I'd Rather Bathe Cats

Bobcats, even.  Tigers, pumas, panthers – you pick.  Anything other than my 4 & 6 year old. 

In my June Cleaver mind, this is how it should go:

I fill their tub with bubbles.  I call them, they immediately come.  They gently climb into the tub as to not make a splash.  They play merrily with their little toy boats while singing nursery rhymes while I clean the bathroom.  Upon command, they gladly clean up their bath toys and allow me to wash their hair and their little bodies.  They will step out of the tub and into their cute fluffy hooded bath towels and walk sleepily to their rooms where we will calmly finish their bedtime routine.

HA! 

Reality:

I fill their tub with bubbles.  I call them, they do not respond.  I walk to the top of the stairs and yell for them, they do not respond.  I scream their first and middle names at the top of my lungs.  Finally, this gets their attention.

4: NOOOOOO MOMMMMYYYYYY!!!!!  (Loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear and in a tone like I’m threatening to drown him in a tub of hot sauce rather than bathe him in a tub of bubbles.)

3 - whose middle name is Wyatt and clearly hates his middle name with a passion, screams back in a fit of fury:  I’M NOT WYATT!  YOU ARE WYATT!

Okay.  Well.  At least they’re finally listening. 

Me:  Come up here, it’s bath time.

3: No, YOU take a bath!

4:  But I’m not stinky!

Me - ignoring 3 talking back - for now:  You’re both stinky, I can smell you from here, now get up here and get in the tub.

Chaos ensues.  Fits are being thrown.  Toys start flying.  Crying is echoing through the house.

4:  But it’s not even dark out!  I can see the sun!  I can’t take a bath when I can see the sun!

3:  I’m not taking a bath until Tom & Jerry is over and you’re not the boss of me Mommy Michele!  (The worst form of criticism from 3 is to use the god awful middle name.)

Me:  Oh, but I am the boss and I’m coming down there to show you who’s boss.

As I head down the stairs I hear little feet running.  One set toward me, one set away from me.

3 comes at me:  I told you I’m the boss, not you!  YOU take a bath, not me!  I’m watching Tom & Jerry and YOU’RE going to jail!

Me: I AM the boss, YOU are grounded from Tom & Jerry and I welcome jail at this point because I won’t have to cook or bathe kids and I can just lay in my cell and sleep ALL. DAY. LONG!  Now get your butt upstairs and in the tub!

3 storms up the stairs pissed at the world while I go off to find 4.  He comes creeping out of the dining room with a sweet smile on his face.  Mr. Hyde has clearly arrived after hearing his brother get in trouble. 

4:  Hi Mommy!  I will go take a bath for you!

Me, not being fooled for a minute by his sweetness:  Great.  Go upstairs.  Get in the tub. 

We go upstairs.  3 is running around naked – and smiling?  I’m leery but not about to question it.  He goes in the bathroom and pees, only half of it making it in the toilet, then runs and jumps in the tub.  Water and bubbles fly everywhere. 

And just like that, their roles reverse.  

4 loses his shit. 

4:  I WANTED TO BE FIRST IN THE TUB – NOT HIM!!!!!

3:  HAHAHA, I beat you!!!!

I tell 4 he can be the first one out if he would just for the love of god just get in the effing tub.  He reluctantly climbs in giving 3 the stink eye.  Revenge is imminent.

I tell them to play nicely while I clean fresh urine off the walls, the outside of the toilet and the floor.  4 uses this opportunity to seek his revenge.  He steals 3’s wash cloth.  3 screams at him and starts to wrestle him for the wash cloth.  4 whips the wash cloth away spraying water across the bathroom while 3 lunges for it and plummets into the tub sloshing water over the side.  3 yells at 4 to give it back, 4 ignores him.  3 grabs 4’s cheeks and starts pinching.  4 whacks 3 upside the head with the wet washcloth (more water flying) and finally 3 releases 4 to grab his wash cloth. 

3 to 4:  You are a bad bad boy!

4:  You’re a poopy butt!

3:  No, you’re a poopy butt!

4:  (cracks up laughing) You’re a poopy butt that FARTS.

3:  cracks up laughing and makes fart noises.

Me:  Both of you stop using potty words and quit making fart noises.

Both crack up laughing because I said FART.  And just like that they’re bff’s again.  

After arguing with them to clean up their toys, it’s time to wash them up.  This task is otherwise known as time to play like Steve Irwin and wrestle crocodiles.  More bubbles fly, more water sloshes over the side.  I get a workout in that doesn't even count because my fitbit itsn't waterproof.  I stand up from the sopping wet rug with splash marks all over my clothes, hair in my face, and haul both boys out of the tub to start round 2 of wrestle mania - pajamas.  All the while wishing they were cats instead of kids.