A week ago, Sir I. was flipping through a book about the human body (he’d wanted to see what he looked like “on the inside”) and came across a handprint cast project. “We have to do this, Mom!” he said, waving the book at me. Of course I couldn’t say no in the face of such initiative and enthusiasm. Some sticky salt dough, lots of spilled flour and four hours in the oven later, we had these:
I love these handprints, souvenirs of an age where everything is fresh and vivid, when even the smallest tasks are full of adventure and excitement and possibility.