Seriously. I walk the aisles of a craft store like I'm in a market in Istanbul, thinking things like, I'm sure this would be cool if I had a clue what to do with it and The things I could do if I had any fine motor skills at all and When g*d was passing out brains I thought s/he said trains and said 'I'd like a slow one, please.'
I was there to gather supplies for the Artist Trading Card class I'm co-facilitating for our homeschooling group. I know, the irony.
(Wait, is that irony? And if not, why not? And if so, yay for me!)
But I figure, if I want to learn how to do something intense and complicated like art, who better to inspire me than a roomful of children? I look at a mountain of ATC materials and am paralyzed with fear. Children look at a mountain of ATC materials and get right down to arting.
See? Awesome. Kids rock.
And so does their art.
As we wandered the aisles of the
foreign country craft store, Jonathan found a few things he wanted. One was glow-in-the-dark clay.
He was eager to test it out when we got home.
So he formed a ball and placed it in our lamp.
I've titled this, Jonathan ponders the meaning of existentialism and the role of glow-in-the-dark clay in modern culture.
It was time to test out the glow capabilities, or glow-abilities as I like to call it. (Yes, I made that up just now.) And this is where I became slightly less than helpful. We went into the bathroom and turned off the light and shut the door.
"It glows! Woohoo, it glows! Take a picture!" Jonathan exclaimed.
Ok, says me.
"MOM!?! TURN OFF THE FLASH!"
Oh, ok. Sorry. I don't understand the finer workings of my camera. You know, like how to turn off the flash.
"It would've been brighter if you'd hurried up."
It's culture shock, son. I'm still recovering from that visit to the craft store. I'll need some time to acclimate.