This weekend we had a rather unfortunate incident.
I'll preface this by saying that Curly loves to take things from the pantry and walk around with them. It's not unusual to find him carrying around a can of black beans or rolling a tin of water chestnuts along the floor.
So all week Mo was anxiously awaking a birthday party at a place where they have all sorts of inflatables, including a giant slide. We haven't been there in six months or more, so this was a real treat. We had already picked out and wrapped the gift.
The morning before the birthday party, the boys were playing upstairs, and Dad and I were cleaning downstairs. Because too much quiet is a scary thing in our house, I got a funny feeling and went to check on the boys.
And, well, Curly apparently brought a full jar of peanut butter upstairs. They proceeded to empty it by painting their clothes, bodies and hair - and then they moved on to the walls. The smell was so strong that I detected the peanutty destruction from the stairs.
They made hand prints on the walls. They covered the door knobs. Our clean-up effort was so intense that we lightened or in some cases scrubbed the paint right off the wall. I washed Curly's hair five times, and it's still unnaturally oily.
As we chiseled at the peanut butter disaster, us two grown-ups looked at each other and concluded there was no way we could - after this! - bring Mo to a fun-filled birthday party at the bouncy place. He knew better, and he had done it anyway. We had to be firm in letting him know that's not acceptable, and a four-minute time out wasn't going to be enough.
He was heartbroken, of course. And it was hard on us too.
I delivered the birthday gift and an apology.
Man, it sucks being a parent sometimes.