Well, APPARENTLY, when you are in the situation yourself, you are struck dumb (both literally and figuratively) and are fearful that if any sound escapes you, it may set off a subsequent explosion which would surely cause you to become either institutionalized or jailed.
How do I know this, you ask? Well the 'snow' at our house last night - wasn't snow. It was BABY POWDER and it was INSIDE our house minus three very fortunate rooms which seemed to escape the havoc. I am still stupified.
Gianna had an emotionally challenging day yesterday, but we had seem to have turned the tide around later in the afternoon. She was playing dress up in a beautiful ballerina costume and was dancing to classical music. I started making supper, which didn't require too much effort. In less than the time it takes a small pot of water to boil is all it took for the 'snowstorm' to do it's damage.
I am almost always hightly attuned to the sounds of my child and my home and quickly know when something is awry. As I was browning my meat, I heard Gianna's hysterical giggling as she quickly approached the kitchen. As I turned around (this all plays out in slow motion, of course) she appears in the kitchen trailed by multiple clouds of smoke -- skipping all the while with a gleeful expression and the bottle of baby powder I used FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE SHE WAS BORN after her bath earlier.
It was at that very moment, I became mute. I calmly took the bottle out of her hand and escorted her to laundry room where I keep her high chair (which I now use for time out). I was hoping that she had only just begun the powder rampage close to the kitchen, but that hope was quickly shattered as I entered the fog-filled living room. And then I got a glimpse of the hall which led to what I could not even begin to imagine.
HOLY freakin' COW! My room was covered, but certainly not the worst of it. The bathroom was like a WINTER WONDERLAND. It was still floating in the air as I tried to imagine how many hours it would take to clean up this horrible joke of a mess.
It was EVERYWHERE: in the toilet, on the toilet, in the bathtub, in both closets on the picture frames, And don't ask me how there was still powder left in the bottle! Apparently powder fills space very differently when let out of it's container.
First I stared sweeping - one room at a time. That should help, right? HA! Then I dry-mopped. HA! Then I had no other choice to add water to the mix....I wet mopped. Double HA! Four moppings and a regretful steam-cleaning later - it is STILL NOT CLEAN.
Gianna spent a good hour in her high chair last night as I cleaned. She peed on herself and I let her sit in it for about 20 minutes. I thought that was the safest place for her. "I don't want to sit in the chair anymore, Mommy!" My calm response: "Well, I can relate. I don't want to be cleaning powder of my floor, furniture, clothes (she got in my closet too!) all night long either."
She asked to go straight to bed at 6:30pm. I obliged. She raised a little cain when I put her down and I started crying. She started sobbing and sobbing and saying, "I am SO sorry, Mommy. PLEASE forgive me. You HAVE to forgive me. You're my MOMMY!" Heartbreaking.
So, it's the next day. I've been cleaning for another hour and I've yet to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm sure I'll be finding powder in unusual places for a good long while.
The funny thing is, Gianna is not the kind of kid who tends to things like this. I'm pretty good about removing temptations or keeping them out of reach. (Apparently I was a little lax after bathtime yesterday.) She's gotten into small things like make up or nail polish but never made enormous messes. From what she told me, she saw the powder and wanted some for her hands. When it came out in cloud form I think it was novel and fun and she got caught up in it. Who knows? Even this morning after our little chat and another apology she told me, "But powder is so much fun!"
My guard is up, little girl! Don't mess with MOMMY!!!!!
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I was shaking my fist at the heavens last night. It was a hard enough day with this little hiccup. Grief had already left it's mark on us throughout the day. I was another kick in the gut and reminder that Iain is gone. It's hard because he'd have been the one I would have called; who would have found it both appauling and hysterical; who would have told me to leave the mess and rest until he got home; who would have helped clean it - or at least offer to; who would have calmed me and held me and made it all better - or bearable; who would have told the story for years with a sympathetic smile.
Now it's just me - and my blog. :( I miss him.
I sure hope he's enjoying this little show from the other side.