Busy daddy had a workout session with Fake Chris tonight, so the boy and I stayed at home, and did some arts and crafts. I promised myself that I wouldn’t become one of those dads who collects every random piece of artwork that my kid creates but I’ve become one of those dads who collects every random piece of artwork that my kid creates.

It’s like a kind of OCD. Because objectively I know that crap is crap, but it’s crap that my baby made with his own hands, so how can I throw it in the trash? I imagine that when Robert Rauschenberg was growing up, his parents must have just thrown scraps of paper at him and let him have at it. And look what happened there.

I’ve been worried that the boy isn’t really inclined toward the arts, that he’s more of a math and science guy. But since he started school, I’ve noticed that he’s been much more interested in process and art, which makes me happy. Plus, if my kid carefully cuts out 87 pieces of butcher paper and assembles them into a sculpture and names it “Spaceship,” who’s to say that it isn’t art? Even Yayoi Kusama had to start somewhere. Hopefully the boy won’t have to go into a mental hospital to find his inspiration.

Gosh, it’s way past my bedtime and I’m totally pooped out, so ignore what I just said.

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