Getting Creative

Master five has discovered the wonderful world of creation.

After many fruitless attempts at getting him to put crayon to paper, thanks to an arty friend at kindy, obsessed with Ben 10, Cade’s curiosity was finally aroused.

When my first piece came home, albeit a Ben 10 watch, I was stoked.

Before, when I’d get Cade set up, he’d hand the crayon back with a “Mummy do it” – something I put down to laziness or lack of interest.

But a doctor told me he displayed traits of a perfectionist - preferring others to do tasks for him and not making an attempt until he’d mastered it. I remembered this theory as picture after picture came home with surprising detail for a novice.

After my 20^th Ben 10 watch I suggested he try something different. That afternoon a landscape came home, followed by another, then another. Each became more detailed, eventually incorporating granddad on his tractor and even daddy surfing the crest of a wave.

Then began the family paintings: daddy in blue, mummy in pink – slightly shorter, Cadeyn in blue and then Jai and Jayla – smaller still – and in their respective colours of course. Trixie the cat also featured.

Our stomachs blew up to the size of balloons and our arms were no longer sprouting from our heads. Heck, we even had five fingers attached to our ringaringa.

Then came the woodwork.

By then he’d made a new friend obsessed with making guns. I explained that guns weren’t very nice. “I know mum but it’s just pretend,” he explained before bringing home 10 more.

We made space in his room but after gun number 15 enough was enough.

After promising that was his last, the next day he proudly emerged with yet another. “Lovely,” I smiled through gritted teeth before lecturing him all the way home about there now being absolutely no more room. “Okay mum, this will be my last one, I promise.”

It seemed my son didn’t yet know the meaning of a promise.

Sneakily, I began “editing” his collection, removing the smaller ones from the bottom of the pile while he was at kindy.

But no sooner was he home when I heard an angry noise from his room: “Mum, where have my guns gone?!”

“Ah, some fell off and broke – I told you there were too many,” was my feeble reply.

“But where are they?” he was now close to tears.

“I had to put them in the bin Cade.”

“Show me them!”

Damn.

“They’re not broken!” he accused after I’d hesitantly picked them out.

“Oh wow, look at that!” I exclaimed before they were snatched from me and taken back to their original spot.

Luckily his time at kindergarten ended shortly after and the gun phase forgotten. By then he had 28 of the monstrosities and, two months later, I again tried “editing”.

Dusting his cabinet each week I eliminated two from the bottom of the pile - there are now only four left and, finger’s crossed, no one’s the wiser.