Spent today involved in ‘holiday fun’ helping Annabelle with arts and crafts. When I say helping it is, in reality, debatable whether my participation had a positive influence or not.
We started off with painting an elephant money box for Daddy. We selected a pink and blue design from the sheet provided and in my head at least, that was what the finished article would look like. Annabelle, completely lost in the moment, was enthusiastically stuffing her paint brush into every single colour pot (and forgetting to carefully dip it in the water like I had shown her) which resulted in the elephant being a sort of sludgy brown colour. Nothing at all like the polished item that the shiny, smiley kid on the box had produced.
I don’t know what is wrong with me, I have tried and am completely unable to stop myself wincing when the wrong colour goes in the wrong place. An overwhelming compulsion to rip the ceramic animal out of the childs hand comes over me and my only recourse is to put as much distance as possible between me and the artistic bloodbath.
After we had finished with the craft portion of the day (you will be pleased to know that I resisted the urge to wait until the elephant was dry and repaint it). Annabelle decided that she wanted me to help her write a book.
We found some A4 paper and bound the sheets into a book type arrangement. I helped her decorate the pages so that they had borders and a kind of watermark effect. I must confess to feeling a little smug as I was managing to art and craft with the best of them. It really was all going shockingly well, the pages were delicately decorated and looked pretty good. Annabelle decided that she wanted to write about a teddy and his house. That’s fantastic, said I and told her to ask me if she needed any help.
Half an hour later she emerged from her room and sure enough the completed book looked great, with one problem.