Poor kid. I didn’t mean to wear him out, but I found this old vintage coloring book of birds at the thrift store and my four year-old son Reef has spent the last few days coloring every single page.
Here he is passed out on my bed in the middle of the afternoon.
When he woke up, he suggested we hang them up on the wall near our kitchen table.
Reef’s attention to detail is growing. He spends hours each day coloring or writing his name, which many times looks like Feer or Free (he seems to still get the letters out of order, but it’s cool knowing his name mixed up spells free).
He also brings me papers with letters he’s written down, asking “What does this spell?”
“That spells hex-pres,” I tell him and he is overjoyed with delight.
“What about this one?” and he points to another section of his paper.
“That spells fugus,” and he giggles. He then repeats it back to me. I think it makes him feel very smart.
He doesn’t even know what it means, he’s just happy to write it and he's happy to have it read by someone.
Isn’t that how we feel; just happy to write what we write because at the end of the day, we think it’s pretty cool too. We especially like when someone else reads what we've written. That's the best!
I think I might be raising a fellow writer.