Today, my son drew on the couch with a ball point pen. I wanted to grab him and throw him. I wanted to YELL. I told him sternly that it was not ok to draw on the couch, and that he would have to stay in his room while I tried to get it out.
It didn't come out.
In my frustration I brought him to the couch to show him the damage. And again, I wanted to throttle him. But instead I told him that even though he wrote on the couch I still loved him.
Saying that was REALLY hard for me. I have a hard time letting go. And, for a second, I wasn't sure if me loving him was even true. Instead, I felt helpless and pissed, and betrayed.
When I forced myself to say I loved him no matter what, I felt the tightness in my chest release.
I brought him to his room for quiet time, and skipped reading books as a punishment, and he accepted that. I'm not sure that was the right punishment. I also took away his big Mack Truck for the rest of the afternoon.
It turns out a combination of rubbing alcohol and shaving cream will remove ball point pen ink from a micro-fiber couch. Who knew?
Coffee: One decaf from the library, and one green tea!
Cups and Bags Challenge: A friend bought a coffee at the grocery store with her reusable mug, so now we're up to $53!
Watercolor: (I want to learn Spanish and I want to take a watercolor class.)
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