By: Jessica Lane
Updated: Oct. 24, 2023
Originally Published: Oct. 24, 2023
It was just another day in my bustling home. My one-year-old was dealing with an ear infection, while my three-year-old had been resisting his nap. I was at work, receiving updates from my nanny through text messages. To my delight, she informed me that my oldest had actually slept for a solid two hours—no crying, just blissful silence. “Amazing!!!” I replied, using an exuberant amount of exclamation points and some clapping emojis. This was excellent news.
Or so we thought.
When I arrived home around 6:00 PM, my enthusiastic toddler came bounding out of his room, exclaiming, “Mommy, mommy…come here! I want to show you something!” My nanny’s face was as pale as a ghost, full of dread. She looked at me as if she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders. “What happened?” I asked, and she simply shook her head, signaling that I was about to witness something astonishing.
To give you some context, we had just moved into our new house three weeks prior. My son’s room boasted a fresh coat of paint, new carpet, a recently assembled dresser from Ikea, and a brand new big boy bed with a slide—an idea my husband and I often debated as our worst parenting decision yet. It was practically Pinterest-worthy, with everything matching beautifully. But when I stepped into his room, I was met with what could only be described as a catastrophic art project.
Every surface was covered in black marker. He had decorated his bed, walls, carpet, toy chest, curtains, dresser, and even his nightlight. No spot was left untouched. The sheer extent of the damage was beyond anything I could have imagined. He had dedicated two full hours to this endeavor. The once pristine white bed was now nearly black. My husband and I still remark that we had never seen such concentration from him before.
At that moment, I was at a loss for words. A mix of anger, confusion, and uncertainty flooded over me. Should I yell? How could I make him understand the gravity of what he had done? But then I looked at his face, and my heart sank. He was SO PROUD of his work, genuinely believing I would be pleased too. Taking a deep breath, I calmly said, “This is not okay. We don’t draw on our walls or beds. Let’s clean this up together.”
While he dashed off to fetch paper towels, I frantically searched online for ways to remove marker stains. Before starting the cleanup, I snapped a few pictures to send to my husband at work—words couldn’t capture the chaos. I even called my mom, who, after laughing at my situation, offered some helpful tips. Nail polish remover and hairspray were highly recommended, so I began there. While the nail polish remover worked to lift the marker, it also took off some of the new paint. Oh well, I guess it was the lesser of two evils.
As my son handed me paper towels, he was also scrubbing at his slide. He looked up and said, “Mom, this is hard.” After about 30 minutes, I realized the fumes from the nail polish remover were making me light-headed, so I suggested he step outside for some fresh air.
Lessons Learned
What did I learn from this experience? First, if you hire movers, make sure they don’t stow away a box in your kids’ closet containing a black Sharpie. Oops. More importantly, I learned that I didn’t need to yell to get my point across. Sure, I wanted to scream, and I had done so plenty of times before. But in that moment, I took a breath and chose a different approach. I think I reached a level of disbelief that prevented me from reacting with anger. It was clear he hadn’t acted out of malice; he genuinely thought I would appreciate his creativity.
Don’t get me wrong—he knew I was upset. But by involving him in the cleanup and discussing my feelings calmly, I felt I communicated my message more effectively. And I was thankful for that.
You may be curious if I managed to remove all the marker stains. Nope! I’d estimate we achieved about 75% removal, and I’m not sure if we’ll get much further. It took hours to reach that point, and frankly, I was exhausted. Plus, I’m not sure he deserves to have his room restored to its pre-marker glory. After all, he literally made this bed (with black marker), so he should lie in it—at least until I feel comfortable letting him wield a paintbrush again.
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In summary, while my toddler’s artistic expression led to a mini disaster, it also taught me valuable lessons about communication and patience. I may not have achieved a pristine room again, but I’m learning to navigate these unexpected moments with grace.