Last night I had a phone date with an old friend of mine. It’s my answer to being a Mom, staying safe, saving money and still feeling like I have some sort of life beyond sippy cups and Sesame Street. She’s on the west coast, so I have to prepare to be a bit tired the next day, but it is always worth it.

I picked up a box of Hardy’s shiraz yesterday afternoon and remembered to charge up my cell phone.
For those of you who knew me when, this boxed wine revelation may come as a shock. But Hardy’s is a pretty decent Australian vintner who just happened to put their wine into this magic box that holds the equivalent of four bottles and never gets exposed to air, so remains stable after opening (if you are the sort who lets their wine sit around very long). So for about $14, my red wine therapy bill is covered.

This morning the kids woke up chatting about giant dogs in the closet. Tired but happy, I got them up and then curled up in bed while my husband got ready for work and they sat eating their bananas and drinking their milk with Curious George.
After he left, we made our way downstairs where breakfast was continued with raisin bread toast and drink refills, and I had some coffee and checked email. As I was responding to an email, I heard a suspiciously familiar sound from the kitchen. It was the sound of a marker making large glorious loops on a flat surface.

When I ran into the kitchen, my son stood there in front of white walls now serving as canvases for bright red marker drawings. I knew it would happen one day. We had even discussed repainting and decided to hold off until this sort of behavior was past its prime. I did not know for certain whether or not he knew it was against the rules. And the marker was supposed to be up on a shelf, not just hanging around free for anyone’s use. So I did not yell, but I gravely told him that we don’t draw on our walls like that and that we need to treat our house with respect and keep it clean. As his eyes welled with tears, I realized that if he had known it was off limits, he had forgotten that information when the muse struck.

I handed him a paper towel and the two of us tried to wipe it off (dry erase markers, it might have worked?) and then I tried some cleanser. It came off of the woodwork and the stove, but not the walls. And as he, and now his sister, realized it was on there for good his tears got larger and she started scolding him, telling him he ‘wrecked our house’.

Calmed by my more-tired-than-usual state, I asked her to please refrain from yelling at her brother and sat him down on the naughty bench simply in hopes that it would help remind him next time. He really started crying then and I felt terribly, especially because I may have been partially to blame for the marker being left out. But it is part of the job. What else is a naughty bench for if not to punish stuff like coloring on walls or stealing candy bars (haven’t gotten there yet, but I bet it’s in our future).

Three minutes later (one minute for each year of age) the timer went off and we hugged and were snuggling on the couch as I thought about what to do next. It was a rainy day, so I decided to paint one of the walls. The other, I had wanted to spray with that chalkboard spray anyway, so this took the guesswork out of that decision.

A dance party and three coloring books later and I got down an old baby gate and set the kids up with lunch where they could watch me.

As I worked, I heard them behind me playing. At first it was laughter and some chasing around the living room. But then I heard Campbell yelling at Ev not to shoot her. HUH? I looked over my shoulder and he had a Batman toy we’d picked up at a garage sale. It was with some other Batman things and I hadn’t realized when we got it that it shoots these orange discs.
I don’t give my kids toy guns, mainly because it freaks me out. The fact that I am married to an avid waterfowler would seemingly make toy guns a non-issue, but I happen to be anti-gun myself and would prefer our laws to resemble the UKs. But I digress…

I sternly told him not to shoot his sister with anything, and a minute later I heard the thing spit its orange disc, and then I heard her scream. She wasn’t screaming in pain, the disc is light and the weapon pretty benign, but she was howling at the fact that he shot her.

Now, I was rather proud of how I handled the coloring incident so calmly, so proud in fact that this total defiance at this juncture pushes me into a completely indignant anger. I leapt over the baby gate, took the Batman toy away as he starts to cry (over losing the toy not over my anger) and I use my super mojo don’t mess with me mommy voice, a voice I reserve for special occasions, as I explain to him that I am working to fix the mornings mistake and that he had better behave himself for the rest of the day or we are going to have big problems.

When I return to my work, I look back and he is sitting on the couch, looking at his toes, I hope reflecting on his error, but I know deep down he is probably wondering why his one sock is slightly more scrunched up than the other.

Four coats later we all got to look at a freshly painted white wall in the kitchen.
Clean slate.
Start again tomorrow.