Yes, it really was too much to ask

After three weeks of running solid here and there, we decided that Sunday morning we were going to be church skipping-heathens after it was clear that any efforts to get 5 of us out the door were clearly going to fail. Getting out the door in the mornings is the worst part of each day and we'd had no downtime in weeks.

After an hour or so of hanging out, snuggling, watching some cartoons, enjoying breakfast, etc, I snuck off into the bathtub to read a book written by a mother of an autistic boy.

I'd been settled in my warm, bubbly paradise for all of ten minutes when Melody arrives, wearing only socks. The socks do not stay on long and I soon have company in my tub.

Not a huge problem, as Melody isn't much of a splasher and seemed to just be seeking some warmth and companionship on a chilly January morning. I continue to read while she amuses herself somehow and we pass a few shared minutes in genial silence until Charlie arrives and begans tugging off his clothes.

So much for that book.

I barely have time to move it to a safe location when Dixie decides we need to make room for her. It's a good thing our tub has room for four.

I wash their hair, I play silly games with them. All is well until it is time to get them out. Daddy comes in and holds out a towel, but no one wants to be first out. We command Dixie out then drag Charlie out. Melody, always one to [s]cling to her guns and religion[/s]remain attached to my body at any opportunity, simply will not get out of the tub.

I pull out the plug and wait until the water is all gone. She is still content to be naked there, even as the cold creeps in. Tired of waiting for her to vacate, Dixie starts to potty, only her poop seems about as cooperative as Melody at this point. She starts howling, "My poop hurts! It's so hard! It won't come out of my body!" and demands a 'giant raisin' (aka prune).

I use this as my excuse to peel Melody off my body and leave her in the tub and return with the requested prune. I try to explain that it will take awhile to kick in, but she won't listen and pops it in her mouth. She waggles her jaw up and down about three times before dramatically declaring that it is too sticky and will pull out her fillings if she eats it. I suggest chewing with her front teeth, but that is far too logical and impossible an approach.

I suggest finishing up and then drinking a glass of water, as she may be dehydrated. She starts begging for water in between descriptive outcries bemoaning the state of her poop. I tell her that this is a bathroom, not a place to drink and dine and that she may have water when she is done.

At this point, I realize that Melody is still naked, still in the tub, but is now dancing naked. See, our tub is in the corner, with mirrors on the wall above it and this grape arbor thingy (complete with chandelier) that I built a few years ago.

This description is really bad and I'm sure anyone who hasn't been to my house has no idea what I'm talking about. To stop my ramblings, here is a photo:



I look behind me and find that Melody is standing on the edge of the tub, holding on to the wooden supports and dancing naked in front of a mirror. That's right, she's pole dancing. I suggest she stop doing that, as it sets a bad precedent. "Why is it bad for presidents to dance naked?" she asks, and I told her to take that one up with Bill Clinton.

Annoyed by my distraction from the issue at hand, Dixie begins wailing, 'But it's so hard! It's like, it's like a bone! Oh no, Mommy! My bones! I'm pooping out my bones!"

Remember how this was supposed to be me, reading a book in a quiet room, alone?

She finishes her business, finally. As I am dressing the Melody child, I look over and realize that Dixie is frantically patting down her arms and legs with her hands. "What in the world are you doing?" I ask.

Her reply? "I'm just making sure that I have all my bones still and that I didn't poop one out."