Love is Sloppy

Valentine's Day was a couple of weeks ago, but evidence of the madness lingers in my bathroom. That morning I was awake and feeding the baby in my room when the kids poked their heads in and informed me that I was not allowed to exit my room until they said so. I wasn't sure what they were up to, but once they'd installed themselves in the art bar, they came back to my room and told me that they had to get the paint. "Dad said so." 

Now at my house, because of past altercations (notice the conspicuous "s" in that word), the paint only comes out when I am there to supervise the situation. Closely. The last time I let the kids paint sans supervision there was paint on the kitchen table, the kitchen floor, the bathroom (everywhere), and on the fabric shower curtain. Clothes were ruined. I spent a long time cleaning up and feeling grouchy. You get the idea.  

But what could I do? It was Valentine's Day and I needed to stay in my room. My children were slaving over a gift of love and it's was supposed to be a surprise. For me.

I could hear them laboring, happy and excited, together. Finally I got up to go to the bathroom when I could hear that they were finished with their work. The bathroom was bathed in paint. Of course. The sink was more paint then sink. Hanging nearby was a towel, also covered in paint. Paint spots dotted the floor and the wall. And that was just the bathroom. The sink in the laundry room looked just as dismal. The shirts they'd borrowed from Casey's closet (old work t-shirts) to paint in were literally drenched in paint. The clothes they were wearing underneath Casey's shirts somehow collected ample paint too. It was incredible. Of course, I got mad. Luckily, I don't yell when I'm mad, but I was mad. Why would Casey send the kids to do an unsupervised, messy project on Valentine's Day?  Wasn't this a day of love? There were disasters all over the basement and it wasn't even 8 am and I knew that I'd be the one to clean them up.

I sat in my room for a while being angry (after cleaning up some of the worst areas). Through my process of calming down, I reminded myself over and over that the messes that were made were made in love. Those messes were tangible evidence that my kids and my husband loved me. Meanwhile, Casey and the kids prepared an amazing breakfast--gourmet omelets, dragon fruit, lychee fruit, my favorite brand of highbrow orange juice. Earlier that morning Casey ran to the local Harmons, on foot, it was like 5 am, to acquire the goods.

There are still a couple of paint smudges in my bathroom. I think I'll leave them there a little longer.