Crocodile Art

My daughter has come downstairs the last two mornings in a row asking if she could do iPad time.   I’ve been asleep both mornings so I grumbled something to her groggily saying to go do some work with the paper and art supplies she has in the breakfast room.    Both mornings, somewhat surprisingly, she’s gone off immediately without complaining and returned later with something to show me. 

Two days ago she had made a ‘baby’ out of white paper.   She’d cut some pieces out for the body, legs and arms and had taped them all together.   Then she’d made one more piece of the head and taped that on top after drawing a face.   It was definitely baby-like and there were even fingers on one of the hands (she ran out of time for the other hand she said).  

This morning she came back with another piece of art.   And this is what it looked like:

She told me that colored part was the tub.   It’s green but it’s close to blue enough for her as her colors aren’t true anymore.   She said the other part was a crocodile.   She then said that it was the crocodile we had in the drawer of bath toys—you know, the one with the wheels like I made on my crocodile here.   

And I did know what crocodile she was talking about.   I went to go get him.   Here’s how close she got using her memory and what she can feel for reference:  

In addition to the likeness, she is also becoming adept with tape.   She cut the crocodile parts out, glue sticked some and then taped others.   But the most impressive thing is the tape ball structure behind the crocodile that’s holding him firmly in place at a ninety degree angle.   

The Big Boy Update:  There was a new sign being erected on a building on our way to school.   My son wanted to know what ‘Emerge’ and ‘Ortho’ meant.   After I explained the meaning of the words he said, “so does that mean your bones are coming out?”

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:   My daughter showed me an issue we had with a button on our leather ottoman.   I said oh dear, it was ripping and we needed to not jump on the ottoman anymore.    She grumbled at the new mandate and said in a melancholy tone to my mother who was visiting, “I wish I’d never shown mom that hole.”