As I lazily performed my Saturday morning bathroom routine of hair, make-up, and what-not, my daughter, as usual, entered to help. She selected my shoes (for herself), borrowed my eye shadow, and found some dog toys that had been MIA for weeks.
Because it is Saturday morning, I didn’t mind the entertaining, Grand Central-like atmosphere that she and the dog provided. But then suddenly it stopped, and she sat on the bathroom floor, fussing as only a four-year-old girl can.
Rubbing her finger angrily she cried, “I have sleaze and it’s itchy!”
“Your sleeves are itchy?” I questioned, chuckling to myself that she had confused the words.
“No!” she wailed, “Sleaze. I have sleaze!”
I stopped what I was doing. Watching her continue to struggle, I wondered if this was the beginning of low self-esteem issues. My otherwise undaunted social butterfly seemed adamant that she was infected with sleaze. How could this be? Determined to prevent a life-time of therapy, I tried again, “Are you talking about your sleeves?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Then I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“On Spongebob Squarepants,” she sniffed, “Sandy had sleaze and she was itchy and now I have it too!”
The light bulb turned on because, hallelujah, I have seen that episode. “Sweetheart,” I explained, “Sandy had FLEAS. You don’t have fleas, baby. You probably have dry skin. Let’s go get you some lotion.”
Magically the tears disappeared and an enthusiastic tone replaced the wine. “Okay, Mommy.”
I sighed with relief as I clasped her had in mine and walked to her room. She skipped.
"I can do all things through Christ who strenthens me." Phillipians 4:13
Because it is Saturday morning, I didn’t mind the entertaining, Grand Central-like atmosphere that she and the dog provided. But then suddenly it stopped, and she sat on the bathroom floor, fussing as only a four-year-old girl can.
Rubbing her finger angrily she cried, “I have sleaze and it’s itchy!”
“Your sleeves are itchy?” I questioned, chuckling to myself that she had confused the words.
“No!” she wailed, “Sleaze. I have sleaze!”
I stopped what I was doing. Watching her continue to struggle, I wondered if this was the beginning of low self-esteem issues. My otherwise undaunted social butterfly seemed adamant that she was infected with sleaze. How could this be? Determined to prevent a life-time of therapy, I tried again, “Are you talking about your sleeves?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Then I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“On Spongebob Squarepants,” she sniffed, “Sandy had sleaze and she was itchy and now I have it too!”
The light bulb turned on because, hallelujah, I have seen that episode. “Sweetheart,” I explained, “Sandy had FLEAS. You don’t have fleas, baby. You probably have dry skin. Let’s go get you some lotion.”
Magically the tears disappeared and an enthusiastic tone replaced the wine. “Okay, Mommy.”
I sighed with relief as I clasped her had in mine and walked to her room. She skipped.
"I can do all things through Christ who strenthens me." Phillipians 4:13
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