Lily can frequently be found upstairs in her room, door shut, working anxiously on her next artistic masterpiece. I am amused at how motor-driven she can be. She has a harder time sitting and imagining scenarios with a couple of toys. She much prefers to utilize her imagination to create something she can tangibly appreciate.
Right now, outside our front door, is an elaborately designed city she created for the snails in the front yard. Complete with leaves propped on popsicle sticks as walkways, discarded paper cups acting as high sky towers, plenty of grass in little piles for beds, and even a few empty bottle caps filled with water (just in case they get thirsty, you know). She has repeatedly asked me that nobody accidentally throw away her village, and I've promised her to keep close watch while she's away at school.
I kind of want to preserve it for the rest of eternity, really.
I've kept this little book she illustrated and composed one afternoon, almost a year ago now. A project that consumed a good three hours of the afternoon, all self contrived. She left it lying on her desk, and when I read through it my Mama heart exploded and shattered in another billion pieces and I found myself once again praising the heavens above that I was gifted this child.
I am so glad that her six year-old memoir included bubblegum and family and rainy days and tulips, a page dedicated to her younger sister's scribbles (which I'm sure she was enormously frustrated about)... and especially volcanos. She really loves volcanos.
This is the stuff, I tell ya. This is the stuff.