In varying degrees these last two weeks, our house has smelled like red Christmas candle.
When it shouldn’t.
Same with our son’s fingernails.
And the white paneling on our stairway. Now white and red–like candy canes–and extending as far as a little boy’s fingernails can reach. To smear wax.
Which makes sense now, I suppose, having found the candle 3/4 submerged in the bathroom sink, the wax completely softened and divots of the stuff missing from around the wicks.
So who should clean this? A little boy in a red shirt?
That’s what I thought.
Which is why our son’s squirting the soap and wiping his heart out with a rag.
Only the problem here? He’s enjoying himself.
Which means that he asked his sister to spread more red wax on the white wood, so he could keep scrubbing and pressing the soap dispenser…
And picking at the wall with a butter knife.
Seems we need the sun to shine around here.