Today Rowan, my three-year-old, learned an important life lesson: First time's funny, second time's a spanking.
So many of you commented last time this happened and I tried all your suggestions. Baby wipes and rubbing alcohol removed most of the purple pen from B's face, but I didn't want to get too close to his eyes so now he looks like he got in a fight.
Which is quite possibly the case. I'm pretty sure Rowan sat on him to get such even coverage. He also pulled up his baby brother's shirt and put another patch of purple scribbles there, but I didn't discover that until tonight when I was changing Mr. B into his jammies.
Yep, this guy is a handful.
My little Rowan.
Three years old.
He can sniff out candy like a bloodhound, even if it's tucked away in drawers he knows are off limits. If it's in the house, he can't think about anything else.
He will no longer take a nap because his older brothers don't have to. It's become a daily battle, which usually makes me feel like this:
He conveniently has a stomach ache whenever he's asked to pick up toys.... or eat his dinner... or take a nap... or stop throwing a fit. Ohhhh, Mama, it makes my beh-wee hurt!
He really likes to use the phrase "Oh, dat's disgusting, it makes me sick!"
He also likes to say "toot toot" at the end of his sentences. "Brudders, I'm gonna eat yo' candy, toot toot!" It's borderline potty talk that he thinks he can get away with.
He is obsessed with pens and will color on himself, his little brother (obviously), doors, or the couch if given half an opportunity. I'm hoping he learned a lesson on this one today because Daddy wasn't taking any prisoners. The pen war has got to end.
This week he broke a coffee table and an end table doing super hero stunts.
Lord, you gave me a strong-willed child who will probably some day become a Marine, a professional wrestler, or a Viking. Please help me to love him and raise him according to his bent, and not blow my top. This little guy is kicking my butt. Amen.