For years before I ever became a mother, I looked forward to one day creating things with my children. I envisioned blissful hours coloring and cutting and gluing. I pictured a refrigerator door adorned with crayon drawings and paste-heavy collages. I couldn’t wait to have a jewelry box crammed with lovingly-crafted play dough pendants and macaroni necklaces.

When I finally became a mama, I didn’t wait long before presenting my daughter with a small pile of color crayons. At first, we spent a lot of time rolling them around and talking about the colors. I’d show her how they made a mark on the paper, and I’d encourage her to do the same…it was a very exciting day when she tentatively moved a crayon lightly on a piece of paper all by herself. I still have that “masterpiece” tucked away somewhere.

I’ve always made art supplies readily available in our house—and my own projects are usually littered around on various surfaces—but my daughter was surprisingly very resistant to any sort of “art project.” She was much happier with her nose in a book than she was with a crayon in her hand. And, disappointed as I was, I tried to be ok with that. I resigned myself to simply relish in the few occasions when she was willing to participate.

And then she turned four. I’m still not sure what changed, but almost overnight, my kiddo decided that she. loves. art. Art of any kind—she’s not picky. She calls herself an “Artwork Kitty.” She’ll paint, she’ll draw, she’ll color, she’ll cut and fold and glue. She’ll sculpt and mold, she’ll tie string and stick tape. And she’ll do it all in mass quantity.

A few weeks before Halloween, I demonstrated how to make a ghost out of a couple Kleenexes and a string. Almost before I had the string tied around the little ghostie’s neck, my girl had torn off into the other room to get a marker because “He needs a face, Mama! We can use a marker for his face!” I’d been hoping that she’d be taken enough with the ghost idea that I could have ten minutes or so to make lunch. Um, yeah. A half-hour later, I had to promise her she could make more ghosts after lunch, if only she’d stop for a minute and eat something.

By the end of that week, she’d hung a ghost about every two feet around the perimeter of our kitchen (and there were countless others her father and I had disposed of on the sly.) Which made things particularly lively at our house, because every single time our youngest kiddo saw a Halloween ghost he’d shriek “BOO!” Entering the kitchen was almost too much for him.

A few days after Halloween, I carefully tucked away a single ghost with the rest of our decorations, and then (lovingly, I swear!) sent the others to the trash bin. I was a little concerned about the possible fallout when my daughter came home from school, but she was surprisingly ok with her ghosts disappearing. Halloween was over, after all.

The next day, she appeared at the kitchen table with a stack of paper, a bottle of glue, and a bag of feathers. “Let’s make turkeys!” she said.

Our current turkey count is 14. Thanksgiving is still weeks away.

Be careful what you wish for, they say.

Indeed.

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger