I thought I was the master of artwork disposal. I save the “really good stuff” and strategically dispose of the other 95% that comes home from school. If the garbage is empty, the rejected artwork burial requires an extra step – a piece of freshly-torn paper towel must be placed over the art in a parachute-like fashion. If the paper towel lies flush against the artwork, colors may be exposed and there is a high likelihood of getting busted by the creator.
The garbage bag was full this morning so the disposal of the “rocket ship” drawing was easy. Layered between last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast, the the drawing had discreetly settled in its final resting place. I rinsed off the coffee grounds that hitched a ride on my forearm and went to tend to the chime of the washer.
Mid washer-to-dryer transfer, I heard the elongated word from my 5 year old, Brody (the artist), “Heeeeeeeeeyyy.”
Like a deer in headlights, I froze. I’d been caught.
He stood there with the drawing pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Heeeeyyy- why is my rocket in the garbage?”
I acted confused and apologized, blah, blah.
And now I have a drawing of a rocket ship with a yogurt and coffee ground shellac hanging on the pantry door. And it looks like a penis.
“Houston…”
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