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Since I entered the hallowed halls of adulthood, I have found that I do very little with my hands. Cooking seems to be one way adults actually engaging in the fulfilling art of making something physical, but I don’t cook because I find it stressful and the results unsatisfactory. And I’m not good at household repairs either.

Enter the kids. There’s no reason why adults can’t colour, play on swings, listen to nursery rhymes, etc. but most of us don’t. Kids give us the excuse to, or at least remind us that these are fun activities too.

Since Benji started kindergarten, I’ve had to step up in the craft department. I moaned and groaned about it but the fact is that making things is fun. In fact, sometimes I need reminding that it’s not my project but Benji’s though from the results, it could well pass of as the work of a three-year-old entirely.

And I find that I enjoy it. I enjoy making a snowman out of paper doilies. I enjoy pasting sequins onto a tree. I enjoy “colournoon”. For the simple pleasures of cutting pieces of coloured paper and sticking them into a shape, I am grateful.

 

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