“Mummy.” It was said as a statement. There stood my five year old, arms crossed, eyes serious.
“Yes, darling? How can I help?” I answered, struggling to keep the grin out of my voice. I just knew something profound was coming.
“Mummy.” Again, a statement. I raised my eye brows as she informed me, “I won’t be doing maths anymore.” Arms tightened their cross, B’s whole face took on a determined ‘I am not going to give in here, it is in your best interest to just give up early, you don’t have a hope of changing my mind‘ look.
“I want to do art all day, just like L,” she swept her arm towards the living room in an expansive gesture.
I replied with a Non-committal, “Oh?”
“I am an artist.” She paused for affect. “Artists do not need maths.”
My response? I took a photo. She did look awfully cute as, with paint splodges all over her body, she informed me how she wished to be educated in the future.
