A few days ago I thought it was really cute watching my son play “FIRE!” with some poster markers. He was distinguishing fires all over the house making that adorable little hose noise with his mouth and protecting us all from the impending danger in his imagination.
Well, he has this ability to get really quiet and I let that go on for a minute or two – I mean, kids have to learn right? So what if I have to clean up an entire box of Cheerios or fish his trucks and cars out of the toilet, AGAIN. He’s just figuring out how the world around him works.
It’s getting less adorable by the second.
I hear my daughter shrieking and scolding her brother so I go to investigate.
Apartment walls. Walls that we do not own. Walls that I have to keep clean lest I want to lose our security deposit. Oh No.
The only ‘damage’ to the apartment was the wall – the rest of his art was all over his sheets, pillow and crib. And it was very washable. No big deal. We laughed. We giggled and then we just bent over and cried from laughing. All three of us.
Because of course this would happen! Who was I kidding letting him play with markers? The kid is Curious George in a boy’s suit. He will test every water, ever boundary that is presented him.
His middle name is Wayne, after all.
He has stinker in his blood.
It all came off with a baby wipe and a cycle through the wash machine. And a bath. Then I decided it was time to buy more finger paints and to appoint a few minutes a day to letting him test his artistic abilities. Only, well … I haven’t done that yet.
So I’m hiding the markers until I do.