It's a Sensory Thing

I had this great post half written about my sensory thing (twisting my hair), when my fingers must have brushed exactly the wrong combination and POOF! the whole thing disappeared into the ether.

Grrr...

But my thoughts were prompted by this little half-hour of craziness last Thursday afternoon:

Tesla's been fascinated with a little birdhouse her Papa built. It's been sitting in the garage ever since we moved here a year ago, but just last week Tesla finally brought it in and insisted that we paint it.

So out came my good acrylic paints--the tempura ones were toast, and I didn't have the money to go buy more cheapo paints. (Besides, Papa's birdhouse deserves quality paint, doesn't it?) We grabbed this cute paint smock given to me by my dear friend Claire, and hit the backyard for some painting-crafty fun.

It started out well enough, as you can see. (We allow Tesla's summer backyard wardrobe to be rather casual, but she did have panties on.)

Then we had to let the birdhouse dry before we went at the roof. This is where the trouble began.

But I want to warn you: some of you will find the following photos very disturbing. If you are obsessed with tidiness, you may not want to continue.

That said...

First Tesla decided to be a 'tiger'.


But that soon became boring, so she went directly to her face and arm, declaring herself to be a 'polar bear'.

"Polar bears are white!"


Actually, the paint bottle said 'Antique White', so maybe she was an old polar bear. But I know how useless it is to make this sort of point to her. I decided I'd better cut off the face painting, instead.

No arguments there; her other leg needed painting, so that was just fine with her. This time she went for the full monty.

Now you may be wondering what I, the adult in the situation, was thinking to allow my child to cover herself in acrylic paint. I mean, at least Shirley Bassey got PAID to cover herself in goo and she nearly died of the adventure.

Well, acrylic paint in these doses probably won't kill anyone. And my girl has an absolute need to go whole hog when she's painting; since she could hold a brush her favorite canvas has been herself. So I was just indulging her sensory needs: she has to feel the whole experience, not just a taste. Moderation isn't in her vocabulary yet.

But while I was was congratulating myself for allowing this sensory exploration, I began to think about the implications of what I was teaching her. After all, she'll be in preschool next year with a new teacher, and painting one's self from head to foot isn't as cute as it might be with her special ed teacher. I began to tap my foot impatiently. Now what would I do? I checked the bird house. Still wet. Sigh. Oh well...I needed a distraction. Reasoning was not an option.

So out came the garden hose and an old washcloth. Yes....

I would love to show the aftermath, but the photographer and the subject were quite soggy (and a little bit grouchy, too) in the aftermath, so no pics.

(And the photographer painted the roof a cheery red. More pics on that later.)

In Schmolland, heaven forbid that we find a drop of liquid on our shirts, but do let us bathe ourselves with any kind of goop and we'll be just fine.