Today we took down our beautiful Christmas Tree. As every kid knows, there’s nothing more bleak than taking down and wrapping up all those ornaments and sticking them in the basement while your tree gets dragged to the curb.
Flo threw her arms around the tree one last time before we put it out and watched from the living room window, tears streaming down her face, as we stuck the tree in the snow. We tried to make it jaunty, and said he was going to a special forest but that didn’t really help.
“I’m sure I can NOT say goodbye!” she waved, bawling. Flo has a flair for the dramatic, and a way with language that feels like old time cinema. I felt bad for her (but am secretly loving our tidy corner all swept and clean heehee.)
She retreated to the kitchen to draw – and what happened next can only be described as a full on Artist Meltdown. I am not being condescending here. Seriously, I HATE when I’m trying to draw something and everything looks bad and feels worse. It’s just so interesting to see our 4 year old acting out the tantrum that goes on daily in my own head.
She didn’t want me to see what she was drawing, so I left her to it.
While playing with Lenny in the next room I checked in “How’s the drawing coming?” “Leave me alone please…” she called back, “I’m having a lot of trouble! Drawing is NOT my friend! I’ll NEVER draw ANYTHING right!” Rip, rip, crumple crumple.
In the kitchen I found a table scattered with (totally awesome) half-sketches and drawings of Flo, crying. She said she was trying to draw herself crying about the tree and couldn’t get it right.
I salvaged 21 of the sketches and went through each one, asking why she didn’t like them. Here’s what she explained: