Bathtime here is always, um, interesting. I bathe the boys together ’cause frankly, I’m lazy and don’t want to have to do bathtime twice. And they love it. But I never know what kind of bath I’m in for when I start. Our little Master Thespian, A, loves baths but hates getting clean. Face washing and hair scrubbing starts WWIII. Happiest Baby in the World, J, loves all things about the bath. In fact, his first sign was “baby bath”. His favorite thing to do is look at himself in the water overflow cover. Both of them love to splash. So it’s a given that I’m going to get wet, usually soaked. I just never know if I’m going to get screamed at by A for actually, gasp!, trying to wash his hair. Ah, the joys.
In the interest of making bathtime even more fun, Santa brought colored bath tablets in the stockings this year. I hate these things and I hereby apologize to my sisters-in-law for bringing the damn things for the stockings. Three colors: blue, which looks like the kids are bathing in coal dust; red, which looks like they’re auditioning to be extras in the next Stephen King movie (redrum, REDRUM!); and yellow, and you can just guess what that looks like! So it was the red tablet tonight, along with the blue and orange (Go Broncos!) bath crayons. So much for the “getting clean” part of the bath.
Tonight they did NOT play “let’s grab each other’s pen!$”. That is a very popular game during bathtime, and I’ve had many a discussion with A about how you don’t grab J’s pen!$, and nobody should touch your pen!$ but you, and yes, J is trying to stick the orange bath crayon on his pen!$, and yes, you and J and Daddy all have a pen!$, but Mommy doesn’t, and really, that’s ok with Mommy, and no, it’s not hiding. Pen!$ is a big word in this house, and pen!$ discussions come up frequently, usually in public restrooms with an audience in the next stall.
A likes to huddle up in his bath towel to get warm and dry. Tonight J took a flying run/leap and body slammed, uh, hugged his brother. Then he sweetly patted A on the head, harder and harder until he was banging on A’s head. Charming. At only 18 months old, he knows how to love on his brother at the same time as trying to annoy him. But A found it funny.
At least there were no farting contests in the bath tonight. Those usually end up with me scrubbing the tub down. Nothing like poop bits to end the evening.