The Lipstick Incident

"Honey, where's Adelaide?"

That phrase is always a harbinger of trouble in our home. Whenever we lose track of our daughter, whom we have affectionately dubbed "The Tornado," we all become a bit panicked. That, and we start a bath.

So today, as I called out to Ben asking to Adelaide's whereabouts, I was nervous. But he wasn't.

"She's in her room playing," he called back out to me. He and Will were engaged in a competitive game of "Worms" on the Xbox 360, but I didn't doubt his parental GPS. Okay, I figured, she's in her room. I listened to the monitor for a moment, expecting to hear happy baby noises, but I heard none. Still, I didn't panic.

Clearly, it's time to send the mommy radar in for a tune-up.

I went about my business conquering the Himalayan situation in the laundry room while Ben and Will engaged themselves in electronic male bonding, not worrying about the baby's whereabouts until I heard Ben's voice fill the house.

"ADELAIDE!!!" he cried, his voice a virtual mixed message, shouting confusion, horror, and some small degree of amusement. I ran into the next room to see my daughter covered in a sticky red mess. While most mothers would have called 911 immediately, the look on her face said it all. She looked positively proud of herself, her grin lighting up her now crimson-stained face.

I sniffed the air. Lipstick. Expensive lipstick, too, I thought. But that was secondary to the church dress she was still wearing and getting her adventures in makeup off her body. (That's why her torso is so clean -- the church dress took the brunt of the trunk decorating damage.)

So yes, we ran a bath. And I washed the adorable dress in hot water...though I haven't yet checked the results. Most of it came off, but for those parents who have read The Cat in The Hat Comes Back a few times, let me tell you -- the bathtub had a pink ring around it when little miss messy was done.

And while Ben handled the live mess, I took my "Holy Cow" cleaner that cleans ANYTHING and headed, with a full roll of paper towels, to the scene of the crime. I was right -- it was my Clinique lipstick. At least she has good taste.

Oh, and kudos to Ben, who in the midst of undressing her, running the bath, and of course determining it was a non-toxic substance she'd gotten all Tammy Faye Bakker with, he paused for a moment to think about the historical implications. He was always a little disappointed I didn't get better photos of Will's Jackson Pollack interior paint treatment, so he reminded me we should really get a couple of shots of her while she was doused with her luscious look.

And aren't you all relieved he did?