This might be the number one request I get from my four year old, right after, “Can you make my milk warmer?” and “Can I watch some shows?” (Sometimes she mumbles, “Bitch” after but she smiles when she says it and keeps her voice low so it’s hard to prove).
“Mommy will you colour with me?” has its own set of rules.
For starters, I wish she would just say what she really wants which is, “Mommy, will you sit next to me, never look at my masterpiece, don’t speak as that is distracting and do not touch my marker collection. In fact, can you just sit there and drink your tea so I’m not alone? Like when I said ‘colour with me’ I really am looking for bums in seats, nothing more.”
I happily sit next to Chloe, tea in hand and I pick up a marker and review the piece of wrinkled up, torn paper I have been assigned to colour on, recognizing she has already attempted to colour in the camel in desert outline but has become bored with the theme and has chucked her colouring-seconds to the tea drinking granny occupying the seat next to her.
“Don’t use the red one because I have to save it for my picture and I don’t want you using all the ink.”
I carefully replace the cap on the red marker and dig through the bucket for a less popular colour like brown or grey.
“Don’t press hard like the JK’s in my class or you’ll ruin the marker.”
I gently stroke the marker across the page. Sometimes it makes contact, others, the whisper of the small piece of lint on the tip leaves an almost discernible stroke.
“You’re pressing too hard,” and the marker is torn from my frail hands.
“Are you using orange? I need it so, put it down please.” (At least she said ‘please’)
Down it goes. I want to spike it on the floor but I’m 39 and I’m better than that.
“If you want to do something purple, just make a dot in the middle and a line to the end so I’ll know that was supposed to be purple, then you don’t waste any of my marker ink.”
My desert camel has a purple spot and several arrows pointing in any number of angles, promising the art world, I meant to colour this area purple, I just wasn’t allowed.
“Mom, when you colour, you shake the whole table.”
I begin to become very aware of my body, my posture and my selfish need for elbows.
“Why don’t you just use a pencil? Here’s a sharpener so you won’t run out.”
My camel picture is heavy on the grey with intermittent purple dots and a series of arrows. The grey glints off the page and I get smudges on my palms.
“Can you move to the floor? You are shaking this whole table.”
I hate colouring.
