You may as well stamp "unlearnable" on my forehead. I just can't seem to learn my lessons. Either that or the phenomenon of children pooping in the tub is just all too common. You might remember a similar entry on this subject, not once, but two times already. Dare I write about this same topic over and over again? Actually, I would prefer never to mention the word "poopy" again, but since it is so prevalent in my everyday world, I must stoop to new levels when discussing my day with the rest of humanity.
I wanted to be efficient tonite. The boys wanted to take a shower, so I decided that I may as well bathe Chloe in my tub at the same time so we could all be in the same room. Things were going rather smoothly for five minutes. The boys were standing on the shower seat sucking water from the shower head and spitting at the shower glass and each other. A beautiful and typical scene. I pick my battles. This was one I decided not to fight. I know the typical mother does not normally allow wet children to stand on a slippery surface in a shower spitting water at everything in sight but tonite, for whatever reason, I just let it slide. Plus, they said Daddy let them do it last time - how can I fight that argument? Anyways, I digress...
So, I've already cleaned Chloe and am just about to take her out when something else (I can't remember at this point - I claim 'post-traumatic stress syndrome') diverted my attention for all of 2 seconds. When I turn back around, with towel in hand to retrieve my little angel, my eye instantly focuses on several large dark masses floating all around her. I instantly feel sorrow for my beautiful tub. I then start to gag. Then I remember I should probably get Chloe out before she reaches out to 'explore her surroundings'. Then, as is the case in most of my crisis situations, the boys are also needing me immediately! My svelte training kicks in and I whip Chloe out of the tub onto a newly cleaned towel, offending her for ending her bath so quickly. As she is 'telling' me in no uncertain terms how unhappy she is with me (since she can't speak, that means screaming at me), I turn around to attend to the ever so important 'soap-in-the-eyes' quandary. As water is streaming out of the shower onto my newly mopped floor, I hold the door open to wipe the eyes of my wailing son. He has decided he has had enough fun and cleaning for one day, so he just steps out of the shower, nearly tripping over Chloe who had crawled toward the shower trying to make her way in. Mind you, I still have brown masses floating in my tub and a very weak stomach.
Thankfully, I now have all three wet children lined up with towels close to their bodies. Gavin decides it would be easier to blow dry himself off. So, he proceeds to blow dry Bennett and himself off while I tackle the tub. Chloe is still unhappy. She is not allowed back in the tub, not allowed in the shower, not allowed to touch the blow dryer - boy, is she having a bad day. I decide I should probably drain the tub and then dispose of the evidence - but that is just way too gross for me. I wonder to myself if I could wait for Chuck to get home, but that is out of the question. He won't be home for at least another four hours. Ugh! Did you know that toilet paper is very thin? That's all I'll say in regards for the disposal of the brown mass. I thought little girls were supposed to be dainty and neat - what is all this about????
