Crayons are my therapy.

My previous job was one that required a certain amount of artistic perspective. My current job, while challenging in some aspects, is very much procedure-oriented, and my creative side isn't exactly necessary on a regular basis.

This void has recently been filled by one of Elle's current favorite activities: Coloring.

Most evening, I hear the call: "Mommy, come draw 'if me. Come color 'if me. Can I have my crayons please?"

I LOVE this time together. I love Elle's careful selection of what coloring book we'll use, what color she suggests I use (although it can be maddening when she gives me orange for the third time in the row or insists I color with white crayon), her interest in what I'm doing. I laugh at her praise: "That's good coloring, Mommy!" I appreciate her curiosity regarding every animal or character in the coloring book. I enjoy the narration of what she's drawing on her blank pieces of paper. I adore that she thoroughly enjoys this quite simple activity.

Diaper-only and sunglasses indoors: Signs of a true artist.

And I love the chance to take a few minutes and just breath, color and create. As silly as it may sound, I feel like the choosing of the picture I'm going to color and the crayons I'm going to use are a creative outlet at the end of a long day.

I colored when I was younger but was never really interested in it after that. I know some adults *ahem: my sister* who have always been drawn to a coloring book and box of crayons. I now feel like I can relate on a certain level.

For the most part, Elle gives me complete creative freedom, allowing me to give high-lights and low-lights to princesses that are dressed in the boldest of colors:

But sometimes, she's strict in her art direction, and we end up with purple cats with green spots:

I've learned to pick my battles with this little girl, and the coloring books? Not a battle worth fighting.