I was lying in bed last night with Boy #2 (in Boy #3’s future room, whenever we FINALLY get the bedroom-switcheroo completed) obviously completely engrossed in Seymour Simon’s Planets Around the Sun because I failed to notice that fewer than 10 feet away, Boy #3 was doing THIS.
So I gave Boy #3 the “We don’t EVER draw on anything but paper. EVER! Do you understand?” speech and decided I’d just leave it there since it’s going to be his room anyway. The builder’s paint won’t stand up to a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser scrub-down, I’m sure.
Now, silly me. I thought Boy #3 understood. I thought we’d reached an understanding. And I thought I’d put up all of the crayons and markers.
I did try to Magic Eraser this one (well, Target-brand Magic Eraser, anyway), but it merely faded the drawings just a smidge. The carpet? Well, it’s been long overdue for a good steam-cleaning, but I wasn’t exactly planning on doing it today.
So, should I go ahead and start pre-paying tuition for him at the Kansas City Art Institute—or prepare myself for the fact that when he’s 16 I’m going to get a phone call from the local police that he was picked up spray-painting “CLASS of 2023 RULZ” on the water tower?