The Tiny Hands of Destruction
They're small, but mighty.
I’m writing this from GrandPop’s house on the last night of our Thanksgiving road trip and there’s one thing I will not miss saying once we get home:
“Don’t Touch That”
Alternate things I have said this weekend:
“are your hands clean?”
“ we see with our eyes, not with our hands”
“ that’s not yours to touch”
and so on..
Grandpop’s home has been designed with GrandPop and Nana in mind, and their decor and furniture reflect that. This is furniture that’s well cared for with perfectly placed (and rotated seasonally) throw cushions and floors that are professionally cleaned.
Simply put, we’re not at home. I can’t wait to get there again partly because it’s exhausting watching everything our little one touches and making sure she doesn’t touch anything that’s white, breakable or slippery and she could fall on or into.
At home it’s all touchable, glue-able, sticker-able, fall-able, dog-hair-able and destructible and I never thought I would say, this - but I prefer it. Our trinkets are few and placed high up out of reach of child or beast. We’ve gotten used to the stickers on the floor that won’t come off without the help of some energy and elbow grease.
Dear old Dad doesn’t have the inclination or inspiration to clean until she’s past the sticker age1 or otherwise he will just have to do it again.
Meanwhile at home our entire house has a ring around the collar at about 3 feet from the ground where smushed into the walls and door trim are magic marker, tape residue, and more fingerprints than we can count. Our entire house needs an intervention and a paint job and probably a clean by professionals would not be a bad idea too.
Earlier today the child was given a candy cane and while she ate it we had to watch her like a hawk at the table until she finished it, wiped her hands and then she was marched to the restroom to give them a real good wash all the way up to elbows to ensure that all the candy cane was off and would not transfer to the living room furniture or elsewhere where candy cane juice does not belong and would never come off.
Meanwhile at home we have given up for the most part and accepted the stickiness for what it is: a chapter. It’s not the entire book and five years from now we’ll be on a different chapter and that should hopefully be a little less sticky and maybe about that time I’ll get out the goo gone and scrape the stickers off the floor. 2
Tomorrow, I will toss the child into the car with her sticky and tiny hands of destruction where we will drive home and keep throwing snacks into the back seat. Then collect the dog and turn up the heat and embrace the mess that is the place we call home.
And if you think our house is a mess then wait until you see the car.
Keeping the wipes at the ready,
TH and Co.
Or he’s past caring - whatever comes first.
Or, like I said - I won’t care.