belated thankfulness.

Though my thoughts are swirling and sleepless, I can still manage a little belated thankfulness:

My husband, who sits up in bed with me watching television, looks at his ancient, graying socks and says, "What the hell am I wearing?!"

My son, that incredibly intelligent being, who knows more than I can guess, and needs my help only sparingly. Oh, and when he clarifies that "I didn't say 'shit' Momma, I said 'sit'." Good to know.

This house we live in, and the beautiful rooms we've created out of nothing but a little moxy and some recycling. I admittedly get a little bummed at the disheveled state of things, that our televisions aren't flat-screen's, that we can't afford Iphones and Ipads, etc., because we really are a bit on the poor side. But then I feel a sort of sweet relief when I look around and realize that or house looks like a home, not a Radio Shack, and that makes me happy.

Good food, always. God consistently gives us enough to eat. We've never gone hungry.

My Pinterest boards and the never-ending rotation of inspiration I find there.

I have a studio. It's a tiny room, and I keep it sparse so that I can spread out fabric and canvas on the floor. It has two windows that let in a huge amount of light. It's cold, placed right over the garage, but it's mine, just mine.

My family, a host of wonky characters, who always keep me laughing no matter how dismal conditions might seem. Our gatherings see me heading home with an aching belly, and not because of the food.

And as always, I'm thankful for the rows and rows of 99cent books at the thrift store, letting me zone out and hunt for treasure, all in one place.