My husband and I had a grown-up evening out last night while his parents watched our kids. When we came home, the kids were in bed and this was on the refrigerator.
My daughter is finally getting to the age where she can draw things that actually resemble humans. But as someone who grew up as a card-carrying member of the Drawing Enthusiasts Club, I’m hyper tuned in to what she draws and how.
So, right after I squealed with delight at how edible this is in a way that makes me want to cram it into a sugar-coated candied fig and devour it so that it resides deep in my soul forever, the very next thing I did was notice this. Um . . . my (ahem) unit.
Perhaps it’s a tail. Didn’t we all have tails at one point? Or — dear God no! — perhaps my daughter believes me to be transgendered. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
I promise I haven’t given her a reason to believe this. I don’t have to wax a mustache, not even a stray chin hair (yet). And I think I look pretty damn decent in a dress. I think I still own one anyway. Does a bathrobe count?
But then I thought, Relax! This happens all the time when you draw stick people. It’s a textbook stick people affliction. Certainly the risk is always there when you don’t pay attention to where your lines connect. Common rookie mistake. Some of my best friends drew their stick people this way and still got accepted into college. No big deal.
But then I noticed that my son appears to have either a really bad comb-over or is wearing a toupee. In fact, he has great hair — like thick, beautiful, long California surfer dude hair. So I found this to be grossly inaccurate. Although, I applaud her that the rendering of my husband’s hair is spot-on.
Disturbingly, my daughter looks to have a spider embedded in her bangs. You probably wouldn’t have noticed this had I not pointed it out. Or you probably wouldn’t have noticed this had you never experienced having a spider embedded in your bangs. Because I have. (Read here.)
Why is my daughter the only one with teeth? I asked her this today and she couldn’t explain it. I’ll let her mull it over a few days, give her some time to notice that my teeth are remarkably straight and white, and then I’ll request a meeting to discuss it further.
All of this reminds me of my own childhood drawings that I need to lug out of that old box from our garage. From there, I’ll have to dig through a few hundred high school art class drawings that are only bad in an amateur way and not bad in a cute way, though thankfully not bad in a delusional way. And, after that, I’ll hopefully find the beat-up manila envelope labeled Angie’s Preschool Drawings that my parents once left on my doorstep in the middle of the night (seconds before their tires squealed away).
I bet there are some prize-worthy nuggets in there. I bet there are some I drew of people. I bet there are some I drew of my family. I bet my mom looks like a woman. I bet I’ll put this drawing to shame. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.