This morning Charlotte found an old wooden bird house that
we had been given as a gift. It came
with its own set of paint and paintbrush, and bless her, she carried that brush
around all day. She must have asked me a
hundred times if it was time to paint yet.
You see, having another crafter in the house is all new to me. For the most part, the boys could care
less. So, this birdhouse has probably
lived with us for several years just waiting for an artist to claim it, and
claim it she did.
Finally, as I realized that the day
was slipping away from us, I pulled out the newspaper and helped her get to
painting. I didn’t pay much attention to
what she was doing, as the boys were watching a movie and I was trying to be in
two places at once. But, eventually she
declared that she was done. Now, I could
rave about her art skills, but she’s two and I’m not a very reliable
judge. Safe to say, it’s a masterpiece
to me, and a “nailed it” to the rest of the pinterest loving world, haha.
It wasn’t until I was in the bathroom
helping her wash her hands that I saw
the real masterpiece. You see, her hands were covered in green
paint. Yet, there was no green in the
set-only red, blue, and yellow. She had
taken what I had given her and she made it better. I think that is such a beautiful metaphor for
motherhood. I’m always so proud of the
gifts that I see in my children. And I
love when I see a trait or a characteristic that I recognize as coming from me
or their father. But, truly, what a gift
to see them possess something that is a beauty all their own.
filled with green paint moments and that I’m around to hang them up on my virtual refrigerator.
