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)

“B!”

“Gimme a..”

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.”