Crayons
As week two of providing the primary care for our daughters is barreling into the weekend, I feel I already have a lot to talk about.  While crayons are not the most important things to the girls right now, they do hold their attention for at least half an hour every morning, and today I feel especially inclined to elaborate our "crayon routine" if you can call it that.  The twinks, aka A and A (my 2yr old twin girls) generally start out coloring in separate books or pieces of paper, and they can work happily at it on their own for a good bit.  They invariably make the jump from coloring in the books to coloring on their table and nearby furniture.  This is usually when I start using a lot of 'no's and asking if they need something else to color.  Then crayons start flying to the floor, which secretly cracks me up, because they almost always acquiesce to my requests to help pick them all up.  And I'm never too upset when they color on the furniture near their table; everything has a glossy surface and the crayons we have for them are very easy to wash off.  The problem:  we have received or bought all kinds of crayons, some that wash easily and some that...do...not.  So as I'm walking around the house picking up clothes and stuffed animals and creepy talking toys, I notice some beautiful orange and green squiggles dancing about down the hall (they seem to be afraid of heights as they never seem to rise more than three feet from the floor).  Clorox wipe in hand, the crayon effortlessly lifts off the wall, and I proceed with a new-found arrogance hunting for more squiggles.  I find some on the wall over the steps to the laundry room. Orange darts and green swirls, purple lines underlining the work, as if to suggest this is an especially important work.  Washes right off.  A few steps up, billowing clouds of a vivid magenta hang with defiance in their yellow wall sky.  Clorox wipes...had no effect.  Crap.  So I grab one of those green scrubby pads we use on dishes, deciding all I needed was something more abrasive than a soggy wipe.  No effect. None.  Jumping to the big guns, I grab the all purpose cleaner and begin hosing down the pink thunderhead, and get to work scrubbing.  Crap.  Do we still have any yellow paint to cover this before Mommy gets home?  So I gave up and went back to the crayons looking for that one magenta crayon that's impossible to wash that somehow found its way into the cup of "safe" crayons.  Not there.  Then I hear giggling in the girls' room.  Crap.  Before I get there, I already know.  There on one bed, delighted with their latest creation, and jumping proudly in unison, are A and A.  Above them, on their peach colored wall, is a raging thunderstorm of fuchsia! Crap.