Just after I finished writing that little drama about all the grrrr-ing and the argggg-ing over breakfast this morning, EM came home from school with a backpack full of this past year's notebooks, workbooks, and art projects. On the very last page of the very last notebook, I found this little drawing:Has she not captured my very essence? The very pith and marrow of my soul?
On the one hand, I feel terrible that she was so vexed by my rage this morning she felt the need to draw a picture about it. On the other hand, I'm utterly delighted that she felt the need to draw a picture because she was so vexed by my rage this morning.
I just found out a few days ago that I finally succeeded in getting her into art classes at the Kulturskole starting in the Fall. I was sort of dreading the hassle of having to get her into the city once every damn week for a 2 hour class that she may or may not give a shit about. But having seen this, I'm more convinced than ever that it's the right thing to do by her. Drawing/art is clearly her preferred mode of expression. It's the one thing her teachers are always sure to rave about: "EM's doing fine in school, a delight to have in class, and her drawings are aMAzing!"
I can't wait to see where she'll go with it once she's got someone who can offer her a little technical support. Hands, for example. Let us hope that they tackle the fine art of hands early on in the program.