Camden takes me to both extremes, one of those being a lot more than I'd like.
This morning I went upstairs for the third time since breakfast to give Jace a quick bath because...because there was another explosion(we've been fighting the flu around here).
When Camden came running upstairs so excited to show me his "pretty colors" I about had a meltdown. I knew there was no paper downstairs, and quickly remembered where I had left the church bag which contained crayons.
He had drawn all over the back window(luckily only on the window and only with white and yellow), and needed reassurance of how "beautiful" it was.
I saw visions of an abusive mother over something that could easily be fixed. I counted to ten(something my mom always did that I made fun of), told him how beautiful his art would be, if only on paper, gave him a rag and put him to work.
I had to leave the room because he was making more of a mess trying to clean the darn "artwork" up while saying, "I sorry" over and over.