Category: To Be Young

Anything You Want to Be

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“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leslie looked up from her coloring book in shock. “I can do that? Can I be more than one thing?”

Grandma smiled. “Of course dear. You can be anything you want to be.”

Wow. Leslie felt overwhelmed with the possibilities. She’d always wanted to fly, so part of the time she’d have to spend as a bird. But which one? Owls could stay up all night, but swans were so pretty, and hummingbirds could fly so fast.

Breathing underwater would be neat. She could explore the bottom of the ocean if she was a shark or a dolphin. If she was an octopus, she’d have arms. Lots of arms. Maybe she could gather up treasure from a sunken ship and buy her own house. She’d buy the yellow house next door, so she wouldn’t have to walk too far to go to bed after Mom made dinner.

Cheetahs could run fast. She’d win all the races if she was a cheetah. Being an elephant would be handy in a water fight. Penguins were always dressed up and didn’t have to wear anything scratchy.

Could she be more than one thing at a time? How often could she change? Did everyone else change into what they wanted when they grew up? Why didn’t they tell her sooner?

“So, what would you like to be?” Grandma asked again. “Have you thought of something?”

Leslie nodded. “A bird so I can fly and an octopus. I’m not sure what else. How many can I be?”

“A bird and an octopus?” Grandma laughed. “I’m afraid that you can’t be either one.”

“So what are my choices?” Leslie asked. “Are unicorns on the list? I think they can do magic, and that would be pretty neat.”

Grandma shook her head. “No animals. You’ll have to stay a person like the rest of us. I was asking what job you want to do when you grow up.”

Leslie stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Grandma, you asked me what I wanted to be, not what I wanted to do. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have spoken more clearly.” Grandma patted the empty space on the couch next to her. “Will you come sit by me and tell me what job you’d like to do when you grow up?”

Leslie climbed up on the couch and snuggled next to Grandma. She thought for a moment. “Maybe I could be a fairy, because they have magic and can fly. Or I could be a princess. I like dressing up and tea parties. Being a superhero would be nice. They have magic powers, too. But they can only do some magic things, like flying and seeing through walls. Fairies can do lots of magic things and can dress up in twirly dresses too, so I think being a fairy would be best.”

“You have to be born a fairy or a princess or a superhero. Just like you have to be born a fish to be a fish, or a bird to be a bird.” Grandma smoothed Leslie’s hair and smiled. “Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“I wanted to eat cake for breakfast this morning.” Leslie thought for a moment. “And I want to do magic and fly.”

“What would you do with magic?” Grandma asked.

“I would help people. And I would magic cake on everyone’s plate, even at breakfast. If someone was sick, I would magic them better. And if I wanted my dress to be a different color, I would change it. I could change it to rainbow colors if I wanted. And if someone wanted to be a unicorn, I would change them into a unicorn, but only for a day, because unicorns don’t have hands, so it’s hard for them to color in their coloring books.” Leslie remembered that she hadn’t finished coloring and slipped off the couch and started coloring again.

“If you want to help sick people, you could be a doctor or a nurse,” Grandma said.

“Maybe.” Leslie kept coloring.

“If you like to color, maybe you could be an artist.”

“Maybe.” Leslie didn’t look up.

“If you like pretty dresses, maybe you could be a seamstress or a fashion designer.”

“Maybe.” Leslie finished coloring and turned the page. It was a picture of a penguin, but her black crayon was lost. She could color it a different color, but she didn’t want to. Leslie closed the book.

“So what do you want to do when you grow up?”

“I think that when I grow up, I will be Leslie. I’ll figure the rest out later,” Leslie said. She put the lid on the crayons and stood up.

“I think that’s a great plan,” Grandma said. “After you put away your crayons, would you like to have a tea party?”

“Of course I would. All little girls named Leslie who live in this house love to have tea parties. Especially if there’s cake.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Grandma said.

There was cake at the tea party.

Caring for Your Imaginary Friend

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One morning, Greta was coloring. She had two hands and wanted to color on two papers at the same time. But the rule was only one paper at a time. Greta had an idea. “Mom, my friend Rose needs a paper.”

“Your friend Rose?” Mom looked around. “I think you’re the only one coloring here today, Greta. And you don’t have a friend named Rose.”

Greta stood up and stomped her foot. “I do so. She’s right here, and she wants a paper, too.”

Mom looked to Greta’s left and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. Rose, would you like a paper?”

Greta turned quickly to look to her left. There was no one there. Of course there wasn’t. She made up Rose to get another paper. She forgot for a moment. But then who was Mom talking to? Did it matter? Greta held her hand out. “I’ll give her the paper. She wants me to put it next to mine.”

“Well, if that’s what Rose wants. Here you go.” Mom handed Greta the paper.

Now Greta could do her two-handed coloring experiment. She set the papers next to each other and started coloring. She had a red crayon in one hand and a blue crayon in the other. It was a lot harder than she thought it would be.

Mom came closer to watch. “You’re coloring on Rose’s paper,” she said.

“She wants me to color on it,” Greta said. “She wants it to look just like mine. See?”

“But they’re different colors,” Mom pointed out.

“She likes red. I like blue. The drawings are the same.”

“Okay. Would you like a snack?”

Greta put the crayons down. The lines were starting to not look quite the same, and the papers kept scooting around. It would be good to take a break. “Rose wants a snack, too.”

“All right.”

Greta was thrilled when Mom set two little bowls of pretzels and apple slices on the table. She ate the first one, and then started on the second bowl. She ate the apple slices and some of the pretzels. “All done.” She took the bowls to the sink.

“Didn’t Rose like the pretzels?” Mom asked.

Greta shrugged. “I think she was too full. Maybe she had a big breakfast.”

She went back to her crayons, but she didn’t feel like coloring anymore. She took the papers to Mom to hang on the fridge. Mom hung them up high so everyone could see them.

“Wait, you need to put our names on them so everyone knows who made them.”

“I thought you drew them both.” Mom looked confused.

“But the red one is Rose’s picture. It should have her name on it, because it’s hers.”

“All right.” Mom wrote the names on the papers with a pencil. “Now go play.”

Greta went upstairs to play with her dolls, and forgot all about Rose until the next morning. At breakfast, she saw the pictures and remembered her pretend friend. She felt a little guilty for forgetting about Rose. She needed to be a better friend.

She remembered Rose for most of the rest of the day. She asked her what she wanted to do when there were choices. Then she interpreted for her, because Rose spoke too quietly for Mom to hear. It was pretty easy, though, because Rose always wanted the same thing that Greta did, because they were friends.

Greta asked for two of everything. Chairs, pillows, snacks. She couldn’t convince Mom to let them watch two cartoons though. Mom said they could both watch the same one and share it. Even stomping didn’t make Mom change her mind. Instead, she said, “Greta, if you keep stomping, Rose and I will watch this show together and you will go to your room.”

Great was horrified. “But Mom, she’s my friend. She doesn’t want to watch the show without me.”

“Then you’d better sit down and watch it. No more stomping.”

Greta sat down with a huff. Mom needed to make up her own friend and not try to take Greta’s. She turned to her left. “You wouldn’t watch the cartoon with Mom instead of me, right?”

Of course she wouldn’t. Greta smiled. Having a friend was nice. She told Rose all her favorite parts of the cartoon, and Rose listened. Rose was a great friend.

That afternoon, after eating two snacks, Greta was practicing her two-handed coloring again. Rose was admiring how well Greta could color. Greta wondered if Rose got lonely when Greta fell asleep. Greta had an idea. “Rose, I think you need a pet dragon.”

Art Projects with Children

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When you have small children at home and you are trying to practice your art, they will most likely want to practice with you. Unfortunately, small children have a way of breaking your focus and concentration and making terrible messes. So, it’s hard to practice art with them and really get much done at the same time.

So, how do you add children to your art practice? In some ways, this depends on the needs of the child. Small children require more attention, but they get bored with the project much more quickly. Older children might need a prompt and a little bit of instruction, but then you can both work side-by-side with few interruptions.

Some of the art my daughters have created when we paint and draw together

When children are small, it might be a good idea to have some inexpensive art materials on hand so they don’t destroy yours. It takes a while of reminding kids not to smash their brushes into the page before they remember. They also use a lot more paint than they need on their paintings. Especially if you happen to have their favorite color.

Cardboard boxes make nice art desks. A paper plate can be a palette. I dispense the paint so that they don’t use the whole tube. They paint happily for a few minutes. If they’re painting, I usually pause my project and paint with them. When the paint on the plate is gone, we’re done. It goes quickly.

With my older child who loves art, she likes a prompt of what she should draw. She also likes to look over my shoulder and ask questions about what I’m doing and why and how. If I’m sketching something, she may pull out her sketchbook and sketch the same thing and compare pictures.

The young artists in our home

After the painting or sketching or prompt following, or if they’ve completed a project on their own or at school, they all want to know the same thing. They show me their picture and ask, “What do you think?”

What they really want to know is, “Is this good? Am I an artist? Am I getting any better?”

I look at my own pictures and wonder the same thing.

I tell them, “That’s really good. You are a wonderful artist. I can tell you’re getting better.” Because it’s true. I think it’s true for me, too. I hope so.

I also find something they did well and point it out. They are happy and I’m happy. Sometimes they give me the picture and I hang it up on the fridge. Sometimes I put it away with the schoolwork I’ve saved. Sometimes they keep it or give it to a friend or a teacher.

There are times when they ask and I’m in the middle of a project and I say we’ll paint or sketch later. And sometimes it doesn’t happen later because something else comes up. It’s hard to change focus and pause sometimes. That’s okay, I think, as long as there are the other times where we do spend time together.

I’ve been nurtured and encouraged as an artist, and it’s good to pass that on to other artists. Who better than my children? The beginning of learning anything can be messy, but it can be fun too. As long as I make sure I have time where I can focus without being interrupted, it’s good to be able to paint and draw with my children, too.

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Grandpa Tells a Bug Story

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Grandpa was babysitting while Mom and Dad went Christmas shopping. Carrie went too. Grandpa wouldn’t admit it, but he was probably slightly relieved. Carrie didn’t like being left with babysitters, not even Grandpa.

Jim was working on a report for school. “I have to write all about bugs. It’s kind of interesting.” He flipped through the pages. “They’re everywhere, you know. And they can do good and bad things, just like people.”

“Like what?” Neil closed the book he was reading.

Lynn snorted. “Everyone knows that insects can spread disease and eat crops or they can work as pollinators. Some insects eat other, more harmful insects.”

Grandpa nodded. “Yes, I remember when bugs were invented.”

“Insects weren’t invented.” Lynn rolled her eyes. “That implies that they’re machines, and they’re not.”

“Shhhhh.” Neil scowled. “It’s a grandpa story, and I want to hear the rest of it.”

Jim put down his pencil. “But who could have invented bugs? There are so many types.”

“That’s because they were invented by a committee. No one could agree on anything, and so they tried to do everything. But in their rush to be the first to complete the project, there were a lot of errors.” Grandpa shook his head. “That’s why people talk about errors as bugs sometimes. Some of those insects were so buggy it was terrible.”

“They shouldn’t have released them if they weren’t made right,” Neil said. Jim nodded.

“Yes, that was yet another mistake. The air holes on the holding tanks were much too big. So they all got away. The later committees that formed to fix the mistakes came up with crazier and crazier solutions, until they all finally gave up and let the bugs run wild.” Grandpa wiggled his fingers and waved his arms like bugs running away.

“What were some of the solutions?” Jim asked.

“Mosquitoes are really susceptible to viruses, you know.” Grandpa frowned. “I think it might be due to an error in their programming. They used to also have a terrible craving for cheese. They would raid cheese stores in giant swarms, carrying off wheels of brie and Camembert and cheddar. They would leave viruses in the cheeses they didn’t take, like feta, which is crumbly and hard to carry away.”

“So what did they do?”

“They left a trap for the mosquitoes. A gigantic pile of spoiled cheese. The mosquitoes all got food poisoning and haven’t eaten a bite of cheese since. Unfortunately, it made them angry. Now they bite people, and anything else that moves. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop being angry. It must be another error in their programming. Mosquitoes are just made of errors.” Grandpa sighed an shook his head sadly.

Neil laughed. “Tell us another one.”

“Spiders. They came up with spiders to catch flies. Some of the committee members thought it was working too slowly and developed poisonous spiders. I don’t need to tell you what a mistake that was.” Grandpa paused and the children shook their heads. “Exactly. Some of those spiders are worse than the flies. One of the committee members was particularly impatient and started swallowing the flies herself.”

“Spiders don’t swallow flies,” Lynn said. “They digest them first by…”

“But what happened to the lady that swallowed the flies?” Neil interrupted. “Did she die?”

Grandpa shrugged. “Not right away. She swallowed a spider to catch the flies…”

Jim laughed. “I heard this story. She kept swallowing bigger and bigger things, like cats and dogs and horses.”

Lynn rolled her eyes again. “Ignoring the impossibility of swallowing something as large as a cat, let alone a horse, once they were swallowed, they wouldn’t be alive anymore. She wouldn’t need to swallow anything else. The digestive juices in a person’s stomach…”

“So did she die?” Neil interrupted.

“Of course she did,” Jim said.

“It was a shame. If only she’d been a little less impatient,” Grandpa said sadly. “Insects aren’t all bad, you know. I really admire bees. They pollinate flowers, have a well-organized society, and produce honey. They are tiny little marvels of efficiency.”

“But they sting people.” Neil frowned. “That’s not very nice.”

“Bees only sting people to protect themselves and their homes,” Lynn said.

“Not like wasps. Those are the mean ones. They can just sting people for fun.” Jim turned to Grandpa. “Which came first, wasps or bees?”

Grandpa tapped his chin and thought for a moment. “Ah yes. They were in development at about the same time. The wasp team cut corners to finish first. It’s too bad. If the developers were more careful, maybe the wasps would have turned out better-behaved.”

Lynn sighed loudly. “You are all so silly. You do know that insects have been around for millions of years. Grandpa couldn’t have been around before insects were. That’s impossible.”

Neil shrugged. “No it’s not. Grandpa’s older than dirt. Dirt has to be older than insects, so Grandpa is too.”

Grandpa nodded. “That’s right. Did I ever tell you the story about how dirt was invented?”

Just then, they heard the front door open. Mom and Dad and baby Carrie were home. Grandpa stood up and picked up his jacket. “Oh well, maybe another time.”