Documentation for the guilt.

Nothing like a cryptic title to throw you for a loop huh? Documentation for the guilt? What guilt? As if being a mom wouldn't be guilt inducing enough, I'm latin and I'm female. 'Nuff said. This last decade or so though, I've shaken off the guilt complex and sort of come into my own big mouth and all but there's nothing like the Rick Roll called pregnancy and hormones to punch you square in the gut. I'm not an icy person by an means but man do I suck at being normal during pregnancy. While a sad movie usually has me tearful I cry like a man, biting my lip and wiping the tears away with the edge of my sleeve looking around to make sure no one has noticed. While pregnant? It's full on waterworks with multiple tissues and the blubbering lip. Mr. Maricucu and I were watching The Blindside the other night and it was all I could do to keep it together. Although I don't think he noticed since he was wiping the tears away with his shirt and biting his lip.

Back to the guilt. I'd been feeling guilty because with my exhaustion during the last couple of months the kids have been hearing a lot more Nos when it comes to messy projects. I just didn't have it in me to follow through with the necessary cleanup and make sure they cleaned their messes as well. Thankfully within the last couple of weeks I've had some spurts of energy and creativity so they've been getting more messy opportunities. Me, I'm just left thinking there's a darn good reason I say no sometimes.

First we began with a fresh double batch of playdough. Again multicolored, and again a blegh army green by the end of the week when they'd blended it all together. It was pretty tame though. My oldest built a wall of forest fire while his brother made some sort of turtle/snail/pinch pot thingie that I can't for the life of me remember what he called. Chaching! There goes my deposit in the therapy jar.






All in all the playdough was uneventful until I discovered that their little sister had managed to pinch off kosher salt flakes of it onto the dining room carpet (yes that's a rant for another day, genius builders) which I stepped on and mashed with my feet as I took her out of her booster seat. Apparently when I thought she had given up on eating it because it tastes like a salt lick I erroneously assumed she would play with it - on the table.

Well with that hiccup out of the way we moved onto a straightforward pre-St. Patrick's day shamrock collage. I figured the cutting of the papers would buy me enough time in the sewing room. Oops, did I just say that out loud? Little did I know it was even possible to use a whole bottle of glue on a single sheet of letter sized paper. Who knew you could layer a collage 6 layers deep? Apparently momma lost track of time and when we went to move his masterpiece off the table, we were left holding a shamrock shaped hole in the middle of the paper while the glue/construction paper mash stubbornly stuck to the wooden table. The wooden table I had the foresight NOT to refinish several years ago in the middle of a nesting fit. I think I'll do it when they leave for college.




A few days later we moved onto paint. I figured, sure why not? I'm a pro at this by now. I pull out the water-resistant-on-one-side freezer paper and tape it to the counter. Break out the ice trays we use for paint and let them go at it one at a time on the kitchen counter where any mess (so I thought) would be contained. Then little sister was set up at the kitchen table to experiment with finger paint which I vaguely remembered I checked was non-toxic as I watch her accidentally lick some off. Quite quickly I was scrambling to verify that on the large bottles of paint when I found her gleefully licking up gobs of the stuff from the tray, her fingers and then the paper. *shudder*




While little sister was conducting her own paint tasting, my younger son was entranced in covering every single inch of his paper with paint. Apparently his technique with glue extends to paint as well. When I saw it took him all of three minutes to do this I gave him some forks and legos to imprint some texture on all that paint and was able to get a little more sewing in. After he was cleaned up I set up the oldest to paint with a fresh tray and fresh paper taped on the counter while I nursed and rocked the now clean little girl to sleep. As I was walking into the bedroom to set her down I peeked over my shoulder at my oldest and reminded him, "don't make a huge mess, I'll be back in a minute." I put the baby down, she stirred a little so I shushed her back into lalaland then walked into the kitchen.




Just a brief pause to remind you this is my oldest, the 6 1/2 year old. The one who's been around the longest. When I walked into the kitchen he had painted his arms up to his biceps in brown paint, was happily smacking around the paper and paint to splatter the stove, floor and fridge and had managed to paint the top half of his face brown as well. When I recovered from the shock I asked the famous rhetorical question of all motherhood, "why would you ever DO THAT?!" Before he had a chance to answer I went into my deep brain automatically prescripted but typically averted, "You are six years old, you know how we paint, blah, blah, blah." To which he replied, "Just because I'm six doesn't mean I know everything." Screech!! Did you hear that? Because I did and what I wouldn't give to have taped that statement. Having that at my disposal would be like gold in the midst of any future difference of opinions with this child. Instead, I went to get some kitchen towels and had him clean up his wonderful mess. Now I have documentation for those days I'm feeling just a bit guilty that I'm hampering their development because we haven't broken out anything but the crayons in a while. One day I might post what they do in the backyard while I look on (and sometimes don't) from the kitchen window.