Priceless

"Mommy, I want to paint," says my son with a serious look on his face. 

"No, bubba, we're not painting right now.  We can paint later.  We have a lot to do today."

"But MOOOOM!  I want to paint!  Please!" says Ethan even more intensely.

"I said NO! We don't have time!" I retort.

This argument goes on for about 5 minutes, after which my son disappears while I continue getting dressed for the day.  I'm already stressed out, because I have company and a full schedule for the day, none of which includes finger painting with the kids.  Ethan has other plans, however. 

As I rush around the house making sure that everything is together to go I realize that Ethan has disappeared.  Where is that kid?  I have to get him dressed.  I call for him and he yells that he is in his room.

I walk down the hallway toward his bedroom and open the door.  A sharp yell escapes my throat before I even know what just happened.  "SHIT!! ETHAN, WHAT DID YOU DO????"

"I painted!" he says joyfully jumping off the bed with glee. 

Imagine the scene.  An otherwise clean bedroom, with off white carpet, Cars sheets, a toy dragon, a fluffy green pillow, and a Tonka bulldozer, all covered in gigantic splotches of blue Crayola finger paints.  I can't even think right now.  There is paint seemingly everywhere.  It is dripping down the side of the sheets onto the floor, and OMG, what are we going to do about the CARPET???? 

We rush to grab some SpotShot Carpet Cleaner and scoop the blobs off the floor onto a paper plate.  I hurriedly spray the carpet cleaner onto the spots as I think to myself, "This is never coming out.  I'll never get back out deposit now.  Damn you child!!"

Ethan is screaming his woe to the world in the kitchen corner timeout area.  2 1/2 minutes later I call him into the room, red-faced, choking on his spit.

He is so beautiful that I can't muster up the anger that I had previously. 

"Bubba, where are we supposed to paint?" 

"On the, on the...hick, hick...on the paper," he says sweetly.

I go through explaining why Mommy got so mad and we proceed into the dining room to grab a piece of paper for him to finish his artwork on.  As I watch him settle into his chair at the table I start to laugh.  I realize that my son is just like me.  He wanted to paint.  The world told him no, but he wanted to do it.  So he did it.  He learned a lesson from it, and I don't think he'll ever paint his room without a dropcloth again, but he knew what he wanted and went for it. 

Most of the paint came out of the carpet, by the way.  It will forever hold a slight tinge of blue, and I'm certain that I won't get back my deposit now, but eh, oh well.  I mean....

Deposit: $400
Fingerpaints:  $7
SpotShot:  $4
A lesson in life: Priceless