These days, I have a zillion crayons scattered everywhere. They seem to grow like mushrooms in the wetness and sometimes they’re pretty and other times, they are broken or their tips are gnarled or they’re colors are ugly.
I always want my crayons sharp—even if the crayon is down to an inch or so from hard work. The sharpness makes it easier to stay in the lines. I suppose the dull ones do have their benefits, very good for getting a full on scribble and quite useful for darkening.
But as I think about my crayoning behavior it frustrates me that I always want to color in the lines. Why? Who made that stupid rule?
I never really like adhering to the status quo, and this is just dumb. I sit with my toddler, who scribbles to the heights of non-conforming out-of-the-lineness, and I want to color in the lines. Like a big fat boring mom!
I select larger, easier to fill shapes in the coloring book, too, because it’s easier to stay in the lines. I shy away from the intricate lines of trees and hands. Don’t like ‘em. Prefer rainbows and symmetrical blocks and octagons and regular generic old shapes that have been taught to babies and toddlers and children since the beginning of time…
Why?
These are the thoughts I’ve had the past week as I’ve had full-on adulthood hit me and my family in the face. We’ve have a terrible week of life. And, we’ve come out of it now.
Traveled miles and booked a dozen flights and filled out vacation forms at work and frantically flown my first solo parent airplane ride (success!)… Learned that we can stay in a hotel room and still get sleep while baby girl dozes in a nearby pack and play. Seen my husband go through pain I can’t imagine. Watched a pretty wonderful family move through the days after death and pick themselves up and greet the many, many people who came to say goodbye.
It’s always a bit optimistic to think about traveling back east to see our family in Boston. We get the city again. We have good shopping. History. Simply delightful neighborhoods and diversity. I’ve loved it since the second my husband took me to his home and always felt peace there. This time, I filled our bags with dark clothes and anticipated cold rain. I brought the crayons out in battalions, armed in cars and planes and hotel rooms, praying they would deliver the magical distraction we needed.
Good thing I brought lots of wet wipes.
