Worst. Parents. Ever.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time
So it's Uncle Raja's birthday today. Raja Mama, as they say in an area of the world with vastly larger population than here, meaning that Mama is a more appropriate term than Uncle. Anyway. We thought, collectively, not apportioning any blame at all, that it would be a nice idea to send him a card with the boy's handprint along with the signatures.
"What shall we use to make the handprint?" we wondered.
"It has to be something safe" we affirmed.
After much rummaging amongst the staggeringly quantiful amounts of junk we seem to be hoarding, I came across the distantly-remembered set of poster paints. Sure enough, they seemed non-toxic.
Let me tell you, getting an 8-week old's head around the concept of a hand print is not an easy one. Making a fist of it, as it were, is something he's very good at. Flattening his hand out long enough to place it on a piece of paper without waving it around in an entertaining but otherwise paint-spreading manner? He's not so good at that.
It didn't take us very long to realise that this exercise was doomed to quite spectacular failure. I'm sure there are still patches of blue, lying quietly just waiting to be discovered, months possibly years down the line.
But Raja Mama got his card, with an indistinct blue blob at the bottom of it.
We'll try again one day. Probably.