A Mother's Definition of Living on the Edge

Leaving a Sharpie within reach of your boys.

Last Christmas was when Testosterhome was in full swing with Fascination of All Things Beatle. Paul had recently purchased Yellow Submarine, and the boys watched this psychedelic gem of a movie every chance they got (i.e. whenever I would allow it).

One afternoon, I was doing a project using my black Sharpie. One of the boys needed my help and I walked away from my work station for a few minutes. When I came back, my Sharpie was gone.

Meanwhile, Ethan also went MIA and I didn't think much of it. A few minutes later, however, he emerged -- with stylized black marker on his face. He had drawn on himself overgrown eyebrows, a mustache and 1968 sideburns. Just like his favorite cartoon Beatle in his new favorite movie.

"Wha.. who.. arghhh!" was all I could get out. We were scheduled to take Christmas card photos the next day. At that moment, I imagined hundreds of my closest friends, relatives and former collegemates opening a card from the Villa Balducci to find Elliott, Charlie, Augie and Paul McCartney as a cartoon character?

I forced myself not to hyperventilate and grabbed a washcloth. I started to scrub his face, furiously.

To my utter amazement, the ink came off. I demanded the marker and Ethan procured a crayola. He had used washable pen.

I later found my Sharpie above the microwave, where I always keep it. I had been thinking properly after all.