Sunday, October 26, 2014

Surviving the Bathtime Battle

Piper and Bridget, many many baths ago
Remember the days when bathtime was sweet and innocent? When the kids loved each other and played nicely?

If you do, could you please remind me? Because let me tell you, those memories are fading fast.

Tonight I had the battle.

I never prepare for it that way, always hoping that my positive can-do attitude will set the mood!

My success rate with this method thus far is 0%.

It was easy to get four little boys into my Jacuzzi tub. They pretend it's a really cramped swimming pool. And better still, tonight I put bubbles in it.

For a few minutes there, I was a bathtime mom goddess.  And they loved me.

But then it was time to get out, and the screaming and hysterical tantruming began. Medieval torturers have nothing on me. You'd have thought I was pulling their fingernails out one by one. (I wasn't, by the way, I promise). But no. I was just trying to get them out of the tub before hypothermia set in.

The oldest two got out without physical intervention on my part. But I quickly gave up trying to wrestle the youngest two, both wet and fighting me, out of the tub. Instead I started to let the water out, which Brennan (5) took as a personal affront. He stood, buck naked, screaming at me, and stomping his feet like a wildebeest on crank.

When he started throwing things, I took him out, ready or not.

I gave him a towel, which he promptly threw on the floor. Clearly, he wasn't going to use it if I wanted him to. When I calmly explained that I wasn't the one who was wet and cold, he threw some choice words my way.

That landed him in a time out with his dad, and a promise that next time we take a bath, he will be getting a shower.

At this point, Liam (3) had realized that the water in the tub was gone. This fact was completely unacceptabel, and he was furious. So I wrestled him out of the tub, praying to whatever deity might govern toddlers in bathtubs, that I wouldn't drop him, or further injure myself in the process. Then I laid him on the rug, and covered him with a towel. I left him to scream for a bit, while I checked on the oldest two.

Ciaran had put his overnight underwear on backwards, and didn't want to go to bed.

Quinn wanted to discuss his Halloween costume and how he's decided he'd rather be a Jedi than Batman. Because he loves Jedis.

Well who doesn't? But really? We need to discuss this now?

I finished taking care of them, and went back to Liam, who was still screaming on the bathmat. I grabbed my husband to help me get a pull-up and pajamas on him, because I literally can't do it with just two hands.

Then I returned to Brennan who was by then, mostly dry and willing to get dressed.

I won't even tell you what the bathroom looked like.

I know that there are things you can do to make bathtime easier. Explaining expectations ahead of time, using visual timers to show kids when their bath will be ending, and so on.

But all of these things become less effective when the number of children being bathed increases.

As for me, I could use a glass of wine, and some kind of protective gear for the next time. Maybe I could just ask them to never get dirty again.

I think my chances of having ever-clean children are probably worse than my winning the lottery. Oh well. Hey, if you like my blog, please click the link below which boosts my ratings on Top Mommy Blogs. I really appreciate each and every one of you who does so. Thank you!
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