Is there anything better than having a beautiful bundle snuggled up to you early in the morning?
Is there anything better than having that bundle creep out of bed, hearing chairs drawn and quiet?
Is there anything better than creeping to see what’s going on and seeing one’s bundle busily drawing, looking surprised at being discovered and ordering you back to bed to sleep and wait for the surprise?
Is there anything better than waiting, and pretending nothing happens while gentle footsteps creep and tuck a drawing under your cheek, being kissed on the forehead and left to ‘sleep’.
I’m beginning to suspect I am loved a whole lot. How delicious.
She draws. constantly. Cutting them out because her friend told her cutting them out makes them ‘come alive and be real’. She draws hearts and flowers, and rainbows, and patterns, and friends, and smiles and family, and sweets.
The other day she came from from kinder where a classmate had told her that her pictures were not ‘beautiful’. And I nearly fell over, because this is where it starts. Where the insecurities creep in and self-doubt makes confidence stutter and natural self expression twist into new forms. Or go completely out the window.
There were tears and hurt and confusion. There was consolation and building up, but can you imagine how furious I was? And I know with every fibre of my being that what leaves her hands is precious, not just because it is pleasing to the eye, or because she is mine, but because she has amazing dexterity for her age, and a great eye for composition and space on the page, and for patterning. It infuriates me that this can be lost through the school system in a need to fit in, or do things ‘correctly’. I hope she is strong enough to withstand the eddies of that stream.
But in the meantime, she brings so much sunshine into our already rich lives, and is perfectly herself. And I don’t think there is anything better than that.