Little white scraps of paper litter my laminate. Cleaning the kitchen table requires scraping white glue off the oak surface. I pick up Crayola markers, search for caps and try my best to pry them from little fat fingers that shouldn’t have access to any writing tool, especially those that can turn his hands blue in a matter of seconds. I find the dog munching on Crayons. I find the baby doing the same. I’m thinking my new house should include an art studio for a creative 5-year-old who spends hours upon hours every night making anything that comes to his wonderful little mind. One morning it was crowns. One for him, and one for bigger and much-worshipped older brother, Lucas.
One evening it was a Superman cape. Four pieces of white computer paper were glued together. A Superman symbol was drawn in the center, and Scotch tape was placed at the top to hold it in place. My precious 5-year-old wore it for hours. When it was time for him to use the rest room, I received very specific instructions, “I have to poop. Don’t let Emery get my cape.” I shook my head in laughter as he ran off, then I watched as Emery immediately toddled over and picked up that discarded and much-loved cape. I laughed again, and carefully removed it from Emery’s grasp and put it up on a higher surface until my artistic superhero returned.
I’ve figured out that these scraps and carefully crafted pieces of art are Alex’s way to show his love.
It dawned on me Thursday morning. Alex and Lucas race each other every morning to get ready. First one who has eaten, dressed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and put his shoes on is the winner. It’s usually a tie. Ties don’t cause tears. After this particular race resulted in yet another tie, Alex exclaimed, “I want to be just like Lucas.” Lucas, knowing how important his role is as the much older and wiser brother, said, “Thank you, Alex. That was very nice.” They walked off together smiling. I was left smiling too.
A few minutes later, Alex rumbles in again with a triangle-shaped piece of art. He’d just made it. He took that computer paper. (We go through many reams.) Got out his glue, markers and scissors and created something — just something. On it in very legible kindergarten script it read, “I love you, Lucas.” The other side featured a smiling face. He gave it to his very proud brother after showing me what he did.
Mornings are crazy at our house. We don’t get up too early. Four boys and two adults getting ready in an hour’s time often requires frantic finagling. We never have too much time. It’s always “just enough,” yet this little boy had “just enough” time to create something that surely made his brother’s day a little brighter.
He does the same with me. I’m often the receiver of robots that are 3 feet tall, or bracelets that he carefully measured, cut and glued together for me to wear. I get necklaces so new the glue drips on my shirt. He loves to play “Chutes and Ladders” or read books. He loves to play. Period. But there’s nothing he loves more than creating pieces of art for his family.
So I’ll keep sweeping scraps off the floor. I’ll search for marker caps, scrape glue off the table and laugh when the bath water is blue from the baby’s latest marker attack. I’ll keep hanging those “somethings” on the refrigerator, and I’ll wear any crown, necklace or bracelet he makes for me.
There’s much I can learn from my children. Alex shows me every single day that love can be created using a dab of glue, a handful of markers and a dozen sheets of paper. His creativity is inspiring and proves that love is what we make it.
