"Mommy, I have to tell you something," Bria said, emerging from the hallway.
I could see that she was covered in some sort of white cream, but she looked so apologetic, it was all I could do keep a straight face as she climbed onto my lap.
"I put on sunscreen so I could go outside," she said.
Her shirt was white with sunscreen, and she had it on her cheeks, legs (she was not wearing pants), and hands. We talked about maybe bringing it to Mom next time so that she could put the sunscreen on for her. Then we looked out the window -- at the first blizzard of the year in North Dakota -- and talked about why we wouldn't be going outside today, definitely not dressed in our t-shirt.
I went to the kitchen to get her a washcloth and changed her clothes, then we got busy with snack time and playing with puzzles and reading books. Soon the sunscreen was totally forgotten about.
A few hours later I was fixing supper and had to use the washroom -- apparently the first time I had been down the hall since the incident -- and found what Bria had really meant when she said she had to tell me something! The carpet in the hallway was no longer green. Instead it was solid white in several large areas, completely covered in sunscreen. The empty bottle lay on the floor nearby.
I pulled out the carpet cleaner, and Bria came into the hall.
"I made the mess, I'll clean it up," she said.
And she did.