Yesterday was the kind of day where you keep the shades drawn and stay in your pajamas from morning till night. Only, I opened the curtains, because it felt gloomy with them closed, and I got dress, but I let three-quarters of the day pass before I did that.
While it down-poured outside, I could have mopped the floors or washed the clothes. I could have painted the shelf that has sat in my living room for a week. I could have dusted.
In fact, I probably should have done all of those things, but instead, we painted psychedelic owls.
Because, why not? It seemed right.
Now, I didn’t mastermind these owls. I’m no artists. I just like to play. So, when Meg posted pictures of her owls (they’re way better than ours) all over Instagram and Facebook, I got excited. The owls were calling my name.
I mean, it’s a little like Old McDonald’s Farm in these parts.
Remember the dancing cows? Those cows drew international fame.
Then there were the chickens, and now the owls. Surely sheep are next.
It’s amazing how relaxing coloring and painting and doodling can be. It’s called art therapy for a reason.
I already told my kids that when I’m old and crazy and walk out of the house at strange hours, missing key articles of clothing, just sit me in a corner and tell me to color owls, or cows, or maybe even chickens. It’ll settle me right down.
And, wouldn’t you know, after all that rain, God decided to do some painting Himself.
So, who else likes to color?