Bathtime Fun!

We aren't the only family in the world that struggles with bath time. That's my frail hope, in any case. Each bath night I am reminded of Bill Cosby:



Minus the kids showering together (that would definitely be a disaster for us), that's a pretty good idea of what goes on regularly. Well, we don't beat the children, and I am the towel popper. Most nights, it's our oldest that seems to cause the most trouble. We don't run things like the old days, where the firstborn had birthright claim to the hot water. Each child in descending order bathed in turn until the youngest was left to chip at the forming ice layer just so they could sit in the washbasin (thanks to my dad for always reminding us of his childhood when we complained about not having enough hot water for everyone in the family).

So, the oldest child typically bathes last in our house based on our oft-failed goal of getting the youngest bathed and in bed before the real fights start with the boys. He starts the process with anticipation, making ridiculous claims of cheetah-like bathing speed. This leads right into the toy distraction, when 10 minutes of bath time have passed and the child is found naked playing with cars on the bedroom floor rather than in the bathroom. Once that skirmish is quieted and he is actually in the bath water, his attack plan alternates between urgent potty matters and requests for bath toys or a parent to sit in the room during his bath. For a 6-year-old, he's remarkably skilled at delaying. Quite the prodigy. 20 minutes later, we find him sitting in cold water, hands and feet wrinkled almost beyond human possibility and yet his hair and body are as dry as my personality. The screaming usually starts at this point, and the rest of the evening is carried by the attitude avalanche.

I bring this up because today it was our normally quiet, good-natured bather whose cooling system failed and went into meltdown. The evening had started out so peacefully, and ended normal. I guess I should thank the good Lord for providing some predictability and order in family life.

Waxing... philosophical, that is.

Funny thing, how at times relatively tame events cascading down the slope of life can suddenly go frantic, tearing away at what should be a firm, strong and stable foundation, leaving you gazing helplessly at the roiling waters wondering how it all got to this point and what could possibly be done to tame them.

Just in case that doesn't make sense (I'm not all sure it does even to me), what I really mean is I'm spent. It's not just because my MUCH better half has been gone for over a week and won't be returning for a handful of days yet. It's not just because I'm solely responsible for taking care of the kiddos when, no matter how I might try, something always comes up to viciously stuff my plans and schedule down the garbage disposal. It's not just the threat of long-term medical treatment for Dylan. But when you add all of these things together and put them in a pack, it feels heavy today. And when I get to thinking about things of this sort, I wax. A lot. Philosophical waxing. Much less painful than the ordinary type, but takes a lot more time and tends to irritate those around me more than normal waxing irritates the skin.

It's always been difficult for me to positively focus on the future instead of wallowing in the mistakes of the past. I'm not particularly good at many things, but I have mastered self-criticism! All this makes parenting ... difficult. I believe that being a parent is the highest Earthly calling, and fulfilling this calling well is a formidable challenge indeed. And it's a darn good thing that God cares about all of his children, including the ones we have been blessed with, because I'm sure not going to be able to raise them well on my own.

Well, now I've pitied myself enough. On to tackle something that needs done!



After dessert.