Over the weekend we let Henry and Eleanor paint for the first time. They like to pretend to paint, using drumsticks to craft imaginary masterpieces. So I surprised them by whipping out some actual paint and brushes. They LOVED it, and would have sat all day and painted had I let them. They’ve also asked to paint every single day since. “I want to paint” has become the new refrain around here. Considering I drew mainly stick figures today when Eleanor asked me to draw our family on her MagnaDoodle, I’m guessing this art ability comes from their father, whose family paintings adorn our walls.
I also wonder how Henry and Eleanor share my DNA when they eat foods, at two, that I didn’t appreciate until I was in my twenties or thirties. Seriously, I wasn’t lying when I’ve mentioned before that I eat peanut butter every day for lunch. My palate didn’t expand until I a) got old enough to travel and experience new cultures and b) starting dating Andy the Omnivore. So I still stare in disbelief when, like at supper on Sunday night, Henry and Eleanor devour naan bread, brown rice, and chicken simmered in masala sauce, or when their garlic breath knocks me over after they’ve scarfed down hummus.
I don’t believe winter should exist, so of course I questioned my children’s maternity (you can do that when your kids are lab-created) when they freaked out with joy over the snow yesterday morning. I had a hard time coaxing them to our scheduled morning playgroup; they wanted to run in the snow on the driveway. So after playgroup we changed into snow boots and headed back outside to play in the remaining snow before it melted away. “I MAKING FOOTPRINTS!” Henry and Eleanor would yell, trudging back and forth in the snow. “I on top of mountain,” Eleanor exclaimed, standing on our tiny not-quite-hill before running down to crash into me. They had a ball and never wanted to come back inside. Henry told me at least twice over lunch, “I love snow! It my favorite!” Really, kid? Are you SURE you’re related to me?