Jug 'o oil, and Mr. Chubs

I went on a “girl’s date” last night with “The Amy-ee’s” (two friends named Amy/Aimee) Upon arrival home, four hours later, I found Peter up late and working. He gave some smug looks, and asked if I had fun.

“Why?” I ask, in a very inquisitive manner.

He asks again, and me – “why!?”

He says, “I’ve just about given up parenting.” (I sigh with relief that no bones are broken or anything crazy like that.)

“Oh, is that all. What happened?”

I know good and well what happened: Dinner, homework, lots of complaining, baby tearing down Christmas (singly handedly), crying, start of dishes, jammies, more complaining, more crying, prayers and off to bed. Finish dishes, wrangle baby, pick up (didn’t get done) etc, etc, etc. I know, because I do it every day of my life. Like the movie “Groundhogs Day.”

“You know that big bottle of olive oil, from Costco? In the corner cupboard?” Continues, 'Mr. Mom.'

“Yeah?” I reply.

“I heard baby crying, and kind of flopping. I turn, and he has gotten the olive oil out, it’s tipped over, and open – and he’s covered in it. He was only in his diaper and trying to crawl over to me. But it was ‘crawl-flop-crawl-flop-cry-crash-crawl-flop’….”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of my little butter-ball turkey, in his diaper, slipping all over the floor, covered in olive oil. He is a busy one!

Now; Will this be good for his eczema? (lol)