exhausted

I once ran a half-marathon, nearly eight miles up-hill and five miles down.  When I went to bed that night I wasn't as exhausted as I was yesterday when at last my weary body collapsed on my bed. 

Miriam got a hold of a couple markers.  I'm not sure if she was feeling particularly deprived of attention or just especially mischevious, because she's had markers before without using them to decorate her brother and herself and the walls and floors and stool.  I admit, I sometimes get distracted while online, or trying to accomplish some other task, but that was not even the case in this incident.  I was in the laundry room, sorting through mail and it still boggles my mind how quickly she worked.  The picture almost doesn't do it justice, his hands, neck and scalp/hair were colored purple and turquoise.  She was no better, her cheeks, hair and arms also covered in markings.  And I mentioned the walls, floors and the stool behind Simon? Fortunately they were washable markers, nothing a wet rag and quick bath couldn't fix.  UN-fortunately Simon has decided in the last few days that he hates baths, and cried through the whole thing.  I hate baths too, or at least my back hates me after giving them.  But I was able to laugh about it all in no time. 

BUT THEN...

Vaseline. Two-thirds of the 13oz tub. They weren't in bath when I discovered them, Miriam the trouble-maker and Simon the incidental partner in crime.  Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  When I found them in the boys' room they were both shoving fistfuls of petroleum into their own and each other's hair.  I was angry.  I put them in the bath while I composed myself.  I spent 45 minutes washing and rinsing and re-washing the slippery little grease-monkeys.  It was fruitless.  I combed through their hair with a fine-tooth comb and gobs of soap-slime came out but when I finally removed them from the bath with an aching back and no more hot water, it seemed I had made no progress.  I put Simon in his high chair and gave Miriam a "pretty hat" to keep her from contaminating other surfaces.

About this time I called Richard, whose plane had just landed from Spokane.  He asked me if I'd googled it.  I'm not sure why I thought I was the only woman in the world whose child lathered their hair with vaseline.  Apparently it's a common problem.  The most popular solutions were baby powder/corn starch and Dawn dishsoap.  Hopefully Miriam and Simon don't develop asthma because I didn't have corn starch and despite the many warnings about NOT using baby powder because it was so bad for their lungs, I was desperate.  I did Round 2: baby powder, wash with regular shampoo, wash with Dawn, wash with shampoo.  There was definite improvement but still their hair could stand straight up off their head, defying gravity with the stiff support of the vaseline.

This was when the exhaustion took over and I had to call it good.  Off to bed they went, to make greasy pillows and sheets. 

This morning I did Round 3 in the shower, unable to bear the thought of hunching over the bathtub again.  More baby powder, more Dawn and more shampoo.  Once again progress, but I'm sure Simon will require another round and Miriam two or three. 

Someday I will laugh. I know I will.  But this has been by far the most lasting of Miriam's reckless destruction and I am still feeling totally defeated.