Lil' Picasso

Apparently, someone has artistic aspirations.  Permanent ones.

Look what we found after coming home from our first night out in a year:

What's that?  Oh.  That's Sharpie.  Permanent, permanent Sharpie.  Would you like to know where he found it?  Let me tell you.

So.  For the first time in a year, ONE ENTIRE YEAR, we had the opportunity to go out- without children, in public- and spend some time together like real live people.  A very exciting prospect, no?  One of our best friends was in town for a gig (he's a spectacular musician), so it was a chance to get out, see a friend, listen to some amazing music, and enjoy ourselves.  Our normal babysitter (read: my kind father, because we have zero dollars) was out of town, but we had been lucky enough to find a dear, kind friend who was willing to babysit free of charge.  Hurray!  A night out!  It was going to happen!  So much fun would be had!

We arranged everything so that we could get the kids in bed before we left.  We figured that since the Little One had recently learned how to climb out of his crib, this was our best shot at making this an uneventful evening and easy on our friend.  We are dumb.

We managed to get everyone in bed before we had to leave, but it was down to the wire and pretty clear that the Little One would be up and out in mere seconds.  Our friend, who is a saint, said not to worry, that she'd take care of it, and sent us happily out to have fun.  So off we went.

Now, here's the thing.  The Little One is not a child of subtlety.  He is loud.  He is rambunctious.  He has never been sneaky in his whole life, because where's the fun in that?  We figured that if he climbed out of his pack n' play in our closet- I MEAN, in our attached nursery- he would stomp around like he always does and our friend would just pop him back in bed.  Easy.  No problem.
Like I said, we are dumb.

He did just that 3 or 4 times.  He popped out of bed and stomped his way around for a minute or two until our friend went in and popped him kindly back in bed.  No problem.  Then, there was silence.  No sound of sliding doors.  No stomping.  No sneaky little toddler feet padding around anywhere.  Our friend quietly tried to get a little work done and listened for him, but didn't hear a thing.

UNTIL.  She heard a big, loud, crash coming out of our room.

She ran in to find that the crash was a pile of papers and a laptop pulled onto the floor.  And then she noticed his cheek and his hand.  Black marks.  What were they?  And then she turned on the light.

And oh the horror.

Please note the squiggles on the travertine tile.  What you cannot see are the squiggles on the wall, the comforter, the carpet, my nightstand, my husband's desk chair, his keyboard and his desk.  Kid straight up tagged the joint.  He went nuts.  But he was purposeful!  Check out the strokes.  I kinda like his style, actually.  Abstract Expressionist, perhaps?

My friend just turned in circles, surveying the damage.  She just kept saying, "Oh, Little One.  Oh, no no.  What did you do?  Where else is it?"  He proudly led her from drawing to drawing, until he realized that she was horrified.  She asked him where the markers were, and he led her to the jackpot- a little collection of pens and Sharpies hidden in his pack n' play.  She had no idea where he'd gotten them.  As she was standing there aghast, he started to realize that his art was, perhaps, not appreciated as intended.  She led him to his bed where he crawled quietly back in, eyes the size of dinner plates.

She tried to wipe some of the Sharpie off, but of course, it's Sharpie.  'Twas a no go.  Then our poor kind soul of a friend worried herself silly and called her mom, her husband, and I think even her sister, wondering what to do.  She felt terrible.  She was panic stricken that all of this had happened on her watch- on our one night out in a year.

When we came home, she was staring blankly at the T.V. looking shell-shocked.  She jumped up and said solemnly, "So... something happened."  She quickly reassured us that no one was hurt, but that the Little One had somehow ninja-ed his way out of bed and had gone a-huntin' around our bedroom.  Where he had found Sharpies.  And used them.  Liberally.

Both my husband and I clapped our hands over our mouths, and then started to laugh.  She was clearly so mortified and obviously felt responsible, and here all I could think was, "Yup.  That's the Little One. Of course he did."  I hugged her and tried to reassure her as she tried to describe the damage.  We peeked at some of it, shaking our heads and rolling our eyes at our kiddo.  Of course he did.  And, had we been the ones here, it probably would have been much, much worse.

What we later realized is that he had climbed up on top of my husband's desk and reached way back to to the very back corner of a very tall shelf to reach those Sharpies.  Sharpies I didn't even know existed.  Sharpies I'm pretty sure he didn't know existed.  I think he was just exploring and, in his fervor, happened upon the most amazing discovery!  He also found scissors up there, but thankfully didn't try to use them.  He was content to draw... and draw, and draw, and draw.

In the morning, he hopped out of bed at 6:30 and stood by my bedside to wake me with a request for Cheerios- same as he does every morning.  I sat up and asked him what he'd done last night.  His response, with great glee and pride while pointing at the giant circle he'd scrawled on the wall: "Draw!!"

*   *   *

That 2nd picture is me trying to clean the Sharpie off the tile.  The Little One was "helping."  Thank you, Little One, but I think you've helped enough.  

Alcohol did the trick, by the way.  No no, rubbing alcohol.  I mean, a drink wouldn't be too shabby after a discovery like this either, but that's not gonna get the Sharpie off of anything.  Alcohol took the Sharpie right off the tile.  It did NOT work on the door.  Smearage happened.  Not helpful.  The only thing that got the Sharpie off the door was the Magic Eraser (bless those inventors) and much time and elbow crease.  Still working on the wall.  The comforter, carpet and wood furniture are goners.

This is not a sponsored post and I've received no compensation from the Sharpie peeps or the Magic Eraser peeps.  They have no idea that I'm writing this.  It's just a funny story and I'm just really, really stoked that the Magic Eraser worked.