Yesterday, as I tried to come to grips with the fact that
Jesus Tim Tebow had beaten the Steelers in one of the most humiliating games of the season, I was trying to get the children bathed and into bed.
I’m sure that those of you lucky enough to either not have children or to have children that are mostly human have no idea what kind of ordeal bath time is for the RW Clan. The first step in preparing for bath time is to armor yourself appropriately. Hockey mask and cup firmly in place, I began to run the bath.
The Hobbit, who is currently convinced that she is allergic to water, immediately runs and hides herself in her closet to minimize her chances of contact. She claims that she bathes herself regularly, but even the dog leaves the room when she removes her shoes.
The Gnome, eager for battle, immediately strips naked and proceeds to run around the house yelling and chanting something primal in preparation. Once the bathtub is full she runs at top speed from the other end of the house and performs a flawless cannonball dive into the tub, immediately soaking anyone foolish enough to be standing in the bathroom. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to rip the shower curtain down and cover myself with it just in the nick of time.
Of course all this noise and commotion is proving to be simply too much for my niece, the Smurf, to handle. In order to deal with this, she promptly bursts into tears and runs screaming into the laundry room. Shutting the door behind her, she sits in there sobbing and wailing to herself and threatening to bite anyone who enters.
The Gnome, perhaps sensing that not everyone is focused entirely on her, decides to up the ante. Still naked, but now wet and soapy, she breaks free and escapes into the house. Finding the Hobbit cowering in her closet, the Gnome spits soapy water on her and chortling gleefully in triumph takes a victory lap around the house before performing another cannonball dive back into the bathtub.
The Hobbit is now screaming that the soapy water burns her and that she is about to die, which causes renewed wailing and sobbing from the Smurf. This last part actually repeated itself 4 times last night, with the Gnome’s last salvo aimed at the Smurf. Of course at that point the Smurf was so racked with sobs that she barely had the energy to snap at her ankles in retaliation.
Eventually though, every child was firmly and safely strapped to their beds and Mrs. RW and I shared a collective sigh and in what has become our nightly tradition, began drinking and talking about times “BC.” I promise you that more of this story is true than most of you are prepared to believe, but there it is.