This is one of my grand-girls...she is imitating her artist-daddy, Jonathan Howe. (He always paints in a hat - to nail down his colors and values.)
And since I believe this little girl is perfectly-perfect-in-every-way (in spite of the fact that she is sometimes quite a handful), I am thinking her parents may want to save and frame her masterpieces. They may be worth a fortune in a few years.
It's happened before.
I can't help but feel great satisfaction, as I too am an artist. This girl's momma - my daughter Sarah - much preferred seeing how far she could spit a watermelon seed, playing her guitar, and working with drills and saws and hammers. I am absolutely certain that girls can do anything they want to do, anything God calls them to do, therefore far be it from me to have ever made Sarah stop spitting or put down her hammer and pick up a paintbrush.
Well, I may have tried to make her stop spitting.
But I do so love this picture of her daughter. I contributed exactly one-quarter of her DNA, see.
In closing, I have always adored this poem, because it makes me think of this little girl's momma....
|THERE was a little girl,|
|And she had a little curl|
|Right in the middle of her forehead.|
|When she was good|
|She was very, very good,||5|
| And when she was bad she was |
|One day she went upstairs,|
|When her parents, unawares,|
|In the kitchen were occupied with meals,|
|And she stood upon her head||10|
|In her little trundle-bed,|
|And then began hooraying with her heels.|
|Her mother heard the noise,|
|And she thought it was the boys|
|A-playing at a combat in the attic;||15|
|But when she climbed the stair,|
|And found |
|She took and she did spank her most emphatic.|