Tuesday, February 28, 2006

My Budding Artist


I was loading the dishwasher while my adorable Two-year old terror was finishing her dinner a few feet away, when I heard her newest phrase-mocked-from-mama (who does magical feats throughout the day, like tying shoes and finding lost toys with a "Ta-Da!" and flourish). I look up and I am speechless.

There, on the shiny tablecloth protector, is a sweeping masterpiece rendered in sour cream and salsa (the toppings of tonight's cheese, pepper, and onion quesadillas). Large whorls and splats sweeping out as far as her little arms could reach, and her little face shining with pride and excitement at her accomplishment.

So what is a Mama to do? I don't want to scream and rant and possibly squash her little spirit, but at the same time I do not want to scrub a sour cream Pollock off of my table every night. How do you walk that fine line?

In the end, I took the proud Mommy approach and smiled and said "How lovely!", wiped her little hands, and sent her on her way. I figure that there will be better things to rant and rave about in the future.

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