She draws super colorful pictures filled to the edges with
and girls in long, striped dresses with long, loopy hair.
She even draws pictures of our family with Jeff in his wheelchair.
She draws them at school and brings them home in her canvas bag. She draws them at home on her little pink princess table that sits in our living room.
Her pictures are plastered everywhere on the walls in our home. Here's some samples:
I love her artwork. It makes me smile every time I see her imagination come to life on a piece of paper. And I like to watch her focus on her drawings. Watch as her concentration deepens, her brow furrows, and her hands move swiftly and magically over the paper.
She draws and draws and draws. Sometimes to the point where her artwork seems to reproduce at the rate of rabbits.
So every so often, when her room (or any room in our house) becomes overrun with princesses and ponies and rainbows and castles, it's time for Momma to do the dirty work . . .
PURGING OF THE EXCESS ARTWORK.
I once saw this quote on Pinterest, and I've adopted it as my motto when I'm doing said dirty work:
However, my clandestine operations don't always go as planned.
A couple weeks ago, Evie and I were in the kitchen, and as I was heating up a cup of water for Jeff's tea, Evie opened up the recycle bin in the kitchen to throw something away, and I heard a little gasp followed by stern words:
"SOMEONE THREW AWAY MY DRAWINGS!"
I was reaching into the microwave when the accusation flew, so luckily she couldn't see my eyes widen in horror. On purge days, I'm usually better about covering up my work, but that day my smuggling skills were lacking. And I was caught red-handed.
Detective Evie continued her accusation with a sophisticated process of elimination.
"Nana loves my drawings, so she would never throw them away. And Daddy can't move his arms, so he didn't throw them away either."
I could feel her green-eyed stare searing into the back of my head.
I retrieved the cup from the microwave and turned slowly to face her. I was met with an I'm waiting! glare. It was confession time, and it sounded something like this.
"I tidied up your room today, and there was a bunch of trash I gathered. And I guess some of your good artwork got mixed in."
Miraculously my half-truth seemed to work.
"Yeah," she agreed nodding her head and shrugging her shoulders. "It probably got mixed in by accident,"
I'm not sure if she actually believed me or was just being nice. She reached confidently into the recycle bin and retrieved her beloved artwork all the while reiterating AGAIN how Nana wouldn't and Daddy couldn't do such a thing. She turned and walked off clutching her rescued masterpieces which are now likely so deeply hidden I'll need a treasure map to find them.
So it seems I was let off the hook - though just barely. Clearly both Nana and Daddy have much stronger alibis than me.
Later that night I recounted the events for Jeff, and he just smiled at his untarnished reputation. He, out of all the suspects, has a rock-solid defense. His inability to physically pick up the papers and deposit them in the trash has sealed his acquittal and thus spared him the wrath of Le Artiste.
But truth be told, I've seen a few "recycled" masterpieces with mysterious tire tracks blazed across them. And I bet if one of those pictures landed in the hands of our detective, she would quickly match them up to a certain wheelchair that resides in our house.
If I were him, I'd steer clear of the artwork from now on.
I have a feeling Detective Evie wouldn't let him off the hook again so easily.
Le Artiste (aka Detective Evie)