It was with trepidation that I rounded the corner in the kitchen this morning. I had been feeding Wilona and listening to Ascher play with his fridge magnets, but as she finished up I realized that the kitchen was, and had been for several minutes, ominously silent. The sight I was met with confirmed that I should have been supervising more closely.
Yes, that is my son, slathered in shortening and having a grand ole’ time. Being the good mama that I am I immediately prioritized the order of operations. First, blink in surprise, second, laugh, third, take a picture. That’s what you all would do, right?
That accomplished, I briefly puzzle over the next step. I don’t want Wilona to yell, but I can’t handle this mess with one hand and the sling will not be helpful in scrubbing a greased one year old. So, onto the couch she goes, where she starts grumping around right away. In the 30 seconds it takes me to do that and get back to Ascher he tries to stand up and follow me. Turns out walking on an inch of shortening isn’t easy and he falls and lightly bonks his head, poor kid. I’m glad he didn’t manage to follow me. Last thing I need is a trail of shortening all over the rug and the couch.
I grab a handful of paper towels and wipe the worst of the shortening off the boy and the floor, though it is very apparent that’s not going to be adequate. I scoop up Ascher and, calling soothing things to Wilona(now screaming in earnest), carry him to our our bathroom where I plunk him clothes and all into the dry bathtub. I want to get the baby swing, unused for Wilona so far, out of Ascher’s room and see if that will help her for a few minutes, but that’s across the house and I have a greased baby in the tub and a screeching baby on the couch and both need most/all of my attention(and arms!) pretty much rightnow.
I decide that Ascher is less likely to fall in the tub or try to climb out if he has some water to play with so I turn the water on and leave the drain open while I rush to grab Wilona and the swing, praying he doesn’t drown in the minute it takes for me to get back. Across the house I hold Wilona, mercifully mostly settled, with one arm while folding the swing so it fits through the doorway and then dragging it over to our bedroom. Once it’s set up she falls asleep almost right away in it, leaving me to focus on the grease baby.
I plug the drain and adjust the water temperature, hoping I got enough of the grease off that it won’t be bad for the drain. The water is less warm than I think all that grease needs, but I’ve got a kid in there, which limits my options. I peel off the greased clothes and diaper and reach for the soap bottle. The logo on my bottle of dish soap, “Stronger Than Grease”, crosses my mind, but I opt for baby shampoo, thinking it’s probably kinder on skin.
Water is rolling off him like a duck, and the tub is so slick he can’t even sit up but with generous quantities of soap and some scrubbing Ascher is finally left with not much more than a very moisturized glow. Once dressed I pop him into his highchair with a snack while I tend to the floor. More paper towels for the rest of the visible grease, then a hot soapy rag for the slick sheen that’s left. I try to ignore that that piece of the floor is a different color than the rest now. Guess that’s what come of only mopping the whole floor twice in a span of two years. I get the bad spots as they come, this is just a bigger spot…right?
Anyway, now that I’ve shared my bad housekeeping and my (occasional!) poor child supervision skills, here is a picture of Wilona.
And yes, I know that’s only the second time you’ve seen her in her five weeks of existence. And that was a really abrupt non-segue. Add bad blogger to my list of failings. ;) Clearly though, I’ve been busy. Gorgeous newborn plus explorative toddler? Yeah. I’m doing stuff.
Planning to blog more soon though. Right after I barricade the kitchen and put up new child-proof latches.
Hugs and kisses, etc.