Last night, as G was ordering Chinese food and I was picking the right pair of stretchy pants for my dinner out with friends, Carlos went exploring.
That never ends well.
The night before, while the rest of us were finishing dinner, Carlos had gotten into the industrial size container of Vaseline still lurking in the baby cabinet. He slicked down his hair (still trying to get that out). He coated the floor in the hall. He wiped it in the fringe on the edge of Mommy’s favorite rug. He painted EVERY doorknob with the goo. Wiped it across his rug and up a recliner. Stuck it in the grooves of a louvered closet door. You get the picture. (PRO TIP: Vaseline makes hardwood floors really shiny, but they’re kind of treacherous.)
So just as I slipped into the elastic waist pants that say “La Dolce Vita pasta special please,” I heard Vivi shout, “Carrrrr-LOS!”
G and I both came running towards the kitchen. Carlos ducked into the pantry and hid behind the dog food bag. Luckily, the wall of lemon scent that accosted our noses warned us not to take another step forward. That kid had used a can of Pledge to turn the kitchen floor into a skating rink of lemony goodness. I held on to the cabinets as I worked my way over to the paper towels. G and I each put a few paper towels under each foot and started sliding around the linoleum to clean up the mess as safely as possible. We both managed not to slip.
Our kids aren’t as smart. I blame myself that they’re not more aware of the side effects of cleaning products. They haven’t had much exposure.
Carlos trotted out of the pantry giggling and promptly slipped on the mess of his own creation, ass over tea kettle. He started crying. Which brought Vivi from the den. More ass, more tea kettle. Two kids down and I’m trying not to laugh but the fumes from the lemony miasma had worked their way into my lizard brain.
After it was cleaned up, Vivi and I went back to the den and flopped on the couch. She picked up her Hardy Boys Mystery, but before she opened it she said, “That Carlos sure makes a lot of messes.”
I, ever mindful of increasing her vocabulary, replied, “Indubitably! He is a little scamp!”
And she answered, “Imagine when he grows up–he’ll be an even bigger asshole.”
Whoops. Seems like I have slipped after all.
Friday was The Big Day. The day I gussied up in my new dress to claim my place on stage as one of the Voice of the Year (VOTY) readers. I skipped the afternoon sessions so I would have mirror time before rehearsal. The mirror and I were on better terms, what with that pink heart up there still. I scrunched the hair and left it that way. Put on a little makeup. Gold earrings. The gold bracelet that Big Gay gave me. The necklace made from Richard’s wedding ring. I thought about Spanx but decided to wear my authentic waistline. I slipped into the green dress. Once I finished dressing, I turned to that mirror and liked what I saw. Facebook friends responded with lots of love and encouragement so I strutted down the street to the Convention Center. Look at me, out in the world. Not hiding in black and drab.
Blogging is one way that I am cleaning this poison from my mind and my heart, this idea that people, including myself, have to be judged and measured before they can be heard. And going to events like BlogHer14 is like immersion therapy, where I surround myself with astonishing women of every walk and shape and style–in order to realize that I have a place, too.
