I am having a great time. I am almost too busy to miss the kids. But of coarse I am missing the kids. Missing the things about them that I love. The things that drive me crazy. Things like this from last September.
On the way home from playgroup at the children's garden this morning we stopped at a friend's house. They had been away for the joint birthday party and the girl's friend wanted to give her a gift. It was a thoughtful gift. A gift that reflected the girl's love of drawing and colouring and crafting. A gift that is now hidden on top of our refrigerator.
The gift was a large carrying case full of Crayola crayons, pencil crayons, paint tubes, stamp markers, glittery glue sticks and scissors. The girl wanted to open everything immediately once she received it. She didn't care that we were standing in the middle of a residential street. She wanted it open and she wanted to draw. I made her wait until we got home.
The boy was asleep by the time I pulled the stroller up in front of our house. I unloaded the girl and all our gear before bringing the boy inside. I even got the girl upstairs and left her as she headed to her room with the open bucket of Crayola goods. Much to her dismay I left without opening each of the individual packages. I thought she would be happy with the box of crayons that I knew she could open herself. No. Just as I settled the boy into his crib I heard her yelling like a banshee for me to come and open it up!
I did. I opened up everything. She was so excited and wanted to start drawing on her construction paper right away. I was smart enough to take away the paint and glue since I didn't want it to get on her bed. I should have just hidden them right then. Unfortunately I did leave her with the scissors.
Not that I realized anything was amiss at first. I should have. She was much too quiet. I had the opportunity to clean the kitchen a bit and grab a snack before she started yelling for me to come and get her from her room. Right away I noticed the cut up purple construction paper on her bed. I did not notice that she had cut her hair until we sat together on the couch a few hours later. "Did you cut your hair?" I asked. "Yes" she said.
My guess is that she picked up the scissors in her right hand and then cut a chunk of hair out of the top of her right pigtail. At first I thought that some of her hair must not have been pulled through the elastic all the way and that was why it was sticking up near her head. It looked like a tiny bundle of straw.
I decided to leave it there, sticking out of her pigtail. I was partly too nervous to take out the elastic and see exactly how much hair had been cut away. The other part of me wanted the husband to see it. Even though I took a picture, I still wanted him to witness it for himself. It would have been smarter to have removed the hair immediately. By bath time raspberry juice and melted Popsicle made it impossible to remove the cut hair that was now matted down and clumped with the rest of her blond hair. We had to take the scissors to it ourselves in order to cut away the clump.
The discovery of the cut hair happened after I had left her on the floor of the sunroom happily playing with her gift. She was fascinated by the five paint tubes. When I looked over at her after a little more kitchen cleaning (with two kids there is always kitchen cleaning) she had squeezed multiple colours of paint all up and down her legs. Even her feet were decorated. There was much sighing on my part and protesting on her part that she wouldn't do it again. I still tided up all the art supplies and put them back in the container. I wiped off as much of the paint as I could. We moved on to other things.
Except that later I needed to keep her occupied while I dealt with a dirty diaper. And I was sure that she wouldn't dare paint her legs again. Not after the talk we had had. True to her word she didn't. When I came back in the room she had decorated her legs and arms with the coloured, glittery glue.
More sighing, more protesting. Everything went back in the container and the container went on top of the fridge. The girl assured me that it wouldn't happen again. I do believe her. I don't think she will cut her hair, paint her legs or try to adorn herself with glittery glue for awhile. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about what else she could possibly do.
Scissors, paint and glue.