It's like butta

For my recent thirtieth birthday, a friend gave me Mediterranean Olive Wheatgerm Honey Body Butter. Luxurious! (My husband asked hopefully what body butter was, but found himself disappointed--it was a gift for ME, after all!).

So today, after a few hours in the chlorine and sun, I decided it was time to break out the butter. So as I sat with my son at the kitchen table, I rubbed the lovely smelling stuff on my arms and legs. You can guess what's coming: what's-that?-what's-it-for?-does-it-smell-good?-will-you-put-some-on-me? After all, he explained, he has lots of hurts on his legs, so they feel kind of rough and he'd like them to feel smoother. How could I say no?

And as I rubbed my precious butter on his little legs and arms, I found myself laughing. At the start of my last decade, could I ever have imagined "wasting" such luxurious stuff on a preschooler's skin? A decade from now, will my son ever believe that he let, much less asked, me to rub body butter on him? Hardly.

Better do it again tomorrow, before I run out of time.