“Hey kids! I’m home! How was escuela?”
“It was escuela-y. The maintenance guy fixed the hole in the wall.”
“Really? Cool! I didn’t even put in a work order for that.”
I walked over to the wall where the hole had been & reached up, touching the patch. The patch that was still wet. It left a big fingerprint in it.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was still wet?!”
“How would we know that you would touch it?” my kids inquired, dumbfounded.
I tried to smooth out the fingerprint and managed to make it worse.
“Oh my gosh! I’m just making more of a mess! This is awful!” I continued to run my finger across the surface, trying to smooth it. “Oh no! I just need something to smooth it out! Grab me a knife! No, a spatula!”
“Mom, leave it alone!” my kids implored.
“I can’t now. I have to fix it! Grab me a spatula!” I called over my shoulder. When they made no move to help me out and instead just stared at me, shaking their heads, I made my way to the kitchen & grabbed a plastic spatula.
Back at the wall, I carefully moved the spatula along the surface trying to smooth out the plaster.
“Aaaarghhh! It’s not working!” I freaked out.
“Just stop, Mom!”
“No, no, no, I’ve got it. I’ve got it. I can do it!” I insisted. I ran the spatula along very lightly and although there was a sizeable lumpy area, I made it a little bit better. “Oh my gosh, I’m a two year old!” I came to the realization, laughing.
“The maintenance guy is going to be mad at you when he comes back to paint it tomorrow.”
“I’ll just tell him you guys did it,” I teased.
A few minutes later, we left to get Clay’s hair cut. As we drove along, I had a sudden thought!
“Clay, call Lexi and tell her not to touch the wall when she gets home from work.”
He dials her number.
“Hey Lex. Don’t touch the wall where it’s all wet and patched.”
“The guys fixed the hole that was in the wall by the entrance to my room.”
“I don’t know. Ask Mom,” Clay said, looking at me pointedly.
He hung up and I asked, “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Why would I even think to touch the wall?'”
“Ha ha,” I said dryly.
The kids laughed. “Seriously, Mom, you were like a moth to a flame.” Clay demonstrated me reaching out E.T.-style toward the wall.
“Laugh it up, kids. Laugh it up.”