While my husband cooks dinner, I give the kids a bath. The next night, we swap. We’ve come to the realization that the only way to survive bath time is to give the kids what we call, “double bath.” Obviously, this means we bathe them both at the same time. Bathe one at a time and the other will walk up to the tub and throw something in like a remote control. Or you’ll hear that eerie silence which could only indicate your other child is digging in a light socket or has tumbled head first down the stairs, because he CAN.
Double bath it is. At least until they’re 15 or can wash themselves, whichever comes first.
This is no Bert and Ernie with a rubber ducky kind of situation. My son spends the whole time crying and trying to get as much water as possible out of the tub. My daughter has lately started trying to suck water out of all of the bath toys. Who made these things anyway? I know, let’s create a Petri dish that lives inside a rubber crab-shaped toy. “Fill it with water, leave it in the tub and see what grows!” The other day, I yelled at her again for sucking the water out, to which she responded, “I spit it back out, so it’s okay.” I then squeezed a rubber fishy and black crap came spewing out with the water. I tried to show her that it was dirty. Which elicited the endless stream of “why’s.”
I pride myself on trying to explain things fully to them, so I said, “Well, the water that just sits there in a closed space grows mold and mildew.”
“Why?”
Previous dirty water demo with travel toothbrush covers.
“JUST STOP DRINKING IT!”
After the bath, my son cries because when he wants to run naked and wet through the house instead of being dry and in pajamas. My daughter cries because she’s cold and wants to “be carried like a baby.” Half the time I end up leaving them with wet crevices and disheveled hair, which leads to wet pajamas… which leads to more complaints about being cold. Anyone else end a ten-minute speed bath with the kids drenched in sweat? I do. Every time. Oh, and I always end up in MY pajamas after every bath because I am basically soaked and covered in filth water.
There isn’t time to smile sweetly at my shiny, clean children afterward… because then it’s time for dinner! Yay! I will save that for another post. Or maybe several.
Living The American Scream 
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