Saturday, May 23, 2009

Canvas Craziness

Ethan's pre-K graduation was held earlier this week. What a lovely event! The director of his school, who I absolutely adore, had something kind to say about each and every student. What's more is that I know these sweet comments were directly from her heart, and were not anecdotes that she'd simply asked the teachers to feed her so she would sound good. No, Raye Lynn loves each of these children as if they were her own.

(the least blurry photo of our family from graduation)

I'm sad that Ethan will be leaving the school to begin Kindergarten in the fall. Okay. That's a lie. I'm devastated. My soul is only soothed by the fact that Eli will be attending the preschool two mornings a week next year. Which he is so only doing because the thought of not having a reason to drive to that school each week left me feeling empty inside and I couldn't face it. How many parents can say that about their child's preschool? Not many, I bet. We are so fortunate to have found such a beautiful place to have our children learn and grow.

After attending such a sweet ceremony, I was filled with warmth (or as Ethan would say, "my bucket was filled up".) So it was with this full bucket in mind that I placed (yet another bid) on the fantastic canvas that Ethan's class helped to paint. I'd already been outbid earlier that week but my full bucket was prompting me to place another bid. I was a little hesitant writing down the amount of money that I would have to part with if I indeed won but I considered it a worthwhile donation to the school. I mean, it wasn't exactly a down payment on a new house, but not exactly couch change either.

A few hours later, I heard the good news that I'd won. (Or in Ethan's words, "winned"). When I picked Ethan up from school, I victoriously loaded the prized canvas into the car. Still high on the adrenaline of winning, and so pleased that I would have something tangible to commemorate Ethan and the departure of his beloved school, I excitedly asked him to point out which heart on the canvas was "his". (Each child was given a heart to paint which was then affixed to the canvas).

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Oh, that? Yeah. I didn't feel like doing that so I just left mine plain and white."

I searched the canvas for the unloved, unpainted, plain, white heart. I'm sure you already know that I didn't find it. My euphoria came crashing down around me. "What!?", I said. "Everyone in your whole class painted a heart except for you!? And now it's ours!?".

Ethan said, "Yeah. I didn't want to." Sensing that I might have been a little disappointed, he kindly and helpfully offered, "But don't worry, Mommy!! Next time, I promise I'll do it! Okay!?", and then cheerfully turned his attention back to his Star Wars guys.

For a good three minutes I considered calling the person who had bid before me to offer her the canvas at the price she'd bid. But then, I decided that in addition to really loving the canvas that I really loved the story behind it. When I'm old and gray and have that hanging in my house and my grandchildren ask me about it, I can tell them about their silly daddy and tell them the silly story about how that canvas came to be ours. And I will always fondly remember his pre-K graduation day.

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