Of Art and Sports

Sis loves arts and crafts. Almost nothing makes her happier that markers, crayons, paints, paper, glue, string, and scissors. She makes narrative drawings, telling us or the air the stories as she goes. There are characters--Mr. Shuke and Mr. Rock (we think that last one is from Wonder Pets, the first one eludes us)--and these are circular figures complete with eyes, arms, legs, hands, toes (specifically not just feet), sometimes clothes, hair, teeth, and belly buttons. She's also done drawings of the family, usually leaving Buddy out of the picture, with me as a big blob, her as a flying nun-type blob, and Mama as a little blob on the side. There is even carpet in the that picture. Other pictures have grass or clouds or birds.

And we rave about these artworks--they really are marvelous (I'll see if I can upload one)--"what wonderful lines!" "I like the colors you chose," and "You must have been excited when you drew that shape." Not "what is that?" but instead "tell me what's going on in this picture?" Never "that looks like a . . . " but "what a wonderful squiggly line." There aren't examples to follow--I loathe step-by-step conformist art projects (like at the library's storytime)--only her incredible imagination and creativity.

Until, recently, she has been asking us, more and more, to draw for her--usually images from her favorite t.v. shows. I suggest she try, and she laments that she "only draws squiggly lines." I try to tell her that her lines, her art, are great, but it's not what she wants sometimes. She wants the "real thing." Oddly, she'll settle for my loosely translated renditions of Dora and Diego and is perfectly content (I won't say "I'm not an artist"--I can't stand that refrain in adults, especially around kids--it's so defeatist, self-denigrating, just like "I can't sing" or "I can't cook" or "I can't play ball." Take it out of your vocabulary, please. For the children.) Then she "writes their names" and labels the different body parts, like in all those books for toddlers.

Yesterday, we did a little of everything--I drew Dora and Diego and she labeled them, but, then, trying to break away from that activity, I pulled out scissors, glue, and tissue paper and we collaged. Only, we collaged together making one work of art, each gluing on different colors and shapes. It was just what art should be at this age--creative and fun.

While we worked, Buddy played baseball. Mama was pitcher, he was batter. Though, sometimes, he wanted just to catch so he would don his glove and be . . . "glover." Makes sense, right? Luckily, there's velcro on that glove because neither the pitches nor the catches are spot on. His own throws, though, are long and strong. He's definitely quite an arm (he kicks a mean ball, too, but that's another sport).

For Buddy, baseball is social, which is why he still won't play with his tee-ball set. This is just as well because he took it apart and the ring that holds the whole thing together is not surprisingly missing. He prefers that someone sit and pitch to him, saying "batter up" and such. He still needs to put on his shirt with the "New York Yankees symbol" (when did he learn "symbol"? I'm so proud.) and his matching hat; very sweet. He's also learning the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" (and do you know the origins of that 1908 song? It's all about a girl obsessed with the game who gets her beau to take her. Who knew?). The only challenge with the whole baseball obsession--he'll even watch old games on YES network (that's Yankees tv) because he doesn't know better--besides trying to throw it so he can hit or catch it, is that Sis doesn't want to play. She wants to draw. With me or Mama. At the exact same time that Bud wants to play baseball. With me or Mama. Fine for weekends, really hard on weekdays. So, we've taken to setting timers, practically, five minutes here, five pitches there, etc. Not ideal.

But it has an up-side, which I'm ashamed to admit: when there are things he doesn't want to do--like brush teeth or put on clothes--we invoke baseball players, as in "baseball players brush their teeth" or "baseball players always wear clothes." He'll immediately comply.

Homerun!

(Luckily, Sis doesn't need what-artists-do as an enticement. Then what would we shout as encouragement, "Turner Prize? Biennial?" I can't imagine.)