This morning as I stood in the kitchen enjoying my coffee and surveying the mess of little toy soldiers on the floor, I gasped in horror! What is that on my butcher block? The same butcher block that my dad made me almost ten years ago. The same butcher block that has graced two apartments and one house. Is that what I think it is? Yep, Superman symbols in crayon and pencil, all over the front of my butcher block. "NATHAN GREGORY HARVEY!"
His eyes are wide with horror, he knows exactly what I've seen. "Yes mommy?" "How did THAT get on my butcher block?" "I don't know, maybe Brandon did it?" Really, blaming your baby brother who can't write yet is your defense? I don't think so. "Go to your room, sit on your bed, and don't touch any of your toys!" I called my dad to ask what I can do to get it off of the wood without hurting it. I can tell he is trying not to laugh too hard as I'm in my state of panic. Steal wool or a little bleach should do the trick he informs me. I get my scouring pad and gently scrub my treasured block of wood. Sigh of relief, it comes off just fine. I grab the olive oil and rub it into the wood like it's a potion to make all the boo-boos feel better. I notice the crack from putting it too close to the vent in my first apartment. I see the few nicks it received from moving it into the first apartment Brian and I shared. It's wobbly leg is from me trying to move it around the kitchen in our house to find its perfect resting place while we are here. These are just a few of the battle scars, little notches of our history, that will remind me of all the great happenings in our life. I grab Nathan, give him a kiss, and explain that we only color on paper. Next time I'm admiring my big block of precious memories, I'll think of the superman symbols and Nathan's big blue eyes saying "oh crap! she saw what I did!"
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