The Mr. Clean Magic Eraser Doesn't Get Out Permanent Marker

I've learned the hard way that the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser doesn't take permanent marker off the wall. Black permanent marker. That's right, its all over my kitchen wall. Okay, to be fair, the Target brand Mr. Clean Magic Eraser won't get out black permanent marker. Perhaps the name brand version will.

It will take off the strawberries, milk, Fig Newtons, juice, and mashed potato streaks that cover the wall by the high chair, but permanent marker is just a little too...well...permanent. Oh, its faded, but it will take a paint job to completely hide any evidence of my negligence as a mother. You know the negligence that happens when you are checking email, maybe MySpace, and you have some vague notion that you don't know where your toddler is. But you think...just another email and then I'll get focused. You hear a drawer slam shut and think...at least I don't hear any crying. Its only when you hear some scraping on the wall and the word "color" that you go running. As fast as you can, but still a little too slow because by the time you get there you have a permanent masterpiece on the wall. And a very proud little artist. So proud in fact, that its hard not to leave the art on the wall, its hard not to give hugs and kisses for the effort. But still, it is a wall and it is a permanent marker. So the big lesson in this house is that coloring belongs on paper. But I certainly took a picture of the more abstract art that graced our house this week. That is before putting a little art on it of my own...in a matte khaki.

The Hottest Ticket In Town

In October I'm going to the New Kids on the Block reunion concert. And sitting in the 11th row.

In November, I'm going to see Madonna.

But if you thought those were the hottest concerts I am going to see this year, you are wrong. The Backyardigans are coming to Houston with a live show in August. Its called Backyardigans Live! Tale of the Might Knights. Its big stuff around here. I have to tell you, I'm sweating getting tickets. The tickets are not even on sale yet, but apparently other shows have sold out in minutes and scalped tickets are selling for upwards of $300. I'm not even paying $300 to sit 11 rows away from Jordan Knight while he sings the Right Stuff. So I doubt I can wrap my mind around hundreds of dollars to watch Tyrone, Pablo, Tasha, Austin, and Uniqua sing about dragons. But who I am to criticize? I bought floor seats to watch 40-year-old men dance and sing. So maybe animals neighbors singing about a dragon in their backyard isn't so farfetched.

Patrick Rolled Over!!

Just when I said Patrick didn't get enough publicity...he decided to roll over from his tummy to his back! What a champ! Finally I can write something in his baby book. Oh, not that he hasn't had accomplishments already, its just that I've finally decided to dig out his baby book to write something in it.

Helen's baby book is 85% complete. Patrick's is 5%. This has really motivated me to change those statistics!

Patrick

Poor Patrick doesn't get a lot of press. Maybe its because he doesn't eat poisonous substances or poop on the carpet. I've started to feel a little bit guilty...when you even glance at the poor boy, he bursts into smiles. I think its because he knows that full-on attention is rare, so he puts on quite a performance.

I'll admit it, other parents are afraid to, but its just an actual fact...you don't pay as much attention to your second child as you do your first. How can I? How can I goo and gaa with Patrick while Helen has her finger hooked on a fish hook? How can I remember to give Patrick his tummy time when Helen has found the phone and is dialing someone?

He lets Helen lay on him. Today she rolled him over. He tolerated it. She's started to poke him and say "cute." She calls him "Trick." She tries to give him a bottle and put his paci in his mouth. She loves to lay under the baby gym with him. She points out his body parts. Even his eyes and the more modest ones. So he's getting some attention. Maybe unwanted attention...but nonetheless.

Somehow though, I don't think he is too much worse for the wear. He is so happy. He is so easy. He is so laid back. He sleeps like a champ. He never fusses. Give him a paci and a quick snuggle and he's set. He's even a genius. He has somehow figured out that if he can stay awake between the hours of 8 p.m. and 11 p.m. that sister of his is asleep, and he gets undivided attention. And no one is trying to ride him. Oh, because that's what Helen did today as they were getting into the bath tub. So I think he is pretty happy when 8 o'clock hits.