Frank and I are in awe of Olivia on a regular basis. During a recent trip to Staples that ended up taking 20 minutes longer than expected, we decided it was high time to buy our tot some Crayolas. We went for the big-width-perfect-for-tiny-fingers-pack-of-eight crayons. You know - the ones everyone had in Kindergarten circa 1985. Those crayons. We even let her pick out the oversized coloring book (note to fellow parents: Staples had these giant coloring books with pages that were inserted all easel-like. You could take out a page or shuffle them at will without damaging the other pages. This did, however, work against us when Olivia figured out how to remove pages on her own...). She chose the delightful Toy Story 3 book after a few minutes of our shaking, wiggling, and dancing the items in front of her. I took this delayed response, at the moment, as a bad sign: clearly my child had better things to do than color. In fact, I could almost hear her baby sarcasm in my head: Really, Mom? I use markers and paint at school, and this is what you bring to the table?
But we stayed the course. And it really was quite magical. Not in the fairies and pixie dust or abra cadabra way. Or even the Harry Potter at Hogwarts modern day magical. Nope, just your run of the mill, inspiring, stop and smell the roses, magical moment that a parent has with a child holding her first (oh, alright, probably second), fresh-out-of-the-box Crayola crayon.
That kind of magical.
And yes, the picture is still on our fridge.
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