Knocking on Wood

Micky - 1 year old - smearing applesauce
all over the table and (5 seconds later) his hair.

My youngest is an experiential child.  He loves to experience EVERYTHING!  And most of the time, he wants to experience EVERYTHING with EVERY ONE of his five senses.  If he were a super-hero, he’d be “sensory-man” for sure.  He’s also intense and expressive, so you will never be mistaken about whether he loves or hates what he’s experiencing.

This lovely trait makes life both exceptionally entertaining . . . and terribly frustrating.

One of Micky’s favorite ways to “experience” something is by rubbing it into his hair.  I don’t know exactly when or why this started, but he’s been doing it since he was a baby.  Food is a given.  There has been oatmeal, yogurt, mushy cheerios, orange juice, milk and on at least one occasion, all of these at the same time.  He has colored his hair with markers, crayons and paint, stuck tape in his hair, rubbed play dough and silly puddy in his hair, stickers and ribbons and toys have all had their moment of fame in Micky’s hair.

Ironically, Micky HATES to have his hair washed.  He cannot stand anything getting near his head if it involves water from a tap.  (I attribute this to the multiple ear-infections he suffered from before finally getting tubes put in his ears – he’s terrified of water getting in his ears).

Last night, while I was getting Renton and Emily sorted out before bed, Micky decided he wanted to brush his teeth by himself.  Triumphantly proud of this “big boy” step on Micky’s part, I let him do it.  While straightening pjs, and picking out bedtime books with my two oldest, the silence coming from the bathroom began to set off miniscule little alarms in my head.

Then Micky popped out of the bathroom with a great big grin on his face and his hair spiked up into a nearly perfect Mohawk.  “Look Mommy!  Me fix my hair!”  He beamed.

“That’s great Micky!” I complimented him, though now certain that the teeth brushing had likely NOT occurred.

Then I got a closer look at him.  There were shiny globs of glistening “stuff” around his eyebrows, and what I initially thought was just water in his hair began to show much more substance than a liquid alone would.  Then the scent hit me.  Unmistakable.  Minty fresh and sinus-opening.

Vapo-rub.

Micky had liberally applied nearly an entire jar of vapo-rub (infant type thank goodness) all over his hair and face.  Surprisingly, I didn’t even panic.  I just looked at him.  This was totally par for the course for my little Micky.

“We’re going to have to wash that out honey.”  (Oops.  I had said the dreaded word, “wash”.)

Twenty minutes, kicks, crying, water splashed bathroom mirror and faucet panic later, Micky’s face was clean (no traces in the eyes) and his hair was freshly washed and sticking up via water alone.  He climbed into my bed in his footsy jammies ready for his bedtime story, happy, content, trauma forgotten. 

And while a faint menthol aroma still floated in the air, Micky snuggled under my arm with his book,  and I happily thought to myself, at least it wasn’t poop.

(knock on wood)