On Tuesday or Wednesday, when I picked up Grant, he told me he was making me a drawing at school. He said it wasn’t ready yet, but it said “I l… I’m not going to tell you what it says, but you’ll like it. Guess. It says (whispers) love! I love you mom!” I find this so super cute, I almost can’t stand it.
On Friday, he gave me the picture. He had folded it into twelfths somehow, and loosely taped it shut.
I cut the tape and unfolded it, and this is what he drew for me:
He said about the writing on the right side “I started there and messed up so don’t read that one,” SO DO NOT READ THAT SIDE, PLEASE, “and I wrote it all myself! Look, green legs because it’s your favorite color, then I drew you pink and your arms are red and your hands are orange and yellow.” I loved it muchly and told him suchly.
Later, I showed it to Bob, while he was doing something on his phone. He glanced at it, smiled in vague appreciation, and went back to what he was doing. I pointed out the features, like Grant had. And I added, “and he gave me cool shoulders.”
“Those aren’t shoulders,” Bob said without looking up.
“Well,” I said, “what are they then?”
“Boobs. Those are boobs.”
Suddenly the perspective makes sense.