
I feel really bad about her blue hands. As often happens in amateur experiments, first there is delight, then disaster.
You see, today, on this rainy ripe-for-boredom day, I vowed we’d try finger painting. It seemed easy enough—the blogs promised it would be. Ella came in from her outdoor playtime and found me with my hair in a bun, stirring flour, sugar and slowly boiling water in a sauce pot on the stove. “Mommy’s making paint for you,” I say. Of course she wanted to hold the whisk. We got through that part unscathed, unscalded. It was going well, I thought.