I Will Not Allow My Kids to Drown Me in Paper

I feel kinda bad throwing out my kids' artwork, I really do. But it's not as if I can keep EVERYTHING. Especially with this bout of cold of weather we've been having (yeah, it's called winter). All that indoor recess at my son's school equals dozens of flip books, paper monsters, and paper airplanes being brought home. Mountains of paper! And it's not even the good kind of paper, it's that thin, highly-rippable manilla crap public schools can afford love.

And then there's the junk masterpieces my little princess brings home from preschool. All I can say is, thank goodness she only goes three days per week.

I try to be sneaky about throwing their stuff out. I shove it way in the back of the recycling bag we've always got going. But inevitably, my son, who's an epic trash collector (he's about one bad-parenting episode away from growing up to be "Hoarders" material), will notice the corner of bright red paper peeking out from behind the truck-load of newspaper.

"HEY! WHY ARE YOU THROWING AWAY THE PAPER AIRPLANE/MONSTER/GIANT SQUID/GERM I MADE?"

Sigh.

So out it comes to live another day, adding to the general squalor of our family room, and getting increasingly wrinkled and ripped until it's sufficiently forgotten about (or, as is more likely the case, replaced by 10,000 newer pieces of junk) that I can shove it back into the recycling bag. But this time I make sure to push it way, way down to the bottom so no telltale red is visible to my son's eagle eyes.

Seriously, how is it that he can't find his socks lying in the middle of the family room when I'm screaming at him to get dressed in the morning so he doesn't miss the bus, but he can detect a millimeter of red paper poking out over the newspapers in a bag all the way across the room?

I've heard of selective hearing, but now apparently there's selective seeing, too.

Hey, I'm not a monster. I keep some stuff. But unlike some moms who are all, "OH, THIS IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING EVER BECAUSE MY GIFTED, PERFECT CHILD CREATED IT!" I'm able to see things as they really are.

And fruit of my loins or not, my kids can make some crap.

So while this gorgeous piece of art my son created (which I love so much I went so far as to frame it--see? I'm not horrible) that helps me recall the beauty of spring when it's 10 degrees outside is a keeper:

This one is not:

Sure, it's purty, but if your kid cranked out masterpieces the way mine does, you'd be choosy, too. So, goodbye, colorful leaf!

And this drawing by my daughter that might just look like a bunch of scribbles to you, but which is actually an adorable rendition of the My Little Pony pegasi Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy (notice the wings?) is a keeper:

(I especially love the way she runs out of room for her name and is just like "screw it" and puts the "TTE" at the beginning. Note to any pregnant ladies out there: think long and hard before you give your child a name that's longer than five letters, because it's just cruel.)

This one, however, is destined for the circular file:

Yeah, it's cute and all. But what does it tell about my daughter, really? That she can use a glue stick and make a couple of scribbles, that's what. Adios, Elmer Elephant!

I just hope I'm not scarring them for life.

Compare and Contrast...Or Maybe Not

I'm not one of those moms who baby their youngest. I've often wondered how that's even possible, since the younger child always wants to try whatever his or her sibling is doing. If anything, they tend to grow up too fast and do more at an earlier age than their siblings. Right?

Lately, I've begun to wonder.

Because it seems that I might have been guilty of underestimating what my daughter is capable of. The problem is, my son was always so darned advanced that Little Miss suffered in comparison. I know you aren't supposed to compare your kids, but it's impossible not to. It's not like I judge them based on the comparisons--that would be mean--but I can't help but set a benchmark based on what my son has been capable of at various ages.

And, unfortunately for my daughter, the kid's fine-motor skills have always been off the charts. Which I didn't realize for a long time because I had nothing to compare it to. Eventually I began suspecting he was more artistically capable than the average kid. I have seen other mothers blanch as they looked at my son's drawings on our refrigerator and then mentally compared them to their own child's scribblings.

My son's drawing of a dinosaur (a Therizinosaurus, no
less--look it up, it's pretty spot-on), done when he
was almost four.

My daughter's drawing of Minnie Mouse, also done
when she was almost four. 

My daughter's fine-motor skills weren't nearly as impressive. Because she wasn't great at drawing, she didn't seem to enjoy it all that much. She didn't show any interest in coloring until she was three-and-a-half; then it would be just five minutes of haphazard scribbling and she'd move on to something else. As a result, I've never really encouraged her to develop her fine-motor skills.

It also doesn't help that, while my son had brand-new markers, 64-pack of crayons, colored pencils, (the works), poor Little Lady has had to make do with half-dried out markers and broken crayon nubs. Not exactly inspiring.

Over the past few months, however, my daughter has gone to some birthday parties with craft themes. I was concerned that the parties might bore her because her preferred party entertainment is usually more of the physical, gymnastics/tumbling nature.

But I've been pleasantly surprised how into it she's been. And actually not all that bad at it, either. Lately, she's been drawing and coloring up a storm and she can't get enough of craft kits. I've been surprised by her coordination and attention to detail, and she's starting to take real pride in her work.

No thanks to Mom.

Oh, sure, I'm trying to make up for lost time: new crayons, setting aside time to color together and do crafts every morning. But I still feel terrible because I've totally been selling my daughter short. I've been treating her like she couldn't do something of which she's more than capable. I've been babying her, I guess.

I hope just I haven't soured her to artistic pursuits or hurt her self-esteem in any way.

I'm sorry, my darling! Let's blame your brother, okay?