The most recent victims of kids: A 100 ml bottle of Coco Mademoiselle Chanel Perfume. A beautiful coral centerpiece. Countless make-up pallets. A white ceramic jewellery tree. A local handcrafted necklace. My favorite tea mug. Plates. Your favorite knitted blanket. A favorite new shirt.
Kids wreck stuff. They spill on everything. They break stuff. They pull stuff down from the gorgeous curated mantle you shopped for hours for browsing through the local Homesense and Target store.
They reach for a Nerf gun dart that they just shot up on to the mantle and they end up pulling down your favorite flameless candle. It was only $1.89 during the 90% off sale for the Holiday décor at the Bay, but still, there’s this little twinge inside of you wondering whether you’re ever going to be able to have nice things.
They’ve got this hankering inside of them to tear things up. Whether it’s the important papers you just printed and left on the table or it’s gel clings you purchased for them for Valentine’s Day so they could decorate the windows.
They rip the bedding off of your bed down to the mattress protector on a daily basis.
They choose the cheap knockoff pink ‘gak’ from your childhood as their take-home gift from the dentist. They get it all over your new jeans, they get it all over the table runner you bought for the holidays and they get it all over the wall. It doesn’t come off. Of any of it.
They somehow explode the purple glitter glue all over the top of the wall, near the ceiling, where it’s destined to live until it gets scraped off and repainted because you already have spent so much time getting it off of the eye-level and hand-level part of the wall.
They put three games at a time into the PS4, wrong side up, and they bite the toggles on the controller until you can feel the plastic. They get them sticky so it feels like the game is lagging while you’re playing – but no, it’s just the controller.
They wreck stuff.
Sometimes, they fix stuff. They fix a mom who is focused on keeping things neat and tidy. They fix the need to have things perfect, they fix the need to do things ‘the right way’. They learn to ‘fix’ the bed they’ve been jumping on joyfully while watching Russian cartoons on Youtube and they’re so damn proud as they lead you upstairs to show you the bed they made. They fix moms to the point of being able to just sigh, and laugh, when yet another flameless candle is dropped on the floor by small hands that should not have been reaching up the mantle.
They fix things to the point where the Mom who may have yelled three years ago, mutters a swear under her breath, giggles and simply tells her husband who she’s talking to on the phone “I need to go – kids break everything” amidst the giggles, and the full heart of a five-year old trying to piece back the faux wax apologizing meaningfully and trying to glue back the pieces of a flameless candle.
They fix you.