Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Lotion Chapter 3

Coras obsession with lotion did not end with the torture of the cat, nor the over-application of multiple actual skin care products. In fact, she is fascinated by all things smear able. If there is one sentence I utter more as a parent than any other, its "No, Cora thats not lotion, thats ________." Since the Vaseline, there has been butter, various soaps (in different bottles), spray cleaners, tooth paste, mayo, wasabi paste, craft paint, sunscreen, neosporin ointment, acne treatment, makeup foundation, and diaper cream. If it comes in a tube, bottle or jar, Cora defaults to "lotion".

Aside from discovering that bathing your child in dawn liquid dish detergent will remove a liberal layer of butter, mayo and wasabi paste, and that mint smelling two year olds aren't nearly as disgusting as one that smells like acrylic paint, I'm happy to say the worst catastrophes were diverted. We taught her quickly and efficiently that no lotion was edible. Thank God that baby soap doesn't taste that marvelous by the mouthful.

Today was another lotion disaster. In my infinite parenting wisdom, I childproof as the child grows. That means that when Cora started accessing my shampoo and soaps, I moved them to a shower caddy that hangs off the shower head. ("Look mommy! Lotion!" "No Cora that is Mommys shampoo, and you are not supposed to spread that all over the toilet seat!")

I am assuming that Cora learned how to climb onto and balance on the edge of the bath tub. She could now get behind the shower curtain, by the business end. There she could grab the bath poof that hangs off the bottom of the shower caddy, and use it to bang the shower caddy against the wall. Stuff falls off. Specifically, my razor, and a little jar I have that contains sea salt scrub.

For those of you who are not familiar with what sea salt scrub is, its a mixture of scented oils and sugar and salt crystals. You scrub rough skin with it, and the sugar and salt scrape off dead cells and then dissolve. The oil you rinse most of off, but fills the bath with an elegant (and in this case slightly overpowering) herbal scent. It is NOT lotion.

At the end of the previous blog post, I turned from my computer as Cora ran excitedly into the living room. "Lotion!" she said, presenting some well greased hands. It looked like Vaseline.

It really looked like Vaseline.

Which would explain why I didn't even touch it. I grabbed her (thankfully not covered) wrists in shackle like grips and half carried half dragged her to the bathroom. In a deft move I picked up when I discovered that you could not add arms to your body as you add children to your life, I used my elbow to flick on the light.

I promptly stepped on something both grainy and slick at the same time, and proceeded to fall on my butt, back into the hallway, still suspending my two year old in a hung arm position. She giggled and sat down on my belly. My elbow acrobatics gave brilliant light to what impeded my advance. There spread out on the floor was ALL of the sea salt scrub. Coated in the floral "lotion" was my razor blade, with which she had, presumably, scooped the glop out of the container and flopped it on the linoleum. I dropped my grip to sit up.

"Lotion, Mommy!" She said, smearing my face with the gritty mixture.
"No Cora, thats not lotion, thats...."

1 comment:

wendy said...

Well, I think that you need a wall safe to lock all those "lotions" up. What do you think?