ON YOUR MARKER, GET SET, GO!

Click here to return to the main menu.

It’s never a good sign when you answer the phone and hear, “You are not going to be happy about this.”

For me, the call came from my wife, and I immediately knew that our daughter, Allie, had dome something, and it possibly involved the collapse of our house. When Tornado Allie gets going, nothing can stop her, and she leaves a path of destruction and many, many toys.

My wife told me that Allie had gotten hold of a permanent magic marker and had colored my computer, the desk, the carpet, and herself. My immediate reaction was to laugh, although based on the tone of my wife’s voice, I opted for a different strategy. So, I said, “Well, honey, what are you doing let her play with a permanent marker?”

This was probably the wrong thing to say, although over the phone was the definite right choice for where to say it. Had I been standing there, there is a distinct possibility that it would have been called a permanent marker because it was permanently embedded in my skull.

My wife made it very clear how this was not her fault, and in fact probably my fault, but that she was just calling to prepare me for coming home and seeing my office looking like she had hired the Crips to redecorate. No big deal, I eventually convinced myself. It’s just stuff.

So over the next few weeks, I of course had made several snide comments, just because I knew it would get under my wife’s skin and she would do that thing where she stares at me so hard that her ears turn red. She looks like a little Tasmanian Devil when I do it, so it’s one of my frequent sporting endeavors. (I always do it when AT LEAST a table separates us.) Then, one Sunday morning, I was up with Allie while my wife slept in. Allie was playing as I was enjoying my morning coffee, reading the paper, and just thoroughly enjoying the peace, quiet and tranquility of a Sunday morning. About that time, it occurred to me that I have a toddler, and there should NEVER be peace or quiet or tranquility. I set down my paper only to find Allie, sitting in a chair at the table, humming a song to herself, happily coloring our entire kitchen with two permanent markers. Big ones. Red and blue.

She had colored the chairs. The floor. The desk. The counters. Most every square inch of her body. Her previous efforts were a warm-up. This was the real deal. And she had been so stealthy about it. As I’m reading box scores, she’s moving from one place to the next, leaving her mark.

My first reaction was to call my wife for some assistance. But she was sleeping, and I figured that she could use a good night’s sleep.

Oh, who am I kidding? I was hoping I could clean it up without anyone knowing of it. I knew that I was going to get a long line of told-you-sos, and quite frankly, I don’t need the hassle. I grabbed a can of cleaning stuff that smells just like paint thinner, so that’s gotta be good to cover your kitchen in. Fortunately, it cleaned the marker right up. Granted, there were about 920 miles of marker lines, so that took a while.

When I finished, I looked over at Allie, who was standing there, grinning ear to ear, quite pleased with her artwork. I’m sure her thinking is simple: “When I draw on paper, Mommy and Daddy ooh and aah about it and put it on the fridge. They must love it, so why not decorate the entire house with it?”

After cleaning up all of the household objects, I moved on to cleaning Allie. Fortunately, she sees hand-washing as a rollicking good time, so I was able to scrub her down without problem. (Yes, even I have enough sense not to use paint thinner on my child. And I only considered the sander for a brief moment.)

Shortly thereafter, my wife came downstairs. I figured she would be none the wiser, and I would have received a grand total of zero comeuppance. She strolled into the kitchen and immediately said, “What the…? Did you spill paint thinner in here?” I didn’t know what to say. “And why are Allie’s legs blue and red?” AAAAHHH!!! The legs! I forgot the legs!