No More Crayons
A couple of weeks ago I stopped at the bookstore and picked up a couple of new picture books for Bobbin. "The Bunnies are Not in their Beds" by Marisabina Russo, and "A Day with No Crayons" by Elizabeth Rusch. Both were instant hits but the favourite by far is the Crayon book. And it seemed I was quite timely in my selection of this book. It came in handy today.
The book is about a little girl named Liza who loves to colour. But when she runs out of paper and gets caught in the act of colouring on her bedroom wall, her mother promptly confiscates the tools of her crime and Liza must get through an ENTIRE DAY without any crayons. She manages to find ways to entertain herself and make and discover art in other creative ways and in the end she finds she didn't miss them so much after all.
Bobbin loves to make art. She absolutely adores painting. And so when I bought her some Crayola Paint Brush Pens for her to be able to keep in her room and use anytime without asking (I'm in charge of the regular paints; they're not readily accessible at her whim) she was really ecstatic.
Usually she sits at the table or her desk to draw and paint but today she decided to arrange herself and her paper and pens on our floor. The solid brazilian cherry floor that just last weekend I had spent hours on my hands and knees cleaning so I could get at every nook and cranny myself. After about 10 months of buildup I started getting annoyed and just generally disgusted whenever my socks, or worse my bare feet, would stick to the floor as I walked through the house. But I digress.
And so I said "Ok, but we have two rules. Can you guess what they are?"
" Y' know?" she replied, which is her usual response to these questions.
"Rule 1: NO colouring on the floor. Colour on the paper only. Not the floor. Got it?" She nodded her head emphatically. "Rule 2: When you are finished your painting, you put the caps on and put your pens away. Ok?" which solicited another somber nod. I asked her to repeat the rules back to me, which she did, and then I asked her what would happen if she didnt' follow the rules. "Mommy take my paintbrushes away and I cannot use them again". We seemed good.
It wasn't 10 minutes later that I then found her laying on the floor on her stomach, colouring book well out of reach, non-chalantly brushing her marker back and forth over the same spot over and over. Purple. On purpose. Clearly intentional. I asked her what she was doing and she looked up and stated the obvious. I picked up the rest of her pens and then spent the next 5 minutes quietly demanding that she turn over the purple one still in her hand. She started out defiant in her "No!" answer, but when she saw I wasn't letting up they turned to pleads, and then she started negotiating and promising "I will not paint on the floor again, I will not Mommy, please, I will not and I will clean it up". She finally turned over the last pen when I showed her the deep purple stain on the hardwood floor. The big, deep purple stain. The stain from the "washable" paint brush pens that refused to be wiped away with soap and water, and that only faded slightly when I applied something a little more harsh. She knew she was done.
I deposited the pens in what I mockingly refer to as the "Cubby of Confiscation" when I use it, or as Bobbin mispronounces it, the "Cubby of Constipation". It's a small wicker basket I keep on top of the china cabinet for just such purposes. Confiscation purposes, not constipation purposes. And then while she was sobbing uncontrollably I took her on my lap and reminded her about her picture book, and we talked about what Liza had done, and what her Mommy had done, and how this was just like what Liza had done and I took her pens away from her for the same reason Liza's Mommy took Liza's crayons away from Liza. In the end she acquiesced. It seemed fair. Liza's Mommy had done the same thing. It happened in a picture book; it must not be so bad.
I managed to get her out of her blues and back to her jovial self by enticing her outside to blow bubbles on the deck after putting the cubby back on the top of the china cabinet. The pens were not forgotten completely however, and she would refer to them repeatedly throughout the day. "Mommy, 'member when I was colouring with my pens and I coloured on the floor and that was not ok and so you took my pens and I cannot have them now until tomorrow, just like Liza". I reminded her repeatedly that Liza managed to have fun despite having no crayons for the day. We went to the park and fed the ducks and geese, and played at the playground, and rode her tricycle all up and down the bike path, and generally had a great afternoon but every so often she'd bring up the pen incident as a reminder. "Member, Mommy, when I did that?"
I had intended to give them back tomorrow but later this afternoon she willingly volunteered to help me clean the house. I gave her our little Dirt Devil portable broom vacuum thingie, and she went to town from one end of the house to the other while I used the "real" vacuum to do the carpets. When we had finished and put the vacuums away, I thanked her and praised her for being such a great helper and gave her a big hug and kiss. And that's when she looked up at me and said "Mommy, maybe I can have my pens back now please?"
This time, I put a mat underneath her paper and pens.
Not even three yet. Man are we in trouble.
Comments
At least you know Mom and Dad have some handy tips for getting semi-permanent ink out of couch cushions and bedspreads. You know, should those situations ever arise. ;-)
Posted by Sarah on June 9, 2008 5:57 AM.