Go Fish

I think I have mentioned before how much the girls just love to play in the bath? They do. I can convince Abigail to clean up the living room of all her toys and play nicely with her sister as long as the promise of "splash-splash" time hangs in the air. Likewise as soon as Isabel realizes she's being carried into the bathroom she becomes a huge 10 month old ball 'o wiggles. If she was taller she would climb into the tub, on her own, with clothes on. (And trust me, she's tried a few times, the fact that the edge of the tub is up to her collar bone was apparently not a deterrent.)

Right now? My least favorite time of the day is bath time. Why you ask? Because it involves playing a little game I have been secretly calling Russian poo-lette for the past month or so. Can you see where I'm going here? No? Let me paint the picture:

Two sweet girls are in the tub, with bubbles because their Mommy is super nice, and toys. Lots and lots of toys. Cup toys, and squirty toys and foam letter toys. It's a toy palooza. Then, all of a sudden, I notice one that is not like the others. A lump of something brown. And long. And possibly squishy. Yup, that's poo. In the tub. With the kids. And the eighty billion toys.

And then before I can even swoop into action and pull the kids out and start the cleaning process my eldest spots the offending log. "Mommy! Mommy there is poo in the tub! Right there Mom! Sissy pooped!" She abandons ship just as fast as she can and stands shivering on the rug giving me a 'well what now?' look. Isabel on the other hand seems quite pleased with herself and has absolutely no qualms what so ever about playing in poop water.

And this right here is why I hate bath time: someone has to fish that poo out of the water. And then Lysol the tub. And then rewash the previously clean kids. Not to mention the pile of bath toys that now have to be cleaned and then put back into the toy bucket.

So every night as I take the girls up to the bathroom I wonder: will it happen tonight? Will I be fishing poo out of my bathtub this evening? Have I even changed a dirty diaper from Isabel today?

It's totally a game of Russian poo-lette, and lately? I've been doing a lot of fishing.

A tub full of wishes

A tub, some water, a bottle of body wash. Normal enough parts - but add two small girls and you'll get a horse of a completely different color. Most nights Abigail begs to go "splash-splash-splash" with Izzy and most nights I agree, because after a hot day nothing feels better than a cool bath before bed.

Watching the girls interact in the tub brings a smile to my face every time. Isabel splashes with a reckless abandon unaware that she is terrifying her sister who has a near apoplectic fit every time water larger than a dew drop nears her face. Abigail manages to bear it with aplomb and even gets in the act and splashes back - much to Isabel's delight. They chase each other around the tub one squishy tushy wiggling in inch deep water around and beside the other. They overflow with giggles and tiny-person voices and generally act as though nothing in the world could top the joy of the moment.

Except mine: This is why I have two daughters. A tub full of mirth is what I wished for without knowing the name of it. Two little girls who already love each other, already chase each other across rooms and beg to sleep next to each other is it's own kind of unequaled perfection. Two is better than one, but two girls? So much better than I imagined. Ever. Even if I tried really hard. (Which I did.)