An artist he is not

I was feeling extra peppy yesterday, probably getting my haircut and having my awesome stylist curl it and make me look aHmazing, but anyways I decided Gideon and I were going to have some fun.  Some messy, messy fun.  Washable paint, check.  Oversized t-shirt, check.  Highchair on the deck, check.  Paper, check.  Compliant toddler, nope.

It was good and there was excitement on all fronts until his finger touched the paint.  Heaven forbid his finger touch the paint.  How else are you supposed to finger paint?  Not sure on this one.  He has a thing about different textures and having to touch them.  Grass,  not so sure.  Sand, really not feeling this.  Mulch, pick me up.  Paint on fingers, WTH.

It's a funny little quirk he has and every time he encounters some new texture to touch, I see the caution and fear that overtakes his movements.  It really is strange to me though.  What sixteen month old doesn't want to get messy and dirty because mama must of lost her mind and is handing me a rainbow of fun to swirl around?

The whole ordeal lasted two minutes.  It took me longer to get everything out than he spent actually doing anything, or really doing nothing.  Just stared at his fingers full of red paint and refused to touch anything.  I swiped the paint on the paper to show him what to do.  Blank stare.  Furrowed eyebrows.  Not having it.  But, I will say, I am proud of my painting.  Maybe next time?   With a paintbrush?

 

This was my work.  Gideon had no part of it.