Chapter 7 - The Scrubbing
Why were Ione’s hands red?
Repetition.
Not chemicals.
Marjorie had switched to diluted dish soap after Ione complained cleaning spray stung.
That detail came from Ione.
Which meant:
The scrubbing had happened before.
Three sessions over one week.
The first:
Kitchen baseboards for approximately twenty minutes.
Second:
Mudroom floor.
Third:
The foyer that evening.
Marjorie gave her a hand brush because she said mops:
“let children pretend.”
No medical injury.
But prolonged wet friction irritated Ione’s skin.
The pediatrician diagnosed irritant dermatitis.
Moisturizer.
Avoidance.
Resolved within days.
The physical finding was minor.
The emotional meaning was not.
Ione associated mistakes with being made to:
“work until Grandma says it looks right.”
At home afterward, I asked her to put crayons away.
She froze.
“All?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect?”
“No. Just in the bin.”
“If one under couch?”
“We find it later.”
She stared at me.
Then cleaned.
Parenting had to become precise for a while.
Chore versus punishment.
Effort versus perfection.
May you like
The words mattered.
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