Wherein the Piper Cub experiments with the politically correct whiteface look

I was home with the Piper Cub today, and he was a busy guy. What with the rain turning into snow keeping us inside, the disruption to his routine, and some guys coming in for some household repairs and needing his constant supervision, he was motoring, motoring, motoring. Finally, I changed his diaper and set him down in his bed for some much-needed quiet time (needed more by me than him, actually).

So I was downstairs on the Dope, and every so often, I could hear a bit of Sturm und Drang coming from his bedroom - standard when he’s having quiet time against his will, but our feeling is that it’s okay for him to putter around with his toys and all, if he really doesn’t want a nap, provided he’s reasonably quiet about it.

After a while, though, there was suddenly a plaintive “Mo-ommmmmy”, repeated a few times, in a tone that means something’s wrong. Mommy being in court this week and not home at the time, I went upstairs.

First thing as I was going upstairs, was the scent - a pleasant enough scent that I couldn’t quite place, but isn’t normally there. I said to myself, “What is that scent?” A hygenic scent of some sort.

Then I came across the shoes and slippers. Part of the Sturm und Drang had been the Cub throwing all of his shoes and slippers over the baby gate to freedom, giving them liberty even if he couldn’t have it - and some of them had some sort of white paste on them?

I look into his room. He’s sitting discontentedly on his bed, looking pale. Because, you see, when you open two jars of diaper cream and spread it all over your room and on your Pooh bear and on your shoes and on your playhouse and on your growth chart and on the wall and on the floor, it’s inevitable that you’ll get a bit of it on yourself - and on your shirt and on your trousers and on your hair, and on your face. In fact, if you experiment with rubbing it on your face, you get a nice little reverse racoon look going on around your eyes. (I presume a bit of it smeared into his eyes, which is what pushed him to call for assistance.) Other than that, he looked at peace with his handiwork.

And he was thorough. For instance, he had done a good job smearing it on the roof and exterior walls of the playhouse, thick enough to hide the bright primary colours. When I opened the playhouse door, I discovered he’d caked the inside as well. That shows dedication to his craft, I thought - lots of kids would have been content with just slapping it on the outside and moving on, but no, the Cub made sure that even the part that normally isn’t seen was done. A true craftsman, working to his own exacting standards.

And then the Riders clapper - you know the sort of thing, a plastic clapper that sports teams give out to their fans to make noises with at the games. Kelly green in its natural state, now just shining white all over. With cream glopped into the joint, rendering it unusable. Was it a comment on the Riders’ recent slump? who knows the motif that lurks in modern diaper cream art?

However, he’d obviously been interrupted by the effects of the whiteface exercise, because there was a huge glop of cream on the floor, scooped out from the full, economy size jar of the stuff I’d bought just the day before. How was he planning on using it, I wondered? what further extravaganza of white diaper cream artistic endeavour had been barred from fruition? The world will never know its loss.

And, something I’d sort of known before, but hadn’t truly appreciated - diaper cream is sticky and water-resistant - well of course, since its whole purpose is to help keep liquids away from sensitive areas. So to get it off, you just have to wipe with paper towels - and wipe - and wipe. And go through two or three rolls of the stuff. And keep wiping.

And it doesn’t come off of little boys very easily. Even once his white trousers and white sweater and white shirt were off, he continued to have a glistening white sheen to his face, and feet, and hands and hair. The paper towels, they do nothing! I said, “What are we going to do with you?” He said, “Bafth,” which was a sensible comment. So off he went to the tub, with warm water gradually restoring him to a healthy pink glow.

And now, I have great black stains on both of my ring fingers - I assume diaper cream in large quantities trapped under my rings is the cause.

And the Cub is now sleeping peacefully, of course, with the satisfaction that comes to a craftsman after a job well done.

Perhaps this is his way of stating that he’s a Toronto Argonauts fan?

:smiley:

Please tell me you took photos???

Silence is always a far more ominous ‘sound’ than a crying child.

Remember this :smiley:

Oh, and pics too please.

Heresy!

[Fingers in ears]

♫ Green is the colour… ♫

:stuck_out_tongue: :stuck_out_tongue: :stuck_out_tongue:

sadly, I was more taken up with the deconstruction of his artistic endeavours to think of photos. that was Mrs Piper’s first question as well.

It could be worse - my son wants to be a Habs fan. How will he ever learn the futility of hope if he’s pulling for a team that wins? Only through the Toronto Maple Leafs can we learn that Charlie-Brown-and-the-football feeling that keeps Toronto united in its darkest years.

Your white-face experience reminds me of something that happened with my daughter when she was a toddler at day-care. It was nap time, and she was squirming a lot instead of sleeping, and so one of her ‘teachers’ came over and rubbed her back and said ‘Ministrella, it’s time to sleep.’ to which Ministrella replied ‘I’m painting!’. Teacher said ‘That’s nice, but try to sleep. Wait, what are you painting with?’

It turned out she’d had a poop in her pull-ups, scratched her bum and started drawing with the results. All. Over. The. Cot., her clothes, the blankets, the floor… At least poop cleans up easily, but still… It’s poop!

I think I’m going to tell that story to her dates when she’s a teenager…

Y’know how kids have to learn the lesson that they might not like something or someone, but they have to pretend to be nice to them, because that’s what big people do?

This is where he learns it.

I’m the chick who realized there was a Riders game one day because as I was driving up to Saskatoon, pretty much every vehicle going the other way was driven by someone wearing green and there were a suspicious amount of tour buses filled with green-clad people.

Aww. How old is the little cub?

Celtling did a similar job once - in the back of a shopping cart at Target. I will never comprehend how she managed to cover that much stuff in glop that quickly.

The poor checker just looked at the mess, pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and started scanning the goods.

Windex. It works on everything.

What was very surprising to me when I moved to Lethbridge, Alberta, was that most CFL fans here cheer for the Riders. With Regina six hours away by car, and Calgary only two hours away, you’d think there would be more Stampeders fans than anything else. Nope, this seems to be a Rider town–in last year’s Grey Cup, the local sports bar was a sea of green jerseys.

Well of course, with Taylor Field West being just two hours away! :p:p:p:p

Two and a half. A/K/A “The Danger Year.” :smack:

I’ve followed the Riders for quite a while now.

I remember a year when 5 - 12 - 1 was an improvement. :eek:

I also remember coming out of RogerDome and seeing the CN Tower lit up up in Green & White in recognition of the new Grey Cup Champions. :smiley:

Winning is better. :cool:

Someone once said “Having a toddler is a 24/7 suicide watch.” And they were right on target.

Hang in there, it gets easier, I promise!

Deconstructionism is an evil modern phenomenon.