I heart my kiln

I love my kiln, it sounds wierd to love a big, object like that, but I really do. Sometimes when I think about running away, I get this picture in my head of myself walking up the street pulling my big kiln with a rope..ha. Yes, that's right its the bizarro world I see in my head. Crazytown USA, my husband calls it.

But really, my glass is like my baby that I tend to and nurture and hope it turns out ok. Just like my own children, whom I love both with a fierceness I cannot really put into words, but let's just say I would jump in front of a train for them if I had to, I really would.

The other day ,my eldest, Lily, said Mirabel, her sister, loved me more than she did. This made my heart hurt for her for a second, because I think she was saying she felt I loved Mirabel more than her, because you know, we make such a big deal when she stands or whatever, or takes steps..but I told her, I love you both the same. But I can recall needing to know the same thing from my Mom at times growing up, and she would tell me the same thing, that she loved us all the same. And then she would tell a story about her Mother, my Bunna, who died when I was 13.

She would say that Bunna would tell her something about love whenever she asked her about it and it went something like this. Love is like a cup, and when some pours out, it just refills automatically, so the cup is always full and there is plenty of love for everyone. Or actually that isn't what she said at all, but I can't remember the story exactly. Lily heard the proverb once too,and she thought my Mom told her something about a hair cut..ha.so who knows.