How I can turn wet toilet paper into a Patrick Swayze tribute.

Tonight I began running the little kids' bath at 6:38 p.m., in preparation for a 7 p.m. bedtime.





Now, since the start of school, I have had every intention of putting the kids to bed early, which would mean 7:00 p.m. I have "intentioned" this, because of L's general, non-stop crying, which begins just after she comes down from the high caused by whatever drugs they are feeding her at preschool.





But 7:00, for us, is somewhat unrealistic. Between eating, and occasionally bathing, and watching some sort of T.V. show, and saying prayers, and finding the 743 stuffed animals they NEED in order to sleep....well, we're lucky if lights out is 7:45.





But today, Big J threw the Oscar-worthy tantrum of his life, because his mother picked him up from school, therefore dashing his dreams of riding the school bus home. You would think someone had put Baby in the corner and instead of doing the pa-chang-ko or whatever, Big J was going to kick and scream and wretch and spin his head clear around his body 5 times until her daddy let her freaking dance (That was for you P. Swayze). And this is how it was decided that 7:00 was bedtime.





Which brings us back to 6:38 p.m., and bath time. When I decided to hang up some of the clothes that were mindlessly loitering around my closet floor.





Silly, silly me. Being productive with my time (when kids are involved) ALWAYS shoots me in the rear. ALWAYS.





Because I returned to the bathtub to find three happy, subdued children. Bathing in what appeared to be a mixture of water and toilet paper.





"WHO did this?" the obvious question.





To which L confessed and Big J blamed Little J. It appears that on top of multi-tasking, they also know I am WEAK when it comes to handling more than one naughty misbehavior at a time.





It became quite obvious the culprit was L. In addition to the absence of fear in this particular situation, she is the culprit of 99% of the naughtiness that happens under this roof.





Here is also where I realize that I have never actually told her not to put toilet paper in the bath water. Take note now, parents: Start telling your kids not to put toilet paper in the bath. Tell them not to light kittens on fire. Tell them not to grab microphones and/or insult perfectly lovely singers at the VMAs. Tell them not to shove Legos up their nose. Or ears. Tell them not to pet alligators.





Because anything is fair game if it hasn't been spelled out in exact terms (when your 4).





L's consequence was that she couldn't play in the bath and had to take a quick shower. And because I was just surviving until 7 p.m., the boys stayed in their paper-soak and we all tried to ignore the little flakes floating amongst them. Because I just couldn't handle draining the water and wiping down the tub, all the while knowing that one, possibly two wet boys would be rolling around in my bed. And chances are they would be depositing little, wet balls of toilet paper in the precious spot that is my haven for eight hours every night.





Nope. Bathing in a little wet toilet paper never hurt anyone.