So anyways. We got here, got settled, then went and ate at Subway and came back for baths and bedtime. I do not see anything in that sentence that would preclude mass panic and hysteria. Even now, it eludes me.
The storm began at Subway, and by storm, I mean Toby-is-trying-to-drive-me-to-drink type behavior. The very, very quiet Indian family that runs the place and sits in most of the booths along with their offspring, all quietly watching the UN and Ahmadinejad spewing vitriol, was concerned about the behavior of the child. I tell you what, I was concerned myself. Sometimes I wish I was one of those Walmart mamas and I could just haul off and smack a kid or two. (Disclaimer: I don't really wish that)
Anyways. We dragged him out of there by the arm, and then dragged him through a bath, in which he showed his masculinity and strength by teaching his sister how to completely soak the floor outside the tub. (Where was his mother? you're asking... I was gathering PJs. Don't judge) then out of the tub and he is not putting on his pjs because he is jumping off all the couches in his Spidey undies and making heroic statements and such. Finally, as in 1000 years later, I had them all in the bedroom they were sharing.
Now, if you are a grandma type, you are probably saying, "Spank that child! One good whuppin would fix him for life. When I had kids, I made them toe the line. Kids these days are just animals. Animals! With their ipods and their underwear sticking out of their pants and I remember when gas was a nickel!" and so on.
Let me assure you. I spank the child. More than I am comfortable with. I ground, and I remove privileges. EVERY day. I have learned from the Google that 3 years old is hard. In fact, from my mommyblogger research, it seems most of us mommys are caught off guard, expecting nirvana to start right after the "Terrible Twos" end. Sheesh.
So, anyways. Hours and multiple spankings later, when I thought maybe they had accidentally fallen asleep, the MOG calls me in a sotto voice. Never a good sign.
The room, and the two remaining children in it (R2 had been moved to the couch hours back after the persecution broke him) were covered in blue marker. Read that again. The room was covered. As in the entire hardwood floor had been assaulted, as well as the walls and the beds, and the people.
We just stood there in horror. There were no words. Once the initial panic lifted, we found the marker, which was dry-erase, and set to scrubbing the floor and the walls with any cleaning product we could find, to little avail. I asked the Google and found out rubbing alcohol is the key, so we attacked and scrubbed, all the while muttering threats at the small blue boy sitting cheerily in his bed.
The good news is, alcohol takes marker off pretty much anything. The bad news is, it does not take marker off of humans, and neither does baths, or soap, water and washcloth scrubbing. The Smurfs will just have to wait it out.