, I also like coffee. I think this has something to do with how I ever get paintings done. Hmmm. I also like being outside. And children’s books about art. And music. But mostly, I like Brian, Zane, and Nate. I’ve taken to heart what every parent on the planet says: that the time at home with one’s littles goes faster than you can ever imagine. So, I paint when I can and embrace the present, knowing that my paint will be there long after my little boys are no longer little boys. And as far as my favorite Brian goes, when life allows me to have an answer other than “I don’t know” in response to the question about how I have time to paint, he will most certainly be able to dig deep and sacrifice time with me by dragging himself to the golf course. It will be hard, but we’re all about suffering for our art ‘round these parts. If the man has to suffer through 36 holes so that his wife can paint, suffer he shall. (He can hardly wait for the suffering to begin!)