The Masterpiece on My Kitchen Cupboards
and the Good Work of Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser© 2007, Amy Mulvin
The yellow shined the brightest as the glimpse of sunlight on this mostly overcast morning peered through my kitchen window. The smell of coffee was already filling the air in attempts to wake me up enough to go take a shower. The red didn’t stand out as prominently against my reddish cabinets (I have an Americana kitchen), but upon closer inspection I could see the lovely hues of the blues and greens. I was awake now. I shook my head, inhaled a deep, deep breath, and exhaled very, very slowly. The rainbow of colors cascaded from one drawer to the next, to the next, to the next and down to the very bottom drawer. The artist had lifted her colors while crossing over the stove, and the flow of colors continued again to the next set of cabinets and drawers. It was really a very thoughtful gesture, but unfortunately I was not too appreciative of it. Especially considering that we had just gone over the lecture the night before. I couldn’t really be too mad though, because I was taken back 20 some odd years to a much smaller, and younger, me. At her age, the pen was my best friend. I would put much thought into the drawings I would leave all over my bedroom wall, and if my mother hadn’t insisted on painting over them all the time, I KNOW one of them would be worth money by now.
As I took my shower, I contemplated the best, long term, solution to this little situation. On my way out the door, I scrawled a tiny little note to my husband, and set it beside baby Alexander’s formula so I knew he’d be sure to see it. It read: “Somebody decided to color all over the kitchen cupboards. After she’s had breakfast, she needs to clean them. And then you need to explain to her, that if she can’t use her Crayons properly, then she can’t have them.” End of note. And I went to work.
Shortly after my morning break, the phone rang. I picked it up and heard, in the tiniest, most sincere voice, “Sor-ry. Sorry, Mom.” I smiled at how darn cute she was.
“Oh yeah,” I said. (For a split second I had forgotten about it.) “You colored on mommy’s cupboards, didn’t you?”
“I scrubbed and scrubbed.” she said to me. Then my husband picked up the phone. “She scrubbed for about 15 minutes. It’s not coming off.”
“I knew it wouldn’t,” I said to him. “I just wanted her to have to clean up her mess, so she can see that every action has a consequence of some sort.”
Then in the background I heard, “Dad! Let me talk to her. Let me talk to my mom.” He handed the phone back to her. “I scrubbed, Mom. But it don’t come off there.”
I told her that I appreciated that she tried to clean it up, and that “Mommy will take care of it when I get home.” We said our “love yous” and hung up. And I was satisfied at how “clever” I had become in my parenting. (Chalk one up for me in the battle of “Isabella vs. Mommy.”)
Later that day, after telling the story to some of the other “Mommies” at work, everyone recommended the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. So after work I bought some, at everyone’s insistence that it would “take that crayon right off there.”
So here’s the moral of the story: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser works wonders. Took the crayon right off those cupboards… along with the paint. Therefore, I STILL had to end up repainting the cupboards.
