We have lived in our house for almost five years and although the boys have their own bathroom, they have preferred to shower in ours. This summer, Science Girl decided this practice had gone on long enough, she didn't want to share the bathroom with them anymore and insisted that they do their ablutions in their own bathroom. This decree was met with shock, resistance and the five stages of grief. First, the boys were in complete denial. "Us?" "Not us!" Then they were angry. "Why do we have to leave the Master bathroom?" "Why is it that the parents automatically get it?" They bellowed that it wasn't fair. Science Girl stayed firm.
They calmed down and attempted to negotiate. Secret Service graciously agreed to shower in his own bathroom if we installed a special shower head and replaced the (like new) shower curtain with a glass door. Sport amiably agreed to stay out of our bathroom as long as we accepted swimming as a substitute for showering and didn't make him shower until Autumn. When these efforts weren't successful, the boys fell into a depression, both too sad and dejected to shower. Science Girl and I had to cajole and threaten to get them into the shower. Several times during this phase, Secret pretended to shower. Luckily, he always had a "tell," typically emerging from a shampoo with his hair dry. Sport actually entered the shower and stood under the running water. The problem was that it was to about the count of 10 - Mississippi. Sport developed a speedy shower routine that we believe consists of one hand rubbing a minuscule drop of shampoo through his hair while the other hand simultaneously swipes a bar of soap over his genitals while simultaneously rinsing and climbing out.
Tonight, brought me hope that we are moving into the acceptance phase. After being told fifteen times to get into the shower, Secret did and his hair was damp upon completion. And, Sport stayed in the water to the count of 25 - Mississippi.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Summer Guests
As summer wraps up, I'm already feeling nostalgic for what was. We were fortunate to host a lot of out-of-town guests, the first of which was one of my sisters, called "Aunt Skinnybones" and her husband, who I refer to as "Uncle Scout."
As her name implies, Aunt Skinnybones is slim and trim, in part from walking each day as she commutes via public transportation from Brooklyn to her job in Manhattan. In addition, Aunt Skinnybones exercises by biking through the park, and doing goodness-knows-what with a trainer. Aunt Skinnybones is also organized and efficient. Nothing makes her happier than to stand in my closet and encourage and supervise me in discarding torn, stained, outgrown, unfashionable clothes for donation to charity or the garbage.
Uncle Scout earned his Eagle Scout as a teenager, and seems most likely to survive any calamity armed only with a roll of duct tape, a pocket knife and a safety pin. Uncle Scout could probably survive in a forest by eating wood chips, leaves and berries. However, at our house, he wants to eat fruit. In anticipation of one of his visits, I lay in a large supply of oranges, apples, bananas, grapes and strawberries. For whatever reason, many times I buy a pineapple. The first year, Uncle Scout carefully examined the pineapple and announced it wasn't ready to be consumed. Their visit ended and he and my sister left, the pineapple still intact. About three days later, I came home to find a message on the machine. There was no greeting, but I recognized Uncle Scout's voice. He simply said, "Cut the pineapple." We did and it was delicious. Since he was over 1,000 miles away, we don't know how he knew it was ripe.
We also had a visit from my aunt, "Aunt Sushi" who came to take care of us when Science Girl was away on a prolonged business trip. Aunt Sushi, a Japanese food lover, helped me by keeping Sport occupied while I drove Secret Service to play baseball and spending time with Secret while Sport was in camp. Aunt Sushi cooked for us, took us out to dinner one night and maintained good humor as the boys chased, wrestled, and shot each other with Nerf weaponry. She displayed coordination by dodging balls that barely missed her head and remained calm when the boys responded to any request by first saying no.
We also had an annual visit from Science Girl's brother, "Uncle Sweet Tooth" and his 6 year old son, "the German boy" who traveled from their home in Germany to see us. When they arrived "the German boy" was well-behaved and well-adjusted, playing quietly with puzzles, drawing pictures, reading books. However, after 10 days with Secret and Sport, while his dad ate Oreo's and M & M's, he had developed a glazed look like my boys and was drinking soda like it was the elixir of the gods, humming the Sponge bob song (learned from hours of TV viewing), and repeatedly playing a ridiculous electronic game called, "kick the boss." He's been back home for a while now, I hope he's back to normal - not everyone can adjust to our lifestyle.
As her name implies, Aunt Skinnybones is slim and trim, in part from walking each day as she commutes via public transportation from Brooklyn to her job in Manhattan. In addition, Aunt Skinnybones exercises by biking through the park, and doing goodness-knows-what with a trainer. Aunt Skinnybones is also organized and efficient. Nothing makes her happier than to stand in my closet and encourage and supervise me in discarding torn, stained, outgrown, unfashionable clothes for donation to charity or the garbage.
Uncle Scout earned his Eagle Scout as a teenager, and seems most likely to survive any calamity armed only with a roll of duct tape, a pocket knife and a safety pin. Uncle Scout could probably survive in a forest by eating wood chips, leaves and berries. However, at our house, he wants to eat fruit. In anticipation of one of his visits, I lay in a large supply of oranges, apples, bananas, grapes and strawberries. For whatever reason, many times I buy a pineapple. The first year, Uncle Scout carefully examined the pineapple and announced it wasn't ready to be consumed. Their visit ended and he and my sister left, the pineapple still intact. About three days later, I came home to find a message on the machine. There was no greeting, but I recognized Uncle Scout's voice. He simply said, "Cut the pineapple." We did and it was delicious. Since he was over 1,000 miles away, we don't know how he knew it was ripe.
We also had a visit from my aunt, "Aunt Sushi" who came to take care of us when Science Girl was away on a prolonged business trip. Aunt Sushi, a Japanese food lover, helped me by keeping Sport occupied while I drove Secret Service to play baseball and spending time with Secret while Sport was in camp. Aunt Sushi cooked for us, took us out to dinner one night and maintained good humor as the boys chased, wrestled, and shot each other with Nerf weaponry. She displayed coordination by dodging balls that barely missed her head and remained calm when the boys responded to any request by first saying no.
We also had an annual visit from Science Girl's brother, "Uncle Sweet Tooth" and his 6 year old son, "the German boy" who traveled from their home in Germany to see us. When they arrived "the German boy" was well-behaved and well-adjusted, playing quietly with puzzles, drawing pictures, reading books. However, after 10 days with Secret and Sport, while his dad ate Oreo's and M & M's, he had developed a glazed look like my boys and was drinking soda like it was the elixir of the gods, humming the Sponge bob song (learned from hours of TV viewing), and repeatedly playing a ridiculous electronic game called, "kick the boss." He's been back home for a while now, I hope he's back to normal - not everyone can adjust to our lifestyle.
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