I am extremely talented and creative.
In my head.
I'm tellin' ya, It's like a one-man-band in there. The gardening ideas, the freelance articles, the recipes, the lesson plans, the jokes, the decorating choices, the secret to world peace... I can do it all. In my head.
Martha Stewart lives inside of me. She just thinks she's still on house arrest.
My kids are all extremely creative, and they're not shy about experimenting with their gifts. J, the 10 year old, composes music and writes stories. H, the 6 year old, draws practically all day long. And C, the 1 year old, speaks Cat and pretends to pour shots into a hollow block from a bottle of baby lotion. He can even make me a double.
But I think that M, my 5 year old, is going to be the real artsy-fartsy one. The kind who reads her poetry in non-Starbucks coffee shops and gets offended when someone claims to understand it. The kind who would break her mother's heart by dying her golden locks black, and judge her for watching reality tv.
Why do I think this? Because what other kind of child would come to her mother, present a fuzzy caterpillar perched on the arm of a Polly Pocket and declare "It's called Idiots In Love?"