Patches sunscreened

Today was an historic first. Or maybe not so historic. Howard recieved a paypal tip from a person, not because they enjoyed Schlock, but because they enjoyed my journal. I feel glad and self-conscious both at once. But since the person in question obviously will read this, I thought I should at least say a big public Thank You.

And in the spirit of continuing to entertain my readership ;-), here is a snippet of my day.

Potty breaks are a biological imperative, even for mothers of young children. Invariably the breaks are never peaceful moments. Sometimes I have kids follow me into the room where they play with curling irons or toilet paper or make commentary on a process that I’d rather remain private. Other times screaming havoc erupts in my temporary absense. Today seemed to break the rule because I was able to end my moment of solitude in peace. This was because Gleek had decided that she and Patches needed to wear sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen. Since this ranked pretty low on the catastrophe scale I simply confiscated the bottle, wiped up floor dribbles and went on with the day.

That worked until 30 minutes later when Patches began shouting “Sting! My eyes are sting!” I grabbed him and headed for the nearest bathroom. I tried wiping his eyes clear with a wet washcloth, but while I was wiping one eye he would rub the other eye with a be-sunscreened hand. I abandoned eyes and tried to wash off hands so as to end the vicious circle, but I shortly realized that nothing short of a full bath could solve the problem.

Patches normally likes bath time, but he was not interested in water play when his eyes hurt. In fact he tried to run away, but then came running back because his eyes hurt and he needed mommy to fix it. I grabbed the poor screaming boy, plunked him into the tub and washed him thoroughly. It was sad, especially when he was crying “Just pick me up!” Life got better once he was wrapped into a towel with part of the clean towel held tightly over his sore eyes. By the time I’d gotten him dressed he realized that his eyes didn’t hurt anymore. That was good news, but he still felt insecure and in need of extra loves. I snuggled him into my lap with his blanket. He gave a sigh of contentment and said “I sweepy. I not sweepy in my bed. I sweepy in your hug.” With such a declaration of trust and dependence I did the only thing I could do. I held and rocked him until he fell asleep. It didn’t take very long, poor little guy.