*I have some awesome pictures for this blog, but since I really don't want to go to jail or have my blog shut down for indecent pictures of minors (and because I don't want her to hate me later), I cannot post them. I think you'll get the basic gist as you read the story.*
You've heard of the show, "Designing on a Dime?"
At our house last night, we featured a new show called, "Designing with Desitin". I guarantee you it has been cancelled after its pilot episode.
All was quiet in the house. I heard no fussing, crying, shrieking, giggling, or playing of any kind.
My heart began beating a little faster.
You mothers understand this. It's just NEVER good, unless it's between the hours of 8pm and 7am, for the house to be this quiet. Something is amiss. You do, after all, live with little crazy people, capable of mass destruction of any kind in 30 seconds or less.
These girls have a record, you see. Happily, the older they get, the less they are repeat offenders. But nonetheless, I still must play warden of the prison we call home sweet home. All this unmonitored quiet was a definite security breach.
I immediately began calling their names, starting with the most dangerous inmate, the 3-yr-old.
The other two girls answered promptly and quickly stated their location and intentions. They received security clearance.
Not so for the little one. Still calling her name, I made my way room by room upstairs, dread filling my heart with every empty room I found. There is one reason and one reason only she wouldn't be answering me.
I quickly went downstairs. The kitchen was empty and there were no signs of her mastermind anywhere. The dining room was void of any destruction, and the game closet and living room were unscathed.
There was only one option left. I drew my weapon (anti-nausea pills should the scene immediately sicken me) and quietly entered the room, holding my breath and bracing for impact.
And there she was, standing in all her half naked glory and grinning from ear to ear.
"What in the world? What have you done to yourself?" I asked.
Mommy! I painted my body with desitin! hehehehe
Oh, for the love of all things good and holy.
I drew closer to the guilty inmate. Upon closer inspection, I saw that she had, indeed, literally painted her entire backside, thighs, and belly with desitin. That distinct aroma of baby rash ointment permeated the entire room, forcing me to open an exterior door to try to begin fumigating the place. Genius, I thought. She's using chemical warfare against me.
The little artist was having a total blast. She thought it was hilariously funny and clever. She looked as if she was wearing white underwear. She even had some on her face and was hee hawing like crazy over that fact. I surveyed the surrounding area. Desitin on my hardwood floors (which, I speak from experience when I say this is considerably better than on carpet), desitin on my leather chair (again, better than upholstery), and on the throw blanket.
Now, mothers, enforcers of the law, keepers of the keys to freedom, what would you do in such circumstances? Would you get mad? Would you be gentle with your reprimand? Would you just leave her there laughing evilly and lock yourself in your bathroom for a Calgon moment?
I looked into that little face, cheeks, nose, and lips speckled with white cream, and considered my choices. Get angry? Frankly, I just didn't have the energy for it considering it was around 5:30pm and I'd been on duty for the last, oh, eight years of motherhood.
Be gentle? Ha. Ummm, that's really not my specialty, I'm sad to say. Really wish it was.
I decided to take the only route that would not lead to my moment of breakdown and scaring my children with my indiscernible mutterings and sporadic eye twitching. I pulled out my camera and allowed the little lawbreaker to pose and play it up for all it was worth.
I even recorded some video, which child decency laws prevent me from sharing, but they are pretty darn funny. Laughing and explaining what she had done, she turned her back to the camera to reveals her white desitin covered booty, shaking it and even spanking herself (which now that I think about it is really quite scary and disturbing to this mother of three girls...seriously, what kind of job does she think she might secure with that set of skills? Note to self: have a talk about decency and modesty later.).
We had our fun with her little antics, then pulled out some wipes and cleaned up the crime scene.
Bath time immediately followed, and her white little body soaked in the tub for a few moments. That desitin's powerful stuff. It repels all liquid and proved a little tricky to get off.
This afternoon I sent the little darling to play with her best friend for a couple of hours. I hugged and kissed her good-bye, breathing in the still faint, but still lingering scent of desitin.
She has lost all hopes for parole in the next six months.
We all fuss about our kids being too loud. But when you think about it, it's when they're quiet that the real trouble begins.