Mess, Motherhood, and Mushy Paint: The Hard Part of Raising a Child

I’m standing in Dimitra’s kitchen watching Zion mash one of Dimitra’s watercolor brushes into semi-dry paint, fraying the hairs and attempting to paint the salt and pepper shakers before rubbing the brush on his shirt. I’m starting to feel uneasy. On the bare kitchen table there is paint, cups of water, and about 10 sheets of paper; and the edginess of it all is getting to me. I’m consciously keeping my mouth shut, concentrating all of my effort toward not thwarting his creativity.

Dimitra is watching and laughing at Zion coloring everything besides the paper. He has blue and green paint all over his face and clothes, and his hands are covered in a rainbow of colors.

His parents delight in this. They utterly and truly celebrate his unique and creative exploration. He can use a toy “wrong,” get sticky stuff in his hair, run in the house, make noise, and generally live with very minimal restrictions. Zion is a joyful and intelligent child who is very outgoing and unafraid.

In contrast, I grew up with many restrictions, boundaries, rules, and regulations. All of my possessions, including toys, had to stay within the confines of my room. “Making a mess” was avoided at all costs. “Gooey” and “sticky” were not allowed, and we had to eat every bite we were given at the table with our butts in the seats.

I had color crayons and coloring books and never went without these necessities. But I didn't know watercolor sets or any other kind of paint existed. I only saw paintbrushes in context to decorating Christmas cookies, and marker pens were totally foreign. I wasn't allowed to have Play-Doh. My mom said it was dangerous. Lite Brite, Silly String, and any toy with lots of small parts were discouraged or outlawed because of the mess they made. Occasionally, we got to play with Silly Putty, but I always wanted Play-Doh.

Creativity in a Shoebox

One year I was given Fashion Plates and loved them. I created tons of paper dolls and loved to color in my fashion girls to see how many different varieties I could make. Other than Fashion Plates and crayons, I had no other art supplies because of the priority of not making a mess. I collected the stamps from Publisher’s Clearing House and kept them in a shoebox. I divided them into color categories, and when I had collected enough of them, I licked the end and stuck them to paper to create an abstract mosaic or a rainbow over blue water. I asked my mom for glue because I used glue at school, but she said she wouldn't buy me that, because I might glue something together that I wasn't supposed to.

I used to go to the neighbors’ house and play with two sisters, Kerry and Stephanie, who were one year younger and one year older than me. They had all the toys I didn't have. They even had a toy room. We loved to play dress-up and put on made-up plays for their parents, who would watch and cheer as we performed.

The sisters had nearly every Barbie toy between them, from the Dream House to the Corvette. We played Barbies endlessly together. I asked my mom for Barbies all the time, and she would say, “Barbies are dumb. You don't want Babies.” Finally, sometime in the 4th grade, I got a Barbie Christmas and had some nice new Barbies with tons of clothes and accessories.

There was a lot of freedom in Kerry and Stephanie’s house, and I loved being there. There were endless games like Operation, Candy Land, and Hungry Hippos, each with lots of tiny parts. Kerry and Stephanie taught me how to play Sorry, Life, and Monopoly, and how to put all the pieces back in the box. For some reason, I didn't ever question why my brother and I couldn't have these games and just put them away when we were finished. Things without small parts was just the way it was.

I had a blessed childhood with my own horse, trips with my family, and plenty of love. But my mom tried to keep the house orderly and spotless because she didn't like to clean, and my dad wanted everything neat and tidy. It wasn't until I was older and started having my own children that I thought about this un-artsy restricted environment I grew up in. It never occurred to me that I became an artist despite growing up in an environment where creativity wasn't exactly encouraged.

Structure Meets Spilled Paint

As a new parent, I began reading every book I could find about raising children and different philosophies around it. It seemed like every model hinged on a balance between discipline and freedom. How do you foster freedom and expression and growth with a consciousness of order, discipline and structure?

Although I didn't get too much creative freedom or boundless opportunities for artistic exploration, I won big in the discipline department. My parents taught me very well to be a good student and work hard, and a lot about delayed gratification. Success principles never really came to me with difficulty. I really believed whatever I put my heart to and worked at would turn into success and achievement. I didn't struggle with believing in myself or the ability to dream big.

As I thought about my own children, as the overachiever I am, I aimed to have both. I wanted to foster creativity and freedom but also discipline, hard work, and excellence. John and I decided that our children would have structure, routine, and schedules. They had only one rule to follow—only one. They had to do what they were told, when they were told to do it. “Obey your parents” was their only commandment.

We tried our best to not tell them what to do all the time and allow them to make some of their own decisions. We tried, anyway. When the kids were little and didn't make very good decisions on their own, we definitely told them what to do and consistently expected obedience. As they grew up and made better decisions, we let loose on the reins. By the time they were eight years old, they chose their bedtime, and we chose their wake time. They started to get more and more freedoms until as teenagers they mostly lived as adults, getting to choose almost everything for themselves.

As for the creative freedom, I would have changed things. I tried my best to not care about mess, or ruined clothes, or running around outside with bare feet; but honestly, I struggled. My own childhood reared its head, and I can say I thwarted a lot of explorations and fun in the name of not ruining the house.

They certainly had way more than I had as a child, so I thought I was on track. But as I watch Dimitra and Jake raising Zion and the way they truly celebrate and adore all his “mess” and creativity, I know I fell short. I still struggle to not care about ruined things, or stains, or floors, or smudgy windows, or lost shoes, or torn books. Sticky, gooey fingers still get me looking for the nearest sink and paper towels.

Finding What Really Matters

I have a “truth ladder” built into me that I cannot shake. It's my hierarchy of truth I live by. In my younger years, I think my truth ladder had a different order of priority. But now that the days of spilled juice and muddy shoes are gone, I have more successfully lived it.

My order of priority on my truth ladder is first BEAUTY—the ultimate truth, embodying what is pure, Divine, and inspired—and its role in making decisions from a place of strength. If I follow what God says, no matter how scary difficult or inconvenient, Beauty will be first.

Next is FREEDOM—authenticity, creativity, and the unrestricted expression of one's true self. Freedom must serve Beauty and not the other way around. There are some freedoms I am willing to give up in order to serve God fully.

Third on my ladder is EXCEPTIONALISM—mastery, excellence, and the drive to inspire and achieve greatness. This is where discipline and diligence come to shine. Exceptionalism can only really exist as long as I am free. When it binds me to achieve without authenticity and self-expression in the adherence of my divine purpose, then exceptionalism is a trap or a dark expression of my ego. Exceptionalism is necessary and crucial only when serving freedom and Beauty.

The fourth virtue is perseverance, and the fifth is courage. I found raising children to be the precarious place between FREEDOM and EXCEPTIONALISM. Children have a natural affinity for BEAUTY. They easily accept what is Divine and the things God has for them. They are naturally acclimated to them.

Freedom also comes easily to a child. They instinctually remain authentic and creative and desire nothing more than unrestricted expression. They naturally yell indoors, paint the walls red, and climb pantry shelves. It is exceptionalism that doesn’t come natural and is seemingly at war with freedom. This is the difficult part of raising a child: how to direct the creative energy freedom brings in a way that honors Beauty and accepts exceptionalism.

I don't know that I have the answer. Maybe Dimitra and Jake have found it. Maybe the house and the floors and the clothes we wear don't matter so much. Maybe what matters most is Zion’s destiny, his divine purpose, and the Beauty he beholds.

Do you struggle to embrace the mess of creativity, or do you delight in it?