Thursday, August 03, 2006

The Artist

My son is an artist. Apparently he prefers murals to canvases and even dabbles in furniture. He has even altered some Thomas Trains, whish sadly, I have no pictures of.

Once upon a time, in what seems a lifetime ago, in a land far, far away, little Torreh's parents were having their apartment painted. I don't remember a ton about life before we moved to the United States, but I do remember the day the painter came. I must have been about 4. My dad was at work but my mom and I were home while the painter did his thing. Now, who stays cooped up in an apartment with a four year old while the place is getting painted, but that's besides the point. Knowing my mom, she was there either to supervise the painter or make sure he didn't steal our stuff. Probably both. So anyway, this nice man was painting the walls and apparently I didn't think he was painting them pretty enough. So I followed him with my colored pencils and drew all over the freshly painted walls. I'm pretty sure I owe this man my life because when Violet noticed the scribbles on the new paint, she was ready to kill her beloved only child (no Tannaz yet). But the nice painter, in one of the calmest voices I've ever heard, assured my mom that no harm had been done, and it's just paint and I'm just a kid and he calmly painted right over my artwork. I'm sure his reaction amazes my mother to this day.

So when I noticed that Ethan had decided to color his walls, and bookcase, and train table and trains even though he'd been told at least a million times that we color on paper and that he's not allowed near the markers, my first instinct was not to kill him. Surprising even myself, I wasn't even particularly angry. It could be that the exhaustion has finally gotten to me and I can't be bothered by anything that doesn't require a visit to the ER. Thanks to scrubbable paint, washable markers, and the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (which really and truly is magical), Ethan's wall and bookcase are back to their previous condition. The whole incident took less than 10 minutes to clean up. Maybe one day he'll remember the time he colored his wall and his mom didn't freak out. Probably not. But the markers did go in the trash.

1 comment:

Awesome Abby said...

I was going to suggest the magical Mr. Clean. :) Glad you got it up, and I loved your story. I'm sorry you are so tired...sleeping not going well, apparently? :(