Scribble Rebel

Our bed has three layers of blankets.  There's the sheet, the in-between blanket that vanishes when summer arrives and the comforter.  All white.

I know.  I know.  I know.

An all white bed and a toddler who is in love with an orange Sharpie is just asking for it.

The freshly washed in-between blanket now boasts a bright cheery orange dot in the middle.

Levi claims with much enthusiasm that the dot is red. With the lights dimmed, it looks red.  But the point is--even in the dark we can still see that bright dot.  It's inescapable.  

I asked for it.  Why the orange Sharpie was lying there on the bed in the first place is beyond me.  Douglas and I looked at each other.  No blame game here.  Resignedly we told him it was orange, not red.

Levi moves lightning quick now.  He marked our tangerine midcentury rocker purple.  And he pointed it out gleefully.  He brandished the orange Sharpie and colored our back door where the glass meets the wood.  I removed most of it because I moved lightning quick too.  Yup.  

There's that infamous milestone, the insatiable urge to scribble on everything but paper.  It starts out the same way each time--he sits in front of a notebook with a rather prim, studious look.  He timidly dots the white paper.  Then he makes a slow little slash that, oops, runs off the notebook and onto the floor.  Oops--he marks his hand by accident.  Hm.  Then he marks his other hand, maybe to match?  Then he brings the marker up to his face for close scrutiny, blemishing his cheek in the process.  From there it's a slippery slope.  

I thank my lucky stars for washable markers.  Big kraft paper is a godsend (but why Levi insists on sitting on the edge of the paper is beyond me).  For the time being, all Sharpies are banned from this old Breuckelen house while Levi hones his fine motor skills.