A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bath

Apparently, my dear children have both reached interesting stages of development, which combined, can make for the most ridiculous situations. Asher has hit the three's, which, in his case, is turning out to be worse that then two's with lots of whining, much upset over being told "no" (about anything, even having a whole banana versus a half) and a great need for mom (no doubt part of the battle between establishing independence and still needing to have many needs met by us parents). Harper will be 16 months old on October 1, and while her stage does not include the adolescent-like moodiness of a three year old, there is much noise and some frustration as she struggles with knowing she can communicate and move around but lacks some of the skill to achieve her self-imagined potential.

So Tuesday night, I made a valiant attempt to get both my children in the bath before bed and their respective stages collided. They were in desperate need of cleaning as I had forgotten the last time they had a bath (a few days) and both had been happily playing in the dirt-filled kiddie pool turned massive mud puddle in our backyard before dinner. I announced happily, as dinner was wrapping up, "After Harper finishes up, it's bath time." There were some protests from Asher because it wasn't his idea, but before I could get Harper out of his chair, Asher had removed his diaper (dinner's clothing included his diaper and socks as I had stripped him after the mud puddle fun). While Asher tromped around the house with the air of a triumphant, naked boy, I corralled Harper into the bathroom with some wipes to clean her poopy bottom before getting in the bath. With much squirming and protesting grunts from her, I finally had her clean but the bath mat was much the worse for wear.

Returning to the bathroom after tossing her diaper and washing my hands, I asked Asher to try to remove his socks. "Dare duck, Mom," he announced after tugging at them lightly while standing up. Urging him to try again, he replied, "Look, Mom, dare's poop on da floor." I peered into the small bathroom to discover a nicely laid, three inch turd on the floor and Asher still in his socks. Oh-so-calmly I replied, "So there is. Do you want to sit on your potty?" Asher, squatting close to his poop and peering at it so inquisitively, replied "What color is it, Mom?" Answering his question nonchalantly, I stuck one arm out to grab Harper as she made a mad toddler dash to join Asher and another arm out to pull his training potty into the bathroom. Harper squealed as I removed her from the site of this intriguing scene and carried her with me to get the child's gate. The children obviously needed to be locked up (or was that me? I would later wonder). Asher proudly sat on his potty, asking for a book and his helicopter. Harper screamed in great protest, grabbing the gate and attempting to keep it from going up as I struggled and finally succeded in getting the gate situtated in the bathroom doorway. I scooped up the poop with a plastic bag and went back to the kitchen for disinfecting wipes.

During my trips back and forth to the kitchen, Harper kept up a constant running, flapping and protest grunting routine, running between the bathroom and the kitchen, between me and Asher. She was, quite clearly, very offended at being locked out. On one of my returns to the bathroom, I found a nice puddle outside the gate where Harper had briefly stood nd attempted to pull Asher's hair. Back to the kitchen for a towel I went, followed quickly by a "phalump. " I turned to find Harper, having run after me with wet feet, sprawled on the floor. I picked her up and mopped the floor as I comforted her. Somewhere, deep inside, I realized that the situation was becoming critical. We weren't just talking messes here, we were talking bodily injury! Yet, I charged on.

Asher was done sitting, having produced nothing more for him to admire. I cleaned up any remnants on the bathroom floor and training potty and started to run the bath water. Back to the beginning of this scene, it was again time for Asher to take his socks off. I urged him to attempt this on his own. He obediently sat on the floor and started lightly tugging on the toe of one sock. Making no progress he complained loudly, "Can't do it, Momma. Help me." He shifted where he was sitting on the floor, and I tried to guide him in hooking his finger on the back of the sock and pulling it over his heel. My gentle instruction was met with, "Look, Mom. More poop. " Pause. "What color is it?" I had one child, one floor and one potty nicely cleaned but had neglected to clean the other child's bottom. "You've got to be kidding me," I said out loud, shut the water off and set Harper in the tub in less than an inch of water. "Don't touch it," I toldAsher and got him to stand up, away from the poop. "Why, Mom?" he answered. "What color is it?" he asked again. "Brown," I replied and headed back to the kitcehn for another disinfecting wipe.

As I come back into the bathroom, my dear girl was standing in the tub and then, quick as an oiled pig, "phalump," on her back, screaming. I dropped the cleaner, grabbed a towel and lifted Harper out to comfort her as I cleaned up the very last remnants on the floor and Asher. With almost hysterical laughter, what a feat this was.

Finally, finally, with all the bottoms cleaned, the usually neglected bathroom floor clean enough to serve a meal on, Asher's stubborn socks off, both kids were happily playing in the bath tub. It's so funny what goes through our head during these moments - questions about what is the best cleaner to use, where the cleaner is, how best to lock up a child, whether the next best step in a series of critical moments is to set my baby girl in a bit of water, lug her around with me or let her indulge her curiosity and why I chose the first option. There is much here about life, but, most importantly to me, how critical it is to be in the moment, to watch my children's developing abilities and figure out - even with the heat of disbelieving frustration and hysteria - how to react when everything starts to fall apart.