Bath Time

I recently read a blurb in a parenting magazine about how bath time is the most relaxing time of the day for a mom. According to the writer, you can soak your feet, let the kids write on the walls without feeling that you need to yell at them, and you actually get to sit down. I loved reading this. I loved reading it in the same way I love reading novels about wealthy people who spend their days sitting pool side with colorful drinks. I would love to meet the writer of the bath time blurb. I would tell her that I loved her description of bath time, and that her imagery was so real that I could totally picture a scene like that. The same way I can picture a prince on horseback showing up at my door step, and doing something that would absolutely blow my mind...like the dishes, or the laundry. I would tell her that, and then, I would ask her this:  On what planet do you bathe your children?

I would ask her this because, while I love the idea of her description, my bath time reality is just a little different. When I bathe the kids, I'm either giving two baths back to back, or I am bathing three at once. I am probably pushing it putting all three in the tub together at this point, but some nights, the thought of two baths is more than I can take. On these nights, it's either bathe them all together, or bathe them with a large bottle of tequila at my side.

Don't be misled into thinking that all three together is somehow easier. It's not. It is, in fact, quite painful. But at least the pain is over relatively quickly, and I don't have to repeat it. Kind of like getting a shot. In your head. When I bathe all three, there are three kids fighting over who sits where, who has more room, who has more bubbles, who just squirted water into whose eye with which toy, and who gets that toy next. When I bathe two kids together, it's just like that, only with one less child. But then I still have to give another bath, the mere thought of which is sometimes enough to send me reaching for that bottle of tequila.

And then there is the fact that NBO are, of course, individuals. N likes lots of bubbles and wants to spread out in the tub like it's her personal jacuzzi. Unfortunately, it is not a jacuzzi. It is the same size tub that we had in 1982 in the house in which I grew up. And, often, it's not even her personal way-too- small-circa-1970-something tub, because she is sharing it with her two brothers. Who are yelling at her to move her feet out of their faces.

B loves water. This should be a good thing when it comes to bath time, right? Maybe I should clarify. When I say that he loves water, I mean that he loves to drink it (which, for some reason, I feel a need to discourage in the bath), dump it over his siblings heads (not something they are all that crazy about), and splash it. No, not splash it in the tub, Splash it out of the tub. Specifically, I think he attempts to see just how far water will travel. Great idea for a future science fair project. Not such a great idea for bath time, specifically one with a sibling or two. And a mother who, because she's either an optimist or an idiot, continues to be surprised that that she is soaking wet at the end of every bath.

O, at this point in his life, likes moving. Constantly. So he attempts to stand up in the tub. Or dance. Or jump. Or maybe run. What he doesn't do in the tub is sit. Ever. But if he decides he has enough--for example, if someone dumps water on his head, or has their feet in his face--he attempts to get out. By himself. By whatever means necessary. At which point, I have a toddler in a towel and a three-year-old I now also have to get out, because I can't leave him alone or with his six-year-old sister. I know I can't do this because it's not safe. All the books say so. The pediatrician says so. I also know I can't do this because leaving any of my children alone in a bathroom with a tub full of water would not just be a safety issue on my part, but would also just be really, really dumb. So, I have to take the others out, too. Which means I now have at least one wet, naked child running out of the bathroom, and I frantically hope that child doesn't slip and fall down the stairs as I get the others out and dried off. I know what you're thinking. And yes, I guess I could close the door and keep them all in the bathroom with me until everyone is out and dried off. And I would do that, if I didn't value my hearing or my sanity quite as much as I do.

Somehow, though, we make it all work. Well, I don't know that work is the right word, unless you're referring to how much work this is for me. In that case, yes, work is the perfect word. And it does work, in that my children are clean at the end of it. Along with me. And the floor. And the walls. Come to think of it, maybe I should leave the toilet seat up, and let them splash some soapy water in there during their next bath, so that will get cleaned, too.

But no, that won't work. If I left the toilet seat up, I'd have no where to sit, as I soak my feet, for this most relaxing part of my day.

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