Tag Archives: kids

When Mom Takes a Bath

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22

My new house has a fabulous huge tub complete with six water-shooting jets that so far only the kids have enjoyed.

Yesterday, 5:35 PM:

  • Dammit, I’m going to take a bath!
  • Oooh, I should put on a facemask before my bath!
  • I dig through my unpacked boxes and locate a facemask.
  • I apply the cool, thick, black mask. I am ready for some serious pampering.
  • But first I should find a home for every other object in those boxes.
  • In putting away the various bathroom items, I realize that the bathroom organization system I established when I first unpacked the other bathroom boxes isn’t going to work, so I redo the closet/drawers/cabinets in our bathroom, which necessitates redoing the closet/drawers/cabinets in the kids’ bathroom also.
  • While I’m in the kids’ bathroom I see that it’s gross. I clean it.
  • My kids notice that I’m not locked in my room like I said I was going to be.
  • They come upstairs to ask me for shit.
  • They see my face mask and freak out and think it’s hilarious and ask a million questions.
  • Where’s your father? Taking a nap.
  • I go downstairs with them to set them up with a TV show. No, not that show! Yes, this one. No I hate this one. But Moooommmmmyyyyyyy he got to pick last time! But it’s for stupid little babies. No it’s not! I like it. Then you’re a stupid little baby. Mooooommmmmyyyyyyy! He called me a stupid little baby! Etc etc etc etc etc.

6:25 PM:

  • I escape the whiny battle and my facemask is tight and cracking. Time to get in that bath!
  • I turn on the water.
  • I notice the sand and dirt left behind from my children’s earlier bath, after a morning of mud digging and frog catching. I have to clean the tub.
  • I clean the tub.
  • While I’m at it, I clean the sink and toilet.
  • Finally! I can take my bath!

6:40 PM:

  • I turn on the hot water and put in two scoops of the bath salts I unearthed while looking for my facemask, which, by the way, is beginning to burn.
  • What the heck, I deserve a third scoop.
  • I undress.
  • I realize that my book is on my iPad and iPads and baths don’t mix so I need to get an actual book, which means that I need to go downstairs to the bookshelf which is in the same room as the kids. Damn. Is it worth it?
  • I decide it is.
  • I put on my bathrobe, which I never use, and go downstairs.
  • I field a million questions about my seldom-used bathrobe and fetch a glass of water for one and a glass of milk for the other. And then ice for each.

6:45 PM:

  • Back upstairs I see that the bath is filling nicely. I step in.
  • Hmm, it’s not quite as hot as I had hoped. I feel the water still rushing from the tap. Ice cold.
  • I quickly turn off the water and am determined to enjoy my pretty-warm bath for as long as possible before it’s freezing.
  • I finally wash off the face mask and can only hope that the burning and itching will end eventually.
  • I put on the jets.
  • I try to get comfortable.
  • I realize why living room furniture is not designed after bathtubs.
  • I recommit to enjoying my damn self and getting relaxed as hell in my beautiful new bathtub.
  • I pull out my book, (I might have made the wrong choice): Siblings Without Rivalry.
  • I realize that I am parenting badly.
  • I realize that I am setting my children up for years of envy and bickering.
  • I realize that I am setting myself up for years of my children’s envy and bickering.
  • I realize that without any hot water, I can’t rinse off after my bath.
  • I resign myself to marinating in my own filth and calling it clean.
  • I get cold.
  • I get out.

7:05 PM:

  • Oh, good, you’re finally out. Hope you enjoyed your bath! You’re just in time to put the kids to bed.

And now I remember why I never take baths.

Baffling Technology

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3

Charades with Kids

She couldn’t possibly have looked at me more dubiously when I told her that this is a picture of a phone. Had I ripped my face off to reveal that I’m actually a 3-headed alien, her surprise → belief → acceptance rate would have been faster.

In related news, Sally is horrible at charades. Her coat impression consisted of her running in a circle with her arms outstretched, which I’m pretty sure is the universal sign for I’m pretending to be an airplane. Then she told me it was coat and showed me a picture of a telephone.

Truth. What is truth?

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5

Luke and Sally live in a neighborhood for the first time. (Me too.) For them, having all the neighborhood kids around is like being at a non-stop birthday party. Every afternoon they go house to house playing with new kids and toys, raiding garage deep-freezes, and playing hard. They move from scooter to bike to trampoline to swings to basketball and back again at a frenetic and sweaty pace. For hours. By dinner every day they are beside themselves with a post-party-esque grumpy exhaustion, and belly aches from the 4-5 assorted ice pops they scored.

Luke loves to play with the 9-year-old girl from two houses down, who tolerates him surprisingly well. She’s outgoing, sporty, and can run faster than him and do a handstand, which impresses Luke to no end. The age difference leads to some funny exchanges because most of the time Luke has no idea what they are talking about and the girl has no idea that he has no idea. This is from the other day, as the kids stood by a muddy brook:

Luke: I double dog dare you to jump in.

neighbor: We’re not playing Truth or Dare.

Luke: What are we playing?

neighbor: Nothing. We’re just standing here. Let’s play Truth or Dare.

Luke: OK. I dare you to jump in.

neighbor: No. You have to ask me “truth or dare?” first.

Luke: OK. Truth or dare?

neighbor: Truth.

Luke: (pause) I truth you to jump in.

What she doesn’t realize is that Luke just bluffs his way through exchanges like this. Sometimes it works out and the kids assume he knows what he’s doing, and sometimes it goes like this and I have no idea what the kids think, but they seem to accept it.

What I’m seeing is my funny little boy learning how to be a kid. Before this, Luke spent most of his time with just me and Sally. Aside from school and social interactions with my friends and their kids, he has been pretty sheltered. His time now is spent mostly with these new kids, while I’m in the background supervising. He still thinks I know some things, so when we’re alone together he asks me questions:

“Isn’t ‘ass’ a bad word? Why do they keep saying ‘fat ass?’ Are they bad kids?”

“Are you and Daddy ever going to get divorced? When a family gets divorced, do the kids still get hugs and kisses?”

He’s an especially absorbent and impressionable kid and I hope that he keeps coming to me with things that confuse him.

As for my part, I’m letting him go to experience his newfound independence and new friends, as much as I’d like to keep him protected and naive forever. I’m there enough to intervene when I hear things like, “Climb up that and jump down! Don’t worry, I think it will hold you.” And I’m there when the boo boo is too big to play it cool. Other than that, all I can do is talk to him later about the things I see or overhear and answer his questions as they arise. Soon enough games of Truth or Dare will be serious, probably with these same kids, and Luke will be big enough not to truth anyone to jump in the water.