Natalie has had an artistic bent lately, sketching "whirly-twirly" wedding dresses and toiling over self-portraits, taking special care to draw "body and hair and eyes and pupils."
I've made cameo appearances in a few pieces.
Earlier this week, Natalie's medium of choice was Play-Doh.
Yesterday, she worked with watercolors, insisting that I paint along with her. She disapproved of my careful, thought-out painting, advising me that I really should just cover every bit of paper, lines be damned. (OK, OK, maybe she didn't use those exact words.)
She's loquacious; I let my thoughts steep before I share them. She's the first to say hello and warm up to a crowd; I'd rather be at home. She likes the spotlight; I prefer the shadows.
She doesn't hesitate to play with worms or eat calamari or examine thoroughly my hideous, purple, hole-y fingernail that I received courtesy of a door that closed too soon, too fast, and way too vigorously. I'm more squeamish and cautious and easily repulsed.