Fossiled

Have you ever had your kid bring home their latest art project, and they’re so excited they have to tell you as soon as they see you? No? Mooter is pretty creative. She has always loved art. This Summer, my plan is to treat her to an art museum – one of the few cultural exhibits Cleveland has – to give her an idea of different kinds of art. I have the feeling she’d appreciate it. Her younger sibling isn’t really into all that, but she tries. If her sister’s doing it, you’d better believe she’ll put forth the effort just to be seen as cool in her big sister’s eyes.

This week is Mooter’s last in both the first grade, and in private school. While there are so many things about the school I will miss (the religion, the discipline, the uniforms), my pockets are just moments away from breathing a sigh of relief. Since she is coming close to the finish line to another academic year, the curriculum has gone from the three R’s – reading, writing, (a)rithmetic… never understood how they were the three R’s when only one of the words starts with an actual ‘R’, but whatever – to a new type of ‘R’. Relaxation. This means I’m getting more art project sent home than ever before. My closet space is dying. I don’t think Rubbermaid makes containers big enough for the crap lovely pieces of art we’ve collected over the year, and now we have an additional week of more crap samples of creative expression. Joy.

These two works were actually on display at her school’s art exhibit.





And then, there’s this one:



You may not be able to see the detail in this homemade fossil, so I inverted him for a better look:



It’s supposed to be a teddy bear. It wasn’t until inverting that she grew to appreciate what she told me should have been a sea turtle because those molds were so much cooler and she changed her mind after doing this one because you couldn’t really see it and then it looked like a baby or something for babies that only babies would like and she wanted to do what the cool kids had done and did I know her friends at school call her Bubbles because she looks just like that particular PowerPuff Girl?

Then (oh, yes, it gets better) the fossil was all she could talk about over the weekend. Can she paint the fossil? Can she play with the fossil? Did I know the fossil could come out of the cup it was molded in? Did I know that if I took out the fossil and rolled it on the ground it would go round and round and round and not fall? And that her sister couldn’t play with it because it would break and her teacher told her it would break easy even though it’s a fossil and fossils are hard and that little babies like her sister shouldn’t play with them because then they would break and that would make her very angry? And can she paint the fossil now? How about now? Maybe now? In a little bit, like, now? Maybe when Booger is asleep? Well, when is she going to sleep? Can you make her go to sleep? Is she sleepy now? How about now? How about she just take out the paints to get ready for when Booger falls asleep so she won’t waste any time painting the fossil?

So much talk of a fossil, you can understand why she’s dreaming of them.

And then telling me about it.

Internet. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like for a seven-year-old to tell you a story, or explain a dream, may I trouble your life for five minutes?



And, no, this is not time you can get back. I guess I should have told you that first. My bad.

My mother told me I used to sound like this when I told her stories as a kid.

I am so, so, so sorry.