This morning at 8:45, I sent my oldest son out the door on his way to school, shut the door behind me and declared to my little ones, "It's a bath day!" (As a good rule of thumb, I figure that whenever I can no longer pinpoint the day I last bathed them, it stands to reason that it's time to do it again.) My announcement was met with shrieks and squeals (probably because it's been a while) as Miss J (5) and Little Mr. C (3) ran to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pajamas in their wake. I filled the tub, they chose their toys, they climbed in, Miss J climbed back out dripping wet to go potty, and then they played and shriveled like little prunes as I, nursing babe in arms, looked on.
We began this process at about 8:50. We had to leave for Miss J's ballet class at 10:15. No problem, right?
First of all, you have to realize something. I have the worst sense of time of anyone that has ever existed. Ever. In the whole world. No matter how much I try to tell myself otherwise, I firmly believe that it takes 15 minutes to get anywhere. And then I leave 10 minutes to get there. I'm also fairly certain that I can cram 12 activities into the 10 minutes before I go. It hasn't been accomplished yet, but one of these days....
My point? Not sure I really have one, except that my life is crazy and I'm late for everything...but I wouldn't have traded that bath full of giggles for the world.