The room was white, but not plain white-- not even white and gold, as she usually decorated when given the opportunity. No, this space was bright, cheerful, with splashes of colour everywhere. There were finger paintings and watercolours, drawings in marker and pencil and charcoal. Clay sculptures, painted and unpainted, graceful and clumsy, adorned shelves and tables around the room. And there were boxes, plastic and neon, where the arts and crafts were stored.

Ari had decided to start the little 'class' shortly after the twins' second birthday. Cassie had gotten into some of her paints and the result had been smeared across the living room wall. And both kids' faces. She'd tried being upset-- even angry-- but had laughed at the green and orange streaks on her son's cheeks. He may not have participated, but he certainly hadn't tried to stop the girl. And, really, it was the babysitter's fault.

She didn't have to work so much; Lex had left her more than enough and she never had trouble getting business (people in this day and age seemed to bring their children to psychologists for everything). Therefore, she'd bought a sunny, open office space and gotten all her permits, etc., to start an art studio for children. She advertised with signs and an add or two in the papers, but hadn't had a huge turnout her first week. After all, her hours were limited (10 a.m. to 2 p.m.-- the times people usually had lunch dates or long meetings, she found-- and 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. weekdays, 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays), though the price was reasonable ($10 registration per child, per month-- just to cover basic art supplies).

Some of the art belonged to children she'd seen over the years, babysat, who'd come in this week (she hung up everything, at least for now), some from her time with Lex, when he'd insisted she have an artistic outlet.

It was now early Saturday and the room was almost silent, except the occassional babbling of Cassie and Hel. They were colouring a big sheet of paper together; it was very cute, even if it was just a mass of scribbles.

She was looking at the files for the children who’d come. This one she’d only seen once and another little boy had come twice… It didn’t seem very popular. Oh well. That isn’t why she’d opened the place, anyway.

As she was sorting through them, a tug alerted her to Cassie’s presence. The familiar bundle of curiosity and wonder that was her daughter warmed with love as she looked down.

“Momma, we draw grilla.”

Indeed, there was a blackish smattering with appendages roughly where arms and legs belonged. She smiled and felt the flush of pride through them all. “That’s wonderful, darling!”