“I was never the little girl with the balloons” (c) S.L. Wiegert 2007

One day I plan to write an essay about childhood stereotypes and where I fit into the grand scheme of things. I was a young blond haired, blue eyed, too-smart-for-her-own-good, manipulative horror. I can admit it now with almost a gush of pride, twinged with a smidge of shame. How many metaphorical balloons did I pop? The number is countless, I’m sure.

I drew this in my Autobiography class (ironic, isn’t it?) when I was completely tired of talking about Anne Lamott’s book “Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year.” I have nothing against Anne Lamott, I like how she can get a community all worked up over nothing. And this book was very funny at times, but it seemed to drag on forever. I loved the parts that were horrible and funny, but felt dragged half-dead through the parts that weren’t. But I digress.

Instead of paying attention to the discussion about another chapter from this book, I was drawing. I was thinking about my own childhood, as well as practicing my drawing of people (which is getting better, by the way. I no longer have to peek at the drawings through my fingers covering my eyes in humiliation). I drew this, as I draw most of my pieces, with Sakura Miron pens. I then colored in Adobe Photoshop. Not my best coloring job, admittedly.