Artist Baby

IT LOOKS like the Little Mister might have inherited his dad’s artistic flair. Sadly, I wasn’t there to see him paint his first picture, but I’m looking forward to collecting it and bringing it home next week.

Of course, said painting will be framed and put up on the wall. I get that now. I used to look at kids’ paintings in other people’s houses and wonder why on earth they’d want them on display against their quarter Spanish white, or on their fridge. But right now, I can’t wait to get my hands on the Little Mister’s first masterpiece and go out and buy a shiny new frame for it. I haven’t decided where to put it just yet, that’s probably a decision to make once I’ve laid eyes on it.

Even though I’ve not seen it, I already know I’m going to think it’s brilliant. This must be the start, I’m guessing, of believing that your kids are super-talented at everything they turn their hands to. (Or everything you turn their hands to and they do because they don’t know any better.) Is it a slippery slope from here to pushing them to be wonders at art, and the cello, and tennis, and science, and reading, and the rest?

Anyway, because I’m still a bit out of sorts, mum took Milin to Space today, and that’s where the painting fun began. Thank goodness I’d put him in my least favourite clothes of his before they went. The mess reached a whole new level.

It looks like he had fun, but really it sounds like he just wanted to eat the paint tray and the paint brush. Which, I suppose for the Little Mister, is all he needs to make painting the best activity ever. From mum’s account, the clean-off phase in the bath afterwards was not quite so enjoyable for him. But at least he came home almost clean, with the only remaining evidence of his first art class the bits of paint ingrained between his skin and his nails. He’ll be having a long bath tonight I think.


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