The Pastry Brush Incident

Sometimes Noah makes me laugh. Sometimes he makes me cry. Sometimes he generously offers both in the span of five minutes. After fifteen years of living with him, I have made a decision. I am choosing to laugh.

Please do not read these posts and assume I float around in a constant state of patience and enlightenment. Some of his antics are absolutely infuriating. I get frustrated. I sigh. I question my life choices. All of it. But Noah brings a kind of joy that is difficult to put into words. It is loud, unexpected, and usually holding one of my personal belongings.

This was one of those moments. He was not breaking anything. He was not hurting anyone. He was simply being gloriously, inexplicably goofy. The kind of goofy that makes you stare and wonder what is happening inside that brilliant brain of his.

For reference, this is not new behavior. In the past, Noah has used my mother’s makeup brushes to paint the wall with toilet water. Yes, toilet water. He has used my makeup brushes to dust off his own body. He has borrowed his sisters’ hairbrushes to groom the dog, Ozzy, who did not ask for that service. The list continues and I am tired just thinking about it.

The other day was no exception. This time I caught it on video. He marched into the kitchen, grabbed one of my pastry brushes, and confidently decided it was a hairbrush. Moments later it became a facial tool. Please watch the video. Words will not do it justice.

Needless to say, the pastry brush has enjoyed a long sanitizing session and is reconsidering its life choices.

I cannot help but laugh. You truly cannot make this stuff up. But Noah can. And he does.

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