Alli has found her inner artist. She has begun coloring, and coloring, and coloring. She colors as soon as she gets up in the morning, she colors as I sit and teach Elijah every day (it's my school, she says), and she colors before and after supper and would color in bed at night if we allowed it.
Don't misunderstand me, I love that she is so fond of this exercise. It has helped her learn more names of colors (like pwurpish-pink) and it keeps her occupied quietly for hours. The problem occurs when I must keep every picture she finishes. There are hundreds now, maybe thousands. And anyone who knows me at all knows my OCD nature and my severe allergic reaction to clutter.
So all this background information leads me to the exchange I had with my sweet daughter the other night after dinner:
I was cleaning up and wiping off the island and I picked up a half-sheet coloring sheet and absent-mindedly threw it in the garbage right in front of my daughter. She instantly opened the garbage can, peered inside and said (in her sweet 3 year old voice),
"Why you frow away my pretty piture?"
And I'm not exaggerating when I say she had tears in her eyes. So of course I quickly rescued it from the trash heap and promptly displayed it on the refrigerator. And all malice was forgotten.
I guess I'm going to have to learn to deal with the piles of her art. And she'll have ample reason to suffer later in life when she is starving for her craft and she remembers that her Mom used to throw her masterpieces in the garbage.