I will start by saying I love my kids and would never harm them no matter what I say in the next few paragraphs.
Sundays are normally relaxing, pleasant days around our house. Football, baseball, or NASCAR plays on the TV, I sit in my chair crocheting or playing Angry Birds, the kids play with their toys or chase each other through the house. Sometimes we have family over and we talk and drink and generally have fun--or recover from the night before. This week, there was no football and NASCAR doesn't start till next week. Somehow, between that and the house being uncharacteristically clean, the kids were lost. I put them upstairs to watch The Lion King (Lily's current favorite movie), and sat down to work on some future blog posts. BAD IDEA.
I went to the kitchen to get a snack and smelled nail polish. With fear and trembling I went upstairs. When I got to the top of the stairs, the kids were the ones experiencing fear and trembling. I had finally learned to put all my makeup and hair gear in my latched makeup case. Lily, who is fascinated with makeup, is not old enough or strong enough to open the latch. Despite this fact, my makeup case was open, everything was uncapped and spread all over. The air reeked of Moroccan hair oil, hairspray and nail polish. Johnny's eyes were as wide as saucers. He knew he was in trouble. I was livid.
Johnny admitted to opening the case for Lily. And to helping make the mess. He had painted his entire hands with nail polish, helped to cover my folding chair with lipstick and who knows what else. I swore loudly and marched Johnny out to the shop to work off the $30 of products he had helped to destroy: three lipsticks, a brand new foundation, and entire bottle of Moroccan oil, two bottles of nail polish, half a jar of face powder, and three tubes of lip gloss. I then went upstairs to clean up.
It took me 30 minutes to clean it all up. Johnny was told if he touched anything on my makeup table again he would not be allowed to go to his 100 days of school party Monday, and that if Lily touched anything he was to come and get me immediately. I went outside to smoke a cigarette (yes, yes, I have quit, but sometimes you just need one) and cool down. I was finally ready to face my kids, so Larch and I came inside.
I walked into the kitchen, covered my eyes and said "Larch, you deal with this, you just take this one, I'm done."
Both kids were sitting on the counter. The kitchen floor was covered in 2 or 3 banana peels and a dozen (yes a whole dozen, count them 12) broken eggs. Johnny said Lily threw all the eggs. I believe him. The last time he threw eggs, I threatened to hurt him, then we drove to grandmas, and I started treatment for my BPD.
Larch is so awesome. He set the kids in timeout (Johnny paused on his way to timeout to ask me why I was crying), cleaned up the eggs, and allowed me to order pizza instead of cooking. I could not have asked for a more understanding husband. With a smile on his face, he even asked after the makeup incident if I was going to kill the kids. And laughed when I answered "No. I want to, but I won't."