Poop and Fashion Fun
Two more fun Lucy incidents that I forgot to add in the previous compilation.
What Not To Wear
The girls love to paint with "squirty" paints (acrylics), which are apparently superior to watercolors in that you can make a larger, more resilient mess with them. The other evening, they wanted to paint, so I went through the process of clearing the table, taping down paper, obtaining and dispensing paint, etc. They were in dress-up clothes, Maddie as Nanky-Poo from The Mikado
and Lucy as Pocahontas from Pocahontas
(duh). Anticipating the mess, I declared that they could not paint in dress-up clothes. Maddie ran off to change.
Lucy has just recently come in to a great love of playing dress-up, and really didn't want to give up the outfit. I agreed that she could wear it, but with a protective overshirt. Deal. Fine. From her closet, I grabbed an old grey sweatshirt sporting country angel artwork
and slapped it on her. I'm used to hearing that the kids don't like something that they have to wear, or that it's too tight, or whatever. But I wasn't prepared for the following evaluation:
"Dad... I can't wear it...[gasp]... [near tears]... it's not... fashion!"
Okay. Apparently, unlike all of the other good
moms, fashionista!Joy has not been letting the kids watch Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel in the mornings. She's been forcing them to watch Bravo and the original British What Not To Wear
I swear to you, I have no idea wear she picked that up.
Of course, she wore the thing and ended up with paint all over it. Which gives me an idea...
A new line of hipster clothes, to be worn only with the most self-aware sense of irony...
Purposefully defaced country and/or redneck clothing. Picture a Precious Moments tank top with black and red screen printed guns and blood superimposed. Or a handbag with and embroidered God Bless This House with the word PARTAY in sequins over "House". Oh yeah. I'm going to make millions.
You have to love the poop stories
I'm giving Lucy a bath on Thursday night. Joy is at her book club, otherwise known as the "bunch of women get together, bs and drink wine whilst holding a book in their lap" club. The extraordinarily loud ticking of the bathroom clock (Bathroom clock? you say. Silly you. Everyone needs a wall clock in their bathroom. Don't ask me. I just live there.) reminds me that, Holy Crap! It's almost 8:00, and I've yet to put in a tape for Survivor. And yes, I still watch Survivor. Feel free to bite me, elitist entertainment snobs.
I know that you're not supposed to leave kids alone in the bathtub, but... No buts. You're not supposed to do it. But I did.
"Maddie and Lucy, look at me." They pay attention. "I have to run downstairs for three minutes. Maddie, keep an eye on Lucy. Okay?" She nods. "Lucy, do not stand up. Don't do anything I would think is dangerous. Okay?" Okay.
Blurp. Lucy laughs. "Dad, I stinkered in the tub!" Ha ha. Maddie laughs too. Blurp. Blurp. Ha, again.
"I'll be right back," I say. I'm sure you know what's coming.
A minute later, I hear rapid footsteps and Maddie shouting "Dad! Dad!" I hear no thuds or screams, so Lucy clearly hasn't cracked her skull open.
"What Maddie?" I'm anticipatorially impatient, because Maddie will be happy to call the FBI if someone even bites their fingernails.
"Lucy tried to stinker and pooped in the tub." When they make the movie, the camera will start to slowly spin out of the horizontal plane, drawing closer to Maddie's face. The audio will echo "...pooped in the tub...pooped in the tub..." FOV zoom into my face, snarling. "Luuuuucccyyyyyy!"
Ran upstairs. The tub looks like... well, you really don't want to know what the tub look like. Things were not coherent. That's an adequate description. I switch into Homeland Security biohazard control procedures. For the rest of the night, everything smells like poop to me, even though it really doesn't. Yum.