A Matter of Spatter

Jacob dearly loves to paint. Real paint, not watercolors. I tried to trick him and gave him a set of watercolors yesterday and he used them for a minute and then brought them back to me insisting there was something wrong with them. Now that he's used washable acrylic paint, he'll never go back. Sigh.

I put off "panking" yesterday, but really felt that I couldn't keep refusing the poor boy. I mean, I did give him an easel and paint for Christmas after all and it's kind of mean to keep him from it all for the sake of the dreaded mess he might make. So I put him in a big t-shirt, spread out newspapers on the floor and gave him his brushes...and pank.

Normally I wouldn't let him paint unless Kaylen was in her bed napping, but today we had an odd schedule and after her (all too) brief nap in the car, she was up for the afternoon. I thought I could convince her that watching was better than participating but she would have none of it.

I totally underestimated how many feet out I would need to go in order to protect my rug.

Now, my rug is kind of my pride and joy. I made it myself and I think it turned out pretty well. Of course, my brain told me when I laid it out in the kid's play area that it would be ruined by the kids [and in the event that it was, I could make another one]. But my heart insisted that maybe, just maybe, they would be very careful with it and never walk on it with dirty shoes, or eat on it or...paint on it. Wrong.

Let me tell you, cheap little paint brushes can do some major spatter when left in the hand of a 19 month old.

I'm not too proud to admit that I might have shed a tear as I tried to get brown paint drips out of the rug. Hey, don't judge, I'm pregnant. I cry over spilled milk these days. And Disney movies. And paint on my rug. It's just what I do.

A few moments after the initial heart-rending pain of the rug spatter, I'm became rational again and here is what I concluded: let go of the visible and focus on the eternal. What's really more important, a brown spot on a rug, or two small children wholeheartedly engaging in a brain growing activity. Paint spatter, or my kids learning the art of giving and taking, of sharing a small space, of working together. Scrubbing at poopy looking stains with tears in my eyes, or opening my eyes to watch the simple beauty of kids being kids. Worrying about the rug, or worrying that my children will see me place unnecessary value in an object that has no soul, no purpose, no true worth.

A spot on the floor is so inconsequential. The happiness of my children playing together, learning life lessons, teaching me...these are the things that matter.