Dress Up Time

A good friend had her baby early (a little too early, but everything looks fine), so we took her son for the day yesterday. I'll call him Murdoch, in honor of the train he and Doodles fought over. Both kids actually did pretty well, given that Murdoch hadn't had his mom home in a bit and that Doodles had eight hours of another child in his space. There were a few battles over toys. And food. And nothing. For the most part though, it was great, but I was a little worn out. Normally Pie naps; Doodles doesn't. But when Pie goes to sleep, I tell Doodles that it's my quiet time and he has to entertain himself. It works moderately well--I can generally get a half hour or forty-five minutes to decompress. But with two non-nappers in the house, there was no quiet time for me. I was a wee bit frazzled, just from trying to satisfy the demands of the three of them.

For small part of the time, Murdoch and Pie were playing downstairs in our playroom. Doodles was upstairs by himself, which is not a problem. Doodles came down at one point with a T-shirt on over his sweater.

Doodles: Look, Mommy! I put on a shirt all by myself!
Me: Yes, you did!
Doodles: Can you take my shirts off so I can put on something else?
Me: Sure.

After I take off his shirt (they were on too tightly for him to get off himself), he disappeared back upstairs. A few minutes later he comes back with no pants and his pajama top on. He goes back upstairs. Returns with all of his pajamas on but the top unbuttoned. I hear him playing with his trains, and about twenty minutes later, he comes back with a blue turtleneck and jeans on. Goes back up. Comes back with sweats on, still the blue turtleneck. A bit later, a T-shirt on over the turtleneck. I can just envision the mess he's made of his dresser, but he's entertained, so what do I care?

Doodles: I'm going to go put something else on so I'm warm.
Me: Okay.

Doodles heads upstairs. He comes back.

Doodles: I'm going to put something else on.
Me: Okay.

It's not till the fourth time he does this that I realize he still has on the T-shirt, turtleneck, and sweats.

Doodles: I'm going to go put something else on.
Me: Doodles, what are you putting on?

Doodles hesitates for a moment.

Doodles: Grown-up stuff.

I look more closely. Doodles is... shiny?

Me: What kind of grown-up stuff?

I begin to follow him up the stairs.

Doodles: Lotion.

He scampers into his room. I call after him: What kind of lotion?
I enter his room, and before he replies, the answer is obvious. There's a shiny handprint on the dresser. On the top of a drawer. I open the drawer and see a little train of shine.

Doodles: The kind you dip your hand into it.

And there it is. In the back of his pajama drawer. A jar of Vaseline. And it's covered in goo.

I wanted to say, "We don't do this." I wanted to say, "Let's clean up this mess together." But all that came out was laughter, which was perfect for a day with three kids. Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel, they go and smear Vaseline everywhere and make it all worthwhile.