Today, in the parking lot at Maymont, Maggie picked up a rock.
She asked if she could take the rock home (because she is a collector of all things small) and I said sure. Then I opened the van door, told her and Henry to climb in, and walked around to the other side to put Rosie in her carseat.
Henry climbed in, and I could see Maggie standing there with one leg in the van, but she hadn't climbed in yet.
I finished buckling Rosie, walked around the car to help her get in, and this is what I found:
My two year old keyed my car. With her rock.
And, in her defense, she did it with no malice. I honestly think she thought it was like sidewalk chalk.
This is the kind of crap that you know happens to people who have kids, and it's always kind of funny. There's a whole website devoted to it! Until it happens to you, and then it's actually not that funny AT ALL, DAMMIT.
And guys, I know our car is no big deal. It's full of granola bar crumbs and string cheese wrappers and tissues. It's a used minivan, for pete's sake, and we are not car people, and we will probably never sell it, we will just drive it until it dies or until we die, whichever comes first, so it really truly does not matter if it is scratched.
But somehow, it does matter, because it's MY crappy, used minivan. MINE.
And to be honest, sometimes Maggie's destructive, impulsive, classic two year old behaviors just drive me bat-shit crazy. And I forget that she's two, and she just loves rocks. And sidewalk chalk. And coloring. I just forget. She's two. She's learning. She has about as much forethought as a hamster.
But then, by grace, she reminds me how little and sensitive and sweet and forgivable she really is.
She lays next to her baby sister and lets her grab a pacifier out her mouth over and over until they both are belly laughing.
And this morning, before any car doors were decorated, this very morning when I picked her up to tell her I loved her, she said "I love you, Mommy. Don't give up on me."
I'm not kidding. I couldn't make that up, people. "Don't give up on me."
I have NO idea where she heard it, and I'm sure she has no idea what it means, and at the time it was so funny I laughed out loud, but now I can't help but feel like it has cosmic meaning that she would say that, on the same day she accidentally-on-purpose scratches up my car.
So, don't worry, Mags. I'd never give up on you. Never, ever, ever, ever, never. And certainly not over some dumb minivan. I'd take you over a hundred brand-new, crumb-free minivans, any day of the week.