My artistic talent is basically that of a 5-year-old. I've never really progressed beyond stick figures. My grandfather, the professional sign-maker, my mother, the art teacher, and my sister, the fab artist and genius behind the art on the tables at my wedding and Isabella's birthday signs have all the talent. I've got none.
But lately Isabella's been asking me to draw for her, and her requests aren't on par with my abilities. She's requested elephants, Big Bird, and even herself. I try, but my efforts aren't usually met with much enthusiasm. Usually, she tells me, "No. No. That's not right," and then she crushes my fragile crayon-clutching ego even further by scribbling over my work. The little shit offers me no encouragement whatsoever.
However, her reaction to my drawing on the walls of the shower the other night while she was in the bathtub exceeded all previous scathing criticisms of my work.
She was using her bath crayons to draw Mr. Bleakman from Clifford on the wall. (She is obsessed with this character for some reason.) Isabella then turned to me, orange bath crayon in hand and asked me to draw Clifford.
I gave it my best shot, which suffice it to say didn't pass muster with the two-year-old. When I was done drawing the Big Red Dog, Isabella turned to me and said, "Mommy, that's kinda ridiculous."
And then she took a red crayon and scribbled all over it.