This morning, I was being so efficient: the kids had had breakfast, I'd already prepared my lunch, and by 9:30, I had dinner ready to go, too. I'm so good!!!!
But your kids will always remind you not to be proud, won't they?
Charis came into the kitchen where I was working and said, "Look, Mama! I'm so pretty!" I looked down to see my precious, fair-skinned little girl covered in black marker--on her face, her legs, her hands--she had given herself black circles of "rouge" and had "painted" her fingernails black.
Here's the thing: we don't have any black markers, except for the ones Abe uses at work....uh-oh.
"Where did you get that marker?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I just found it."
I groaned, knowing exactly which marker she had found. "Bring me the marker," I said. Sure enough, it was, as I feared, a Sharpie. You know the kind: permanent. Tonight is Gopher Buddies! She can't go to Gopher Buddies covered in permanent black marker!
Thank goodness for the internet. I had scrubbed at the tattoos with soap and water to no avail and was growing increasingly more worried, but found a suggestion online to use facial astringent. It worked like a charm!
(And that girl will never ever have a pimple.)