Tap, tap, tap
"Is this thing still on?"
So, yeah, I'm back. Kind of. Got that other writing thing (a.k.a. my dissertation) done and waiting for, well, you know, my defense. So not totally back, but close. My apologies for the dead air time. I'll try to make it up to you somehow (though I doubt it will be with today's blog--turns out weeks and weeks of non-stop dissertation revising lead to stilted writing--who knew?).
During my month absence, I made a significant and important decision. Sky should not get his face painted ever again. Ever. I know, it seems all innocent and harmless to have a face painting booth at the local spring festival. Sure, tons of kids lined up for it, and it was free (And you know I'm a sucker for a bargain). But face painting must be one of the rings of hell in the Sky-verse.
No one suggested he get his face painted. He just really wanted to do it. He waited patiently for at least 45 minutes. And, as he got closer and closer to the front of the line, he started to get nervous. What should he get on his face? This was a monumental decision, not without a large amount of stress. When it was finally his turn, he'd narrowed his choices to deer or insect. Have you ever seen a face painting booth with either of those options? No? Me, neither. Thing is, the lady doing the painting didn't have pictures to choose from, so there was no end to the possibilities. This resulted in considerable negotiation between Sky and the woman at the booth.
In the end, they settled on a bumble bee, and the woman drew a very happy-looking, if not misshapen, bee on his cheek. By the time we finished, Ren and Stow had been waiting in the car for at least 20 minutes, but Sky couldn't hurry for fear that an errant breeze might mess up the picture.
And here's the rub, once something is painted on Sky's face, he can't move. In his mind, a thousand possible face-paint assailants lurk in every corner. So, it took us another 20 minutes to get to the car. And a good five minutes for him to climb into his seat. Thing is, the whole reason we were at that spring festival was so Sky could participate in the 5K. And anyone knows that a 5K through the woods the day after it rains is bound to leave a 7 year-old covered with mud. Why wouldn't it?
Most of the rest of Sky's body was in desperate need of a bath. So, when we got home, we attempted to wash everything but the bumble bee.
It didn't go well.
There was anxiety.
Followed by screaming.
And then crying.
And then the lamenting of his very existence.
I tried not to get it wet, but I'm pretty sure that woman painted on his face with water colors. There was no keeping the bee on his cheek. But, still, I tried.
I got the blow dryer and stretched the cord across the bathroom right to the tub so I could blow dry the picture on his cheek. Much to my dismay, this seemed to work. For about a minute. Then I knew I had to change tactics. So, I promised to buy him tattoos to replace that "stupid, ol' bee." And I suggested there was really only one way to make things right -- a bug tsunami.**
See Sky is fascinated by how the world looks to bugs. He can't walk past a puddle without studying it for possible signs of bugs on surfboards, or fishing. So, I totally played to his strength. As soon as I made the suggestion, he was sold.
(Notice the tears?)
(After the first wave -- Resignation.)
(After the second wave -- Defiance!)
No more bee, no more anxiety, and no more sudden breakdowns for the bee whose time on this earth was cut way too short. By a Mommy tsunami.
**Disclaimer: Tsunami aren't funny. At all. But they're totally fascinating to a kid who's obsessed with how the world works, especially to a kid who knows a thing or two about them after living in Japan.