However, since we're not British, and we don't have a wardrobe, I can only guess at the quality of the other world that this piece of common furniture would take Gabe away to. There wouldn't be any Jesus lions or Ice Queens or talking animals or ancient mythological creatures as there would have been if he'd traveled via impressive antique furnishings. Instead, I imagine he would be sent to a not-quite-magical land filled with 19th century American balderdashical creatures that made appearances in P.T. Barnum's circuses: the Fiji Mermaid, the Bearded Lady, very small military "generals" and the like (If you're bored, you really should read up on Barnum. The guy was some kind of genius. Or possibly a sociopath. I'd start with wikipedia--because it's convenient for quickly surfing around to various tangential topics--but I found a few other fun sites, too: one at squidoo and another with some interesting quotes pulled from various interviews and letters. Actually, this imaginary world might not be THAT disappointing, now that I think about it. It would certainly be entertaining, if only on a train wreck level.).
Anyway, I'm not entirely sure what motivated Gabe to crawl into the cabinet (twice, once on each level, as shown in the pictures), but because I didn't think he was old enough to be voyaging off to foreign worlds, I didn't take the chance on closing the doors behind him. Maybe when he's older.
Breaking News! I'm an Idiot!
Yeah, so, Fingerpainting Fail: Revenge of the Failin (yes, that's a Transformers reference, though I haven't seen the movie and almost certainly won't because I don't like to be sad) just happened.
My method for typing out these posts is a bit varied. Sometimes I sit down while Gabe is napping and pound one out, sometimes I start on them in the evenings then come back and do a bit of touch up work before posting it the next morning (which is what I did with this one. Thus, when I said "yesterday," at the beginning, I actually meant Wednesday, but I didn't figure the timeline mattered THAT much to anyone who reads this). Then, I'll bop in here for a few minutes every once in awhile if Gabe is distracted enough with something else and Button isn't fussy.
This morning, Gabe decided that it was time, again, for some more fingerpainting. I should have said "No." I'm actually not too wishy washy when it comes to Gabe. Usually, if he wants something that isn't feasible, I'll put my foot down, listen to him cry for a minute, then find him something else to distract him. For some reason, though, when he started crying for fingerpaints, I caved.
But, I decided, this time would be different. First, I wouldn't set him loose with as much paint as his hands could hold. I found some bottles of paint (not the same stuff we used last time, since it's mostly gone now) and squeezed out three little dollops (red, blue, yellow) about the size of a reasonable serving of ketchup onto a plate--just enough to do some painting with but not enough to make a huge mess with, I thought. Then I put him in his painting shirt, set him in his high chair at the table so he couldn't wander around getting paint everywhere, and gave him a sheet of paper.
At first he gave me a curious look that said, "What the frick am I supposed to do with this puny amount of paint?" So I stuck a finger in and smeared it on the paper for him. "See," I said, "a little goes a long way." So he set to work.
And I came into the office, pulled up the blog, and worked on the post I started yesterday. Really, there wasn't much to work on. Last night, after I'd read over what I did, I saved instead of publishing because, well, it's a pretty short and kind of boring post. The IDEA of a land of Barnum misfits entered through our dining room toy cabinet sounded like a swell idea, but I hadn't really lived up to its potential, I didn't think (partly because I spent most of my time reading about Barnum and hardly any actually writing the blog--sorry!). So I saved it in the hopes that inspiration would hit overnight. I started reading over it again, looking for the inspiration that hadn't come in my sleep.
Two minutes passed and Gabe shouted, "More! Paint!" I looked into the dining room and saw him in there, his hands, the table in front of him, and his sheet of paper smeared with paint. I went in for a closer look (remember, I'm only about fifteen feet away from him this whole time, so I might not have been the most attentive, but I wouldn't say I was negligent, exactly). There was still plenty of paint smeared around the edges of the plate, so I said, "I think you need to work on the 'art' of your paintings a little more. Don't just smear the paint, work with it to create something special."
Was that a bit of a lofty concept for a two year old? I'm not sure.
Anyway, I turned around and came back into my office. I started reading again. I looked up after the first minute and saw him holding the plate up to his face.
"No tasting the paint," I said. "You learned last time that it's yucky." He put the plate down on the table.
Less than five minutes passed (so, yeah, this "project" of his only took less than ten minutes total, so it was a Fail even in terms of time killing). I looked up again, and this is what I saw:
Disaster. Even with just a few little spurts of paint, he'd managed to make the type of mess of himself that Pigpen would have been envious of.
As I undressed him for a bath, I said, "I think we're done fingerpainting until you're in kindergarten." Now let's just see if I have the fortitude to follow up on that threat.
My method for typing out these posts is a bit varied. Sometimes I sit down while Gabe is napping and pound one out, sometimes I start on them in the evenings then come back and do a bit of touch up work before posting it the next morning (which is what I did with this one. Thus, when I said "yesterday," at the beginning, I actually meant Wednesday, but I didn't figure the timeline mattered THAT much to anyone who reads this). Then, I'll bop in here for a few minutes every once in awhile if Gabe is distracted enough with something else and Button isn't fussy.
This morning, Gabe decided that it was time, again, for some more fingerpainting. I should have said "No." I'm actually not too wishy washy when it comes to Gabe. Usually, if he wants something that isn't feasible, I'll put my foot down, listen to him cry for a minute, then find him something else to distract him. For some reason, though, when he started crying for fingerpaints, I caved.
But, I decided, this time would be different. First, I wouldn't set him loose with as much paint as his hands could hold. I found some bottles of paint (not the same stuff we used last time, since it's mostly gone now) and squeezed out three little dollops (red, blue, yellow) about the size of a reasonable serving of ketchup onto a plate--just enough to do some painting with but not enough to make a huge mess with, I thought. Then I put him in his painting shirt, set him in his high chair at the table so he couldn't wander around getting paint everywhere, and gave him a sheet of paper.
At first he gave me a curious look that said, "What the frick am I supposed to do with this puny amount of paint?" So I stuck a finger in and smeared it on the paper for him. "See," I said, "a little goes a long way." So he set to work.
And I came into the office, pulled up the blog, and worked on the post I started yesterday. Really, there wasn't much to work on. Last night, after I'd read over what I did, I saved instead of publishing because, well, it's a pretty short and kind of boring post. The IDEA of a land of Barnum misfits entered through our dining room toy cabinet sounded like a swell idea, but I hadn't really lived up to its potential, I didn't think (partly because I spent most of my time reading about Barnum and hardly any actually writing the blog--sorry!). So I saved it in the hopes that inspiration would hit overnight. I started reading over it again, looking for the inspiration that hadn't come in my sleep.
Two minutes passed and Gabe shouted, "More! Paint!" I looked into the dining room and saw him in there, his hands, the table in front of him, and his sheet of paper smeared with paint. I went in for a closer look (remember, I'm only about fifteen feet away from him this whole time, so I might not have been the most attentive, but I wouldn't say I was negligent, exactly). There was still plenty of paint smeared around the edges of the plate, so I said, "I think you need to work on the 'art' of your paintings a little more. Don't just smear the paint, work with it to create something special."
Was that a bit of a lofty concept for a two year old? I'm not sure.
Anyway, I turned around and came back into my office. I started reading again. I looked up after the first minute and saw him holding the plate up to his face.
"No tasting the paint," I said. "You learned last time that it's yucky." He put the plate down on the table.
Less than five minutes passed (so, yeah, this "project" of his only took less than ten minutes total, so it was a Fail even in terms of time killing). I looked up again, and this is what I saw:
Disaster. Even with just a few little spurts of paint, he'd managed to make the type of mess of himself that Pigpen would have been envious of.
As I undressed him for a bath, I said, "I think we're done fingerpainting until you're in kindergarten." Now let's just see if I have the fortitude to follow up on that threat.
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