It was quiet.
I know better than to ignore the quiet. Screaming. Whining. Yelling Slamming. Banging. These are the sounds that say “Yep. We’re all fine, Mom.” But quiet?
Quiet means you’d be smart to hightail into the room where your kids are playing and be prepared to freak out.
I was folding laundry in my bedroom. Glamorous life, I know. Lucy had been wandering back and forth between my bedroom and the living room making the “enh enh enh” sound that means “Pick me up and carry me around. There is nothing wrong with me but I am bored.” I had decided to tough it out. I would just finish this last load, put it away and then I’d make up for not providing a challenging and age-appropriate activity for six minutes of the poor kid’s life.
But then it got quiet.
I made the foolish choice. I folded like mad and decided to ride it out. When I left my bedroom I had half a mind to just go straight to the kitchen for a Magic Eraser. There was sure to be crayon on a wall. I’d be grateful for crayon and not Sharpie. Or maybe there would be a dumped over dog water bowl.
Much to my surprise my sweet girl was sitting quietly on the couch with the dog. She pointed as soon as I saw her.
Her point was not at me. It was at the television (which had been muted, so I didn’t realize it was even on.) She pointed. And she didn’t move. She sat like a stone and watched.
You recognize the start of those happy trees, don’t you? My sweet girl that doesn’t watch television because she is shy of 16 months old and I am afraid I will turn her brain in to oatmeal or, even worse, create a kid that is incapable of amusing herself without a screen, was watching TV.
But not just any TV. She was watching Bob Ross.
And I hope I didn’t ruin her because I sat down right next to her and said “Check this out. First he covers the whole canvas with Liquid White. Watch and learn, kiddo. Watch. And. Learn.”
She was mesmerized. I can’t blame her.
Excitement on the side 