making something of nothing

The other night I read to the kids from a 'new' book called Fern Hollow. I got this book second hand when they were too small but only at Christmas time did I flick through it and realise how wonderful the pictures are and how gorgeously simple and elegant are the stories and characters.
So, I was reading to the kids, Hugo and Georgia, as they oohed and aaahed away with each turning page. It must have been magical for them, all these new, colourful creatures coming to life before their eyes. Yes, we love good books in this household. Some, a little too much, I'm afraid.
Hugo asked to keep the book with him while he went to sleep, as he often does. We oldies went outside to continue a little window renovation work while the sun was still up.
Minutes later, screeching from the bedroom.
Georgia,
"Hugo's ripping the book!"
There was the book in absolute tatters. (No photo of this, too mad)
I was so mad (as I said)*.
I took the paper and the book and threw it in the bin.
An hour later, I took it out of the bin.
I slept.
I woke up and started cutting, then an idea formed and an hour later we had

this 

hanging in the kids' room. 

Yes, making something of nothing. And we managed to rescue most of the book (it's a collection of stories).
*But my heart was singing too because my small boy had loved the book to pieces, literally. He's done this before, yes, but only ever a little rip, usually the cover. And as I surveyed the ripped pictures I could see he had ripped his favourite pages of the train-ride, the sandcastles and the birds. Singing.