We recently moved Eleanor’s easel from her bedroom (where it was sitting on carpet) to the dinning/living room (where it’s sitting on a beautiful hardwood floor and right next to our light-colored walls). She’s really taken to drawing, and writing, lately and we want to encourage that as much as possible. Plus, we’d like to extend the life of her carpet as long as possible (although, I’ve already spilled coffee on it and can’t seem to get it out, so maybe paint would just make it look more purposeful).
Yesterday when she came home she asked to paint. We opened her new paint containers, set up the brushes, taped down the paper, and she got started. She painted this:
To her, it was just “a pattern.” But to me, is was the perfect embodiment of our pre-move life. It was neat and orderly. We had routine and predictability and regularity. We (generally) knew what to expect and when to expect it. Things had their place. We had our place.
Not 20 minutes later we had (what has become increasingly common these days) a meltdown. There were tears, and floppy bodies, and some frustrated words. She then created this:
And I had to smile at how much this expressed how I’ve been feeling, on and off, in the last month and a half. Unsettled, chaotic, jumbled. I don’t feel this way everyday. And when I do, it does not last all day. But I do feel this way. Sometimes, I do.
But, I’ve chosen to focus on the former; and it graces the wall next to my desk as a reminder of days to come.