Lipstick Love

Apparently my son (2) can open doors now. Yesterday, I went to check on him while he was napping, and I couldn't find him. I panicked, of course, and began running around the house. I found him, sitting in my office, in the dark, in my chair, staring at my computer. When he saw me, he began crying. I would have freaked out at the possibility that he had either deleted hours of work or booked a flight to Gibraltar, but I didn't have time because I saw what I thought was blood all over his face.

I picked him up and carried him out into the light to find that there was no blood, only lipstick. Lipstick, which I keep in my top dresser drawer. (So in addition to doors, he can open drawers. Check.) I began to laugh, he continued to cry, and I could smell the distinctive Estee Lauder scent, which means, my kid has taste, he chose a $20 lipstick. Turns out that Pure Eden was on his lips, on his teeth, in his hair, in his ears, and covering his cheeks, chin, neck, and hands.

Being the resourceful mother that I am, I got the baby wipes out and began to clean him up. He had some on his shirt, so I took it off to find that he had completely painted his entire chest and belly. How long exactly, had he been wandering around unattended? It was clear that there was more than Pure Eden at work. It looked like Maple Sugar too, but I can't be sure, as I haven't yet found the tube(s).

He's still screaming, so I keep scrubbing, then carry him downstairs to his father. I was still baffled as to what all the screaming was about, until my hubbie said that my son knew he was in trouble and was screaming in advance so that I would take pity. It worked. I hugged my little artist and told him he wasn't in trouble, that I wasn't mad, and I got him to calm down -- mostly.

Then I went back upstairs to investigate. I'm no Agent Booth, but this is what I've ascertained: my resourceful son dragged the dog stairs (yes, my dogs have stairs so they can get on and off the bed) over to my bureau, where  he retrieved my zippered bag of lipsticks. Yes, ahem, he can do zippers too. He then proceeded to paint himself and everything on top of my bureau: deoderant, compacts, perfumes, lotions, and a bra. He then tried to clean himself up, using washclothes from the closet, which he then tried to flush down the toilet. The toilet was plugged with red washclothes and there is lipstick all over the toilet.

I have a hunch that then, he heard me coming and bolted for my office, as there is fingerprint evidence that he closed my office door in a hurry. There is no lipstick in my office, so he wasn't in there very long.

I returned to my son, hugged him, reminded him that he wasn't in trouble, and then asked him to look me in the eyes. And I said, "Where are the lipsticks now?"

And he said, with a completely straight face, "Mommy did it."