Bath Time Blues

When you have two young children, bath night is the worst night in existence for the single-parent.  There is usually a lot of tears on bath night, and most of them are mine.  My kids are past the point they are able to bathe together.  Not because they don’t fit, but because they fight and they can’t agree on the same water temperature.  My dainty seven year old with sensitive skin prefers the water lukewarm to the point ice cubes would not melt for at least an hour, while my Brillo Pad-skinned four year old prefers it piping hot, creating so much humidity in the bathroom, one may think they just entered a steam room.  So, separate baths it is.

Bath nights at our house are Sunday and Tuesday.  My youngest requires almost 12 hours of sleep, which means from the time we arrive home at 5:00 after picking them up from their separate child-care facilities, I have exactly 2 ½ hours to make dinner, help with homework, bathe two children, read them stories, and get them into bed before the four year old succumbs to nuclear meltdown.

What follows is a typical bath night scene in our house:

Mom: Okay, it’s time for bath.  Who is taking a bath first?

Seven year old: Not me.

Four year old: Not me.

Seven year old: I said it first.

Four year old: I don’t care, I took it first last time.

Seven year old: No you didn't

Four year old: YES. I. DID!

Seven year old: Mom, who took it first?

Mom: I don’t remember.  Figure it out— now.  

Four year old: Well, if I take it first again, she (pointing at her sister) can’t do anything fun while I’m in the bath.

Seven year old: That’s no fair.

Mom: She will be doing homework.

Seven year old: MOM, no fair!  Well, what will she (pointing at her sister) do while I am in the bath?

Mom: I don’t know.

Seven year old: Well, she better not be allowed to do anything fun.

Four year old: Fine, I’ll take the first bath.  Jeez.

Mom: Great, I’ll run the water.  (to seven year old) Please, get your homework out.

Four year old: Mom, I need toys.

Mom: You know where they are— don’t take the cheese grater.

Four year old runs to kitchen drawer and grabs a handful of measuring cups, funnels, sifters, spoons, and something she is smuggling under her shirt.

Mom: Put the electric hand mixer back!  It does NOT go in the bath.

Four year old: Fine, jeez. (drops hand mixer on the floor where she is standing.)

Seven year old: Mom, do you want to see the dance I just created?  I’ll do a show for you.

Mom: After you do your homework.  Have you got it out?

Four year old: (calling from her bedroom) MOM!!!!!! MY legs are stuck in my PANTS!

Mom wanders into bedroom to find four-year old lying topless on the floor with her pants stuck around her ankles, kicking ferociously to free herself.

Mom: (freeing daughter from the wrath of the tight leggings) Here you go; now pick them up and put them in the dirty-clothes and get in the tub.

Four year old: MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!! You touched my heel!  You touched my HEEL!  I hate when people touch my heel.  Now it itches.

Mom: I am sorry; I did not mean to touch your heel.  Get in the bath and maybe it will stop itching.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (stomps off towards bathroom.)

Mom lifts herself off the bedroom floor and makes her way back to kitchen to do the dinner dishes.  Mom notices seven year old has not got her homework out and is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor with one hand on each knee, eyes closed, meditating.  Mom is impressed, but impatient.

Mom: Get your homework out.

Seven year old: Mom, I don’t even have much.  I just have to underline something in a sentence.  Five seconds, max.  Oh, here this is for you.

Seven year old thrusts paper in mom’s hands.  Mom starts to read letter from teacher.

Four year old: MOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!! (screaming like she’s just had her arm cut off.)

Mom runs into the bathroom, narrowly missing hand mixer still on the floor where four year old dropped it, fearing the worst only to find daughter unharmed on the toilet, still not in the bath.

Mom: What is it?!

Four year old: Mom, (pointing to fingernail polish on counter) can you please paint my nails when I’m done with bath?

Mom grumbles something inaudible and makes her way back to the kitchen where she finds seven year old using the kitchen stool as a ballet barre.  Mom begins to read letter from teacher and gets two sentences in when blood curdling scream calling her name comes from bathroom.  Mother runs into bathroom to find four year old in the tub unharmed.

Mom: What?

Four year old: Mom, I need cups.  Can you go get them for me?

Mom: I am fully capable of getting cups, but I will not be bringing you them.

Four year old: (realizing this is her mother’s standard response to any request when not prefaced with a “please”) Mom, would you please go get me more cups.  I will love you forever and you will be my best friend.  I need more cups.

Mom: Yes, I can get you more cups but you need to know that the need for more cups does not call for you screaming my name like something was hurting you.

Mom returns to kitchen, deflation beginning, looks in cupboard for plastic cup— empty.  Looks in clean dishwasher which hasn't been emptied yet— no plastic cups.  Looks on counter and finds two dirty plastic cups, quickly rinses them, and returns to bathroom to deliver the cups.  Drops cups in tub and realizes her socks are now wet.  She is standing in a puddle of water.

Four year old: MOM!  I didn't want them in the water, I wanted them on the edge of the tub!!
Mom: What have I told you about water on the floor?

Four year old: Oops.

Mom grabs towel and cleans up water.  Mom decides to leave towel on the floor to collect the inevitable collection of more water.  Mom wanders back into kitchen to find seven year old hanging upside-down off the couch.

Mom: Homework!

Seven year old: OK!

Mom reads letter from teacher trying very hard to focus while seven year old hits her with a barrage of questions about what she is reading.  Mom grabs homework packet to find 15 pages of homework to be spread out through the week.  Well, look at this, the mother thinks to herself; it’s more than underlining a sentence.  SHOCKER!  Mom explains homework to seven year old only for seven year old to argue and tell her that it’s not mandatory she does any of it.  Mom explains to pick one sheet and start on it.  Daughter chooses sheet where she has to write her spelling words three times.  Mom, enjoying the two minutes her name was not screamed, begins to do her dishes only to get her hands wet when another terrifying scream comes from the bathroom.  Mom dries hands, and moseys back to bathroom where the boy who cried wolf awaits.  Mom trips on hand mixer noting to pick it up on her way back through and arrives in bathroom to find four year old standing up in tub pointing at their cat who is sitting on the lid of the toilet.

Four year old: Mom, Chillcat is staring at me and freaking me out.

Mom: He is just a cat.

Four year old: Yeah, but I’m naked in the tub.  Hasn't he heard of privacy?

Mom: Now you know how I feel when I’m using the toilet and you’re standing here asking for something.  Deal.

Mom turns to walk away and hears four year old scream her first legitimate scream of the evening.

Four year old: Chillcat scratched me.

Mom looks at Chillcat who is shaking his wet head, obviously the victim of the water-logged washcloth sitting at his paws.

Mom: Serves you right.

Mom goes back into kitchen to discover seven year old balancing the pencil on her nose.  Looks at seven year old’s homework.  She has written one word.  ONE WORD.  “milk.”

Seven year old: Mom, look.  I can balance this pencil on my nose.

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: Mom, can I have a glass of milk?

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: But I’m really, really thirsty.

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: Milk would taste so good right now.

Mom: Homework.

Mom grabs the dish she’s been trying to wash for the past ten minutes when, yet again, her name is screamed from the bathroom.  Mom trudges towards bathroom, tripping, again, on the hand mixer and finding herself so angry, she kicks it across the room narrowly missing the dog.

Mom: (arriving in bathroom) What?

Four year old: I need shampoo

Mom: Well get your hair wet and I’ll give you some.

Four year old: But I don’t want to get my hair wet.

Mom: Your hair needs to be wet for shampoo.

Four year old: No, it doesn't! (Mom turns to leave) Fine!  I’ll get it wet.  Jeez.

Mom squirts shampoo on daughter’s hand.

Four year old: I want swirlies.  That is not swirlies.

Mom: I am sorry; I can’t always make the shampoo come out in swirlies.  Sometimes it just comes out in a glob.

Four year old: Well, now it’s ruined and I don’t want to put it in my hair.

Mom: It is NOT ruined.  It is fine.  Put the shampoo in your hair, now.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (slaps palm with shampoo onto her scalp dramatically.)

Mom: (turning away to go back to kitchen) Tell me when it’s rinsed and you’re ready for conditioner.

Mom returns to kitchen and trips over dog who has buried her head under the bed, leaving her body out in the path resembling an ostrich with its head stuck in a hole.  Dog groans at contact with foot and so does mom.  Mom falls to the floor in a heap, nose to nose with the dog. They exchange sympathetic looks as they both lay on the floor.  Dog sticks her head back under the bed, mom considers this maneuver as well when seven year old screams “MOM” from the kitchen.  Mom doesn’t bother standing.  She crawls back to the kitchen stopping halfway back to rest.

Mom: (from the floor) What?

Seven year old: I was the only one who knew how to spell “milk” in class.

Mom: That’s great dear!  How many times have you written it? (no sarcasm in her voice whatsoever)

Mom stands to look at seven year old’s homework to see that she has written “milk” twice.  TWICE.  Nineteen more words to go, each written three times.  Awesome.

Four year old: (screaming from bathroom) CONDITIONER!!  NOW!!!

Mom stomps back to the bathroom.

Mom: Excuse me!  That is not how you call me.

Four year old: Well, you told me to call you when I needed conditioner.  (she is right and she knows it.)

Mom reaches for conditioner and warns four year old in advance swirlies may not come out and it’s going to be fine.  Miraculously, the conditioner squirts out in swirls onto palm of four year old.  Four year old is so excited; she waves her hand around only to fling the conditioner on her mother’s shirt, also hitting the cat who is still on the toilet lid.  Neither mom nor cat is amused.  Mom aggressively squirts conditioner onto palm of four-year old’s hand and it comes out in a glob.  Four year old opens her mouth to protest but she can see her mother is on that scary edge, so she quietly backtracks and slowly puts the conditioner in her hair.

Mom: Please let me know nicely when you are ready to get out. 

Mom walks back to kitchen and looks at her bed as she passes it.  She longs for the soft down comforter and the fluffy pillows, imagining herself stretching out on the bed, peaceful, asleep.  Just then, Chillcat, sensing her longing; jumps off the toilet lid and jumps onto the bed sprawling out, exposing his belly and yawning.  Screw you Chillcat.  Mom walks back to kitchen pissed at the cat.  She realizes the four year old will be getting out of bath soon and the seven year old has only completed writing one word three times.  Nineteen multiplied by three to go.  Life is good.  Mom sits down with seven year old and helps her stay concentrated long enough to knock out six more.  Mom realizes four year old has been eerily quiet, so mom says a special prayer that four-year old hasn’t drowned or isn’t painting the bathroom with fingernail polish.

Four year old: (from bathroom and very snidely with an English accent) Mother, please bring me my robe and towel. (At least she was polite.)

Mom goes back into bathroom, forgets towel and robe, leaves bathroom, goes into children’s bedroom, stumbles over four-year old's clothes that were obviously not put in the dirty-clothes hamper and grabs robe and towel for four year old.

Mom: (while wrapping up child in robe and towel) Dear, what is the rule about leaving clothes and toys on the floor for people to trip on?

Four year old: They get thrown away. 

(For the record- mom has never thrown anything away because she has found the mere threat hastens the pick-up of said item.)

Mom: That’s right and guess what I just tripped over?  Your dirty clothes.

Four year old: That’s okay, I don’t like that outfit anymore.

(Well, that backfired.)

Mom: Pick it up, now, and then go pick out your pajamas.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (stomps off)

Mom returns to kitchen to find seven year old only has one more to word to write left on the assignment.  You mean she could work this fast all along?  Mom praises seven year old on job well done and tells her she will get her a glass of milk.  Seven year old, obviously confused, plainly asks mom why she was getting milk.  Mom takes the glass intended for milk and pours herself a glass of wine instead.  Mom sees the pot of macaroni and cheese leftover from dinner and grabs the wooden spoon and takes a bite.  She did not eat dinner because dinner was spent getting up and down retrieving clean forks, pepper, salt, ketchup, milk, water, etc.

Seven year old: Ahem (raises eyebrow and crosses arms across chest) please use proper manners mom.

Mom lifts her head out of pot displaying cheese sauce smeared on her upper lip.  She growls at her daughter through clenched teeth.

Seven year old: (unfazed by her mother turning into a crazed beast) Mom, this is so cool.  I just used one of my vocabulary words…. “proper!”

Mom: Bath.  Now. 

Mom goes to refill her wine glass only to realize that the box of wine is empty.  She lifts the box, tilts back her head and places the spigot over her open mouth squeezing and shaking the box for all it’s worth.  Mom puts box down only to see both daughters, now both of them naked, one bathed, one not, standing in the kitchen watching her shake the last bit of life out of a box of wine.  They will talk about this very moment one day in therapy.

Mom: (with crazed look in her eyes) Bath! (pointing at seven year old)  Pajamas! (pointing at four year old) NOW!!!

Mom composes herself and tells seven year old that no, the water is not too hot, and yes, she is aware there is a very wet towel on the floor.  She then tells her seven year old that she is going to try to put her little sister to bed early and that she is going to trust the seven year old to put the shampoo and conditioner in her own hair and she can stay in the bath as long as she wants.  Seven year old is excited by this prospect.  Mom goes into children’s room and trips over four year old’s dirty clothes which are now accompanied by a wet robe and towel and seven year old’s dirty clothes.  Mom loses the ability to care and wrestles limp four year old into pajamas.  Mom tells her four year old to get a book.  Four year old gets book.  It's the book mom hates to read the most and the four year old knows it.  Mom reads it.  Mom tells four year old to get into bed, which is actually the tent that was set up over the weekend and has yet to be taken down.  Mom lays with four year old who complains her nose and heels itch.  Mom pretends to rub magic oil on daughter’s heels and nose.  Mom lays with four year old for 30 minutes, sometimes losing consciousness.  Four year old brings mom back to life by poking her in the face.  Mom finally realizes her seven year old must be sitting in a block of frozen ice, so she grabs an ice pick, err, seven year old’s bathrobe and towel, and goes to rescue her child from the bath while telling four year old to stay put.  (ha!)

Seven year old: Mom, this is sister’s bathrobe.

Mom: Oh.  Yeah.

Now in full on zombie mode, mom helps seven year old with pajamas and reads book to seven year old and four year old who by now has snuck out of bed.  Seven year old complains it isn't fair that four year old got two books and her only one.  Mom explains if she reads another book, that would make four year old have three books compared to her two. Seven year old complains loudly and goes limp forcing mother to drag her to the bedroom, err tent, and tells both her kids to get in bed.  Both kids get in and pull the covers up, err, zip the sleeping bags up, and are quiet.  Mom kisses them goodnight. 

Mom realizes she forgot to have them brush teeth.  Mom does not care.  Mom goes to leave tent to muster the last energy she has to clean up the dishes from dinner (and let’s face it, breakfast dishes are in there too).  Just as she is about to leave, four year old screams out for her not to leave.  Mom takes that as a sign she is to lay on the floor and rest.  Mom reads article on PBS.org about wild animal mothers who eat their young.  Mother is interrupted by a glass-breaking scream from seven year old which makes four year old and mother scream as well.  Seven year old points out giant spider on the inside wall of the tent.  All three of them shudder and squirm.  Mom jumps to grab Kleenex and gets back into tent only to find utter chaos has broken loose as the spider has fallen off the wall and into the girls bedding and sleeping bags.  He is on the run.  The mom wants to be on the run.  The girls are screaming and thrashing about, the cat is clamoring to get out, and the dog is whimpering from under the bed in the next room over.  Realizing that sleeping in the tent with a runaway spider is not an option for these girls, and not wanting to transfer potentially spider infested covers to their bed, mom tells the girls to get out of the tent and sadly admits defeat by telling them to go get in her bed. The girls happily get into their mother’s bed, afterall, this has been their goal all evening long and they just won.  Just when quiet overcomes them, the seven year old starts to cry.

Seven year old: Mom, the spider is going to get out of the tent and come into your room and bite us while we sleep.

Mom: The spider does not care about us.  Besides, Chillcat probably ate him already.

Seven year old: Please mom, I won’t go to sleep until you zip up the tent.

Mom goes and zips up tent and goes back in room to report back to seven year old.  Mom sits on bed and rubs seven year old’s back until seven year old is asleep.  It is now 8:30 p.m., which is still early in the adult world, but the mother feels like its 3:00 a.m.  She heads back to the kitchen (stopping on the way to free the cat who she zipped up in the tent) and takes inventory on kitchen catastrophe.  She strikes a deal with herself that she can let the dishes go if she packs the lunches for tomorrow because waiting until morning to pack the lunches is never a good idea.  Mom gets lunch boxes out, clears a spot on the counter, and sets them down.

Mom: (out loud and to herself) Screw this.

Mom goes back into her room and looks for a spot on her bed to lie down.  There is no spot as the four year old and seven year old have taken up the whole bed.  Attempts to push the four year old over are unsuccessful.  Mom considers crying for a brief moment.  Mom remembers there is a couch in the living room.  Mom rips pillow out from four year old’s head, trips over the dog while leaving the room, and heads for the couch.  Mom lies on couch and convinces herself that it’s okay to go to sleep at 8:45 p.m. because then she will wake up at the crack of dawn and pack the lunches and clean the kitchen.  Mom secretly knows this will not happen, and she accepts it. Mom falls asleep.  Mom awakes at 2:00 a.m. and can’t go back to sleep for three hours because the cat thinks this is a great time to have a party.  Mom hurls pillows and books at the cat.  Mom falls asleep at 5:00 a.m.   At 6:45, mom is awoken to Woody Woodpecker’s annoying laugh on the TV and seven year old daughter sitting on top of her.  Mom smiles, knowing she has successfully completed bath night and thanks the powers that be that she only has to do it twice a week.