Today's story: Jack has just emerged from the bathtub. He came home from school sweaty, happy, and with goo lodged in his ear and hair. I don't know what the goo is...perhaps some colorless, homemade play dough? I try not to dwell on what exactly it is; for mental health (and digestive) reasons, it's better to ignore the surreptitious and unidentifiable (in origin and name) substances that stick to little boys.
After his bath I was helping him put lotion on. We keep his apres-bath stuff in a wicker basket downstairs where he usually gets pajama-ed. I was lingering over the lotioning-up bit of the post-bath ritual, because I really like the smell (it is such a marked improvement over the pre-bath Jack smell) and it reminds me of babies. Jack was growing very annoyed with how long I was taking to rub the lotion onto his little back and arms so he grabbed the bottle from me and announced that we were finished here and told me to "put the lotion in the basket!" Well, my hands were all slippery so I couldn't even get the bottle shut, AND it was so funny to hear this coming from his mouth that I just started laughing. He tried to stand up, still naked, and kept yelling. "Put the lotion in the basket! Mom-MY! Put the lotion in the basket!" Needless to say, once I've started to laugh that hard, there is no stopping me. Eventually he grew exasperated and just left me there, laying on the rug and gasping.
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