And by that, I'm asking "Are you jealous?"
Albeit in a satirical, somewhat facetious way.
So, even though my hair did look cute all unwashed ... I NEEDED a bath.
For personal hygiene AND mental health reasons.
I enlisted Bruise and Bucket into watching over Bubbles while she napped.
"Just keep her happy, okay?"
(When she squawked a little, they moved her into the vibrating seat to watch Bruise play Lego Indiana Jones on the Wii. ^_^
When THAT lost her interest, Bucket brought her to me, post-bath and dressing.
THOSE are my tricks, obviously.)
I had a great bath. Soaked in pretty-smelling water, read my book, shaved my legs (GOOD GRAVY, I've let myself go. Ew.), washed my hair, washed my face. Got out of the tub, oil-cleaned my face (since my skin is getting REALLY dry near my nose ... from blowing my nose a bazillion times a day. *rolls eyes*), put on deodorant, got dressed ... and lay on the bed to read some more. ^_^
Of course, while I was in the bath, the phone rang. And I let it go to the machine.
So, after Bucket brought Bubbles to me (and I changed her diaper), we headed back to the living room, so I could feed her (I'd left the Boppy in there. And it makes nursing easier). And I figured that I'd return the phone call (It was my dad).
So I call him, answer some computer questions for L, and chatted with Dad.
Bubbles got a little antsy ("a little antsy" = started screaming), so I picked her back up and started to try to burp her.
My cheek obviously touched the screen on my phone JUST SO that it started calling Michael and put my dad on hold.
I stop the call to Michael.
I call Dad and get a busy signal.
Michael calls back, to make sure that everything's okay (cue: "Awwwww.").
I call Dad again and apologize for accidentally hanging up on him.
Also, Bucket and Bruise were playing the yard.
Bucket was playing dress-up.
So she's out there, sporting a witch's hat, BRIGHT bubble-gum pink lipstick, and grape-colored eyeshadow.
It's a wonder that the neighbors don't call Child Services ... letting my six-year-old out of the house done up like a tart (tartlet? Since she is a teeny thing).
Yes, I am THAT parent.
SOMEBODY has to be THAT PARENT in every neighborhood.
Can I count it as service that I've taken that responsibility upon myself, therefore saving ALL OTHER PARENTS from the fear of being THAT PARENT?
I deserve a medal for this, I think.
Or, at least, a free carpet cleaning.
Or a new dishwasher or something.
Hey, a girl can dream, right? :P