I found myself with a quiet house at 8:30: all three sons in bed, as well as Greg who had a minor flu today. All the things on my to do list were either long projects or not enticing. I had already rolled out the three extra pie crusts for the freezer and putzed around on the computer long enough for my liking. I wasn't in the mood for reading. What to do?!
Then I realized: I should start purging papers. The biannual ritual when one moves so frequently. I decided to tackle the "art drawer," picking and choosing what to preserve of the boys' masterpieces and what to toss in the trash. Honestly, most of Patch's preschool work from last year was in the trash pile, until I thought that he might - twenty years later - wonder why I was such a cruel and heartless mother not to save things. So, I kept two folders worth. Except, now as I type this, I think I should probably just keep one or two pieces. After all, I don't think I want to look at (or carry around) boxes of my childhood artwork. Why would Patch or Wm?
Really, the only piece of artwork I remember creating is a yellow blob of clay that sits (or used to sit - not sure if it does right now) on my mom's dresser. I remember making it because, in kindergarten or first grade, I got in a huge fight with my art teacher. I forget what we were supposed to be making, but I wasn't in the mood to make that and instead made a bowl. But then the teacher became upset with me (or at least I perceived she was inordinately angry with me) for not following instructions. With a minute left in art class, I mushed the piece of clay into a ball and put it with the rest of the class' works to be fired. The next week, everyone else had some creation to paint. I painted my blob plain yellow, not even choosing the shiny paint. Very rarely did I not follow a teacher's instructions, so the origins of this yellow mass stick with me. The rest of the stuff I could probably do without, if it was even saved.
Then I realized: I should start purging papers. The biannual ritual when one moves so frequently. I decided to tackle the "art drawer," picking and choosing what to preserve of the boys' masterpieces and what to toss in the trash. Honestly, most of Patch's preschool work from last year was in the trash pile, until I thought that he might - twenty years later - wonder why I was such a cruel and heartless mother not to save things. So, I kept two folders worth. Except, now as I type this, I think I should probably just keep one or two pieces. After all, I don't think I want to look at (or carry around) boxes of my childhood artwork. Why would Patch or Wm?
Really, the only piece of artwork I remember creating is a yellow blob of clay that sits (or used to sit - not sure if it does right now) on my mom's dresser. I remember making it because, in kindergarten or first grade, I got in a huge fight with my art teacher. I forget what we were supposed to be making, but I wasn't in the mood to make that and instead made a bowl. But then the teacher became upset with me (or at least I perceived she was inordinately angry with me) for not following instructions. With a minute left in art class, I mushed the piece of clay into a ball and put it with the rest of the class' works to be fired. The next week, everyone else had some creation to paint. I painted my blob plain yellow, not even choosing the shiny paint. Very rarely did I not follow a teacher's instructions, so the origins of this yellow mass stick with me. The rest of the stuff I could probably do without, if it was even saved.
2 comments:
I don't know if the yellow blob made the latest move. I totally remember the incident. Also I highly recommend the plastic placemat holders for artwork :)
I found the yellow blob!!! Pictures to follow
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