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I still don’t know where the ink pad came from.  Or why mere minutes before leaving  for church my son would quietly indulge in stamping his hands in pink ink, such that when we found him, there wasn’t much of him unpink.  There wasn’t much of the house unpink either. 

And since it seemed that the only wise thing to do was to put one of us in time-out, I had him sit down for a tad on the bottom stair to think things over while I got a grip on the damage.  Only he didn’t just sit there.  He arched backwards, fiddled with the scarecrow on the banister, and slipped his feet into a pair of my flip flops.  Then figuring he’d been there long enough, he started to sob.   Into his hands.  Which made him look as though he’d just survived an epidemic.  But barely. 


Then despite scrubbing him with baking soda, elbow grease and a hand towel, the pink ink stayed put.  Which didn’t come in so handy with Halloween past.  And which prompted six or seven allergy questions at church from six or seven different people all wondering one thing:  what the heck happended to your kid?

As evidenced here, he’s awfully repentant. And likely to never do this again. (ahem…trying not to choke here).  In the same day. 

Here’s his after-church answer to, “can I take your picture?”   I took it as a ‘yes.’

And then because I’m his mommy and because he’s my boy and because he says he loves me ‘this much’ which is a whole bunch, if you look at the span of those legs, we drove home happier than clams.

Just me and  my two normal kids.


2 Responses to “When you Befriend an Ink Pad”

  1. Kristina Linkem says:

    Hilarious! Especially the normal photo 🙂

  2. Sarah says:

    Not sure how I missed this one. Made me feel a lot better about my sons shenanigans. Thankful I am not the only one with crazy times to document. You seem to find a way to make it sound fun rather than making it sound like all they have done since turning 3 in wreck, ruin, destroy and cause a general state of madness.

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