For me, two of the most endearing things about motherhood are my kids' artwork and getting a glimpse of how they see me. But it can be a little daunting when those things collide -- when their creations don't match how we might see ourselves. Not always so much fun to see them take artistic license with your face.
Many years ago, Teen Spirit drew quivering bubble-like blobs balanced on wobbly stick legs. This snowwoman with gams sported a head of unruly dark hair. Not so far from the truth but I really didn't need to be reminded of my blob-dom.
One day as a joke, Daddy-0 taped up a photo from the newspaper: a woman accused of destruction of property, public drunkenness and disorderly conduct, her face bearing equal parts anger and derangement. Her hair was wilder than the look in her eyes. Teen Spirit -- a toddler -- stopped to look, broke into a huge smile and blurted out "Mommy!" Great -- my preschooler thought that was me. In. A. Mugshot. Drunk and disorderly.
Not long after that, he labored over a detailed sketch of me. I asked him to identify the various elements of the drawing. That large dark dot on the smaller blog. "Oh, mommy, that's the..hmm, what do you call it? Your mole. And that's your face." I had always been under the impression that I had a small bump on my neck, not Mount Pinatubo erupting from my cheek. So then I asked about the tiny plane that appeared to be landing in the background behind my head. Although it was hard to tell with my wiry wig getting in the way. As I was praising his advanced understanding of visual perspective with his depiction of that plane, he corrected me. No, it was an eagle making a home in my hair-nest.
As he grew older, Teen Spirit memorialized me Manga-style. Just ponder that frizz with dinner plate eyes. At least the mole was gone.
La Principessa is quite the artiste herself. I've been rendered many times during her Blob phase. The door of my refrigerator has been colonized by a commune of Humpty Dumpties. This is a recent one. Check out the static near the mouth. Apparently whenever I speak, she hears fuzzy white noise a la Charlie Brown's teacher. Wahw, wahw, Wahw, wahw....
Here's one where I look a little like Amy Winehouse, don't ya think? Again with the drunk and disorderly.
My favorite is the one she did this week -- I'm a smiling pink blob with curly hair. I'll cop to that, proudly.