My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too. I guess he wanted to show-off more.
That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be.
I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.
On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe.
"What is this?" I demanded. And loudly.
My son shrugged his shoulders.
"I like it. It's nice. Took a long time."
He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.
And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house.
I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing 20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary.
It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it and went to do some laundry.
I sat my little boy on the couch that night, before his bedtime.
"Buddy, what can we to make you stop...Well...Destroying your room?"
He looked mildly shocked by my accusation. He raised his hands up, an almost shrug.
"Geeze, if you would just paint my room red..."
He paused to sigh at me and I took the opportunity to interject.
"Deal," I said, holding out my hand.
Later on, I thought, maybe I should not have let him watching Trading Spaces daily with me, back when I was addicted to it.
Maybe I could get him to agree on a light blue...
He went to Wal-Mart two days later with Jean.
When they walked near the paint section, my son ran off towards it.
"This is it!" he exclaimed to Jean, when she caught up with him.
"What is?"
"My Mom is painting my room red," he grinned, holding up his chosen colour.
"Sure she is..."
He handed me that paint chip the minute he ran in the door.
"When you come back from vacation, it will be done," I said to him.
"Okay," he nodded at me.
This past Saturday, I painted my son's room. Red. Crimson Red to be exact.
Since I had left the painting until the last possible moment of the two week vacation, I just piled everything in his room in the middle of the floor.
The paint smelt real bad. It looked fuschia in the can. I discovered I owned nothing tall enough to make me tall enough to be able to reach the ceiling to tape it up. His bed had to keep getting moved, depending on which wall I was on. And I had to use a chair to be able to reach the top of the wall with the roller. I had to move the chair every two minutes. For 12 hours. I looked like a shot-gun victim. My hair rolled along with the roller twice. It hurt.
It was also an awfully hot day.
My son loved his room. He spent practically two whole days in there, playing. He gave me extra hugs.
Tonight, my son stayed up, quietly playing in his room after bedtime.
He knows if he remains quiet, I will let him away with it for an hour or so. There is nothing better than being up when you are not suppose to be.
Around nine o'clock this evening, I went down the hall to tell my son it was officially bedtime. When I walked in, I caught a flash of white, out of the corner of my eye, near the dresser.
I turned slowly. Oh, my God...
The red paint had definitely been chipped. I stood, my eyes transfixed upon this...this what?
I sighed. It looked like a large hawk flying through a red sky. Kind of spooky.
"Is this a bird?" I really did not know what else to say to him.
"Yep," he nodded. "A hawk."
"Yeah..." I smiled weakly at him.
I stepped in that damn paint tray three times on Saturday.
That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be.
I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.
On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe.
"What is this?" I demanded. And loudly.
My son shrugged his shoulders.
"I like it. It's nice. Took a long time."
He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.
And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house.
I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing 20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary.
It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it and went to do some laundry.
I sat my little boy on the couch that night, before his bedtime.
"Buddy, what can we to make you stop...Well...Destroying your room?"
He looked mildly shocked by my accusation. He raised his hands up, an almost shrug.
"Geeze, if you would just paint my room red..."
He paused to sigh at me and I took the opportunity to interject.
"Deal," I said, holding out my hand.
Later on, I thought, maybe I should not have let him watching Trading Spaces daily with me, back when I was addicted to it.
Maybe I could get him to agree on a light blue...
He went to Wal-Mart two days later with Jean.
When they walked near the paint section, my son ran off towards it.
"This is it!" he exclaimed to Jean, when she caught up with him.
"What is?"
"My Mom is painting my room red," he grinned, holding up his chosen colour.
"Sure she is..."
He handed me that paint chip the minute he ran in the door.
"When you come back from vacation, it will be done," I said to him.
"Okay," he nodded at me.
This past Saturday, I painted my son's room. Red. Crimson Red to be exact.
Since I had left the painting until the last possible moment of the two week vacation, I just piled everything in his room in the middle of the floor.
The paint smelt real bad. It looked fuschia in the can. I discovered I owned nothing tall enough to make me tall enough to be able to reach the ceiling to tape it up. His bed had to keep getting moved, depending on which wall I was on. And I had to use a chair to be able to reach the top of the wall with the roller. I had to move the chair every two minutes. For 12 hours. I looked like a shot-gun victim. My hair rolled along with the roller twice. It hurt.
It was also an awfully hot day.
My son loved his room. He spent practically two whole days in there, playing. He gave me extra hugs.
Tonight, my son stayed up, quietly playing in his room after bedtime.
He knows if he remains quiet, I will let him away with it for an hour or so. There is nothing better than being up when you are not suppose to be.
Around nine o'clock this evening, I went down the hall to tell my son it was officially bedtime. When I walked in, I caught a flash of white, out of the corner of my eye, near the dresser.
I turned slowly. Oh, my God...
The red paint had definitely been chipped. I stood, my eyes transfixed upon this...this what?
I sighed. It looked like a large hawk flying through a red sky. Kind of spooky.
"Is this a bird?" I really did not know what else to say to him.
"Yep," he nodded. "A hawk."
"Yeah..." I smiled weakly at him.
I stepped in that damn paint tray three times on Saturday.
Comments
I Googled. I am not good at it.
Just please tell me the name of the song.
And soon.
I am tortured here.
Q
Title: "Love Removal Machine"
Your welcome.
:)
I just have never much listened to The Cult.
The name creeps me out.
Q
The song rocks.
Q
some kids go through this phase, I don't understand it, but it generally goes away after puberty hits, or not
Oh, and the Cult kicks butt!
My favorite room EVER was a Laurie dining room. It was orange and she did it in the first season. A year later I got up the courage and painted my dining room orange. It was fabulous.
Do you got Behind the Scenes? A fabulous little book.
Oh, I suddenly miss the show. I think I will watch it tomorrow. It is still on at noon, right?
And Phoebe? I am charging $100 bucks an hour for my son's expertise. He only works at night. At least you will get to stay in a neutral-coloured hotel room...we can work out the little details later.
Morgan-I do have incredible patience, but the post is called Rosy Cheeks...
Q
"Not so easy now is it boy?!"
Or, if you must do it yourself, you can flood the room with paint and drain it into the backyard to make the job easier (albit a stinker one). Just be glad its his own room, and he isn't destroying every other room.
A bit of my philosophy: Today we spend so much time child-proofing our homes. Why not just let the kids explore? They'll learn what not to touch. "Hey Jimmy, you want to stick your finger in the light socket? Sure, go ahead. Heh heh, that didn't feel to good did it? He won't go near that area anymore." That just might be the best way to teach our kids (and it saves money!).
P.S. Queenie, as soon as school starts I have loads of stuff to put on my blog. But since its summer... I just can't do stuff in the summer ;)
I am letting him explore. That is why there will be no re-painting again. Until his room is suffciently destroyed again.
I wonder if I can get him to agree on just one wall?
Compromise.
One that will mean I will likely have to re-paint in 6 months, instead of three.
Hmmmm....It will not nearly be as hot then.
Q
I think you would enjoy reading SILIK.Jeepers, I have a lot to say on MY Days Off.
Q
Well, I never really said that you don't let your kid explore. But just let him see how his room looks bare (although he might like it that way - why else would he be doing that? Or is that just the the way kids are; a huge thirst for destruction?)
Thank you for more than just a visit. I appreciate all the comments you have left here. Each one made me smile.
Thank you so much.
Q
I used to do this kind of stuff. After a little while mom had enough, dropped my drawers, bent me over, and revealed the hairbrush that was behind her back. The really thick one. My "phase" ended imediately after that. She bought me drawing supplies and an art pad. then was suggestive of what was to come if I forgot to tell her I was about out of paper. :)