I was pretty much set to tell all of you about our weekend, but that was before the Great Catastrophe of ’13 hit. And now I’m not sure I have the stamina necessary to type much, because MY WORD!
Do you know what every mother loves to see while she’s loading the dinner dishes into the dishwasher?
She loves to see her one-year-old son march up to her and PROUDLY (Yes! With great pride!) show her his very blue hands. And his very blue arms. And his very blue wrists. And his very blue elbows. And his very blue nose and eyelashes. And do you know what a mother does when she’s bent over the silverware container in the dishwasher, making sure that all the spoons she’s crammed in there aren’t nestled together (Because then how will the front side of one and the backside of the other get sanitized?) and a Smurf walks up to her, yelling, “Look, Ma! Blue!”
She stares at him.
Because WHAT ON EARTH?
And WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
And WHAT IS THIS THAT HE HAS GOTTEN INTO?
And then the mother SMELLS it, because her nose is better than any FBI dog on this planet. She immediately discerns that WHAT THE ACTUAL SNOT, BATMAN?! THIS IS HARDCORE, INDUSTRIAL PAINT FROM A REAL METAL CAN WITH ONE OF THOSE LIDS THAT YOU HAVE TO PRY OPEN WITH A FLATHEAD SCREWDRIVER!! WHERE DID HE GET IT?!
And then her head might spin around a little erratically, like it’s been featured in a horror film.
After that, the mother pretty much enters TOTAL FREAK OUT MODE, where she screams, “IT’S PAINT! HUBS, IT’S PAINT! IT’S REAL BLUE PAINT! IT’SPAINT!!IT’SPAINT!!IT’SPAINT!!!!”
And then she chases that down with a scream of, “DID HE EAT IT? DO YOU THINK HE ATE IT? THING 2, DID YOU EAT IT???”
Hubs is the one who suggested that I actually look into the baby’s mouth. His nose was blue; his eyelashes were blue. But, praise Jesus! His tongue was pink… his lips were pink… and his teeth were blessedly white!
We are 99.9% certain that Thing 2 did not ingest any paint, so I refrained from phoning Poison Control and screaming in their ear about WHAT DO I DO? DO WE DRINK MILK AND VOMIT?
After I had stripped Thing 2 down and tossed him into the tub, with the boy there to scrub him down with plenty o’ soap, Hubs and I attacked the hardwood floor in our bedroom.
Yes. Our bedroom.
Because apparently Thing 2 found this real can of blue paint in Hubs’ nightstand. I vaguely remember it. I bought it a hundred years ago, when Knight Rider was still cool, because I painted a giant picture frame with it. I don’t know how or why it was still in Hubs’ nightstand. We don’t know how Thing 2 managed to pry the metal lid off, seeing as how he hadn’t managed to swipe a flathead screwdriver from Hubs’ toolbox. But one side of the lid came up, which just proves that Thing 2’s pediatrician was exactly spot-on when she announced that he had the strength and reflexes of a two-year-old. Thing 2 poured the blue paint out onto our hardwood floor, and he practiced his hand at abstract art by swirling it around a four-foot section of our bedroom.
Our floor was a hot wreck of awful.
Thankfully, the Lord showed us His favor. The paint was still wet, and it came off relatively easy with sixteen rolls of Bounty paper towels and just two cuss words.
Thing 2 was bathed. Thing 2 was scrubbed until the top layer of epidermis came off of his hands and arms. His mouth was checked for traces of paint one thousand and four times. We’re still going to go with the train of thought that our baby didn’t eat the paint.
Heck. He wouldn’t eat his broccoli tonight at dinner. Why on earth would he eat paint?
So… you know… that was our night. Sadly, there are no photos of the Great Catastrophe of ’13, because when you’re trying to save a hardwood floor and see if the baby has snacked on paint, you tend to just forget the camera completely.
But, about two hours BEFORE Artist Smurf created a blue masterpiece, I took THESE snapshots of him with his green dinosaur. It’s because he apparently thinks he’s training to be one of those trick riders in the halftime show at the local rodeo. You know… the ones who stand up on the backs of their horses while they’re galloping at break-your-neck-in-half speeds?
What scares me the most is that I fear Thing 2 is simply practicing for a future career as a bull rider here.
(Don’t worry. The brown smudges on his face aren’t paint. He was eating M&Ms, because I was trying to teach him his colors.)
And remember this picture from a few days ago here at Jedi Mama, Inc.? It’s the picture that I stole off of Pinterest. We have no idea who this baby is, but goodness! Hubs and I howled with laughter over him.
Only it wasn’t birthday cake.
Because it was real paint.
But please don’t worry about Thing 2. He’s sitting in a box with air holes right now, waiting for the Fed Ex man to pick him up and deliver him to his grandmother’s house.
Y’all carry on, and please. As a public service announcement, I’d like to encourage everyone to just keep real paint out of your one-year-old’s reach. It seems only wise and prudent.