Because Sometimes Girls Have Cooties...Real Or Imagined

Henry loves his little sister. Sometimes he even dotes on her. When people try to approach her, his first reaction is to stand in front of her and tell the person (often his own grandparents or a neighbor) "She is MY Reesie. Not yours." Yes, most of the time, this is what the interaction looks like between the two of them.

But other times, this is what the end result of an interaction between the two of them looks like.


Yes. Tears. On my kitchen floor.


For some reason, lately, Henry has mandated a three feet dining distance between him and his baby sister while he eats. The rules, according to him, are quite simple. Keep Reesie away from him and the wailing and gnashing of teeth (by him) will be kept at a minimum. Notice how he keeps a watchful eye on his sister as he eats his ham.


He's obviously afraid that his sister is the carrier of cooties. We've tried to talk with him, reason with him about it. He's hearing none of it. To him, girl cooties are a real and viable threat.

Here, Henry contemplates all the horrible things Reese could do to him and his food should she breach the three foot parameter.


Here Reese struggles with mixed emotions such as, "Why does my brother reject me so?" Also, "What is up with my hair?"


Henry is determined to not make eye contact in any way.


Very determined.


Okay, okay. We get it. You don't want her looking at you.


Reese just looks innocently at her older brother. See that look of adoration? Let's see that from another angle.

Oh my. It seems that Reesie DOES have some sort of a cootie. She directing those cootie beams right in Henry's direction.


See how she stares him down even more? Notice the firm grip on her eating apparatus. She's going in for the "cootie kill". (Seriously. What is up with her hair?)

Oh, Henry. You gave it a good fight.

But your sister has cooties, and hair gel on her side.

Artsy

The Artist (Henry) starts his creation with his preferred canvas, scrap sheets 24x36 drawings from Daddy's past projects at work.


Here, the Artist prepares for his upcoming commission by ridding himself of restrictive clothing as it hampers his creative energy. Next, he engages in a ritualistic series of stretches and crouches to get momentum flowing through his body.


Let the art show begin. The Artist opts for the lesser-known "hand painting" technique as opposed to the much over celebrated "finger painting" one. There was a time the Artist only worked in finger paints, but he's since moved on to what will some day be known as the "hand phase" of his brilliant career. Notice the skilled application of palm-on-paper movements. This can take up to minutes to master.


The Artist takes a short break to put on a mini live performance art piece titled Look How My Hand is Blue, Mom. As a mother and also a lover of art, I have never seen anything quite this inspired.


Never content, the Artist now demonstrates a stunning amount of control and skill with his color palette as he now shows me It's Green Too. Truly, there are no words.


Always the pioneer, the Artist now puts down his claim in the lesser recognized world of foot painting. Notice the broad strokes in yellow his right foot makes as if to say, yellow stands alone. The Artist delicately captures the solitary loneliness of yellow. The left foot demonstrates the beauty of cooperation in color, symbolizing the Artist's views on society's multi-cultural diversity and unity. Together these stark differences both in color and direction compliment the free forms the Artist has created.


It was around this point that the Artist turned to me an expressed his sorrow in having to confine his creativity to the paper canvas. His little hands reached out without asking permission and he began his work on the dishwasher. Puzzled, I continued to observe him. What was the Artist trying to say? Was this his commentary on a dislike of traditional roles within the household? Was he simply looking to find his favorite drinking cup? One can never be sure. The Artist's mind is a mystery.

Here's the final piece. The Artist called this We're Out of Orange. I asked the Artist what he felt as he created a piece with so much movement, so much emotion, so much messiness. The Artist looked at me, shrugged then said, "I done." Indeed his is.