(Edited to add this: This was a post I did on Saturday afternoon. I didn't post it as I had already put one up that day. Fred was not happy when he got home and saw our son's artwork. Like I was? We were couch and recliner ridden all day long yesterday fighting a nasty full blown summer cold. We both agreed that we prefer to have a cold in COLD weather. Just seems to make more sense, dontcha think? Now the week has begun again and I'm sure all of you wait anxiously each day to see what else the Edge will have to endure as we raise this three year old of ours. Oh, and we've decided to pass on more scrubbing of the brown marker on the white wall. We're just gonna paint the sucker over.)
Ever have one of those days where you just feel blah? I'm having one of those days because my darling husband decided to share his summer cold with me. Forgive me if I feel like this is one thing he could have kept for himself. My nose is a broken faucet and I can't afford Benadryl because The Boy would totally take advantage of my being less than 100%. Fred and Paige are off cutting the grass of friends who are out of town on vacation, so no help from that angle.
Speaking of The Boy. Gawd, do I ever really speak of anything else sometimes?
I was doing a load of the never ending laundry. Five minutes, Internets. Five minutes is all I truly took. When I called his name...I heard silence. Not a good thing. I come around the corner from the kitchen into the dining room to find this:
Yes, this is what it appears to be. Marker. Brown marker. On a white wall. In public view. Want a closer look?
See how different the strokes are? And the precise little dots. Think he might have a chance at good handwriting later in life?
I confiscated the marker and proceeded to take a chapter from the MIL's handbook. When she was visiting last year, The Boy decided to write all over the floor. It was green and covered alot of acreage. She sat on that floor with him for FOREVER making his tiny two year old self scrub.
I'm totally using her picture without permission (so look quick before she calls me yelling and I have to take it down!!) but all I gotta say is that I hope I age well enough to be able to get down on the floor like she does. I completely backed her up on this mission. We sort of hoped it would teach Boy a lesson. We hoped in vain.
I was taking no prisoners this time. He was going to work the chain gang to pay for his crimes.
I made his butt scrub as long as I scrubbed. Not saying he made alot of progress with the cleaning part. And it was okay with him. For about five minutes. Then he told me..."This hard." I replied, "Well, it wasn't hard for you to mark it up so get busy!" He was NOT happy with me after a while.
Note the lips pursed in displeasure of having to STILL work and clean.
If I had a whip, I would have cracked it good right then.
The wall still isn't clean completely. When my arms felt like they were coming out of the socket, I decided to take a break. Maybe Dad will do some scrubbing to help out and I feel sure the Boy will be able to help then, too. I was dealing with it all pretty well, I thought. Then I came around the corner into the other side and what did I see? He decided to pour his juice out all over the coffee table so he could have some water playtime. Except it was juice. And sticky.
Yeah, he's on the couch fearing to move at the moment until further notice.