In a fret of cleaning last night, I stumbled upon a new peice of artwork in my home.
That's right. This is my son's name painted in red on his bedroom wall.
Instead of getting outraged, I stood back and admired his work. Noticing that he most likely painted his masterpiece with his finger, secretly hidden behind his door, with complete pride. Pride that he had written his name and made his mark on his bedroom.
We encourage creativity in our house. I have lost countless canvases meant for projects to children's art, and we are constantly raving and encouraging their little brains to create new peices to hang on the fridge and on our walls. And of course, we encourage our little guy, active in pre-school, to practice writing his name on everything that he does.
So, I stopped, mid-vacuum and admired his handywork- noticing that for once, he wrote his name without the addition of a pencil to grip as he tried so hard to write out his letters.
I asked him if he indeed wrote it and he proudly nodded yes. I told him it was wonderful, but that is not where we write our name, and he will be helping re-paint his wall.