Interpretation of kids' art is about as useful as making sense of dreams. Despite the fact I have cold sweat-inducing dreams of homeownership (like being chased by mortgage brokers brandishing downspouts), I don't believe in placing too much meaning in their message. The interpretation of the art becomes even less useful when the kid is your own.
Frankie's about a couple weeks from the big K, kindergarten. Redshirting seems to be all the rage. Let 'em stay home an extra year until they're "ready." Until the kid's ready - or the parent? I don't think we'll ever feel too comfy setting her out for the challenges of the world, so we'll go with the time-honored tradition of scooting her out the door at the age of 5 and hope for the best.
This piece of art gives me some solace.