Fia’s Fingerpainting Fiasco
When I took Fia to the finger-painting class at our YMCA, I didn’t know exactly what would happen. There were other toddlers at little tables, using sponges and feathers instead of brushes to make creations that rivaled Pollock. Fia, on the other hand, grabbed the plate full of paint colors and put it to her mouth. I figured after one taste of purple paint, she’d at least know it was bad. But no, she did it again. Perhaps she has Pica.
The art teacher came over after seeing Fi’s face now painted like Joseph and the Technicolor dream coat. She handed her a feather thinking she might realize that you use the feather to paint with. And that paint is for creating–not eating. Fi flung it across the room. Laughing. Same with the sponge. No interest. Then she aggressively rubbed her silly little fingers all over the plate and put her hands to her hair. That was it, I couldn’t take it. In five minutes, Fi had somehow turned herself into the art piece. I thanked the teacher and said maybe we’d try when she was older. Like 15.
I carried her out of the Y, now covered in paint myself. As my mother in law so aptly put it after seeing the pictures, “She’s Picasso in purple; Angelo in apron; beauty and the bow!” Easy for her to say, she didn’t have to clean it up.
I know this is part of parenthood. The journey. Blah blah. But does it have to be so messy? Or is it that I need to be less anal? All good questions for my shrink…and my pharmacist.
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