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Art

Behold, My Son: The Poop Artist

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My first brush with fame was in kindergarten when my drawing of a wobbly-looking menorah was published in our local newspaper, the Kansas City Star. Mine was the token Jewish option of the four children’s holiday drawings. But, hey, out of all the entrees featuring misshapen menorahs and blocky dreidels, mine was the chosen one.

I’ve always loved making art. Thread, metal, glass, plastic, cloth–any material I can create with is an avenue I’ll explore. Pre-cell phones and iPads, my mom took crayons and paper with us to restaurants and on airplanes. I spent nearly every class doodling on my notebooks. I even went to art school. Metal-smithing was certainly not the most lucrative major, but the rush I got when my flickering torch melted a piece of solder into a pool of silver zipping up a seam was irreplaceable.

For all intents and purposes, my art degree was a ridiculous venture–a waste of time and money. I still make things because I like to, because I have to, but I am not a professional artist. With two small children, I don’t even know if I dare call myself an artist anymore; the last creative thing I made was an ‘A’ out of peas.

Although I haven’t pursued a career in art, it’s still very important to me. I knew that when I had children, I would be a Crafty Mom. As soon as my older son, Noah, could hold a crayon, we started making art together. First, like all children, he just scribbled on the paper. As he’s gotten older, he’s experimented with chalk, paint, construction paper and string. Before we moved a few months ago, our apartment walls were covered with his creations.

Drawing has been a great way for Noah to express and explore his intense interests. First, he drew letters and numbers repeatedly. Then it was space. For a year or so, he drew the solar system on every piece of paper, chalkboard or iPad he could find. Lately, he’s been branching out to include rockets and weather patterns–if it exists in nature or space, he’ll draw it.

Because he’s been such a focused drawer and avid learner, I often forget that he’s still just a typical 5-year-old. But he reminded me of that when he came home from school with this lovely drawing he did during free time. Behold, my son: the (poop) artist.

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I guess the money we were saving for MIT can be diverted to art school–he’s obviously very talented.

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