Well, the eyes are better, but the drops remain necessary for a few more days. And I guess when you're 3, you can think of maybe a million or two things that you'd rather do that get stinging drops put into your eyes a couple times a day. So, although he was an angel about it yesterday, today is a different story.
I held him down while Mom did the deed, and afterwards, I praised him for being SO good and asked him what he wanted to do now. He turned those big eyes up to me and said softly.... "Paint!?"
It wasn't the first thing I had thought of doing at the end of a long rainy day, but it turned out to be just perfect. We went from neat paintbrush lines, to both of us elbow deep in colors mixed together in beautiful rainbow-streaked mud. But a more perfect mud cannot be found, I think. We made handprints, streaks and dots that turned out to be a lovely mirage of some sort, and then merrily cleaned up, leaving the sink a little worse for wear.
If only all of life's difficulties and tears could be erased with a little fingerpainting, the world would be a lovelier place.
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