So today, my son came out of my bedroom where he'd been watching Nick Junior (whenever people tell me how smart he is I can barely resist blurting out "Really? Must be all the SpongeBob he watches!") and announced "Mommy, I want to do art with you!" So we did some art. Circles. We punched some and glued them, we dipped water bottle tops into paint and stamped them. I plopped some paints drips into his journal and we closed it and opened it - it made circles, but he wanted to do it again, so we smushed it some more and the circles were gone.Oh, yeah, we punched a few stars, too!
Don't worry, I'm getting to the point. It's this: he calls this his "journal". I didn't even know he knew what a journal was the first time he called it that. Hubby asked what he was doing and he replied "I'm working in my journal." Adorable? Totally. I've been making them - cutting the guts out of composition notebooks and stitching in file folders because they're thick enough for a toddler's scribbles and paints and because he hated the lined pages. This is an unmolested composition book and he's all right with it this time.
Anyway, I wanted you to know WHY I started doing this for him. First of all, I hate having a million pieces of loose paper with scribbles and smudges on them but I can't throw them away. I thought a book would be a good idea. I was right - it's perfect. I really like tossing it into my bag with my own journal or sketchbook when we're going out somewhere we might need to entertain ourselves (he's three - that's everywhere). AND he really likes it - it's a place to paint and glue stuff and glitter and stick things. He's never liked coloring books, but he likes to color and draw. It's so funny when he asks me for it and people looks at us like we're crazy.