At school, my daughter is doing a series on art, which is great until I decide to parent way above my pay grade.
Me: We need to stop by the library today.
Her: Can we get books on the artist I’m learning about?
Me, lighting up at the idea: Of course! Who is it?
Her: I don’t know. Things are mixed up but it was person but her hands were weird.
Me: Picasso? Van Gogh?
(I’m a little obsessed with Van Gogh so he’s always thrown into the mix. I’m hoping to see all six Arles Sunflower paintings in my lifetime (I’ve seen half), but I digress much like our trip.)
Her: Not Van Gogh but maybe Picasso.
Me: Well, we can get an art book and look at his paintings to see if you recognize them.
I’m now thinking OMG I’M ABOUT TO BECOME THE GREATEST PARENT EVER.
Once we finish up our work at the library, we walk over to the kids’ biography section. I pull out some Pablo Picasso books and she says: IT’S HIM! That’s who we’re learning about in school.
I’m all swagger: That’s right. I have my daughter expand her knowledge at the library. What’s up, parenting. What’s up, preschool.
She puts the book on a table and starts reading it with another friend. I smugly settle onto the library couch until I hear: THEY’RE NAKED!
I jump up: What?
Her: There are naked people in the book!
Me: Um, well… sometimes in art… it’s considered art when…
I look at her friend’s mom to see if she is concerned that I’m about to launch into a “naked is beautiful but let’s also remember to not go to school without clothing” speech and decide it’s time to leave.
When we get to the car, I explain how artists believe the human body is beautiful and often draw or sculpt it. My kids nod, and between their art appreciation and 9 checked out library books, I high-five myself.
An hour later, my husband comes home, and I nudge my daughter and my ego: Show him the books you got from the library.
N races over to Scott while opening the Picasso biography: I got new books and TADA… BUTTS!