Adventures in parenting - a weekly topic

I pushed away from the dinner table, and stood. "Ok, guys, Dad wants us to bring him some dinner.  Go upstairs and get into warm pj's if you are under 8 years old.  Nikolas, you clear the table.  Allegra, you take Emma up and get her ready for bed."

Dinner was pizza on paper plates, so clean up was minimal.  I put the cups into the dishwasher, added the soap, and started it.  A little peppermint soap on a cloth, and the counters and table were wiped.  I surveyed the kitchen.  Not bad for less than ten minutes work.

I headed upstairs to get myself ready to go out.  As I walked by Gabriel's door, which was closed, I heard wild giggling.  Hmmmm.  I opened the door, and saw a flash run past me - it was Gabriel, with a look of terror on his face, as he thrust his hands under his bed.  "I didn't do it!!"

Umm, WHAT?  "Let me see your hands."

Gabriel has eczema.  Parts of it, especially on his legs and the backs of his hands, are fairly thick, and sometimes bleed, and the allergist recommended that we coat those with Vaseline before bed.  It's an inexpensive treatment that has worked really well.  We have three tubs of Vaseline; two downstairs and one upstairs.  The one upstairs has a fairly cloying baby powder scent to it.  What can I say, I'm a cheap shopper sometimes, and it was on sale.

He slowly pulled his hands out from under the bed, and I gasped.  He had easily a cup of Vaseline in each hand. Upon inspection, it was all over his face and clothes.

"What is going on in here?"  I turned around to see Emma, who should have been in her room getting ready, standing in the closet with a guilty look, and a coat of Vaseline, on - and not much else.  No pj's, no pants, but Vaseline in the hair and on her face as well.

Where was Allegra, who should have been getting Emma ready?  She was in the shower, because, you know, she's ten, and she requires a shower before we drive dinner to her father.  A ride in which she won't be leaving the car.

I looked around the room.  The bed frame was covered in Vaseline, as were the walls of the closet.  The bureau was shiny, evidence of fingerpainting done in petroleum jelly medium.  The bedding was gooey, the stuffed animals glistened, and the door frame and handle were cloudy with the stuff.  Both kids had it in their hair, and on their clothes, and even in Emma's ear and under Gabriel's armpits.  The powder scent was overwhelming.

I yelled, and scrubbed, and yelled some more.  "Gabe, I am really mad at you."

"I'm sorry, Mommy."  "Yes, but I'm still angry." "I'm more sorry than you are angry."

I doubted it, but it was a nice theory. 

Finally, the room was clean, and the kids were ready to go.  We got into the car, and Gabe started crying.  "I don't want to go see Daddy!  He's gonna yell at me, and spank me!"

"Good.  It serves you right.", mouthed Nikolas, with the smugness that comes from being almost 13, and certain in the knowledge that I needed his input.

"Shut up."

We arrived at work, and Nikolas went in to get The Hubster.  I listened to the conversation in the back seat.

"I'm afraid!" whispered Gabriel to Mackenzie.

"Gabe, don't worry about it.  Daddy gets mad at me all the time, and he yells.  He's pretty loud, and it's scary.  But then he stops, and he gets quieter."

I looked out the window, and smothered a laugh. The Hubster came out, grabbed his dinner, kissed everyone, and went back in.

"Hey!  He didn't yell at Gabe!" my older kids said.

Oh, the disappointment that comes from a child, waiting for punishment for another.

Comments

[Stephanie C.]

Maybe Nikolas didn't rat him out? Nah, I didn't really think so.