Motherhood is an Art

I rarely feel like I have a very good handle on the creative side of motherhood. I stress over the fact that my kid isn't being creatively stimulated enough at home. I have a feeling most mothers do. For me, I at least know that he is doing clever projects at school each day. It's almost like I get a free pass in the evenings to be the lame part of his day.

Where is the fun in that?

It took me a long time, but I am finally realizing that kids need to get messy sometimes in order to explore their creative side. I can either let him color with markers and learn how to color on the paper at age 2.5, or I can withhold markers until he is 16 and I can take away his driving privileges for coloring on his shirt or trying to eat the marker.

So, I have been trying really hard to add some mess into our lives lately.

Last night was...ominous music...paint.

My planning ahead consisted of buying nontoxic and washable paint and some canvas when it was on sale and saving it for a nonrainy day when I was feeling brave. That was the extent of the planning.

When I resolved to take a stab at the painting last night, I just stripped my kid down to his diaper; took him outside; gave him a paintbrush, canvas, and bucket of paints; and let him pick a color out (one by one to preserve some semblance of color) and have at it.

An hour later we had two very fun painted canvases, and Little Bug was covered head to toe in paint he had lovingly applied to his body with his brush. I busted out the hose and washed my kid and his slide (which was also painted) down...the best way to end a very fun and muggy tonight.

It wasn't until much later that I noticed my face was streaked with teal blue from the huge, unprompted kiss Little Bug gave me in the midst of his work.

Motherhood is an art. A messy, colorful, sticky, beautiful art.