When I heard Brian walk into Isaac's room tonight, to see if he was asleep and heard "oh (insert poopy explicative here)"...and didn't hear Isaac crying - I was terrified.
Rightly so.
The scene which I happened upon, only seconds later was one that brings oneself to a standstill. Wordless. Stricken. Overwhelmed.
Red streaked down his legs. It covered the sheets. It dripped from the sides of his bedrails.
Was it blood?
No. Worse. Much worse. Sharpie. RED sharpie.
How he got it, we can only speculate, but he had it. He had it on his legs, his arms, his toes, his sheet, and worst - HIS BED. The beautiful white bed, purchased with such consideration....striped. Like a zebra. Only red and white.
"Get mom on the phone - STAT!".
Mom came to the rescue with the bizarre knowledge that only mom's of many years (and many sons) would have. Perfume.
So now, our son is blissfully sleeping, in a room, reeking of "Clinque Happy"...to the extent that I don't think I will ever be able to consider it a "fresh delightful smell" anymore. It is now on par with bleach, resolve and ammonia.
Happy. Right. Relieved is more like it.
(I think Brian is high off perfume - he claims to see the image of the Grinch in Isaac's scribbles)

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