Wednesday, September 26, 2012

We Need an Intervention

We gots a wee little obsession over here. I have discussed it before. Chap stick, lip balm, lip stick. Lady Baby lurves to moisturize her lips. And it is that intense love. The kind of great love that William Shakespeare and Danielle Steel write about. The kind Meat Loaf sings about. Epic. Love. Thou shalt never be separated kind of love. 
This is the stuff Lady Baby's dreams are made of.
A few nights ago, Her Highness called to me in the middle of the night to go potty. (That is a whole other story). I got her up, walked her to the bathroom, and noticed through my fog of exhaustion and half closed eyes that she was holding her new Sleeping Beauty Lip Smackers. And by holding, I mean clenching. I vaguely remembered her carrying it into her room that night at bedtime, and I realized she had been holding it in her hot little hand for the last five hours. FIVE. I am now concerned that if she is sleeping with her hand clenched that tightly, we are going to have to have some kind of crazy expensive brace that insurance won't pay for constructed by geniuses at the Mayo clinic to straighten her hand back out. It will be in medical books and magazines. Chap stick fist. Or Alice Hand. We will keep working on the jazzy name since it is what she will be famous for. On the flip side, if we can't afford the brace, she can be the spokesfist for future labor campaigns. She is a natural leader. I think its a good fit.
Her's will probably have more purple, glitter, and a chap stick in the fist. From the looks
of my google search, she may also need to move to Russia to really make this work.
The only real issue with our own personal True Life: I am a Toddler Obsessed with Chap Stick (and I Occasionally Eat Paper) saga is that she loses them constantly. Hard to imagine, since she carries them everywhere. But she sets them down to do things and forgets where she has put them. Or she drops them in Target. Or they fall out of her pocket on the jungle gym. Or I throw them away becuase they are covered in dirt and funk and look like a mole rat has been gnawing on them (if you ever tell you are dead to me). They are constantly lost, misplaced, and missing. Cue the hysteria and hand wringing. I have learned the hard way. Buy her precious lip schmear in bulk. I try to always have TWO back up tubes stashed away. One can never by too careful. One can never be too smart. One can never be too prepared. One can never be too much of an enabler.  

Here is the evidence:
I took some liberties with doodles. I just think top hats and 'staches
make everything more festive and jaunty. And a toddler with a beard is just plain funny.
The real icing on the gloss cake? A few days ago Lady Baby streaks down the hall to the bathroom to take her daily doofenschmirtz. A few minutes later I hear the sound of the mini potty scraping across tile and then the noise a cat makes when you slam it's tail in the door (maybe). I walk in the bathroom to see my child standing with panties around her ankles, a look of utter horror on her face, and her little finger pointing toward a large poop. Unsure of this reaction, I look in the potty. There, beside Mr. Hanky, is the top to her chap stick. Makes a girl wonder what she did in a previous life that has her picking the lid of a Daisy Duck lip smacker out of a tiny toilet bowl. This is my life people. And that schmidt is glamorous. And by glamorous I mean really gross and not for the faint of heart.

Feel free to send us a lifetime supply of various chap sticks. 


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