H-2-Oh no!

My house is evil.

Not the whole house, just the hall bathroom.  Upon entering that room, one is likely to encounter hissing snakes and heads on pikes... a true entrance to hell.  How do I know this?  Because every couple of days I bathe my children-- my sweet, young, innocent children-- in that bathroom and they are instantly transformed into snarling beasts. 

Okay, so they aren't exactly "snarling", either.  But they yell a lot and have been known to "toot" excessively.  Perhaps it's the sulfur... who knows.  There is no denying that something happens to my boys when they enter that room.  Rules that would have applied in the kitchen or the bedroom or the basement are null in void.  It's like Sodom and Gomorrah for toddlers.


And who is the overlord of the bathtub?  This evil little frog-- cackling from his pedestal at his ability to warp young minds.  While Cael has been known to step out of line every now and then, the bathroom causes drastic personality swings that take him from laughing and playing to crying and thrashing about.  Sure, it could be the soap in his eyes, but I really think it's the frog.  That's much more plausible.

Graham, on the other hand, who is usually so willing to follow directions and "honor thy mother" immediately turns to the dark side.  He stoically disobeys when I ask him to come to the tub-- likely fearing for his own safety from this beady-eyed amphibian.

And in the background, there is Cael, laughing hysterically as if possessed by some toilet-paper stealing gremlin.



I gave the boys a bath yesterday.  Donning a braid of garlic and the holy book Raising Your Spirited Child (I would have taken the Bible but I was afraid it would burst into flames) I entered the bathroom.  I managed to get the boys undressed and into the tub before everything went haywire.  Cael immediately started thrashing about in the water and speaking in tongues.

"Mommy!  I ate a bug and now when I toot I can fly!

"Graham is a GOOBER!  And he smells like chicken shoes!

I have no idea what that means either.  Meanwhile, Graham put on his best artificial smile.  The water was green from Crayola bath drops, but could have also been from the bubbling cauldron of evil-induced naughtiness.  Or not. 

Regardless of the fact that too much monkey-business will result in removal from the tub, they continue to do their part to keep the bathroom clean by splashing unimaginable amounts of water on the wall and floors.  My experience in this area has led to the discovery of a Water-Air Continuum, a new principle that explains why a child can plunge their tiny hand into the water and force three to four gallons of water to careen at the bath-giver at maximum velocity.  It's science, people.

The most frightening part of bathing a child is the knowledge that the entire process must be repeated... well, repeatedly.  I have, on occasion, tried to put off a bath and the boys have always managed to soil themselves to a point that could warrant a phone call to CPS.  Oatmeal crusted in the creases of Graham's neck, partially dissected insects under Cael's fingernails; all sickening evidence of two rambunctious boys with too much energy. 

"Come on boys, it's time for a bath..." 

I still blame the frog.