The Mommy Burn

Growing up, we called it the Idiot Burn. As in, "Those crazy tourists. What idiots."

Every year, in the dead of winter, we'd escape the frozen tundra we called home and flee south to visit Nana and Papa...and thaw out. While the true Southerners wore their jackets and jeans (it was only in the 70s, after all!), we bared it all and took to the water (it was SO hot--in the 70s!). Ocean, pool, ocean, pool, with breaks in between to soak in some rays in the backyard, or, better yet, on the driveway (HOT!). We had very little competition for the pool, and the waves were all ours at the beach. And as the locals walked by bundled up and chuckled, "Tourists," we couldn't have cared less; salt water up your nose was ever so much better than the frozen nostrils we'd left at home. Even if it was chilly salt water.

That was back in the day when sitting in the sun was supposed to be good for you. Got rid of the all-winter sniffles. Eliminated that half-dead pale green pallor of a Northerner's skin. Which didn't stop mom from making us use sunscreen, of course. But every year, despite mom's careful application and reapplication of sunscreen, it was inevitable: the Idiot Burn. The shaped-exactly-like-your-bathing-suit burn. The can't-sleep-can't-shower-must-peel burn. The I-can't-tell-if-I'm-hot-or-freezing burn. When you've been living in a frozen cave for months, when you haven't opened the curtains in weeks because the snow is piled too high to see out anyhow, you don't get much sun exposure. That Florida sun, even in winter, was a doozy to cave-dwellers like us. And so we fried...and secretly loved it, I might add.

Fast forward to today, when I renamed the Idiot Burn. How many times already this summer have I slathered my son head to toe with SPF 50? "Mom, did you put on your sunscreen?" he asks every time we head for the pool. Of course not. But did I remember the pool toys, towels, snack, lunch, alternative snack, water bottle, dry clothes? Of course! You can see where this is heading...

After yet another 100+ degree day at the pool, we came home refreshed and exhausted. As I looked at my son, I felt a pang of guilt: his nose was a little pink! Oh no! Why didn't I reapply? Why did I take him out in the middle of the day? Why didn't I make him wear a hat (even in the pool!)? How could I doom him to a life of skin cancer? Guilt: reapply, bad mommy! Reapply!

Then I realized I wasn't quite sure if I was hot or cold. And the shower felt SO hot...the Mommy Burn. Idiot.