*Even though the toothpaste trick does help short-term, it is NOT recommended, since fluoride will ultimately dry the skin even more. It was an act of last-ditch desperation on my part. It helped enough that, a couple hours later, I could rinse the goo off and recoat (and recoat and recoat) with lavender oil.
morning afternoon! Holy pickled yak’s teeth with cream cheese on a whole wheat Triscuit! I don’t know about you guys, but this has already been a wild week and it’s only Tuesday.
The day after Saturday, Sunday happened, which was a fairly normal occurrence. This particular Sunday, Ms. K and her daughter BG arrived to visit, which (for me, at least) was not overly normal.
We stayed up half the night talking and laughing and making enough noise poor Hubby couldn’t even hear the team he was rooting for kinda losing the Super Bowl. (I would have thought he’d have been more grateful to us for saving him the embarrassment of being able to hear the blow-by-blow of it all.) (And I would have been WRONG!)
Next, Monday followed Sunday, which again seemed like the way things normally go. I had a Doc appointment where I was administered several in-office tests that sort of said one thing, but not exactly. Much. Maybe. (I promise I’ll write about all of that fun later.)
Monday night, after we all feasted on a banquet of homemade gluten free waffles (Ms. K has Celiac Disease), I decided to make some homemade salve for Ms. K’s seriously dry skin. I’d like to say this was pretty normal, but me doing much of anything that doesn’t involve nesting on the couch with my phone and the TV remote is distinctly NOT normal! But…what happened next was.
Just in case you’ve never made homemade salve, it basically involves dumping the oil of your choice in the top of a double boiler, adding some beeswax, and waiting for the steam from the boiling water in the bottom pan to heat and blend everything to a nice, smooshy-yet-spreadable texture. Then you pour it in a happy, clean container, wait for it to cool just a smidge, and mix in any pretty-smelling or therapeutic essential oils you’d like. (In this case, it was a heady blend of patchouli and cedar wood.)
All of the above was going along swimmingly! I’d heated, melted, and poured my concoction into its happy, clean container. Next, I poured the boiling water from the bottom pan into the now empty top one. Why? Have you ever tried to wash anything containing melted bees wax out of a metal pan? Yeah, it requires some extra work, which I am always more than happy to find ways to avoid.
As I was looking into the living room and chatting away like a sugared-up, cracked-out monkey, I set the now-filled-with-slightly-less-than-full-on-boiling-water into the sink of white, soapy suds. ASSUMING it would kinda sink and cool off a tiny bit? (And we all know what they say about assuming stuff. *sigh*) Yeah, well…in reality the darn thing FLOATED on top of the white, soapy suds like a vessel of skin-poaching pain waiting to happen.
And it TOTALLY did!
As I continued to chatter and giggle away about who even knows what, I grabbed the washrag, stuck my hand into the slightly cooled-off pan and scrubbed out the remaining salve residue. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. IN. MY. DREAMS.
In my reality, I grabbed my washrag and plunged my hand into slightly-less-than-boiling water, giggled less enthusiastically since my brain was beginning to think that something was a little “off.” That was about the time my hand informed my brain that it was NOT happily scrubbing a pot, but instead was being cooked to a lovely medium rare.
My brain finally caught up to the real-world situation, the washrag was sort of thrown, and my mouth issued the Universal Warning Alarm for “something bad just went down” of, “G-blank, mother blanking, son of a blank, explicative sucking, colorful word for prostitute!” as I hopped around, slinging my hand like I was trying to shake off a rabid chihuahua with a vendetta.
The Girl and BG immediately stopped their own sugared-up, cracked-out monkey chatter, since the primal part of their brains was responding to the Universal Warning Alarm. The Girl (who is completely used to this sort of thing) silently waited for her cue as to which emergency service needed to be contacted and BG froze with this look of total confusion on her adorable face before whispering, “What was THAT?”
The absolute best part of the whole painful act of dumbassery? Ms. K (who was completely blind to the kitchen sink and my near-boiling hand), didn’t even miss a beat with her cool-as-a-cucumber reply, “She burned herself,” before continuing our only-slightly-interrupted conversation. Because we speak the same language; the language of the Dumbass Move.
So as you can see, everything is moving along at a totally expected pace here with the first, official personal injury on the books. Yay me!
PS After the use of a gallon of lavender oil and an old cook’s trick of covering the burn in *toothpaste, I’m no worse for wear. Just an average day in the neighborhood. *grin*
PPS If you haven’t made any plans tonight, I get to hang out with the International Foundation for Autoimmune Arthritis on their Facebook page and get myself all interviewed in conjunction with their blog, Systemically Connected, followed by some Q&A from you guys! Starting at 8:00 pm, I’ll be doin’ my best to act like an adult (yeah, probably not) and see how well I can do without two pots of coffee in me. Hopefully I’ll see you there.