14 Aug 2012
She is ever a picture of industry. With lips pouted in concentration and head cocked to the side as she surveys her creations...just like her Mumma. There is paper everywhere. Snipped paper, ripped paper, coloured paper, drawn on paper, small circles of paper from the hole punch. It spills from the dining table and at times feels as if I will drown in all it's colourful chaos. With her insatiable imagination comes much desired creativity yet much less desired mess.
Each day her volcano of creativity explodes spewing forth all manner of stationary across every empty surface and pathway. And every evening we tidy it away. Our children burst into our worlds and bring with them a cornucopia of stuff not always in tune with our own aesthetic and although we love them til our hearts ache it is all too easy to "tidy them away".
But this her day's play...is her work. And such important and sacred work it is.
While she slept the other day, weary from her many adventures with her every cell trying its darnedest to shoo away Winter lurgies, I pottered. Some wee pieces of furniture were hauled upstairs from the garage. Some vintage sheeting was torn and plaited. A Mumma made letter writing caddy was hung. Pretty china plates became vessels for art making supplies. A work space was created. Her space.