Whether it's the kitchen, bathroom, or hallway closet, they leave their mark in every corner and under every cushion in the form of small clans of dinosaurs and light sabers and more Legos. And when they can't find pretty much any given thing, they ask Mommy and I always know where it is.
Tonight, most of the downstairs is free of child-like things. In the morning, that all changes, but for now, it's almost picture perfect with pillows straight and dining table clean and a clear pathway on the floor. But glance at my walls and my stomach drops just a little, embarrassed that we've yet to pick up more Magic Erasers or finally paint with something that removes crayon and pencil and whatever that brown stuff is a little better.
The red line from the top of the stairs all the way down to the entry way when Noah was making a "map." The teeny tiny signatures and stray letters of the alphabet scrawled randomly here and there.
No matter if I were to remove all crayons and markers and pencils in this entire house, there would still be writing on the wall. They have a hidden stash, I'm sure of it.
Someday their talent for hieroglyphics will fade as I catch up with my Magic Erasing and it will long be a memory, the days I was sadly ashamed of the imperfectness.
Children do live here. Little people that I love more than a clean room and uncluttered corner. As much as the noise and the trails they leave behind can- at times- dance on my last nerve, I wouldn't want to even imagine these walls without them.
Submitted to Scribbit's September Write-Away Contest, Colors.