Marina is in the girl era where she loves to wear dresses. Which is totally adorable. I especially like the juxtaposition of her in a flowing fairy dress coupled with snot running down her face and an attitude the size of Jupiter.
Which perfectly describes how she was dressed the other day.
We were running around doing school drop-offs and errands. She had on a purple gauzy dress she got for her birthday that hit right below her knees. Like most of her clothing, she always puts it on backwards. I let it go though. Fourth child in, I’ve learned to pick my battles. Backward dress is nowhere near the top of the list.
We were getting ready to leave the pet store, and I insisted both she and Evie went pee before we got back into the car because we had about an hour drive ahead of us. Marina did not want any part of going to the bathroom for some reason, even though her constant crotch grabs told another story.
I dragged both of them to the bathroom anyway. Evie went first and, as she sat there, I remembered the email I got from school earlier that day about lice. Someone in the class had it, so they sent around the standard vague email telling everyone to check their kid.
As Evie sat there, her mop of curly hair framing her face, I envisioned lice and eggs scattered throughout. I had originally planned to wait until we got home to check, but since I was crammed into a small space with nothing to do, I decided to start checking her then.
Rookie mistake.
Evie starts asking me 62 questions about what I’m doing. Of course, she is not pleased by the possibility of lice and wants the Encyclopedia Britannica version of where lice come from, their life cycle, and how we would kill them if I found any.
Meanwhile, Marina was whining and wiping snot on her arm.
Ah, this is motherhood.
I switched kids and put Marina on the toilet, insisting that she at least try to pee. I hovered over her, holding up the back of her dress so she wouldn’t drop it in the toilet. She, of course, is not pleased with my proximity to her and wants me to go away.
Damn 3-year-olds.
Distracted by the parts of Evie’s head that I left unchecked, I allowed her bossiness to persuade me to let go and let her hold the dress herself while I finished my check of Evie.
Rookie mistake.
After confirming Evie’s head was lice-free, I turned back to Marina to help her wipe and get her off the toilet.
Obviously, her dress had dipped into the pee water, and she was now adequately pissed that it was wet.
I was both pissed and pleased because…I mean...I told you so.
I helped her off and, as I was squatting down to fix her underwear, she whipped her dress around to inspect the pee damage. It smacked me. Right above the eye.
Ohhhhhhhh. Oh great.
That’s piss water. Public toilet piss water right on my face.
I froze.
I don’t know why, but something happens to your soul when you step in shit or get hit in the face with a piss dress. You either react like a ninja to remove the fluids off of you or you are immobile like a deer caught in the headlights. In this situation, I was the deer. I just sat there as the pee water slowly made its way down past my eyelids. Evie finally broke the spell.
“Why are you sitting like that?”
“I got pee on my face, Evie. Your sister just whipped her pee-covered dress in my face.”
Evie looked at me.
“Oh yeah. I can see it on your forehead.”
Fantastic.