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Avalanche at Art Project Mountain

The tiny pumpkin represents me.

The tiny pumpkin represents me.

I love that my children love to make art. I love that they walk around the house with sketch pads and colorful pencils; that they like nothing better than to staple their own books and fashion loving greeting cards out of paper scraps and cardboard boxes. It’s beautiful that they want to be creative and it’s amazing to observe how their imaginations run wild with interesting ways to decorate the house. And I SUPER love it when they’d rather make stuff than watch television.

Oh and did I mention that I am being buried by a slowly moving avalanche of debris?

It is possible to feel both these things simultaneously, for after all, what are we if not complicated creatures, right? Well, this particular ‘complicated creature’, is losing her gourd. See: image at left.

There are discarded staples everywhere. The carpet is littered with tiny paper shreds and pen caps.

Where are the pens? Wedged between the sofa cushions leaking fluorescent ink into the upholstery.

Things that are banned: Liquid glue.  Glitter.

Things that are endangered: Paint. Markers. Stamp pads.

Things that are encouraged: Pencils! (nobody likes those)

Yesterday, my husband ran around the house picking up markers and throwing them into a bag intended for the recycling bin. He said something along the lines of “no more markers until you college!” But it sounded more like: “Aieeeecan’ttakeanymorepensaroundthehouseifyoucantberesponsibleforkeepingyourpenscapped

thaniamgoingtothrowtheminthetrashanditisgoingtobeyourfaultandtherewillbenomorepensandmarkers

anymoreunderthisroofthereisinkalloverthecouchandnowtheresinkonthenewcoffeetableand

whodidthatyoucanhavemarkerswhenyougotocollege.” I wondered if he was reading my mind somehow.

Dearest Husband, Welcome to your First Ever Mommy Dearest moment!

Sometimes when we have groceries delivered they arrive in a large cardboard box, and I try to get the boxes out of the house before the children see them, like a furtive animal. Because every box will become a habitat for something, and though that’s creatively fulfilling, and in almost every way I full support that, I CAN’T ONLY LIVE IN A WORLD OF DECORATED FRESH DIRECT BOXES.

There are certain things that are weird about me. For instance, I like complete sets of things. It upsets me when we put the markers back in the marker thing, and there are markers missing. I like piles, but my piles have to be tidy. It’s not OK for me to have the children gather everything into a single box, I like it all separated, however imperfectly, into loose themes e.g. “blank paper”, “tools”, and “unfinished projects.”

I think what I’m saying is, I’m a dreamer!

Don’t even get me started on “finished project maintenance and storage of precious memories.” So far, my strategy has been “keep everything.” This is a bad strategy.Did I mention that I live in a New York City apartment, which roughly translates to: ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH ALL THESE PAPERS EVERYWHERE…

Wait a second. Hold up.

My son just walked into the room, and he handed me something.

That's me there in that heart.

 

Oh.

Oh that’s me there. In that heart.

 

 

 

Sorry–what was I talking about before? Was it something about how much I love my children’s art and how even if I have to get a second apartment to contain all of it that I will do that happily?

Yeah, I thought so.

xo

Sam

 

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Check out other posts by  Sam and Allana:

How To Have a Healthy Relationship With Your Phone and Why You Should Think About It

3 year old in the morning

How to make friends like a 6 year old

SUNSCREAM

How To Stay Sane As A Mother Do THIS

 

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