Today, distracted by fun conversation with City Girl (my friend), I didn't notice that it was getting quiet in the back where my crazy two year old was. City Girl noticed and asked me about it but I refused to come away from downloading Glee music on iTunes. She finally got up and went to look. I heard, "Abby! You really can't do that..."
I yelled back and asked if it involved crap. "Is there poop?"
When she answered, "No," I decided it couldn't be that bad.
She came out holding Abby at arms length. My two year old was covered in Vaseline.
(Breath. Don't have a cow, Callie.)
My room was covered in grease. My books, Cate's bed (which is still right up against mine), all the blankets and Abby. I put her in the bathtub... and took a minute to collect myself. While City Girl held Cate, I took on the daunting task of washing a gallon of shellac off my kid. She is still shiney.
I didn't lose my temper. I didn't yell. But I was MAD!
Breath, Callie. It's going to be ok! ("Your eyes are crazy!" "I know, because I'm freaking out. What are we going to do?!!!!" - Steve Corell, Date Night)
Then, after taking some serious time to comb through her hair (Did you know that Vaseline causes already tangled hair to be impossible to comb?!), Abby was mostly ok. She barely escaped with hair at all as I seriously considered shaving her head at that moment.
Greasy and naked, she started to dance because that's what she does between 5 and 6 in the evening. (It's like clockwork.) She was the perfect example of Asheville life. I should have taken her to drum circle at Pritchard Park with a bead necklace and a little Patchouli oil.
How can you stay mad at that?