Sunday, we were having lunch with our friend Andrew (a.k.a. Bad Andy). He visited for the weekend. Peter was trying to get Lillian to take a nap. We had decided to try having her nap in our room so that she wouldn't have things to tempt her to play, perhaps. He went in at least twice to "discipline her". Historically, this has gotten us no where. Just as we are starting our dinner, Lillian walks down the hall and opens the door.
L: Daddy, I need you. (Something sounded dire. Peter hopped up and went to her.)
P: Oh my gosh! Melanie!
Bad Andy and I are walking toward her. I see blood all over her dress, dripping from her hands and splattered on her face. She was bleeding to death before my eyes. I think I went into a state of shock. I knew I was about to call 911.
P: Melanie, It's paint.
I went from "my daughter is dying" to "girl you're going to wish you were dyin'"in about 2 seconds. Peter sent me to put her in the bathtub. She was thrilled because all of the colors turned the bath water, mat, tub, etc. purple.
L: Mama, I am taking a purple bath. This is soooo cool.
M: Lillian, you are in BIG trouble. This is not funny.
P: You may want to take a look at our room. It is pretty bad.
It looked like a crime scene. Something out of CSI or one of those many shows that freak me out and I avoid even the previews like the plague. Red paint was splattered on the wall. There was a pool of various colors on the floor. Red foot prints across the off white rug. Red and taupe paint all over the sheets, mattress, dust ruffle and pillowcases. Most of it came off of the wall and the floor, but the rug is a lasting memory of Lillian's feet at three and a half. The bedding will forever look like the faded remnants of a murder.
It seems that she discovered some art supplies in a plastic container under our bed that I had long forgotten (A reason not to store things under the bed... Out of sight, out of mind.). In the container I had a plastic wrapped piece of styrofoam that looked a lot like a canvas. The painted canvas was in the middle of "the crime scene". Apparently, the innocent victim of a random act of violence. I will be framing it and hanging it in my bedroom. A lasting memory... I will name it "The incident of 2006". Sorrowfully, I know it will not be the last incident of 2006.
It really was disturbing on many levels. I know it will be very funny later. It is mostly disturbing now. It was a clear sign that the consequences she was receiving were not the right consequences at all.
You often hear mothers saying things like..."I went through 18 hours of labor for you. You should be kinder to me." I have decided that the labor was the easy part. Labor ain't got nothing on being a mama.
Two days later, I am glad of two things. 1. That I am Lillian's mama. 2. That I did not commit murder in the 1st that day.