Just three

There was a murder scene in my kitchen. A crude, green outline of a toddler sized corpse lie in the middle of the white linoleum floor. Fortunately, Owen popped right up and turned around to admire his green outline. Josie stood next to him with a green marker. And as soon as I noticed that it was a permanent, green marker in her hand, there was about be a double homicide, or at the very least, a verbal assault of a toddler.

Recognizing the look on my face and the tone in my voice, Josie dropped the weapon and ran to the other room. Her accomplice followed. I didn't even bother to bring them back for questioning. They were going to be no help as I tried to right this horrible, disastrous wrong.

I tried everything. Soap, toothpaste, windex, 409, detergent. The line was fading but Owen's outline still stuck out on the linoleum like a mormon at a strip club. And all I could think about as I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed was how we were never going to get our security deposit back once the landlord saw the outline of a green toddler on the white kitchen floor. I hadnt highlighted my hair in over two years. And I'll be damned if I was going to spend thousands of dollars to have this horrible white, linoleum floor replaced.

In despair, I turned to google for help and read that nail polish remover usually did the trick. I was shocked at how many other moms had walked into the kitchen to find permanent marker all over their kitchen floor. I tried a little to make sure it didn't destroy the floor and miraculously it worked and within 30 seconds the outline was gone and my hope for highlights in 2011 restored.

Josie and Owen were walking slowly and timidly back into the kitchen, sensing that the tension had lifted. "You guys are so lucky," I said.

"Good job, Mom!" Josie said admiring the clean white floor.

I started to lecture both of them about drawing on the floor and how on a paper at the table was the only way either of them should draw anything. I noticed myself getting angrier by the word, as though an angry voice would somehow ensure that they would be too afraid to ever do it again.

"You are way too old for this, Josie. You know better better. You can't act like this," I screamed.

"I'm just three," she said with a whimper and her lower lip quivered.

I looked down at her sitting on the naughty step with her brother and suddenly felt horrible. Whatever crimes went down today in our kitchen were no fault of theirs. I didn't put the permanent markers in the safe. I didn't check on them while they played quietly in the kitchen. I should have known better. I should have reacted better. I was guilty of bad behavior by proxy. And my punishment was to have to spend an hour scrubbing the floor and the rest of the day feeling guilty for yelling at a little girl who, in her defense, was just three.