Perfectly imperfect

One of my favorite days with just-turned-4-Jonathon this past week was babysitting day. I grew up adoring children--volunteering in the church nursery as soon as I was old enough, teaching Sunday School, and babysitting straight through from age 11 until I'd reached nearly full-time status in my earl 20s.

As much as I loved each child I spent time with, I was just as exhausted during my long days and nights of childcare as I was any other time, so when it comes to taking care of kids today, I'd much rather interact with them while their parents are home.

Jonathon is different. To him, I'm "Aunt Jen." Whenever he sees me, I'm sleeping overnight at his house, so I imagine he thinks I cease to exist once I walk out the door. He doesn't see me arrive as Mommy and Daddy get ready to go out for the evening; doesn't expect me to entertain him, and doesn't expect to test my limits. Plus I'm 10 years older than my last days as the babysitter, and with the friendship Mary and I have, know that she'd rather I didn't let him get away with treating me badly--whether or not she's around.

So with Mary and Jon's shifts overlapping from 11-4, I volunteered to spend time with him. At their new place, Jon has satellite installed on the huge TV in his "man cave" downstairs. In the living room, Jonathon watches videos or DVDs on a smaller screen. This time, two things were different: First, the TV wasn't already on, since Mary's mom had just come back from taking Jonathon to church. Second, I didn't know how to use the new equipment. So when Jonathon asked for a video, we eventually gave up.

Somewhere in the midst of him with his cars and my with my computer, we began painting together with one of his new birthday gifts. I consider myself highly unskilled as an artist. Although my sister bought me the tools I requested for Christmas with which to begin my new art journaling hobby, I'll confess the paints had stayed firmly capped. So far, my first page consisted of a pencil outline stating: "2001: My Year of Healing," made using stencils, with the word "Healing" colored in with blue marker, plus words and images torn out of old magazines, including "body" and "mind."

I'd always enjoyed coloring, but the "solid, hard coloring" I'd been taught to use when colouring maps at school, and preferably with ultra-sharp pencil crayons. While baby-sitting, I often colored along with the kids. You can probably guess how hard I worked to stay inside the lines.

Paint was another story. It was messy; unpredictable; especially when mixed with water. I just didn't know how to deal with it. But since paint was what Jonathon had, paint is what I used, beginning with a small brush and short strokes like fireworks. Eventually I remembered that grass was made up of more than just green, and added strokes of brown and yellow. When I fumbled, Jonathon reminded me to mix the water into the tempra paints in a circle.

And in the silence, we developed a game of talking and singing about what we were doing and what the other person was doing--a kind of verse/chorus/response. It emerged, perhaps, from my natural habit of talking to my cats as I go about my days largely alone. It was fun, silly, playful--and Jonathon loved it, even mimicking my sing-songy chatter. And as he tired of painting and went back to his cars, I continued to work on my picture. And surrounded by nonsense songs and Jonathon's smiles at my silliness, my painting developed into something not quite as horrible as I'd expected. Far from perfect--but pretty perfect in its imperfection, just like our song.