James and Owen (who aren’t wearing socks or shoes) are playing with Sophie’s paint and brushes, and Owen, in particular, has blue paint in his (too-long) hair and on his clothes and he’s not wearing his tot collar … I’m sure if I could zoom out I’d find about 12 other things wrong with this [...]
Mom decided we could paint! While we sat in our highchairs Mom and Sophie rolled our painters’ paper and taped it to the floor. After we scribbled for about two seconds (on the paper and ourselves), we decided to suck on the paint. And then, we decided to crawl. At this point there are no [...]
When Sophie feels the boys are doing something she perceives to be terribly wrong she begins screaming “No, Owen! No, James! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!” When that doesn’t work, she finds me. The conversation typically goes something like this: Sophie: “Mommy! Mommy! Mom! MOM! MOOMMM!” Me: “What, Sophie?” Sophie: “Come quick! Owen [...]
While ripping off Sophie’s latest easel painting in order to pull down some fresh paper, my mom suggested using it as a table runner. It’s perfect. The table is a cheap Ikea pine number with deep scratches on it (Tucker). The painting covers much of the surface nicely and serves as a fun conversation piece. [...]
In the beginning, when Sophie began to draw, we encouraged her by excitedly reacting to each piece of construction paper covered in scribbles and often asked if she would like us to hang her pieces of art on our refrigerator. She always said yes. She always seemed happy. I don’t know if this has instilled [...]
Sophie has turned the word “chalk” into a verb, as in “I want to chalk outside, mommy.” She loves it. She especially loves to trace things—her hands, her feet. While Andy’s traced her shadow, one afternoon I traced her and then tried to replicate her outfit. She wasn’t all that impressed. “There is a place [...]
Sophie worked a long time on this painting. She kept telling me she couldn’t get the ankles just right … “Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” —Oscar Wilde
