Tuesday, 8 July 2014

The Bathtime Blitz

We've all been there haven't we.

You're off out, time has gotten away from you and now it's a mad dash to get everyone sorted before you leave.

Well, it happened to me. I had a meeting one evening. I had my day sorted.

The morning was devoted to the rascals, the afternoon was devoted to the housework, while husband was devoted to the rascals. Once the housework was done, I was to prepare the rascals tea, bath them, into pjs, freshen up and dress myself before leaving quietly, while husband dutifully prepared supper and chased them off to bed at the relevant hours.

Yeah...that was the plan.

Happily ironing....no, there is so many things wrong with those words, let me start again.

Ironing, I happened to glance at the clock, and shrieked. I had lost an hour.

Considering my 'to do list' I slapped some sandwiches together, pink milk and shoved the fruit bowl next to their plates so that husband could grab a variation and create a fruit salad. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and decided that the next bulk of time would need to be making me look half decent.

Shower taken, hair straightened, make up applied, frock on. I halted at the heels when I realised rascals needed their bath.

Decision made, three in at once. 

Water running, infacare in, while husband and I grappled with rascals and clothing. Three in the bath. Eventually.

All was back on track.

I thought.

Stepping back to take a seat on the toilet lid (as you do) shock startled me as my behind went much further into the toilet bowl than I expected. Not only was the lid up, but the seat was too. My posh frock clad bottom was centimeters from the water in the u bend. And I was stuck.

My rascals got the giggles, water flailing in every direction as they clambered to catch a glance of their mother wedged in the toilet bowl. 

I hollered out to my husband, who was in a 'who's pjs are where' mode. He strode into the bathroom in an exasperated manner, before creasing up in hysteria.

This was not good.

With a little help, and the background music of chuckles, I regained my demeanor, and began washing down the rascals...

...It was the figure that did it. A small, reasonably unoffensive figure. That each child wanted. The fighting began. As our youngest is not far off a baby, I grabbed rascal #3 to wrap up in a towel and begin the drying, that's when it went wrong. As I leaned in, one of the rascals (currently unidentified) obviously considered me another threat to their securing ownership of said figure and slam dunked a jug of water on my perfectly styled hair, ensuring, also, not one millimeter of make up would survive. (This child should be hired for the SAS- the aim was second to none!)

I slowly got to my feet, noticing the silence. Everyone looking at the bedraggled mother that had, for around three minutes, looked rather professional (if I do say so myself!). 
With the water streaming down my back, I simply handed towel covered rascal #3 to husband, who took said child, while biting his lip hard. I'm sure I saw blood. He knew that there would be BIG trouble if so much as a snort came from him.

I left the bathroom and a quick glance at my watch told me I had fifteen minutes to get to my meeting.

Taking a deep breath, I shut the bedroom door, and got to work.

Thankfully, I made my meeting in time- I don't know how.

My rascals? They were sleeping soundly when I returned, and a large glass of wine was wating for me.
My dress? That went on a short holiday to the dry cleaner.
What did I wear? I turned up in my usual attire in the end- the trusty jeans and top and my quick dried frizz of a mop was pulled up in a ponytail. Still, it didn't matter, I came out of the meeting in a better position than I went in! Go figure!