My favorite part of last week was a completely unplanned activity.

A spontaneous way for my son and I to spend a part of our afternoon.

My twelve-year-old son, a week away from entering the 7th grade, allowed me to paint his hands and feet.

The last time we made his hand and footprints was two years ago. I’ve asked on-and-off during these past two years, and Ryan usually declines.

But this particular afternoon he agreed.

And I was delighted.

I’ve been painting Ryan’s hands and feet since he was a baby. I used to press his little palm into a large ink pad and that’s how he would “sign” greeting cards for family members. 

And don’t forget, I’m a former teacher. I loved painting my students’ hands for all sorts of fun activities. Hands make great leaves for flowers, reindeer antlers, and turkeys! (My first year of teaching, another kindergarten teacher shared with me a valuable tip – add some dish soap to the paint. It makes it so much easier for kids to clean their hands and for the paint to come out of any clothes it may accidentally get on.)

Others might see our painting time as a rather simple activity, but it felt magical.

I was in awe. 

I marveled at the size of Ryan’s hands and feet. The way the human body just knows how to do things – like grow. Bones and skin and muscles. It’s amazing.

The world outside our home is scary right now. But for those precious moments when we sat on the floor making handprints and footprints, everything felt perfect.