Finger  Painting?

"Oh, my God! Did Angel do this?” 

“Yes. We were finger painting.” Cearra said. 

“Oh, my God! Look at you! Why did you let him? Never mind I keep forgetting—you are only four. Where was Angel’s baby-sitter while this was going on? Never mind, she obviously was not watching you two. Cearra, you look so scared, this mess is not your fault. If anyone is at fault, it is mine for letting you visit Angel. Your mother is going to kill me.” 

“Mommy likes you.” Cearra said. 

 “I don't think she is going to like me today. I hope Angel looks just as bad as you do."

"He does." Cearra laughed.

"That's comforting. Look at your face and hair! You look like a cross between an Indian and a 60's child."

[Cearra laughs] 

"Your mother is going to kill me. I should have never let you go over to Angels house. Take off those clothes and get your chubby butt in the tub.” I plugged the drain, turned the faucet on and watched the tub fill. 

“All right get in and wet your hair please. I sure hope that red stuff comes out.” 

I shampooed Cearra’s hair twice—the red lipstick in her hair did not come all the way out! 

“Oh, this is great! Your mother is going to kill she likes Lucile Ball.” 

“Why?” Cearra asked. 

“Because you are going to look like her for a few weeks. CEARRA how could you?” 

Cearra said nothing (This is standard procedure for kids in trouble.) she just sat there looking like a Huron Indian. 

“Where does your mother keep the Vaseline? Never mind…I will find it. Oh, here it is. Okay, look at me.” 

I put Vaseline on her face and chest-- she could have passed for a channel swimmer. 

“Let’s hope this works. Keep your fingers crossed.” 

“Why?” 

“For good luck…oh, never mind.” 

After a few minutes had passed, I scrubbed the Vaseline off Cearra’s face and chest. She was still pink. 

“You said I could have bubbles.” Cearra reminded me. 

“And so I did. Oh, dear I forgot to put them in. A thousands pardons little Chubby-butt your wish is my command.” 

I jumped up, slapped my right fist to my heart, and said, “I hear and I obey.” 

I got found bubble bath under the sink and poured some into the water. 

“There, happy now? Somehow I don’t think it will get the pink out.” 

I swished the water around with my hand making a limited amount of bubbles.  Cearra looked at the bubbles and made a face:

 “I want bubbles! Lots of bubbles.” She demanded.  

“Okay, Okay.” I’ll have to let some of the water out of the tub first. Then re-fill it. Just hold your horses Chubby-butt.” 

“Okay.” Cearra laughed. 

“What’s this? Looks like a toy showerhead. Does this go on the life preserver that came with that doll that is lying out in the backyard? You know that round donut looking thing that your dolly floats in.”

 “Ah, ha.” 

“Cute...look at these little holes looks like a real showerhead. Does it work? Does it squirt water on your dolly’s head?" 

“Yes.” 

“That's cool. I bet I can make water squirt out of it without the life preserver—would you like me to show you how?” 

“Yeah. Show me,” Cearra said while wiggling her feet back and forth in the water. 

“Okay, here goes watch and learn...the master is at work.”  

I put the mini-showerhead under the running facet. Nothing happened, so I pushed it further into the waterspout.  Still nothing happened, but suddenly the tub stopped filling; there was a moment of silence, then main shower nozzle sprayed water down on my head! I screamed and jumping backwards. The spry then hit Cearra in the face. She let out a cry of surprise and put her hands over her face. Seconds later I lunged forward and turned off the shower. My hair was dripping wet so I grabbed a towel then I looked at Cearra with the same look of surprise that she gave me. 

“Are you all right Cearra? Did the spray hurt your face? Gee, I'm sorry.” Cearra just sat there looking like Custer at Little Bighorn. I wrapped the towel around my head and kneeled next to the tub. Then I said:

“Now, what did we learn from all of this?” I say this all the time.

Cearra and I started laughing hysterically.  

“Let’s have a look at your Pocahontas face still as red as an Indian. How does it feel to be an Indian?” I asked laughing.  

“I like it.” Cearra smiled. 

“I wish your mother and dad had your appreciation for face painting.

For the remainder of the day I tried everything I could think of to get the lipstick off Cearra’s face, and torso, but nothing worked. Then Cearra’s mom came home and to my surprise, she understood a child’s mischief--especially when it was Cearra.  

The End  

Written by: Cynthia E. Martin  

Date: 12-28-96

Active Participants
Cearra Dickman—age 4
Angel—next door neighbor age 6 

Cynthia E. Martin—forty something the Dickman babysitter.

Setting Dickman house, Oceanside, California 1996  

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All rights reserved.  

Last updated: 03/14/02 08:29:44 AM