RR draws. She’s prolific and focused and, well, our entire home is covered in sheets of colorful people parading across paper edges, stretching to fill the borders, and tiptoeing out onto tables and walls. After the first set of markers ran dry, we bought a new set (washable this time), and then another set. She doesn’t fuss when it’s time for new ones, just switches to her battered, broken crayons or dull colored pencils. The people march again, no matter the media.
Flipping through her notebooks, there are Elsas upon Elsas, one after another. They clearly explain why the blue markers, blue pencils, and blue crayons are flattened and shriveled. On the walls, we catch her drawing us, a family of 3, in many multiples. On a good day she doesn’t use ballpoint. I’ve tried to hide them, but I love to do the crossword in ink and, well, there you have it.
Lately there are fairies showing up everywhere. Sprouting like mushrooms from the cracks of the sofa and under the bed. I slip fairy wings out of her nap bag at school and find pixie dust stars shining around the heads and hands of happy, smiling characters. Because they nearly always are. Happy. Smiling.
Sometimes I find a touching drawing of my wife and I sleeping, RR tucked next to us, the dog sleeping on the floor nearby. Other times I wonder what exactly was going through her mind. I mean, we are nearly buried under a heaving mountain of cheery art and then there will be a little…gem…a glimpse into RR’s other side. So here you are, from my home to yours, a teeny bit of our daughter: