Kids = Cute? (Unraveling The Truth)

Don’t you just love it when you know what (or who) the problem is, yet you don’t know what to do about it (or them), or even better, can’t do anything about it (or them)? 

My sight fell upon the disorganized shelves, the haphazard placement of art supplies on my table and the cute, conspicuous culprit: that 4 year old. The cream coloured table cloth was blemished with the hues of cerulean. The shade bled through fabric, just to settle onto the spotless (not anymore) white table. As the blue spot innocently stared at me, I sighed, trying my level best to not let the annoyance and irritation ooze through it. Then, I glared at the preschooler seated on my bed, a marker and a paper in her hand, scribbling mindless ‘designs’ on the paper. 

Now, before you label me as a ‘cruel entity’ for speaking so nastily about a child being childish and living their childhood to the fullest, hear me out. Allow me to enlighten you with some context.

One (of the many, many millions) of my mother’s friends had called her in the evening, informing us that she’ll visit our place in the next 10 to 15 minutes. I had not seen her for the past year or so. She’s one of the most exuberant people I know, so having a conversation with her is quite fun. I had expected lengthy discussions, much needed advice and the air saturated with the most Gen-X sense of humour. Guess what? That fateful evening, my expectations would be wholeheartedly fulfilled, but with a twist.

45 minutes later, she had arrived with her 4 year old daughter. I had put the book (We Were Liars by E.Lockhart) that I had been reading down. My mom had flashed me a sickeningly sweet smile and asked me to take the kid to the bedroom and put on a cartoon for her on the TV. 

At first glance, this girl seemed like a sweet child: she had given me a warm hug, had asked me if I was busy and had told me that my nails were pretty (it was literally chipped off black nail polish). You know your nails are sleek if a child says so. Trust me when I say this, my jaw was on the floor hearing her mellifluous little voice say all that. She had cluelessly asked me questions:

 *cutely points towards the light bulb* “Does that work on batteries??”

“Can I get a paper? I wanna draw something!!”

And, so I had handed her a paper and a whole set of markers. 

That’s it. I love kids. Done.

Do I, though?

I’m telling you, I had literally been gone for 10 minutes (at max) to prepare 3 cups of tea. By the time I had been placing all the cups in the fanciest tray that I could find, I had felt a tug at my shirt. I had swiftly turned around, just to be met with the little girl, who had her left hand on display.

“Can you, can you do something about this?” her shrill voice questioned. 

When I had gotten a closer look at her hand, I had noticed 2 of her microscopic nails in a shade of forest green. Probably a marker, right?

“Don’t worry! I’ll take it o-”

Wait.

Wait.

Markers don’t smell like that. That, that pungent, chemical-like scent that makes you cringe, that makes your nasal cavity tingle…no…too strong to be a marker. It could only be…

Nail polish.

When I tell you that my eyes had widened as wide as dinner plates, I’m not lying. 

“Where did you get this?” I had asked, absolutely baffled.

She had not answered.

Only then had I noticed the mess that was left of the room: an opened bottle of my mom’s nail polish; nearly all of my art supplies on the table; lipstick stains on various papers; an undone tape roll. 

My sight was still fixated on the blue spot on the white table. The white table that I had lovingly built on my own (because IKEA loves testing your mechanic skills). My poor room. 

“Hey, what’s this?” the young girl interrogated, yet again.

I clenched my jaw and pressed my lips in a thin line. She was holding a pair of scissors, razor-sharp scissors that had gotten a taste of my blood countless times.

“Put it down,” I said, voice overflowing with rage.

“But what even is-”

“PUT.IT.DOWN.” I growled, louder than I intended to, a menacing pause punctuating every word.

Wordlessly, she just left it on the bed and resumed her ‘designing’. Roughly around 10 minutes later, the guests departed.

So, dear readers, what did we learn? Kids ≠ cute?

No.

We learnt that setting boundaries ≠ being rude. Just because you want to be nice to your guests does not mean that you let them toy around with your house as if it were theirs. Remember, your tone and choice of words must be carefully selected, especially if you’re referring to children. 

You know another thing we leant? Prejudices ≠ reality. Just because you see those (99% of the time scripted) videos of children being absolutely precious and doing the sweetest, most thoughtful things known to humanity, you don’t judge all the young ones on this big, wide planet based on those.

So, you see? Do not be like me: trapped in the delusion of kids being harmless, stationary and orderly. Most importantly, do not, I repeat, do NOT be a doormat and be bold enough to call it “etiquette”.