It was a learned behavior

by admin

It was a learned behavior

Dear Red Carpet,
I am sorry for taking a bathroom break resulting in your redness being covered in sparkly pink nail polish. I love sparkly pink, but I can see where you may not – the one who purchased you will agree. Thank you for half making friends with the carpet cleaner. Please take up the annoyance of your glitter glam with "Baby Kaboom" who we are now referring to as "Tarzan Too". He loves to tinker with tools, but also has the passions of an artist inside him. If it makes a difference, I think my toes will still appreciate you slightly sparkly, and I may paint them pretty pink, too.

Wishing you a better day tomorrow,
The person who at one time kept some sort of order in this house

I was completely unaware of the daily adventures I would encounter when becoming a mother, and despite being told several times "every child is different", I was not prepared for how "different" my son would be from my daughter. My daughter Destiny drew on our walls one time. It was with a black Sharpie in the basement. She was about 18-months-old. I held her hand and thumping on the wall with the pointer finger on my other hand, said, "No! No!" She never drew on the wall again.

My son, however, has decorated our entire first level with orange crayon and pencil. My favorite part is when he comes into the kitchen where I am doing dishes and ramming into my leg to get my attention, makes the "come here" motion with his tiny hand. Then, runs ahead of me to point out his latest design saying, "Nau-ee". I assure him that yes, drawing on the wall is naughty, and he sends himself to timeout. This has happened several times and each time my mouth drops open in disbelief that he has "done it again", and trying my hardest not to laugh, I make my eyes wide clinching my jaw with a head tilt.

I could not figure out whyTristan felt the need to draw on the walls until he came to get me one day. Bringing me to a small section in the back of our home where his father was sheetrocking, he pointed at the measurements scribbled onto the sheetrock, saying, "Da-e. Na-ee." I bit my lips shaking my head up and down. Yes, Daddy had been naughty writing on the wall. And, a light went on. He was just trying to be like his daddy. How do you get mad at him for that?

Just like last week when he colored the carpet. Two-years-old, he of course looks up to his big sister who will be in kindergarten this fall. Drawing family portraits and painting pictures are her current passions. Her time used to be spent painting her finger and toe nails. So, she has several bottles of nail polish which we keep in the upstairs bathroom. I thought. they were well hidden up on a shelf in the closet where we paid little attention to the tiny colorful bottles until Destiny felt like "doing nails". That is, until the afternoon I returned from a quick potty break.

Walking back to the living room I stared at my daughter, "Des, do you smell polish remover?"

"Kinda," she responded, looking up from the movie.

"Were you using nail polish?"


Never suspecting my son, Destiny and I walked upstairs to check all the possible places. Nothing. So, back downstairs we went. Sniffing the air I searched the living room and dining room and walked back through the kitchen. I could smell it, but wasn't seeing it anywhere. Then, it hit me: Tristan, our sweet smiling always-on-the-go little boy. I walked around the corner from our dining room into the living room where he was sitting pretending to watch The Land Before Time. On the carpet just past his leg was pearly pink polish. Brush still in hand, he looked up and said, "Uh-oh." Then, he got up and ran into the dining room diving under the cover of a chair. Again, how do you not laugh? So much for going to the bathroom alone while he enjoyed a movie. Unlike our daughter, our son cannot be let out of our sight. And as a mother, I am trying to contain the creativity to the dining room table, and the open spaces of the outdoors. Though, pink polish and orange crayon are memories that make this mother smile; I know theyrepresent moments I will some day miss.