Like performing seals, we have become (or is that, been reduced to ) on-demand entertainers. The arrival of Tiny's words has also seen the arrival of the imperious order (such as, "Hold hands!" as we walk down the stairs) as well as, what we might call, the broken-record demand (such as, "Play with! Play with! Play with! Play with!" etc.).

Competing for the most uttered words in any day is, "Draw fishy! Draw fishy! Draw fishy! Draw fiiiiiiiiissshhhhy!" And so, generally, to buy time and peace of mind, we do.

He can't get enough "fishy". 

There must be something magical about watching recognisable shapes emerge out of the paper.  He, of course, adds the finishing touches to any of our cartoon-like attempts at drawing things.  But that is as it should be.

There has been one unforeseen joy about introducing crayons and paper to Tiny.  That is watching his dad, the avowed non-artist in the family, labour away at whatever the latest request is.  Like this kitty.

Note the straight up tail.  Note the careful addition of a knee in the hind leg.  Note the stripes. Sure the face is in a somewhat "primitive" style (and he forgot the all-important whiskers), but, hey, the man drew a cat!  (He can't even write legibly.)

I never knew he harboured such talents.  That's what parenting does to you.  It razes you to the ground and then reveals your hidden treasures.

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