Family Short Story – Her scribbles can speak too!
Photo credit: anitapeppers from morguefile.com
Did you know, her scribbles can speak too? I realised this, while browsing through my office diary, which had fallen pray to my daughter’s crayons last night.
I could not help but smile, looking at her scribbles. Not a single page had been spared. I had taken dug my drab, black skinned diary to look at my to do list on a cold rainy monday morning.
The sudden burst of colors on rumpled pages took my breathe away, and left me speechless. But, flipping through the pages, I shook my head proudly. Visuals of my little girl, scribbling away silently in a corner of her room, warmed my heart.
Her scribbles were speaking to me. As I focused more on the almost torn pages, I missed her more. I longed for the just started day and the rest of the week to wizz by quickly, so that I could just be with her.
The young lady has developed this sudden interest of scribbling on endless reams of paper with her collection of crayons. I look forward to our evenings spent together, happily and very seriously coloring pages.
She already has a knack for colors, and is a determined young soul, who will follow her heart, come what may. Consequences do not seem to bother her. Yet.
I just wish she stays this way for as long as possible. Those scribbles seem to tell a story. It amazes me how she creates her own versions of her books’ stories, while her tiny hands crazily scribble away on paper.
Talk about multi tasking! The young lady will be seated in a corner, with her (read: my) diary, and her army of crayons, when she will suddenly start off rattling rhymes and short jumbled up stories.
I look forward to these sessions, I long for them, and I try and drag them for as long as I can, each and every time. They will last for just this much time, and then some more.
Today, these days, and may be a few more weeks, will be yesterday in the blink of the eye. Gone even before I can soak them up. I am sure, you will be able to find every scribbled diary or piece of paper, every craft item that she will make in her life time, stashed away in a trunk as my keepsakes years away from now.
Yes, you see, her scribbles speak to me. And years from now, they will tell me stories of our times spend together. Even if they were just a few minutes at a time. They will be precious, those stories. And the colors? They will add in the necessary animation and action replays required to retrieve faded memories for an aging mother.
So yes, I will ensure that I stash away these art works, safe and away from harm’s way. For now, and for ever.
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