So, I decided to get the crayons out for Zoe again since she grabbed a pen and paper off the table and obviously wanted to draw. When I asked her if she wanted crayons, she quickly responded "Please!" instead of doing her usual when she's got something she shouldn't: Running like a bat out of hell.
Up she went in the highchair. I took a sharpie and wrote her name in block letters. I drew a cartoon of a cat, flowers, numbers. Basically it was my quick answer to a page from a coloring book. She went with it. She carefully chose her colors. Red. Blue. Purple. Green.
She was partial to the blue.
I left her alone for a second.
OK. Maybe 30 seconds.
She ate 1/2 of the blue crayon.
Well, maybe just a 1/4 of it because a good amount came spilling out of her blue stained mouth when I exclaimed, "Oh, NOOOOOO! What did you doooooo?!" (In slow motion, of course.)
And she laughed and said "Blue!"
Great. At least I'm teaching her colors.
As I cleaned up her face and took away the other crayons I grumbled that at least now I wouldn't have to make her lunch.*
I stepped away from her to throw chunks of chewed blue crayon away. I washed my hands to prevent Finnegan from becoming Baby Smurf.
And then she started SHREDDING the paper she had drawn on. And I should add that as she shredded the paper, she laughed - like a little maniac having THE time of her LIFE.
See? Performance artist.
Tonight I will be on the look out for her encore: BLUE POOP.
* - OF COURSE I am only kidding. Zoe is a very well fed little girl.
Oh, and not to be one to be left out of the fun, Finn spent the entire time Zoe colored and *whatnot* smiling and laughing and flirting while I "wore" him. As Zoe was sitting in her highchair contemplating why we don't eat crayons (not really, well she was in her highchair but you know what I mean) I blogged the above entry. And then (just as I was about to hit publish) I noticed some "rumble down below" and almost instantly, my shirt and pants were wet from Finn's explosive diaper. No warning - just KABOOM!
I can't make this shit up. Clearly, you need a sense of humor to be a mother.