Permanent Marker

crayon, kid, wall, permanent marker, drawing on wall, coloring on wall, scribbling on wall, mess

Black permanent marker.

On the phone.

On the top of the laptop.

On the plastic (but beautiful) tablecloth on the table.

On his arms, hands, legs, feet.

On the wall.

Some on his clothes.

None of it on paper of any sort.

Probably because I didn’t give him paper.  Because I was sleeping way too soundly.  Soundly enough that I barely registered that Yitzchak left.

I heard some noises that sounded like he was playing with megabloks, or something that rattled.  I didn’t care.  But I did get up, lock the top lock, and go back to sleep.  Just in case, to make sure he couldn’t escape.  And I looked in on Shimon as I went back to bed.He was playing very nicely with his toys.

Head meets pillow.  I am sleeping again.

Yitzchak comes home.  I hear the key in the door and a knock.  I get up, unlock the top lock, and get back in bed, while Yitzchak asks what time I got up.

Answer: Not.

And then I hear, “Oh, no.  Ima, you have to come see this and help me out.”

Whatever it is, I don’t want to get up right now.  You can handle it.  It’s not that bad.

Yitzchak brings Shlomo to me, and holds him up so that I can see.  I don’t have my glasses, but there is black on his knees.

Oops.  Well, it’s not that bad, but it’s certainly not what I thought it was.

Great.

And every time I turn around, Yitzchak is telling me about something I missed: I saw the table and the wall.  I didn’t see the computer.  I didn’t see the phone.

It comes off the phone with alcohol.  Off the computer with both alcohol and wipes.  Off Shlomo (partially), with soap, water, and a washcloth.  It doesn’t come off the tablecloth.  We will put this side against the wall so that I don’t have to look at it every day.  I don’t even try to get the marker off the wall.

Yitzchak gave Shlomo a bath.  Scrubbed him.  Shlomo didn’t like it.  And he didn’t like the fact that we both told him that he knows better (he does) and markers only go on paper.  We didn’t punish him, just told him we were upset.  It was – hopefully – enough.  Two parents mad is punishment enough, or at least so we think.

Yeah, great.

This had to happen sometime – every kid does it once.

May this be our worst problem.

Amen.

(This post was written on Friday.)

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