Toddler for Sale.

I knew the second I saw him I should not have given him my little bottle of Mary Kay Buffing Cream to "pretend" with. Even as I write that I can't believe what a dumb move that was. I just figured he wouldn't be able to get the top off, and if he did, he wouldn't be able to squeeze anything out.
What happened was I left him in his bedroom and went back outside to enjoy the sun with Joey and soon I hear coming through the screen door:
Mommy I got lotion!
And this is what I saw when I open the screen door:

I took it in stride.

Then yesterday Joey got up and could see that I was having one of those mommy days where you feel more like a psycho than a mother, and he told me to put Ethan in his room before I snapped. He said I needed a break from him.

So I did. Ten minutes later it's quiet in there, and I think maybe he went to sleep. Maybe he fell asleep on the floor, playing with his trucks. I pictured him curled up with his yellow blanky, truck in hand, eyes close like an angel. I had forgiven him for being such a poop.

I slowly opened his door, expecting to find the serene scene explained above, and instead I see him crouched behind my ottoman, playing with a little red something.

A little red Santa PEN.

I then see that he has it all over his face, arms, chest.

I take a deep breath. This is OK. No big deal. I walk over to him and that is when I see he has also used the pen to draw huge, ottoman size lines and circles all over the ottoman.

This is when I don't know how I did not go completely and insanely ballistic.

The rest of the night wasn't any better; he screamed in the bath while I was trying to scrub the ink off of him as if they were tattoos; he screamed during dinner; finally I put him to bed early and he screamed then too. It seems all I hear in those cries is: YOU ARE A HORRIBLE MOTHER! when in reality all they are saying is: I'm two and I'm tired.

I photographed the incident.

Strange thing is when I put him to bed, after he had been good and asleep for about three hours, I felt that achy love for him you feel when you see a little bit more what is all at stake, how rare and precious our relationships are. I went in his dark room and kissed his cheek, hoping, almost begging, for him to be able to feel some of that achy love come through my lips and seep into his body. You just want them to know how much you love them, how they can't help but be the center of your world, despite lotions and pens.