Sweetheart has decided to take a bath in the Jacuzzi in my room in order to prepare for our date.
Yes, I have a Jacuzzi in my room.
Don't hate me. For three years, I took baths in an outside tub on the porch of a two-room cabin. In sub-zero weather. I deserve this.
Besides, I have five kids.
It's 2:00. My dad, who lives with us, comes upstairs to tell me that The Baby is still asleep. She slept with him last night, something she does sometimes when she gets too restless with me. He spoils her. She likes that.
"She was up 'til 2:00," he says. I'm amazed! She didn't have a nap and nursed and played most of the day yesterday. I figured she'd be totally ready for sleep by 10:00, tops. Since he spent many years working second and third shifts, nightime is his thing, anyway.
"Well, it looks to me like she's on a twelve-hour schedule, then," I tell him. "She's not napping. She's awake for twelve hours, asleep for twelve hours. I predict she'll wake up within the next ten minutes."
I was right.
The baby comes to me by way of Grandpa's arms, and she immediately wants to nurse. I wonder how many nurslings of this generation will find themselves hungry every time they see a monitor or hear the click of a keyboard. She nurses from one side and then, within minutes, decides to nurse from the other side. I don't know why she does this. No matter how hard I try to get her to stay on one side, she insists on switching. I guess I'm a softy, because I let her.
While she's nursing, Monet decides to harrass his little sister Sweetheart while she's trapped helplessly in the tub. He deftly grabs the spray bottle that I use to humidify Wilma, my one-eyed chameleon, and begins squirting Sweetheart with the cold water. She screams. He squirts. She screams. He squirts. My headache is getting worse.
"Monet, stop," I say. "That's not a toy."
He continues squirting.
"Put it down now," I tell him. I'm surprised by his disobedience. We haven't been having this problem lately. He keeps squirting. Now he's squirting it at the ceiling.
"I'M LOSING MY PATIENCE!" I shout. Great. Now I have to blog that I yelled at my kid. I should have very calmly but very firmly approached him and removed the bottle from his hands. Get-off-your-butt-parenting. It's too late for that. The yelling worked.
The Baby squirms from my lap. "Baff?" she asks.
"You want to take a bath with Sweetheart?"
"Yes. Yes. Yes," she says, giggling and pulling at her nightgown. I draw her nightgown over her head and take off her diaper.
"Can I take a bath, too?" Monet asks.
"Yep. Get in."
So, now, they're all in the tub. The tub toys that Houdin took out this morning are back in. They're taking turns holding their heads under water, counting to see how long they can stay under. Their own heads, that is, not each other's.
Too Many Kids in this Tub
Author: Shel Silverstein
There's too many kids in this tub
There's too many elbows to scrub
I just washed a behind that I'm sure wasn't mine
There's too many kids in this tub.
I read my e-mail:
- From Shannon, arrangements to meet so she can show me how to use a sewing machine.
- From my father-in-law, a snide comment: "I'm shocked to read that you're blogging!" He's a regular reading and snide-comment leaver.
- From my sister-in-law, an update on their lives and an explanation for why she hasn't written--my brother-in-law spilled coffee on their laptop.
- From my friend Steven: What do we do if we love you but we're too busy to read your blog?
- From Nesting Robin: I've been missing you.
Headache = still exists.
