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The grand mistake of chalk.



It’s true that becoming a parent pushes you way out of your comfort zone.

Yes, this can be in terms of strength and confidence and challenging situations. You know, all of those Real Growth Opportunities that we’re presented with daily. 

But why does no one talk about the insignificant things that are deeply awful which you have to face as a parent?

Sure, holding your child still for immunisations doesn’t feel that great and nor does trying to get banana stains out of clothes (banana stains are the worst; if anyone tries to tell you it’s pumpkin, they’re lying). 

For one second though, let’s just take a moment to acknowledge quite possibly the most gross and uncomfortable situation you may be faced with as a parent of a small person.

It’s not what you may think at first. I can handle the poonamis’ that flood up the back and down to the knees. Give me cemented wheatbix to scrape off furniture any day. Watch me reach into the toilet to pick out the cloth wipe that accidentally fell in with the contents of the cloth nappy. It’s all good.

What I’m talking about ... is chalk.

Today, I made a Grand Mistake. I saw chalk in the craft box that’s tucked away in our Harry Potter cupboard under the stairs and thought, “great, that’s much cleaner than paint. Let’s give it a go.”

I have so many regrets.

I’d forgotten in my many years since I’ve used chalk just how awful it is. As I opened the box and took a piece out to hand to my daughter, the dry, dusty sensation came flooding back.

I literally shuddered and a wave of morning sickness came over me.

I got goose bumps. It gave me the yuck creepy crawly stomach feeling. I couldn’t even look at it. That’s how awful it was.

Then it got worse.

My toddler needed help getting all 24 (why were there so many?) pieces out of the box. And then she had no idea what to do with it. So then I had to show her how you scrape (!!! bleh) it over the ground, making that vomit-inducing noise, to put the dust everywhere. And then how when you drop the pieces, they make that feeble, hollow ting which just reminds you that chalk shouldn’t be a real craft item.

If all of this wasn’t bad enough, then my toddler started trying to eat it.

My frantic attempts of  “chalk is just for our hands (unfortunately at that), not for our mouths,” were sadly in vain.

I had to yank the pieces of chalk out from between her teeth and it was so disgusting seeing it clamped there and feeling that friction. Gah. I don’t have words for it anymore.

While I was handling the chalk-teeth situation and trying not to throw up, she then suddenly understood the idea of how chalk works and started using me as her drawing board.

That was it. I couldn’t face it anymore.

I had to distract her with a piece of brownie to end the chalk disaster, so that I could pick up all the wet chunks and hide them without her thinking it was a game and making me start from scratch.

Yes, I guess this is my parenting style. When the chalk is awful, turn to sugar. Please don’t tell Nigel Latta.

The life lesson in all of this is: learn from my mistakes. Chalk should be illegal. Stick to something like mud or paint or sand instead.
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