Saturday, Max was determined to be b-a-d. It wasn't a full moon or anything, and so I decided he was making up for lost time. He's never had that terrible twos or threes or even fours stage; his hands, body and mind weren't up to it. Weirdly enough, I felt like I missed out. Not anymore.
In the morning, when he and Dave went to the gym to pick up Sabrina from her class, Dave turned around for a minute in the waiting area and Max disappeared. Dave looked around frantically and finally found him inside the gym, doing laps.
At home, Max proceeded to extract the contents of his top bureau drawer down the stairs—socks, pajamas, more pajamas—and dump them down the stairs.
I was totally sleep-deprived and took a nap in the afternoon. Thanks, honey! Only thing was, Honey fell asleep on the couch while he was supposed to be watching the kids. Max got his hands on a blue marker (no purple was around), and decided to color in his socks...
...and our nice wooden floor, circa 1910. Also, some of the area rug in the room. And a bit of the wood kitchen table, circa 2002 and hanging in there.
My first reaction was, of course, glee. Being able to wield a magic marker like that: quite the feat of fine motor skills. Also, setting his mind to doing something this stuff: impressive. Sabrina was coloring on the walls at four, and not once was I ever ecstatic.
I repressed my enthusiasm. "Max, we do not write on our socks, the floor, or the carpet," I said, firmly. "Coloring is for paper."
"Yes, Max, don't do that again," said Sabrina, which totally distracted me.
"You're not his mother!" I said, stating the obvious.
"Oh!" she said, restating the obvious.
I keep those Mr. Clean Magic Eraser pads in the house, only in case of emergency because I fear the chemicals in them. Sure enough, they got out the marker.
At night, I read to Max from Thomas & Friends Movie Theater, a new possession.
Max doesn't like the book so much as the little battery-operated movie projector that comes with it and projects images of Thomas and his pals onto the ceiling. Max wanted to sleep with the thing, but I said no and put it on his shelf.
I walked into his room a couple of hours later. He was sound asleep, cuddling with the movie projector.
Watch out world, it's Bad Boy Max.
