Bath time isn’t fun. It is AGGRAVATING. And STRESSFUL. I repeat myself, over and over, and nobody listens. Corralling two little naked boys while I try to run the water and pull out the pajamas is like trying to corner a rat. My blood boils and I struggle to keep the expletives locked up tight. It’s hard, but I manage. For the record, I’d manage better if I prepared myself with a couple of glasses of wine. That’s when things run like a well-oiled machine. Okay, fine, that’s a false picture of my alcohol-infused reality but whatever. At least I’m relaxed.
This week I’ve been graced with the presence of Lulu at bath time. She really is such a wonderful big sister and as much as her little brothers annoy her, she adores them and vice versa. Each night when she ASKS me if she can give them a bath, I leap at the chance to sit on the sidelines and comment on Goodreads posts while she deals with their squirming and splashing.
It’s like having a babysitter I don’t need to pay!
Now for the aftermath…
Who CARES that the towels are flung all over the place and there’s toothpaste caked on the sink and faucet and the shower curtain is hanging on its last ring?
I can fix all that. But since I CAN’T be tipsy every night of the week, I will continue to welcome the help. Until Lulu comes to her senses and realizes she’s getting the short end of the stick here.