Diary of a Threenager: The Artist

Art, it has got to be one of my favourite things to do yet Mummy, despite claiming to be an artist herself, does not understand my sudden NEED to create. There have been quite a few arguments this week, with her not agreeing with my artistic temperament. To begin with it was not MY fault that she left a Sharpie on the dining room table, she claims she only put it down for a second, but I counted at least 220 seconds before I snapped it up for my own. Now a Sharpie itself is an exciting find, but never in my wildest dreams had I expected it to be a SILVER sharpie. If you have never seen one of these then you must get one, they show up on EVERYTHING. I should know, I tested it pretty extensively before Mummy reappeared and began shrieking at me. My favourites have got to be the family of ‘poo poo headed aliens’ I drew all over the sliding doors. They showed up particularly well on the black metal trim. I was less thrilled with the results on the table cloth, the table cloth is pale, so it wasn't too pronounced, I did draw ALL over it to see if I could find one suitable spot, but alas, none. The dining chair and the floor, which mum tells me is flag stone tiles (well, I say tell, she more shouted it at me whilst scrubbing with what is known as the puke brush) had good results. Sadly, this was as far as I could test before she turned banshee on me.

With the Sharpie now well and truly hidden I decided to approach her for other artistic material, and overall, she has been fairly obliging. I am quite disappointed though that she fails to notice the fact that I simply will not go to bed until I have got the artwork out of my system. Yes, I realise this means I make demands for PVA glue and feathers five minutes before bath time, but I thought I was doing her a favour. I mean when I get all sticky and chicken like she can just pop me in the tub? She doesn't agree, saying I need to be in bed on time and I have had all afternoon to make these demands blah blah blah. Cow bag.

On the subject of parentals and artwork though, what is with their distinct lack of vision? The unicorn I drew really was so obvious, even the new-born down the road could have got what it was but hold it under Daddy’s nose and he always glazes over. Have you noticed? They put on that ridiculous voice ‘ohhh that's nice’ when really you can tell they haven’t got a clue. Every one of my pictures is the same, its only when I tell them what it is that they then pretend they knew all along. I am not fooled. Then they come along and draw something for you and you realise they really aren't as good at art as the think they are. Take Mummy for example, last week I asked her to draw my baby brother. It was hard enough to get her started to begin with. Of course, I know I don’t have a brother, I am not an imbecile, but I’m certain one will come along one of these days, after all half my nursery friends have brothers and Mummy’s tummy isn't all that flat I’m certain she probably has one growing already.

Eventually Mummy began drawing, but it wasn’t very satisfying and I’m sure I could have done a better job with my eyes closed. Why on earth does she think my brother is going to be French? I know we have spent a lot of time in France, but my brother is going to be like me, but no she draws him in French stripes with French hair. I told her as much, she went all embarrassed for some reason, shhing me and telling me I can’t shout things like that in the middle of a café. I didn't shout much just ‘I don’t want a French brother, why would you do that to me, what is Daddy going to say??? Her cheeks went all speckled and pink. Odd.

I’m supposed to be going to bed now, but given she didn't let me have messy play before bedtime I think I might just decorate my boring bedsheets with the pack of felt pens I found under the wardrobe… I definitely think it needs a few more unicorns…