Saturday, February 21, 2009

Grease Monkey


Every Toddler gets a small handful of quintessential folklore stories. Stories that so define them at that age they are told over and over into adulthood. Like the time my twin and I teamed up to steal all the hidden Easter eggs and smashed them before our family awoke. Or the time Diana rubbed her bare butt on her siblings to defend herself (she was thus named “The Butter”).

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present The Vaseline Story.

From the time Elijah was born, our doctor prescribed Vaseline for everything. Diaper rash? Vaseline. Dry skin? Vaseline. Ruptured spleen? Vaseline. So we keep huge jars of the stuff all over.

Well, yesterday Diana put Eli down for a nap and went about her business. She heard him chirping way past the usual zonk time and she thought he might need a changing. When she entered the room, she saw that he was drenched. At first she panicked. Did we have a water main break? Did he manage to pee so fiercely that he soaked his own hair? When she got closer, the explanation was far more terrible.

Apparently, Eli got a hold of an economy sized jar of Vaseline and rubbed the contents all over his body, pack and play, toys, blankets, sippie cup. Everything within Toddler reaching distance was covered in a thin layer of ectoplasm.

Diana stood there, unable to move, stunned by the sheer degree of destruction. Eli looked at her, bright eyed and full of love and said, “Messy.”

Messy indeed.

Diana immediately gathered him up and dumped him into the bath and washed his hair. His hair was still full of Vaseline. She washed it again. And again. And again. After the third washing he still looked like a dude who has been on Grateful Dead tour way too long.

According to the internet, which is never wrong, the only way to get Vaseline out of hair is to mix corn starch and dish washing liquid and apply liberally.

Tomorrow, I suspect we will be researching how to extract Vaseline, corn starch and dish washing liquid from a Toddler’s hair.

Today’s photo is after multiple hair washings.

1 comment:

collective-thinking.com said...

Smell is the strongest trigger of memory, so you can pretty much book this...

Twenty years from now, you'll be somewhere, doing some random thing, when you or Diana will get a noseful of petroleum jelly, and this anecdote will spring back into your synapses with a fresh slap of vivid.