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"Why are you looking guilty?" I ask as she is mostly undressed with pajamas out next to her.
As she stalls I take in the whole scene; lots of exposed skin, glistening face, smeared mirror, "Uh-oh, I'm caught" look upon her face. I deduce quickly.
"Did you ask Grandma if you could use her medicine?"
"It looks like you also used it on your face and your mirror."
The lack of eye contact and continued non-response confirm my suspicions. I sigh to myself. I'm tired. Sundays are long days on a normal week, but this week we had to work Saturday as well. The day was fine, but having an after school activity adds two hours of people time to my day. My family knows that when I get home on Sundays I just want to sit in a quiet room, by myself! I try to rally because I know we have to resolve the situation and clean up the mess before anything else.
"You'll have to talk with Grandma in a minute. My first concern is that we get your face cleaned up so it doesn't get in your eyes."
While I work the wet wipe across her face, in strokes working out from her eyes, I ask why she put the medicine on her face.
"It looked silky and I thought it would make my face smooth."
I remain silent as I switch to a second wipe.
I love that our relationship continues to be in a place where we can have these conversations. The insight into her thinking fascinates me. (Like the time she cut her hair.)
Once I am sure that she isn't going to rub anything into her eyes during the night I leave her to get her pajamas on while I head to gather cleaning supplies and then supervise as she scrubs her mirror. (I knew if I left her on her own it would a) take six times as long and b) probably result in some other kind of mess.)
Finally we walk downstairs for her to talk with Grandma - the part she is really not looking forward to. She wants me to come with her. I assure her that she can do it and then stand behind Grandma while my daughter sits on Grandma's lap. My daughter can see me. Grandma can't (though I am sure she knows I am there, if for no other reason as my daughter's eyes look to mine after each phrase.)
Once I am certain enough of the details have been divulged I head outside to put the Windex back in the truck, chucking to myself, "At least she is continues to give me material for slices!"