Just when you think you’re as “kid-ified” as you can get, yet another dimension opens up. As I drove to work today and took the off-ramp at top speed, I heard something clunk against the door in the back seat. When I got to the office, I noticed it was the toy octopus. Or maybe it was the toy Max (from Wild Things). Or maybe the plastic eggplant from her kitchen set. The point is, my car has gradually become a rolling toy box. Will’s too. That’s probably good, as the toys in the house seem to reach new heights each day.
I happened to fall into the rocking chair last week and noticed something odd on the ceiling. It looked like odd shiny blotches. It finally clicked that these were “bubble prints” from the touchable bubbles we blow constantly. Maybe we shouldn’t blow bubbles in the house. I don’t know. She loves them, and I figure with a young kid I’ll be repainting every few years so what the hell? For those of you that don’t know, touchable bubbles are amazing. We first saw them at the Little Gym and immediately had to get some for the house. As the name implies, you can catch them and they’ll stick to you forever without popping. They stick to whatever they land on and the residue will dry and be able to be swept or brushed away. We’ll have to see about the ceiling. It does work on the floor, TV, and couch, I’m happy to report.
Finally, I learned something valuable the other day. We’re always trying new artsy-fartsy stuff around the house: crayons, Play Doh, finger paints (very closely supervised), and sidewalk chalk when we’re outside. Last week as I brought her inside from playing with the chalk, she snuck a piece in as a Precious. I took it, put it on the kitchen counter, and moved on. Fast forward to Sunday and apparently I hadn’t put it far enough from the edge of the counter. I heard an odd scratching noise from the living room, and was vaguely aware that she was pretending to color on the coffee table with something. That’s not unusual. Usually it’s a drumstick or something innocuous. After a moment, I went to investigate and found that it was a hunk of blue chalk. She had painted the rocking chair, the couch, and was in the process of painting the coffee table a lovely shade of blue. I had always kind of scoffed at the horror stories of kids drawing on walls with crayons or coloring on bed linens with sharpie pens, wondering why those parents didn’t watch their kids. Now I know. Those little buggers are fast!