Graffiti Artist

I’m the mother of a graffiti artist. A vandal. Elizabeth is on a path of either criminal or artistic renown. If she doesn’t in end up in time out for the next 15-20.

And how has she been tagging up the joint?

Let’s count the ways:

1. Walls: Our walls are her canvas. Which was annoying when we lived in a house we owned. Heart stopping in a house we rent.

2. Sheets: I have a bad habit of buying only while sheets which she then “makes pretty” with vibrant slashes of color.

3. Carpets: Did you know you could color on a carpet with a crayon? And did you know it’s hard as hell trying to get said crayon out of the carpet? Well, I do.

4. Tables: You’ve heard parents encourage coloring outside the lines. Well, Miss E colors outside the book. My beautiful wood tables are filled with scrub marks only a magic eraser and prayer will remove.

5. Windows: Who needs stained glass when you have Elizabeth and her ever present markers? And stickers. And, on occasion, glitter glue. Do you know how difficult it is to get glitter glue off surfaces? Brutal.

I put the poor child in time out after she tells me how pretty her work is. And then I sit and fret I might be inhibiting her artistic creativity. What do you do when you have a little Picasso?