When Dan and I decided to have children, we realised that there would be a lot of sacrifices. Sleep, vacations, our savings account, natural hair colour. Little things that we loved we would have to do without.
We understood that we would have to baby-proof our home in order to protect the children and our personal belongings. We would have to be careful about leaving things lying around. Little fingers do big damage.
And so, I will accept full responsibility for the library book that Sarah coloured. Not just a little scribble, but rainbows on every page. I shouldn't have left it on the shelf out of her reach. It was just too tempting a challenge. But I am sure that it will please and delight the next person who reads "Forty Ways To Look At Winston Churchill". Ha! Now, there's Forty-One ways to look at Winston Churchill!
But I will not accept responsibility for the children colouring the couch. Because, really, what on Earth would possess them to colour my couch? I guess it was the same nasty instinct that made them colour the living room table. And the living room floor. And the bedroom door. And the kitchen cabinets (a little jack-o-lantern sketch for Halloween!).
I know, I know, these things happen. You can't expect the children to be perfect all the time. Some things are going to get bumped and bruised. I accept that.
What I don't accept is how Dan's much adored, flat screen TV, given to us as a gift, and is 4 feet off the ground somehow, "accidentally", got crayon on it! When I asked the three blank-faced children how the orange crayon got all over Daddy's TV, they seemed confused. They looked at the ceiling, and then at the door, and said "I don't see any orange crayon". To which I sweetly replied, "LOOK AT THE TV!". When further pressed, I was informed it was "an accident".
Right. Someone accidentally got a stool from the other room, and carried it all the way to the living room. Then, that child accidentally climbed that stool. Then, she realised that she accidentally forgot her crayon, climbed down the stool, found a crayon, climbed back up the stool, and accidentally coloured the TV because she thought it was a colouring book.
I totally buy that.
So tonight, I am going to "accidentally" think the clock reads 7pm (bedtime) when it's actually 6pm. That's right, my babies, check and mate.