Momnesia

Save me, Alice!

Emerson adores makeup. Of course, she's 2-years-old and loves anything with which she can paint on the walls and hardwood floors. So she discovered fingernail polish and now lipstick. Yesterday, after I moved all of the tubes I could find out of her reach, I went into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Unbeknownst to me, she dragged her little red chair over to the closet and starting going through my cosmetics drawers. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable shriek that meant the universe was torturing her in some way. "I spillyit!" she yelled.

But it was not a beverage. It was a bottle of patchouli oil so old that some of the stuff had crusted around the cap. And now it was puddled on my floor. She ran to me, leaving little patchouli footprints in her wake, waving little patchouli-covered hands. "Ahhh!" I ran away from her and got a wad of paper towels from the kitchen. She thought it was a joke and toddled after me, spraying patchouli on the walls and floor as she ran.

It was a huge mess. And now our whole house smells like dead hippies and I've stopped showering because I'm under the delusion that it covers all body odors. By the way, we're gettin' the band back together! And we're hosting a five-day concert with Widespread, Phish and Mickey Hart's Music Box in my back yard! We're going to burn a giant straw golf ball at the end of it all. Dude. It's going to be awesome. It makes me feel like this: