Splish Splash
© 2003
by
Jeff Stimpson
The bottom of my tub is alive with pink skin:
writhing, squirming, limbs intertwined, a miniature orgy on
porcelain. Shrieks ricochet off the tile of the walls and straight
through my head.
It is 6:30 to 6:45 on a weekend night, or on an
evening when our babysitter had to leave early. The last of the water
has swirled and gurgled down the drain completely unnoticed by Alex or
Ned, who are the sources of the shrieks piercing my mind.
This stops right now or I'm ending this bath! I told
them a few moments ago, my nose dripping bath water, their palms
slapping like rays. I'm ending this bath! I proclaimed, and yanked out
the plug like pulling the switch at Sing-Sing.
There. I am in charge in this bathroom. I need a
mop.
My proclamations pass through both boys at bath time
these days. Alex is on the rim of the tub, trying to climb into the
sink on which, moments ago, I conked my head. Down, I tell him, down
now. He holds the rim of the tub and lifts one leg. He stares ahead
and shrieks. Shrieks shrieks shrieks. He turns around and around, his
arms pinwheeling farther and farther until he threatens liftoff. Then
he sits and remembers he has to try to stand on his head in the bottom
of the tub.
Ned gazes at Alex, studying the angle of big
brother's arms and legs, rapt as a fresh ballet student. Then Ned is
on the rim and trying to climb into the sink. Down, I order, down now!
He holds the rim of the tub and lifts one leg, glancing at Alex to
confirm his technique. He shrieks. He turns around and around and
sits, then tries to stand on his head in the bottom of the tub, but
this is too advanced and his effort dissolves into giggles.
No one can stop them. Not the babysitter, not Jill,
not dad.
Dad who? Ned thinks, as he plops down on the sloping
end of the tub and, to his amazement, slides the length of the bath
until he stops at Alex's feet. Ned hurries back to the sloped end of
the tub; I see his brow crease as he tries to re-create the slide over
and over, never quite hitting at the right angle. I'm almost laughing.
I hide my face, because to let them see me smile is to snap the
unraveling thread that is my control over this bath.
Alex climbs the sink. Ned discovers he's behind on
his slashing. I end this bath now, I announce, and pull the plug.
Water pools a quarter-inch deep in some spots of the
floor. I've already whipped one of Jill's hand towels to the rack
above my head, where it drips with overflow. Without this towel, the
bath water they expel would leave the black and white tiles awash, and
maybe lap onto the hardwood of the hallway beyond. It's been all I can
do with this kind of headache -- Alex be quiet! -- to keep
ahead of the water. I've also stripped. I used to stay dressed for
their bath, until Ned learned to pour water on my sleeves and marvel
at cotton's absorbency.
Stop it now!
Mostly they use their hands to splash. Sometimes
their feet. They sit and face each other and bicycle-pedal. Then they
flap their hands like Rebecca Howe on "Cheers" after she gets fired.
Ned likes to submerge a toy fully, then fling it over the side of the
tub with as much water as possible. You'd think the Elmo Dump Truck
would carry the most bath water with it. But the big green ball seems
to splash out more. I wouldn't have thought that before I had kids.
I've tried to teach Alex how to throw the ball to
Ned. No, Alex, don't bite the ball. Throw the ball to Ned. Throw the
ball to Ned, Alex. I place the ball in Alex's palm, extend his arm,
and help him throw. Alex giggles. Ned laughs and shrieks, and picks up
the ball and flings it at Alex's head. Alex tries to understand this.
Sometimes Ned throws the ball at my face.
Alex bites Ned. It starts with a hugfest, pink arms
ensnaring each other, Ned laughing and Alex laughing and sinking his
mouth on Ned's ripe, ripe flesh in what looks like love until Ned's
face explodes into wails. Alex, no! No! Never bite! Never bite!
"Nevah bye-tee!" shrieks Alex, then he moves in for
another hugfest. Ned backs up. He's going to be a fast learner in
school. "Noo ... noo ... " says Ned. He retreats until his bum touches
the faucet. Alex advances. Ned picks up the Elmo Dump Truck.
I end this bath now!
Copyright 2003 Jeff Stimpson, all rights reserved
