By Maria Duffy. First published on Tuesday 11th May 2010. 10 Comments so far.


Yesterday Miriam O’Callaghan tweeted that she was going to buy purple paint for her purple obsessed child. It reminded me of something funny that happened four years ago involving my then two year old and some purple paint.

We’re constantly watching our children do hilarious things and cringe daily when they allow words to escape their mouths that we’d rather they kept in. One thing we can be sure of is there’ll always be someone on hand to say; “Isn’t that priceless? You should write that down.” The other thing we can be pretty sure of is that we won’t, and we’ll regret it at a later date when we struggle to remember the exact details of said feat. Thankfully on this occasion I did write it down. I hope the vision of my purple son makes you smile.

I swept my canvas with a brush,
began to paint a work of art.
I took my time, refused to rush.
I gave it all my soul and heart.

An abstract vision – purple, gold,
I let my paintbrush be my guide.
I beamed to see my work unfold,
and truly felt enormous pride.

The masterpiece was now complete;
my first attempt at painting oil.
It truly was a precious feat,
a week of concentrated toil.

I locked it in a room to dry.
I laid it flat upon the floor.
But later heard a piercing cry,
and saw the tell-tale open door.

My son, just two, had found the key,
and went inside to take a peep.
The sight that was in front of me,
A memory I’ll always keep.

He’d stood upon my precious art,
his footprints forming on the paint.
Then slipped and fell, legs sprawled apart;
Oh what a sight – I thought I’d faint!

He looked at me from centre stage,
the canvas platform for his show,
expected me to shout with rage.
I felt a gale of laughter grow.

I picked him up, my purple child,
complete with paint on clothes and hair.
I watched his guilty face and smiled,
and of the mess – I didn’t care.

My masterpiece was now complete;
far better than the one before,
adorned with prints of bum and feet.
I’ll treasure it forevermore!

Conor is now six and not surprisingly has turned out to be the clown of the family. Roll on his wedding day. I have lots of tales to tell!

Maria x

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