Occasionally, when the Man and I are
desperately casting around for something to feel parentally smug about, we
remind each other that notwithstanding
over 2 years of Equatorial living, our children have yet to ever get sun
burnt. SUN-SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN, we roar at them,
as they slither out of our grasp and disappear into the pool, then slather it
on as they wriggle and complain and whinge and announce that they DON’T CARE
ABOUT SUNBURN, and HOW BAD COULD IT BE ANYWAY?
I’m not sure what happened to my
brain this weekend, but having screeched at the Boy to GET OUT OF THE POOL AND
PUT ON YOUR SWIM TOP, I then completely
and utterly forgot to follow up with sunscreen.
No, I don’t get it either. Especially as I’d slathered the other
two. (I suspect my mind was on the
drinks menu. It was Sunday! We were at the beach! The sun was shining! Alternatively,
I’m getting old and stupid. Or, both.)
Anyway, we had a lovely day – 5 long,
scorching hot, uninterrupted hours - where the rays bounced off the pool and
the sea and the white sand, and the Boy’s pale European skin absorbed it all. We were in the car when I realised that he was
actually quite red. By the time we got
home, he was really red. By bedtime, I
had never seen anything quite so red (which wasn’t associated with childbirth).
He was actually so burnt that I had to
give him paracetomol and get up in the middle of the night to re-apply his Sudocream.
(I’m Irish, OF COURSE Sudocream works on
sunburn. Also on tumours and dismemberments.)
Anyway, on the plus side I don’t think
anyone in the house is going to wriggle or complain or whinge any more during
sunscreen application. (Hurrah! never
again will I be asked how bad it could be anyway.) On the downside – apart from the guilt and the shame and the forthcoming
freckles and impending skin cancer – the Boy is clearly traumatised by it. Here’s
yesterday’s school self-portrait:
(I’m calling it: Snowman with Sunburn).
Speaking of trauma, I got trolled
this weekend! Yes! I’ve never been trolled before. (Actually I
have, but with just one teeny flick of the wrist, the trolling is removed and
we all pretend it never happened.) I
wrote a piece for a newspaper about my relationship
with my home country (spoiler alert: I MISS IT) and this got the trolls all salivating
and frenzied. Which amused me 80% and
pissed me off about 20%. Oh trolls. Where do you get your energy? Please send me some, and also gin (because apparently I am depressed and disillusioned.) Also, send some friends (again, apparently I don’t have any.) And aloe vera.
Actually, I mean the last one.
Oh! Poor boy! I'm going to be very boring and tell you what I imagine a thousand others have - but have you tried Greek yoghurt? I'm the only fair one out of a family of gyppo olive skins (how unfair?), so spent most of my childhood burnt and subsequently slathered in yoghurt.
ReplyDeleteHow awful to be trolled, but how brilliant that you can be 80% amused. I'm crap at being trolled - I can't ever remember all the lovely things people say, because the horrible things seem to flash and bulge and I can't get them out of my brain. Then I find myself writing to appease the angry people, which makes me very angry with myself.
Anyway, I think you're great, and very brave to live so far from home with small children, and I'll be your friend (you may have to whistle for the aloe vera, though, I'm extremely allergic).
Love C
Oh no - but kudos that you have at least solved the problem of how to keep them applying sunscreen so a bit of a win?
ReplyDeleteLoved your article - I know how you feel and that's why we moved back to Dublin last summer after 19 years away. So far, so good!
ReplyDeleteto heck with dem trolls. we know youre fabulous. i loved the article and i ll always be your friend in Woodstock! poor wee snowman but hurrah for you that it took you this long to have a blonde moment on the beach. god bless sudocreme tayto and barrys tea xx
ReplyDeleteAmazing self portrait. A keeper. As for the trolls, I sort of experienced them this weekend too...there was a mumsnet discussion about mummy bloggers and how 'nauseatingly smug' they all were, and the thread went on for 15 pages and I was mentioned (in a nice way, I hasten to add, which was good for stats but terrible for my anxiety, waiting as I was for someone to be mean to me) and the comments got dark and evil and rotten and poisonous and I was a bit shocked. I am a proud mumsnet virgin and what a load of horrendous nastiness it all was. Anyway, ugh. Sorry about your trolling experience. Go have a shower and more gin.
ReplyDelete