Nahla has discovered painting. Which, you know, in some ways are great. I love the fact that she dabbles in all things creative and artistic, bless her little socks. And as her mother I totally think it is the cutest thing ever when she sits in her high chair, bent over her latest creation, little tongue eagerly sticking out of her mouth.
But, you see, it ain't all cute, Especially after I discovered paint on her brand new Odd Molly dress. Paint on the rug. Paint on Igglepiggle. Paint in her hair. (Note: This would not be such a disaster had it not been for the fact that Nahla HATES washing her hair. I mean; HATE. It sounds like she is being murdered slowly whenever I try to as-carefully-as-possible rinse out the ultra-mega-mild shampoo. No more tears my backside!) I can go on: Paint on our vintage and oh-so-beautiful old dining table. Paint on the side of the washing machine (a mystery, I know!)
And so yeah; as a mother I clearly think my little artist is the most talented thing to ever have come out of preschool. Goes without saying. On the other hand, my slightly obsessive compulsive side, who NEEDS to have a home that looks like it is about to grace the pages of Elle Decoration, is a tad more apprehensive. As one would understand. It was the smear of bright red (why, oh why did I let her paint with such an unforgiving colour?!) paint on my new Filippa K boots that did tipped me over the edge, I think. From now on, any painting done in this household will happen prison-style under extreme supervision...
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