As in any household there is an endless list of things that we value that somehow meet their demise. Usually at the hands of children… I wrote a blog a couple of months back that thoroughly documented all of Greg’s broken things. It was very amusing after the fact…after the fact…
This past week following Pierce’s second birthday party, I decided it was time to steam clean the carpets. I even went over the pathways on my wool rugs. I couple of years ago, I got an 8’by 10’ area rug to put over my beige family room carpeting with hopes of saving it from further abuse. It is mostly black with camels, rusts, ivory and blues, and has a bold traditional pattern–great camouflage for life’s little accidents. Plus it was incredibly cheap, so I won’t shade huge tears if something happens to it. I cleaned the pathway across this rug to the back door because, although it didn’t look dirty, there is no way it couldn’t be.
A day or so later, I got on the lazy potty training kick and decided to strip Pierce’s lower half and have his potty chair in front of the tv. I have had numerous conversations with my two-year-old (like he’s 30) about how important it is to piddle and poop on the potty and not anywhere else. I thought we were clear! Enough said…we were safe. Off come the pants, and cupid is off and running. Playing all over hither and yon, I kept reminding him to sit on the potty. He would do it happily and proudly. Then get up and say “Yay!” I would ask him if he “wee wee’d” and he would reply “no” very casually. This was the pattern for quite a while. Call it mother’s intuition, but there was a moment where he seemed to be standing too long or too still in front of the coffee table. I’m still not sure what alerted me, but sure enough there was a considerable wet spot on the rug within a foot of the potty chair. I tried firm exclamations of shame while cleaning it up…but I’m thinking it didn’t sink it. Guess I’ll be buying diapers for a while.
Another attempt at destruction happened over the weekend. Mikey and I were working on a construction paper turkey for school. I thought it would be fun to let him use my paint markers. You have to press the nib down in a pumping motion to get the paint to the paper sometimes, so we had nice polka dots on our turkey. The first thing in the path of destruction was my already tired out dining room table. I bought it when I worked at Ethan Allen because it had a faulty finish and I got it for about 75% off. I thought it would be cost-effective to buy it and have the top refinished. Nope! It got messed up further by the tech and the original finish was still intact (sort of—where it wasn’t blistering.) Anyway, I have been very relaxed about it, figuring someday when it is going to be in a true dining room that get’s minimal use, I will have it refinished correctly. It is graffiti’d with scratch marks, dimples, and all types of flaws mostly because the finish lacks integrity. So I digress… For the moms out there, paint pens aren’t great on construction paper. They just kind of soak in unless you leave a pool of paint in a nice polka dotted style. They also bleed through. So now I have pock marks in the finish stained with xylene based paint. Funny, nobody could figure out how to strip the factory finish off the table because it didn’t respond to the usual chemicals. Xylene based paint seems to eat right through it! Good to know for future refinishing plans!
Once I recovered from this nice little detail, I set our finished turkey up on the bar where we put everything we don’t have a home for and that will need our attention soon. Cell phones, keys, homework, mail—these types of things. Sit there fancy turkey and dry your little paint polka-dotted feathers!
Meanwhile, Greg got a new smart phone because his old one had an issue. It was under warranty, so he got a replacement for free, AND it’s the next generation, so it’s WAY cooler than mine! He’s not real sensitive to my feelings about having a less than totally awesome phone. Well, he set it on the bar. On the turkey. On the orange paint polka dot not yet dried. I discovered this wonderful little mishap while Greg was in the shower. In anger and panic at the forthcoming shit storm, I took a chance at using nail polish remover to get the orange speckled paint off the back of his phone. I was worried it would ruin the plastic, but I didn’t know what else to do. With a little elbow grease and a lot of cursing, it worked. It didn’t hurt the finish, but I never could get all of it out of the emblem in the center of the back side of the phone. Meanwhile, Mikey is asking me if I’m mad at him. I told him “no”—I was mad at dad for just laying his phone on top of anything—after all—I put turkey up there to get him out of everyone’s way on the table. So, Mikey told me, “I’m going to go tell daddy what happened.” I told him, “You don’t need to go tell daddy anything—it will just make him mad and I’ll have to scrape him off the ceiling.” Mikey cocks his head in an “I better do the honest thing” way and tells me “I’ll just go tell him.” And he does! Now I’m ready to kill both of them, and somehow, Greg is ready to kill me!!! What?! I’m out here scrubbing away paint from your fancy new effing phone that YOU got on there! Needless to say, I was pretty icy for a while. We were going to a birthday party, and I meant to stay very cool at least until we got to the party, but I forgot, and we started talking about something else on the drive. So much for my intended angry point!
That’s this week’s story of material goods and their owners under stress.