That Mother

**Edited at 8pm... see end.**
This afternoon, I had to take Elli along with her three siblings, to an hour-long pediatric physical therapy (PT) appointment. Have you ever been to a pediatric PT department? It's chock full of colorful exciting things like tumble-forms, round balls, peanut balls, barrels, swings, mirrors, gymnastic mats, wedges, and much much more. All super-child friendly. All super-expensive. And all designed to help kids who are learning or re-learning essential skills like sitting up, rolling over, crawling, walking, jumping, climbing stairs, and more.

They aren't meant to be played with by able-bodied rambunctious bored siblings.

But try telling that to said able-bodied rambunctious bored siblings!

I packed a backpack full of fascinating (I thought) toys, and instructed the kids that they were not to play with the toys at the session. They could only play with the toys we brought from home. I also added an element of bribery: they would not get stickers unless they cooperated and followed my instructions.

Well, that was about a successful as bathing a cat.

They still ended up playing with most of the toys within arm's reach, jumping from wedge to cushion, trying to swing from the ropes, and tossing basketballs while I was distracted, filling out forms and answering the therapist's questions. When I finally had a minute to address them firmly and insist that they sit down, Little Girl grabbed her markers and a coloring book. Older Boy pouted in the corner, and Little Boy puttered with the markers, pretending to color.

Ahhh. They were finally quiet. I took the moment to gather my sleep-scattered thoughts.

Then Little Girl turned around. She had created purple tiger-stripes across both arms, and polka dots on her legs. Little Boy had also colored his arms and legs.


Older Boy discovered the "tattoos" they were giving themselves, and got in on the marker action before I realized what he was doing.

And you know, I was a teeny bit dismayed, but then I thought, "Hey, it's all washable. And they didn't color the PT equipment. No big deal."

As my four circus clowns children and I paraded out of the physical therapy department, I overheard a mom in the waiting room say, "Oh my. Look at all that marker! I mean, don't look at them! And don't get any ideas!"

It's official. I have become That Mother.

**P.S. Remember how I thought to myself, "It's all washable"? We just finished baths, and it wasn't. I just spent half an hour scrubbing the purple spots on their faces (Little Girl added to her warpaint after the photo!). What was bright purple is now faint purple... still there. **