There were crayons in the dryer today. Yes, let that soak in the way the red and blue and yellow soaked in to every garment that was in that load. There were splatters on t-shirts and rainbow colored pants. The socks looked like modern art. I found the empty wrappers tossed in with the clothes but not a bit of crayon was left.
I called up the probable little culprits. Which one of them more likely to have made the mess. My son’s head quickly hung as he realized his pockets had held crayons last. I showed him the results of leaving waxy colors in a hot place and his cheeks turned red.
I am frustrated at losing all that clothes and angry at a child for leaving crayons in shorts and irritated at myself for not having checked every pocket for stray bits of danger. I don’t even know what an appropriate punishment for such an action might be, if there is one. So there is talking and that may be enough.
Tonight before his shower my son is taking his time undressing. I hear my husband ask why. I have to empty my pockets is his innocent reply. He digs out rocks and leaves and a pocket knife. Maybe lessons are learned after all.