Light It Up

When you have kids things tend to break.  Shocking, I know.

Our furniture is outdated and overused, but I cannot bring myself to replace it at this juncture in life.  I am one hundred and twenty percent sure that one of our five munchkins will mark up anything new with sharpies, scissors or glittery glue.

However, I try to keep what we do have at least functioning.

So, when something breaks we fix it…

…within the year…

…ish.

Before some helicopter parent gets their pants in a tizzy {obviously said with love} let me insert a disclaimer:

Of course I teach my crew to take care of their belongings and to respect their home.

Of course I keep things they should not have out of their reach.

But, if you think locks are enough to deter a determined child, then you haven’t met my kids.

I usually watch them take the out of reach markers, hidden scissors with a pile of paper and think:

“Aw. They are going to create a masterpiece.”

And they usually do…

…on the freshly painted piece of drywall.

One of these days I will accept the fact that the paper is merely a distraction and is not the canvas they intend on using.

I have walked into murals on the bathroom walls, “no babies allowed” signs scribbled on doors, along with their most treasured stuffed animals and toy dinosaurs super glued to their dressers.  Things don’t just break round here; they are destroyed.

 

In my defense, I am usually  more preoccupied with teaching them not to take toast out of the toaster with a fork.

I digress, but what’s new?.

Enter our latest scenario that reminded me how overly prepared I am for catastrophes and ill prepared I am for simple home maintenance.

This year Elf on a Shelf has made an appearance.

The kids love him.  Every morning he plays hide and seek.  Their over zealous, darling selves cannot wait to find him…

…at 4 am.

They excitedly question:

“Mom, where is Elfie?!”

They run around the house, scaling couches and end tables on their ferocious hunt.

Sometimes our house survives.  Sometimes, they knock a lamp over.  Not an eloquent, slight tip over.  A big  ol’ crash and burn onto the floor; distorting the lamp shade and ripping the plug out of the outlet.

On this particular day, I put the lamp back in its place, try my best to smooth out the dents and plug it back it.

Darkness.

 

“Damn it, they broke the lamp.”

I try unplugging and replugging it, resetting breakers, impatiently flipping the wall plate switch on and off and twisting the lamp knob repeatedly in circles.

Officially broken.

I start looking for a cheap way to replace a $40 lamp: scrolling through buy/ sell/ trade sites on Facebook, Craig’s List, and scouring holiday deals on Amazon.  I succumb to the notion that we will make do with one lamp for the foreseeable future as they will just keep breaking things.  I will continue to search for the indestructible lamp that will withstand the chaos of our household.

Then,  it dawns on me.

What about change the light bulb?

What do ya know, that did the trick.

Why would the most obvious explanation for a light not turning on elude me, you ask?

Because as a mother, I have the expectation of annihilation.

It’s the simple things that bite me in the ass.

Also, I think this blog is proof of a bigger problem: GIFs.

But, I digress.