Today, while I sat, reading Neil Gaiman’s new nonfictiony book, sitting next to my wife, who was multi-tasking, an ever-present sketchbook next to her, I watched a conversation.
Our daughter clambered between us to watch my wife’s colored pencils perform.
I don’t often see the interaction of teacher and student, of which I often think of them as.
I’m either reading a new book or writing something of my own.
The rarity of the occasion was more pronounced by the effort our daughter took to watch her mom create, color then create and fill the sketch with more colors.
I love the creativity in our house and the way in which our kids absorb creating through us.
My son crafted a lovely story a while ago. It’s one that I’ve asked him to expand upon and last night, he brought me cover sketches for it.
I told him, “Worry about the story, the cover will come later. If you need help, I’m here.”
I hope it helped him.
I wonder how why some kids don’t create things and I’m reminded of my childhood and having to hide stories I’d written, then I know.