A train in my bathtub
So, we bought this amazing, beautiful house with 3 bathrooms. The idea was that our boys would have one, guests would have one, and my husband and I would have one all to ourselves. That way, we figured, we could be messy and no one would know. Everyone would dutifully use the bathroom assigned for their use, and the endless irritations of our past life (the one where at times as many as 4 adults and 3 children shared 1 bathroom) were at an end. As my mother would put it, we should be grateful to have a bathroom at all, you spoiled kids, but that is neither here nor there.
It was not to be. Shortly after moving in and receiving truly astounding numbers of boxes with our possessions packed therein, my parents came to visit. They came at this hectic time for a legitimate reason: to return our middle child, who had been spending the past 2 weeks with them while we negotiated the move. Considering that said child is three years old, it was a lovely thing for them to do. I don't want anyone to think I'm ungrateful. Besides which, he had a great time and got to have two doting grandparents all to himself.
But, we didn't have the guest room set up yet. I've discovered over the years that even the lowest maintenance and undemanding guests do have some small expectation of minor amenities, such as beds. So, naturally my husband and I insisted they take our bedroom (with accompanying glamour bath) while they were with us. Needless to say, the toothbrushes got mixed up and we were constantly in and out of our/their bathroom during their stay. I contented myself with the thought that I'd have my bathroom back in a couple of days.
Our oldest, however, had decided that the whirlpool bath was the coolest thing in the world and delighted in creating bubble sculptures that reached the ceiling. I was forever finding the remnants of soap scum in the tub that took hours to clean up. And there never seemed to be any of my shampoo in easy reaching distance. I was getting pretty tired of smelling like pink bubblegum when my husband hit upon the brilliant idea that since Mommy and Daddy's bathroom was so special, Matthew was going to be allowed to take his bath in there on Saturday nights. But otherwise, the little guy had to use the duck bathroom (so named for its decorating motif) with this brothers for his hygiene requirements.
But that still left the other two. Our youngest, who is 16 months old, finds the tub handles irrisistible, since they are at precisely the height of his little fingers. Since said fingers are often sticky with the remnants of playdough, jelly, drool, and other compounds with adhesive qualities, our fixtures resembled Crime Scene Investigation, after they've dusted for prints.
And forget about our water bill. One night I walked in to find the tub perilously close to overfilling with warm, steamy water. In response to my investigative efforts, our oldest solemnly swore he had nothing to do with it, my husband shook his head, and since I knew it wasn't me, I turned my questioning gaze to my younger progeny. My questions were answered when our youngest laughed, ran to the bathroom and demonstrated his dexterity in turning the fixtures on. There was nothing to do but let them take a bath in our tub, even if it wasn't Saturday night. I mean, we couldn't let the hot water go to waste.
Our middle son has mixed feelings about mommy and daddy's big tub. He likes to go in when his older brother is present to fight off the invisible dragons lurking down the drain, but otherwise stays pretty clear. Except for one memorable evening when I dragged myself off the couch with visions of a nice warm bubble bath before bed. While I thought he'd been napping, Andrew had apparently decided to build himself an entire train depot in the tub, complete with soap platforms, conditioner swamps, shampoo tracks and face mask mountains.
I didn't get my bath, and it took longer than usual to clean the tub that night.
It was not to be. Shortly after moving in and receiving truly astounding numbers of boxes with our possessions packed therein, my parents came to visit. They came at this hectic time for a legitimate reason: to return our middle child, who had been spending the past 2 weeks with them while we negotiated the move. Considering that said child is three years old, it was a lovely thing for them to do. I don't want anyone to think I'm ungrateful. Besides which, he had a great time and got to have two doting grandparents all to himself.
But, we didn't have the guest room set up yet. I've discovered over the years that even the lowest maintenance and undemanding guests do have some small expectation of minor amenities, such as beds. So, naturally my husband and I insisted they take our bedroom (with accompanying glamour bath) while they were with us. Needless to say, the toothbrushes got mixed up and we were constantly in and out of our/their bathroom during their stay. I contented myself with the thought that I'd have my bathroom back in a couple of days.
Our oldest, however, had decided that the whirlpool bath was the coolest thing in the world and delighted in creating bubble sculptures that reached the ceiling. I was forever finding the remnants of soap scum in the tub that took hours to clean up. And there never seemed to be any of my shampoo in easy reaching distance. I was getting pretty tired of smelling like pink bubblegum when my husband hit upon the brilliant idea that since Mommy and Daddy's bathroom was so special, Matthew was going to be allowed to take his bath in there on Saturday nights. But otherwise, the little guy had to use the duck bathroom (so named for its decorating motif) with this brothers for his hygiene requirements.
But that still left the other two. Our youngest, who is 16 months old, finds the tub handles irrisistible, since they are at precisely the height of his little fingers. Since said fingers are often sticky with the remnants of playdough, jelly, drool, and other compounds with adhesive qualities, our fixtures resembled Crime Scene Investigation, after they've dusted for prints.
And forget about our water bill. One night I walked in to find the tub perilously close to overfilling with warm, steamy water. In response to my investigative efforts, our oldest solemnly swore he had nothing to do with it, my husband shook his head, and since I knew it wasn't me, I turned my questioning gaze to my younger progeny. My questions were answered when our youngest laughed, ran to the bathroom and demonstrated his dexterity in turning the fixtures on. There was nothing to do but let them take a bath in our tub, even if it wasn't Saturday night. I mean, we couldn't let the hot water go to waste.
Our middle son has mixed feelings about mommy and daddy's big tub. He likes to go in when his older brother is present to fight off the invisible dragons lurking down the drain, but otherwise stays pretty clear. Except for one memorable evening when I dragged myself off the couch with visions of a nice warm bubble bath before bed. While I thought he'd been napping, Andrew had apparently decided to build himself an entire train depot in the tub, complete with soap platforms, conditioner swamps, shampoo tracks and face mask mountains.
I didn't get my bath, and it took longer than usual to clean the tub that night.
Labels: bath time, bathing, boys, children, costume, family, humor, kids, laugh, mommy, parenthood
posted by Kirsten at 2:43 PM
2 Comments:
Kirsten,
You should see our kitchen table. We've folded laundry, had glitter fights, done homework and had dinner on this table for 15 years. The scissor marks never did come out. Hang in there, and definitely use sauce from a jar.
I recommend a cleaning person, once a week. Go on - if you're gonna live in AL, there's gotta be lots of cheap red state labor out there...
Of course, if you did this, you wouldn't have nearly as much to write about - although knowing you and the boys, there's always gonna be something!
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