The next Picasso

I have been trying to establish a painting or art day with Daisy (and eventually Lily). We do so many things together. We read and play with blocks. We sing songs, recite poetry and work on oral narration. We play with play-dough and cloud dough and ooblick. We color with crayons and markers. We make chalk drawings. We go on field trips and adventures, but we hardly ever paint.

Painting day was Wednesday. Yesterday, after naps we gathered supplies: paint brushes, trucks to make paint tracks, leaves and acorns to use as stamps, a pie tin to hold the paint, and a bowl of clean water, and her scrap paper for her canvas.

I left Daisy running her cars through the paint and onto her paper in a very civilized fashion while I return an important phone call. Not even three minutes later, I looked up and thought a smurf had exploded in our backyard. Blue paint was everywhere. And I watched her paint the slide, her legs, her hair, the walls. Daisy was still painting when I left for work.

Painting day was on Wednesday. Last night when I got home from class, J told me I needed to find another day.

And all I can say is thank goodness for washable paint.