Twenty-seven years ago, on fingerpainting day in pre-school, I told my teacher that I was not allowed to fingerpaint. I lied through my teeth to her and swore that my mommy didn't let me fingerpaint because I was not supposed to get my hands dirty. Dirty hands have never really been my thing...until I had boys, that is...but that's another post entirely.
Tonight, on shaving-cream painting night in our house (inspired by MckMama's blog from a few days ago), Henry tells me that he isn't supposed to paint with shaving cream. Nope, said he, he just couldn't do it because his mommy and daddy don't like it when he gets his hands dirty. Note, he didn't say that he didn't want to. He said he couldn't. The first hint of shaving cream that touched his fingers had to immediately (as in, rightthatverysecond) be washed off. No amount of encouragement or "come on in, the water's fine"-esque remarks could talk him into it. Just look at how grossed out he is!
We even tried, to no avail, to entice him by running HotWheels trucks through the puffy, white goodness. This only led to the cars and trucks needing a bath rightthatverysecond as well. This next photo is deceiving - it appears that he's really liking this, right? Yeah, go ahead and take a closer look at how clean his hands are. Spotless.
Oh, my boy. My. Boy. Guess dirty hands aren't really his thing either...tonight anyway.
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