Upon picking Pookie up from preschool the other day, I realized bath time was going to be a necessary evil that couldn’t wait until that night, which is when I would’ve bathed Punkin too. If you don’t know me, I am a planner and perfectionist, and I like checking off boxes. Give me an idea, and I’ll make it happen…at least that’s how I used to be. However, with the way my day had panned out, nothing had fallen into place nicely. When does it ever fall nicely into place anymore? It’s a constant battle: Kathryn versus her expectations—Kathryn 0 and Unmet Expectations 10. In case you’re wondering, Punkin did not get a bath that evening, and mama had some vino!
While I do enjoy the “lotion song” we sing after baths, I hate actual bath time! “Stop splashing! Be careful with your sister! Stop licking the tub walls! (I am not sure if I can accurately remember the last time I cleaned the bathtub.) Put your head back; put your head back; put your head back. Stop eating the soap! Quick, get out…sister pooped!” You know, all the things you will say a billion times before the kids are old enough to tend to their own hygiene…whenever that may be. I hear boys still don’t have it figured out by the time they hit puberty. Good luck to you mamas of boys. 😉
Anyway, when I picked her up that day, she was coatless and bootless (at least she had her tennis shoes on), and she was jumping/running through muddy, icy puddles. Thanks Peppa Pig. Continue reading “Toddler Toots, Rx for Belly Laughs”
