A bad day for a second

One of the perks of living with a two year old is that a bad day never remains a bad day. Today I received a mail box full of annoyances, anxieties and irritabilities. I also received some textile samples in a box, a box that should have been opened first instead of last. August was so excited to see these textured and colorful squares. After I made some irritating phone calls we played with these fabric samples and talked about them, had a snack and the day straightened out. Later, we sang songs, played some pretend, looked at new library books and it was dinnertime. After dinner, we had a fireworks show and the day went down as a very sweet one with a minor snag that didn't even last an hour. It's the magic of your child. I feel the biggest high these days just asking her to show me "left" and see her point left correctly. Even when it's wrong though, she does it with such a beautiful smile, it makes everything better.

Corner View: Favorite Plate

I thought all day about a favorite plate. I was thinking of dish patterns and chuckled to myself of how "dish" referred to a great looking girl in several Happy Day's episodes. Time ran me over and it is no longer Wednesday, but at midnight, as I warmed up the leftover chicken soup I made Tuesday afternoon, there it was... Royal China Blue Heaven! The set has the optimistic turquoise of my own Grandmo's kitchen. How many stories are contained in each piece? If only they could tell me, the decades, the tables, the people.  I discovered the set when I found a single plate at a thrift store. It made me happy, I filled my head with promises inspired by Blue Heaven. I decided I wanted my future table to be a complete set of Royal China Blue Heaven.

The future is here and I didn't notice?

The coffee cups are tiny and dainty compared to mugs I see in most homes. Someone had to keep getting up to fill a cup, just like a 78 record on a Victrola, someone had to keep the music going. It seems one song on a 78 is about the time it would take to drink a cup of coffee in my Royal China Blue Heaven. On your toes, or perhaps just a treat, one cup, one tune to break up the day.

The dinner plates are large and beautiful, the dessert bowl, onescoopofsherbert sized. Priorities.

I completed this set of dishes long ago but it is only since April of 2014 that I actually utilize them. Everyday use. Mr Gage always said,"...you see, if you have to use it everyday it needs to be pretty".
This set fits my life right now and I enjoy washing them by hand and placing them in their neat, little stacks of four in the cupboard. All except for the bowls, they sit in a stack of three because August broke one reaching for grapes one afternoon. This created the hunt for a fourth bowl and another reason to frequent estate sales, flea markets, thrift stores... Who knows what else I'll find along the way, because I once saw a plate at an antique store in Pennsylvania that had me swooning enough to snap this photo and covet this set. One day. Maybe.

On the 12th Day of Christmas...

I have the luxury of not returning to an office today but the feeling is there all the same.  I decided to take one more day off, it's what I would do when I did work in an office. It is The Epiphany and I usually reflect on the holidays, enjoy the tree one last night and all else that is left. It's not the day to take down the tree or start the daily grind of a new year. It's a personal tradition.

When we went to collect the mail this afternoon, August wanted Christmas cards. I told her there wouldn't be anymore until next year. We will get packages but not Christmas gifts until next year, although, The Three Wise Men may leave a little something in her shoes under the tree tonight. I need to celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas, it's a a good "calm down" from the weeks of anticipation, preparation and excitement. I loved our tree this year. Thank you, Mr. Douglas Fir for staying green and fragrant for almost six weeks. 

I usually celebrate with a Rosca de Reyes but couldn't find one I liked. One year I mailed away for one because I felt I just couldn't celebrate without one. Tonight, it's just fine to share a hot chocolate with August and have gingersnaps instead.  I was too successful with the baking this year and to attempt a rosca today could ruin my lucky streak.

It was a great holiday, down to the last gingerbread moose cookie. August made it special and surprising, especially on New Year's Eve when a tiny party of three felt like quite the event. Her awareness and enthusiasm, the things we were able to do: breakfast with Santa on St Nicholas Day, Advent organ concerts every Tuesday, crafts, looking at lights, the baking, friends who came to visit, people we got to see... it all made this my best Christmas so far. I want it to last as well but it's time to read The Little Fir Tree by Margaret Wise Brown and Christmas Every Day by William Dean Howells and put this Christmas in our memory boxes, but tomorrow, because there is still one more night.

New Moon Wishing

Texas winters can produce the most perfect spring evenings.  Tonight, the second day of Christmas, we sit with the door open. August says the new moon is smiling like a Cheshire cat. While we wait on laundry, August does a puzzle and we listen to Sinatra sing to Dorsey.

August and I  did some walking about under the new moon, both of us looking up at one point and tripping over each other. It's time for some moon wishing. I have never wished on a new moon, only the giant full ones. So up we looked and I wished away...
solutions to problems that don't seem to have resolution
wishing for future happiness and wholeness
wishing to be forgetful
wishing to find those rose colored glasses that have been misplaced too long
wishing away hurts
wishing away complications
wishing for simple, love song narratives
wishing for timing

The new moon's immediate reply was to open doors and to listen to Sinatra before his heartbreak, when he was just a starry eyed, boy singer in love with his Nancy from his old neighborhood. The songs are so perfect for him at this time in his life. I wonder if he knew what was in store for him: Ava, Mia, hitting rock bottom, Rat Packs and Presidents...and he is singing, at this moment:

Have a little faith and trust in what tomorrow brings
You'll reach a star because there are such things

The sad story of August's gingerbread man...

Early Friday morning, before the moon went to bed and the rooster crowed, a little gingerbread man was born along with dozens and dozens of others. They would all taste the same because they were made out of the same ingredients but each one looked slightly different from the other. As they were placed in their new temporary homes behind glass in the bakery, these little brothers, all from the same bowl of sweet, gingery batter were about to embark on the only adventure they'd have in their short lives. This is the story of August's gingerbread man.

August and her family went to the bakery on Friday afternoon looking for a pastry to eat the next morning. There in the display case were dozens of beautifully decorated Christmas cookies. Mommy thought August would love to have a gingerbread man since she never had one before. The man behind the counter picked him out. Only one. The little gingerbread man said goodbye to his friends and wondered if he'd become a Christmas decoration, hanging on a ribbon well past the new year, becoming too hard and stale to eat and thrown away. This was what most gingerbread men had hoped for, to harden and have a life beyond Christmas where they'd get thrown away and could have more than one adventure in heir short lives.

August fell in love with her gingerbread man as soon as she took him out of the it's little brown wax bag. Mommy smelled him and suddenly all the Christmas gingerbread men she knew were dancing in her head and reminding her of all her childhood Christmases. She said he even looked like the gingerbread she use to know with five little raisin: two for his eyes and three lil buttons. 

August smelled her little gingerbread man and then gave him a kiss, then another and another. August was falling in love with him and the gingerbread man began to imagine a life past Christmas filled with adventures, becoming too hard to ever be eaten. He settled into August's soft, little hand and looked into her eyes making her fall more and more in love. Papi asked August how her gingerbread man tasted but she only kissed him. Mommy asked if the gingerbread man was yummy but August only kissed him some more.

August sang to her gingerbread man Christmas songs she knew and made him dance on her lap. She smiled at him, held him tightly and kissed him. But she held him too tightly, suddenly her gingerbread man lost part of his arm. August picked it up and looked at Mommy sadly. Mommy said it was okay he was a cookie not a broken doll. When the gingerbread man heard this he knew he would never live past Christmas now and prepared to become a future Christmas memory. He thought of the hot oven where he'd been only a few hours ago and that was the last thought this little gingerbread man ever had and he quickly became a Christmas memory.

Corner View: Bathroom and Shower

I remember August's first ever bath. That bath is so vivid and clear in my mind. I remember her Papi's giant hands holding her and delicately placing her into the warm water. Her eyes got so huge and she looked at us and trusted us. Her eyes, my heart, his hands. I can still be there, and I hope that I will always have this memory swimming in me for as long as I live. Only a few weeks before, the hours I spent laboring in that bathroom. While taking one hot shower after another and wondering what would happen next and next and the second after that, and would I be holding her by nightfall or the next day or suddenly now, now, now? The footprints left on the floor of my wet feet coming out of the shower still there when I returned again and again.

The bathroom now has two tiny pieces of "furniture":  a wooden potty chair and wooden stool. In the tub sits a smaller tub that will soon be just too small. Then there are the toys and growing collection of plastic containers that miss the recycling bin and instead become tub toys.

It was this bathroom in Indiana that I first discovered I was pregnant. The road from this bathroom in room 19 to the current bathroom is quite a tale. If I only went from bathroom to bathroom...

This bathroom in an old surplus store in the oldest part of Baltimore. The building had many lives but the one that still lingered was when it was a bowling alley where GI's would dance and relax. I was almost four months pregnant and really had to use a bathroom and this was all I had available.

This was the bathroom at a cute motor lodge in Pennsylvania on our way back to Texas. It was December and I was going back and forth with the idea of a baby not born in Texas. It just didn't sit right with me.

The bathroom at a motel somewhere near Ohio where I spent my grouchiest and only uncomfortable night of my first trimester. It was cold. I never warmed up and was wearing my heaviest wool sweater under the covers.

August was supposed to be born at home. In the end my true feelings for my midwife exploded and I didn't trust her enough to birth at home so I asked to be taken to a hospital. I missed that part of the planned birth story where mother and child rest in a herbal bath together as they bond. That special bath happened months later in the shiny tub at a travel lodge in Del Rio. August was three months old when I made the special mother and baby tea soak.  It was summer and I held her in this warm bath taking in the lavender and rose scents. I used the other half in a bath taken at the duplex we rented in Oklahoma just before her first birthday.

I truly had no idea I had so much to say about bathrooms nor did I realize I had quite a collection of photos of bathrooms from my past.

Jane's corner view, Francesca hosting, thank you, Nadine, for suggesting this theme.

Corner View: Attendance

Just a photo of me. A rare photo. I love all the photos I have with August in them. Priceless.
I am trying a bit harder to get some of these in though.

It isn't often that I am without August. This past Sunday I was as I went around browsing and window shopping with a friend. I felt so light, like I had forgotten my purse. My friend and I joked around and I forgot that I was no longer 26 years old. The Blake Babies played loudly as we drove from one place to another attending crafty Christmas markets. Five hours later, we finally hit shopping centers, having run out of places to go. As we walked around beautiful, pricey party dresses, taking turns telling each other sordid stories from our past, we decided it was time to get home. We missed our babies. Driving home in the dark to Nico's The Fairest of the Seasons, passing through the many phases of me through the years in my mind. I walked into a warm home, dimly lit for the holidays and a sweet toddler playing under the Christmas tree. Where I belong.

Calling Cards

August and I strolled to the park in our neighborhood. I was reminded that there is still a need for calling cards even in this well connected age. There are plenty of places to get them made. Perhaps it is time to consider some. Then again, had I just remembered to use my cell phone...

I remember Mr Gage showing me an old calling card of his. He told me how he'd drop by a friend's house for a visit and if no one was home, he'd leave his card at the door. Slower days, smaller towns, and friends that you feel comfortable enough with to just drop by unannounced.

While at the park I noticed how, over the months, August has become even more confident and dexterous on that playscape. I pushed her a bit on the swing and saw her drowsy face appear. It was time to go. She didn't protest leaving the playscape for grapes and a ride home. On the way back, the breeze through the still green trees caught my eye. They made me present. The walk was one of those moments that will be a future memory because it was so vivid and bright. August singing her favorite song over and over.

We came back to a lit Christmas tree. I sat down to look at my phone and realized no photos were taken at the park, we had no time for photos. It was a beautiful day, much fun was had. I looked at our Christmas tree and the green made me feel present again. There is something in the green around me. While the landscape goes brown, what is left green will stand out. A calling card of sorts,  for me.

Poetry in food

My friend Nadia is a gifted cook. She effortlessly throws together simple, hearty meals full of flavors. She loves to cook and I often remark it is that love that really puts her dishes over the top. Entering her home on a bitterly cold afternoon last week left me with long lasting memories.

Every burner on her stove was going and heating up the room. She had lentil soup just about finished, beef bouillon cooking for dinner, pasta for the children and was frying green bananas. At the same time she had been chopping up lemons, onions and peppers to make chary, a condiment made of fermented lemons. So many warm scents filled the air. It was not the first time. At her house I have enjoyed sambusas made of tuna, tilapia in a simple but exquisitely spiced tomato sauce and a Divine mung bean soup. I asked her if she ever watched the movie or read the book Like Water for Chocolate, I asked her if she was familiar with MFK Fischer, if she ever watched that movie Julie and Julia, watched Chopped, ever wanted to be on Chopped... Instead she just put in front of me a bowl of everything to try.

There have been only a handful of people in my life who have been able to create a memorable dish from the simplest of ingredients: My Grandmother, my Abuelita, my Oma-in-law, my Abuelita's cousin and Nadia, who is also the most precocious cook I have ever known.

I started to think of how I have known too many who do not know how to cook, and sometimes, don't want to learn because they don't like it. I find it extremely important to learn to put together a meal for oneself, to be able to feed friends and family. In college everyone could make brownies, Rice Krispie treats and maybe spaghetti but no one was putting together stew in a crock pot, or knew how to make a chicken soup from scratch. All animals teach their babies how to hunt and feed themselves. Learning to feed oneself should be high on the priority list. When my child leaves home I hope her skills will include: balancing a check book, knowledge of a trade or craft that she enjoys and can turn into cash when needed, and the ability to create several meals with complete confidence.

One evening Nadia visited me and became hungry. She looked through my refrigerator. That night she taught me how to create capers du oeuf and now it's the only way I want to eat a fried egg.

It's a first...

Two years ago I was preparing for August's First Christmas...EVER! My favorite time of year and finally a chance to share it and make it special. It was very special. What I didn't know then, that I know now is: Holidays will continue to offer "firsts"and they will always be special, daily life is filled with countless first times as well.  It was a realization that came to me so sweetly.

I have been kept busy by a very active and chatty two and a half year old. The saddest days thus far have been the three days she fell ill to a virus. Fever of 103 and a full day of general malaise so serious, all she could do was stumble around, cry and fall.  First real illness: hand, foot and mouth.  She has never been so ill that she was uncomfortable or so miserable. She missed what was going to be her first real trick-o-treating Halloween.

It took weeks to arrive at her breakthrough. While shopping for a Halloween costume for her at a thrift store, we turned the corner and she became afraid of the decorations. Halloween themed store aisles and animatronic displays would send her anxiously into my arms saying,"Scared, scared", tearfully.
At the thrift store, as we walked past the aisle filled with the sinister color combinations of red, black and orange, and tried not to pay attention to the giant spiders, spooky masks and witch hats, August stopped and said,"Mommy, it's Halloween! I'm not scared, it's Halloween, it's Halloween!" then pranced and marched down the aisle with a big smile squealing,"Halloween!" Right then and there, as it all clicked in her little mind and started to make sense, her fears quickly disappearing, all I could do was stay frozen in her moment of discovery. It was an amazing experience.  She then decided to be a little witch instead of a princess or a fairy and I just about exploded with pride and all things sweet and motherly.

Her becoming ill on Halloween was made even more gloomy after all the time spent practicing saying "trick-o-treat" and watching videos and cartoons that were Halloween themed. We were so ready but spent the evening in urgent care. The only treats were from the bucket in the doctor's office. Once home she knocked at the door of a neighbor."Knock, knock, Halloween, knock, knock", she said and got a lil candy bar.  I lit her pumpkin and added some sparklers to make it a bit more special for her.

For the next week she walked around in her witches hat, carrying her witchy wand and the bucket the doctor  gave her with five pitiful candies. She had no idea what they were or what to do with them but they were treasured playthings until they fell apart, out of their wrappers and finally thrown away.  She also was not letting go of the holiday. However, not all was lost this Halloween season. We did get to dress up a few weeks before and attend a special children's Halloween themed concert. 

To get passed the Halloween hang-up, we jumped right into Christmas. When she was better, she was introduced to egg nog. August's most favorite thing in the world is now egg nog. She recognizes it on store shelves. Sometimes served with spices, sometimes without, but always with a spoon is how she likes it. Once the last shipment comes in at the end of the season though...does it freeze well?

This weekend I pulled out the Rankin-Bass cartoons and unpacked my Rudolph toys. I use to set them up in my cubicle every year when I worked at the library. I didn't even know I had a set of those toys still in the box, unopened since 2006. I gave them to August to play with and started the cartoon for her. She was so happy when she realized that she had the entire cast all around her. Now it's egg nog and Rudolph, Santa and the Bumble with his star. She knows the words to Frosty the Snowman, We Wish You a Merry Christmas and Jingle Bells.

Perhaps I am just too sappy and sentimental. There is so much imperfection in our daily lives but when it comes to "firsts" I have to celebrate them all, the good and bad, those wonderful and beautiful moments and those painful ones as well. Timing her feverish, rapid breathing, trying to keep her fever from going beyond 103 while she slept was hard. It was difficult being in that moment. The day her fever broke, I looked back on that night as a bittersweet experience. My child was ill and I was worried not knowing what it was she had, but each little breath that flowed in and out for a minute was captured by me several times that night. The stinging heat from her baby soft skin and then on my lips as they touched her little forehead is forever recorded as a temperature of 103. Open to it all.

The Heart Will Remember

We would usually find Granmommy at her kitchen table when we'd stop in for a visit. August would ask for Nilla Wafers and eat one after another until she fell into a slight stupor on the big comfy chair or her couch. She'd enjoy watching August go through her kitchen cabinets and take out the same colorful Tupperware pieces to play with. There was always a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge, candy in the candy dish and something stamped and ready to be mailed sitting on the table. I'd sit next to her at the kitchen table and the conversation would quickly go to old recipes, sewing, stories of motherhood and her children when they were little or how she loved dolls so much but never really had any growing up. I always wanted to keep on talking.

Her name was Evelyn. She had eyes that were big and round, her face well worn in such a beautiful way and I thought she looked pretty in blue. In many ways she reminded me of my great-aunt Christina and maybe because of that I felt so comfortable around her. She always sent birthday and holiday cards to family, made the birthday cakes, took whatever she had in her wallet and discreetly placed it in the hand of her child or grandchild in need of a small miracle. Filling her shelves and accent table were photographs of her children and grandchildren. Evelyn loved.

The last conversation we had was last week and she mentioned there was a  Halloween card in the mail for August. She said she ordered her some books for Christmas too. I was hoping there would be a few more years of Nilla Wafers for August, more time spent on her couch watching a Dean Martin special or Shirley Temple film, more stories at her kitchen table. I only knew her three years. When she signed the card on a Christmas gift to me : To Tera, Love Granmommy, I felt fortunate and saved it.

I hope August remembers something of Granmommy. I have memories that were created when I was even younger than she is. I hope she feels something warm and tender, I hope her little heart remembers.

Caterpillar, caterpillar...

Today, August came running inside shouting the alarm of "Mommy come, come!" She wanted me to come see a caterpillar on the ground.  She knows not to touch them and I was so happy she understood that lecture I gave her about not touching bugs and asking Mommy to first come look at bugs before touching them. We had been walking along when she suddenly jerked her hand from the wooden railing, there, along it's merry way, was a Puss Caterpillar. It was so odd to catch sight of this creature because I only became familiar with it a few days before and thought it was only found in Florida. One thing I knew, it was highly toxic. However, once it becomes a moth, as most toxic caterpillars do, it is no longer a danger.

We stepped away from it and since it was in a location that August frequented and I never wanted to see that caterpillar again, I killed it with a rock. I felt terrible. I just kept this poor Puss Caterpillar from achieving it's lifetime goal because our paths just didn't cross well. It was a sad moment but also a very scary one for me. This tiny creature managed to make my heart skip a beat and my stomach tighten up.

I wondered if children instinctively knew what to touch or not touch. I wondered what I would had done had I not read that article that came my way (via Facebook, of all places). Would I have stopped and just looked or actually try to touch and handle it? Had I not been there would August have become curious and brave and tried to touch it? It was a pale brown, velvety, almost cute looking thing but at the same time, something about it did register as creepy. The incident was too scary to continue to dwell on. I began my lecture to both of us about the dangers of touching bugs we know nothing about it. I then went home and studied up on toxic plants and insects.

The caterpillar August found on the ground today was dead, the ants were moving it. It was actually a caterpillar that would have become a butterfly and I mourned it. We had just spent time among the Monarchs yesterday at the park. It was a magical experience and I did feel quite blessed by it.  I had not been among so many butterflies since I was a little girl in Del Rio. They really made me feel like everything I wanted to work out, would.

Who doesn't want to become a butterfly? All the suffering and sacrifices, the tough lessons... We all want the ugly to lead to something more beautiful than we could have ever imagined. Reward and respite. Freedom. To fly and not crawl anymore.  Hopefully all hard work will result in a pleasant and comfortable payoff and not get squished along the way, never becoming a butterfly or a moth. When I think of it that way, it's really tragic to see dead caterpillars.

I'm no timekeeper.

Recently I was served a hard pill to swallow. I am no longer punctual. If invited to a dinner party, have a job interview or a doctor's appointment, I try my best to get started as early as possible. I have even succeeded in arriving early. However, if I am invited to a friend's house and given a window of time say 10am-10:45am, more than likely I will arrive squarely between 10am-10:45am and appreciate a having a nice open window of time. This is why:

1. I live with a person who has no concept of time and works at her own speed. August wakes up at 10am. She use to wake up at 11am. Sure, I can put her to bed early, wake her up at 8am or 9:30am and claim she had a full 10 hours sleep or more, but she will still be a cranky toddler. Cranky toddlers make getting ready to leave the house, more difficult. They won't eat breakfast, they follow you around crying and unhappy because their schedule is completely off. However, if August wakes up at 10am, she'll happily eat a breakfast, dress and we can be out the door in ten minutes. Nap time poses a similar problem. Skipping nap time or cutting it short creates a situation that is harder to work with.

2. In my culture, you always arrive a bit later than the designated time because it is polite to allow the host or hostess time to prepare. Things happen, believe me, you appreciate that grace period when hosting.

3. I am not a person who enjoys hurrying anymore. To hurry means to rush things and I am at a point in my life where I do not like to rush things. I like to take things easy. Little hands don't move fast and it's important to let those little hands do all they feel they can do. I anticipate this as much as I can. A noon appointment means I have prepared as much as I can the night before, this way, in the morning, we don't have to rush off.

When I can set an appointment or meeting time, I usually set it for noon. If we take a day trip, we won't be getting out of the house before noon, it will be noon, if all goes well. I explain to friends that we'll be arriving to play dates as soon as we can and I am always relieved when play dates don't start until 10:30am or so.

Eventually, soon enough, August will be on a strict schedule for school and activities. Gone will be the days of our own, loose schedule. Therefore, when I do have to make a date, rest assured it is with someone I trust to be understanding and flexible, a friend, someone who won't get all out of sorts if I arrive a few minutes past the designated time, someone who will add "ish" to the agreed time. I appreciate my group of true friends who empathize because they have children themselves, had children or just prefer to not sweat the small stuff and are open hearted to just seeing me when they see me.

This is a actually a big change for me. I was always out the door and where I was supposed to be on time. It took awhile to adjust, it felt impolite but some things just can't be helped. I let people know if I am running behind. I no longer expect anyone to be on time. I can always fill time and don't mind a wait. In fact, I can say that pretty cool things have happened while waiting. 

I visited a friend today

I visited with a friend today and she showed me how the women in her country protect their skin from the sun, because I asked what it was that some of them were wearing on their faces in her family photos. She brought out a a round piece of wood that looked like a small, well worn tree stump. She then brought out another piece of wood that looked like part of a tree limb with bark on it. She then added water to both pieces of wood and started grinding them together. It produced a fragrant, yellow paste. I put this on my face and there was an instant coolness. As it dried it felt so soothing and refreshing, not at all like a clay mask or any other facial mask I have ever used. The scent became more floral and familiar as it dried and I suddenly realized it was sandalwood. I was wearing a sandalwood paste. I wore it for the rest of my visit and then brushed it off before I left. My skin felt so smooth and I had the lovely scent of sandalwood all around me the rest of the day. I want to make this beauty treatment my own.

She made us a lunch. We had the most flavorful spring rolls filled with curried chicken breast, vegetables and spices of cumin and turmeric. She made a simple salad and an omelette that we shared. We chatted while her three boys and August ran around, tumbled and played. They were filled with energy after their lunches. I told her she must share her recipe for the spring rolls with me. I need something new and delicious on my plates.

Our late morning visit had now turned into an early evening tea and it was time for goodbyes. August dislikes goodbyes to the point of becoming rude and cranky rather than saying goodbye. She pouted and whined a little before crying and throwing a tiny tantrum. Just as we opened the door she reached for her new friends with arms open and gave each of them a tight hug. As we walked away August had a smile on her face and I was happily inspired. We were invited to come back next week. 

Mommy Eyes

Today I opened up my art supply bin, dragged out the watercolor paper, the only four water colors that had not dried out, it's a five year old box of 12, and all my old brushes. I thought if August saw me painting, she would start painting. She hasn't been fond of finger painting.

August enjoyed dipping the brushes into the water and into the paints. She mixed the colors together, and was painting. I was thrilled when I saw what she was creating. So much in fact, I couldn't concentrate on my own project. Before she was even done I already decided I was framing this one. She seemed to love painting with brushes and it will make it easier for me to get back into it. First, we need more paint.