Crayon And On And On

(I have taken my three-year-old son to visit his grandmother (my mother) for the first time.)

Mother: *to my son* “Hello, I’m your grandma. I have lots of toys in that room over there.” *points to the guest room* “Do you like to color?”

Son: “Yes.”

Mother: “I have a huge box of crayons and some paper on the desk.”

(My son runs off to the guest room to draw.)

Mother: “I found some antiques in the storage room I would like to give you.”

Me: “Thanks, we really need furniture right now.”

(My mom takes me to the storage area.)

Mother: “The stuff in that corner is for you.”

(She gives me a box of family heirlooms (mostly war memorabilia), a bed frame, a table and chairs, and an antique TV. On closer inspection, I notice that the screen of the television has been drawn on with crayon.)

Me: “This stuff is really cool, but what happened to the TV?”

Mother: “What are you talking about?”

(I show her.)

Mother: “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about that. I must have been [Son]’s age when I did that; maybe a little older.”

(I put the antiques in my car and go into the guest room to check on my son. Literally everything in the room is covered in crayon: furniture, the floor, walls, doors, windows, and somehow THE CEILING.)

Me: “[SON], YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE!”

Mother: “What happened?”

(She walks into the guest room.)

Mother: “Oh, my god! It’s a good thing I bought washable crayons.”

(I put my son in time out while my mother and I clean up.)

Mother: “I think the universe is punishing me for destroying my parents’ TV.”

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