We don’t bathe the boys everyday. Partially because they have dry skin, and partially because it’s a pain in the ass to bathe them every day. Mostly because of the dry skin thing
and because we don’t want to admit otherwise.
They had a bath yesterday, even though they’d also had a shower after swim class. Technically, three times dunked in water. That should count for at least fourteen baths.
Last night, Monkey L. sobbed that he wanted a bath. I tried to
avoid running out of the room console him when Huzzy suggested a “Dry Bath.”
This stopped the tears from L and brought out the sly grin from J. “What’s a dry bath, daddy?”
In full cheerleader mode, Huzzy yelled, “Gimme a B!” (and made a
sad passible “B” with his body)
I’ll avoid the whole thing. I think you get the point.
By the final “What does it spell?” the boys were all giggles and
still smelly happy to postpone bathtime until Sunday.
Dry baths. Brilliant.
I do worry that tomorrow they’ll try to spell “nap.”