Wanted: Domestic Artist

Breakfast with my little one, as my preschooler takes his time to rise and shine. Ok, that gives me a few minutes. As I read my opening jingle, take in each "title" I hold as a domestic executive officer, I relax into what it means for me to consider myself an artist. I look out my kitchen windows that look onto our backporch, where oodles of boxes and piles of "stuff" wait for me to sort, sift, save, organize, and purge; my eyes fall upon the spot where my art supplies sit. Charcoal, pastels, paint, paper, canvas...to name a few things. Books about artists, applications, techniques, etc...truth be told, I've not done anything with any of these "things" since moving into our home. What will I do with these supplies? Will I keep them and perhaps weave them into my life? Or will I find a place for them to go? Question, question, who's got the question?
The artistic ventures I've been on in the last four years has been more focused on the comforts of home. A knitted rug, made from scraps of yarn from other projects, catches my eye as it lies in front of my kitchen sink. The curtains hanging on the windows in my kitchen, I made those, too. I turn around to look behind my favorite chair to see a knitting project waiting to be finished, a baby's hat just recently completed, my knitting bag made from an old pair of jeans waiting for me to fill it again. A bag with yarn skeins, buttons, and the pattern I need for the baby sweater and matching cap also calls out to me. A pile of gardening books, seedlings waiting for repotting to continue their growth....the aprons I've made that hang on the back of the bathroom door, waiting to be tied around my waist like armor for battle....
I've had charcoal under my nails, paint on my hands. These days, curing soap with its delicious scent waits to be used. Sweaters for the kids act like billboards wherever we go. I traded in my beret for an apron. Paint brushes for garden tools. Knitting needles I wield like short swords. In spite of the last week of rain and flood waters plaguing my basement, reflecting my title for today's writing is unwavered. I am a domestic artist.
~Momma