Bath Time at the Funny Farm.

Baths. I loathe bathing children. They're slippery and screaming and then they get out and they're squirming all over and bawling because you're combing their hair...ugh. Baths.

So today we're all sick and I'm aware that everyone will need to be in bed early. Nap time was just not good, so everyone will be going to bed by 7. Once dinner is started, 7 comes so quickly that I thought I'd bathe them when Lucy got off the bus.

I have bathed all 5 of them once before. It's not difficult, really, but it's a little back-breaking, especially when you're already feeling poorly.

Here's how it went.

"Girls! Get naked! Everybody in the tub!"

:::screams of joy::: bathtub crayons! soap! nudity! all of our favorite things at once! 

I put one diapered boy on the floor of the bathroom and started the tub running. Lucy and Molly jump in, and I take Claire's diaper off. She pees on the rug, narrowly missing her brother's head. Whoopsie! Claire goes into the tub. I trek back for diapered boy number two and set him safely out of the way of the pee-puddle. I decide that Lucy and Molly are just not as dirty as I thought and they can just play. Claire has orange marker up her arms, across her right cheek and near her hairline. Claire will need to be washed.

The boys are crying and Lucy is complaining about recess. "Recess was horrible today! Owen chased me all over and called me names!" Owen. Whomever this child is, he drives me nuts by association. "So what names did he call you?" Lucy is near tears. "Baby Chicken Wing!" HAHAHAHAHAHA. I can't help myself. I put on my sympathetic face and laugh hysterically on the inside.

Interesting. While typing this I learned that "get down" also means "get up" in Claire's toddler-talk.

So Owen has gained a little admiration in my book. Baby Chicken Wing.

I take Max's diaper off and put him on Lucy's legs in the tub. It's the perfect solution. Lucy holds him down while I soap and rinse his little slippery-piglet body. Max is out of the tub in 45 seconds flat. I drop him into his crib wrapped in his towel and run back to do Miles. I leave their pacis on the floor of the bathroom, planning to throw them in the dishwasher later. Claire sees them and JUMPS out of the tub, flopping  her belly over the side peguin-style. PACIS! She grabs them, pops one in her mouth and runs out the bathroom door before I can stop her. I decide that she's probably clean enough to ignore. What's a little leftover Crayola marker in the scheme of things?

Yes, bathtime is usually more organized when Daddy is running the show. He works a tad more deftly and doesn't make the children scream when he washes their hair. I'm the dresser and hair-brusher. Today was a perfect example of the wise decision-making behind that one.