One of the brightest shiny moments I remember from my early childhood is of my mom helping us finger paint. The paints she had were a dry powder in tall plastic jugs and she mixed each color by hand for us. I remember the long lines of painted 8 by 11 papers drying in rows on our concrete floor. I remember the paint squishing between my tiny fingers. The whole thing was messy and silly and it transformed my polite and busy mother into someone with easy laughter who wasn't afraid of a mess.
I don't have any pictures of us fingerpainting. I can remember it so clearly, but when i ask my brother - he doesn't remember it and there is no evidence to collaborate my story. My mom and dad didn't take pictures that day because painting was ordinary right? it was a Tuesday afternoon from 2-3. It was done in bare feet and unbrushed hair.
I'm lucky. My father took beautiful pictures of us and my mother reminded him regularly to bring his camera with him, to go out and take our portraits on our birthday - to take family pictures on easter and christmas. Thier pictures and the albums they created for our family and left on the lowest shelf for me to peruse at my leasure were one of the ways they showed us they loved us.