This had all the makings of such a fun post to brag on my silly boys. It was bath time, which is a favorite past time around here. We have all sorts of bath toys and the boys love playing in the water. Not unlike a horror movie, a perfectly normal and happy bath time can take an interesting turn.
E-Dude got his shoes off and managed to get his pants pulled down without assistance. G-Man got stuck with the pants, but in his defense, blue jeans are tough. We discussed the differences between Hot (boys blowing on the water as if trying to cool it down) and Cold (BRRRRRRR!). E-Dude showed me how to scoop, scoop, scoop with his hands to demonstrate how we swim. G-Man got brave and showed how to blow bubbles in the water.
That in itself was a triumphant moment. We took the boys to Parent and Baby pool classes last summer, and while they loved the water, didn't truly get the concept of kick, scoop, and blowing bubbles. Now, they are all too happy to demonstrate their skills. Kicking leads to quite the mess of water, but how can I get angry with such joy?
All was well with the bath as we moved on to washing our body parts with soap and playing with our Yo Gabba Gabba squirty toys. E-Dude Finally figured out that if he tilted his head way back, the soap wouldn't get into his eyes when Mommy rinsed out the shampoo. (Score! Another Victory for my man!)
Everything was moving along as it usually did. I drained the tub of water and started to dry off E-Dude. G-Man hangs in the tub as the water drains away and plays with his toys for a few minutes. E-Dude was dried, pajama clad, and ready to go see Daddy before bedtime. G-Man tried to stand up in the tub which is a big no-no. I reached for him and him for me, surprised that he wanted to give up his play time so quickly.
Then the tears started. I looked into the tub as the last bits of water drained away from the large brown mass that had no business in the pearly white tub. Oh...crap. Literally. And not the kind that would easily wash down the drain. My Munchkin was obviously upset and I talked soothingly to him as I quickly washed him once again to get all of the foreign substance off his sweet little body. I told him (and myself) that it was okay, that the tub was the best spot if it had to happen, that he didn't have to be so upset.
I meant everything I said to him and watched him happily pad down the hallway to see his dad. Staring at the mess before me, I sighed and grabbed the disposable rubber gloves someone had once bought for us as a joke. (They have now come in handy on several occasions) Armed with gloves and some Clorox, I disposed of the offending grossness with minimal disgust.
Didn't really want to watch the Super Bowl Halftime show, anyway.
This is the stuff they don't tell you!