After supper last night, Reid and I did some finner painteem pictures for Grandmama who is in the hospital. Our yellow is almost gone, no surprise there, I guess. There is still lots of black which I tend not to give her since her whole page ends up looking like the art-therapy project of a depressed teen. I’m not ready for her to be a Goth yet.
Reid was painting swirls and asking for particular colours to be put in certain places on her page when she decided to make hand prints on the paper. To prepare herself, she rubbed her hands together and then sort of lathered and squeezed her interlaced fingers. This action caused:
* a slurping sort of sound;
* Reid to grin; and
* Reid to say, “Squisheem, Mama!”
Reid really experiences life with her whole being. I’ll be a bit sad when she gets her tongue around “ing” sounds but am glad I have her to remind me of the fun of touching finger paints.