I started to fear that keeping my son at home with me might be putting him behind in life. Because while he could talk on a cell phone, bang a computer keyboard and fold some mean laundry, the craft projects were few and far between in Bug's world.
So, we bought some chubby crayons and alphabet magnets, and Bug went to town coloring and gluing and having a downright grand old time decorating our fridge. I felt better.
Until I noticed the handprints. Bug's little childcare-attending pals regularly carted home perfectly captured little handprints stamped onto their artwork. Try as I might, I could never, never seem to get Bug's squirmy little digits to cooperate with my plans to capture their cuteness for time and eternity. Whenever I attempted a handprint, it ended up looking like an inkblot gone wrong.
And so, alas, Bug has tragically few handprints preserved in the baby book. Until I checked out a friend's blog the other day, that is. She had the most ingenious idea for memorializing tiny fingers. It's called the copy machine. No more inky smears. No more fists full of paint. I finally have a way to preserve the preciousness! Check it out:
And please, please, please nobody tell me that copy machines cause cancer. I might just be forced to enroll Bug in preschool tomorrow.
