They don't make it easy

People,

So, I was going to begin this blog with a quick update on what I've been doing in the five years since I last had a blog, but recent events have taken precedence. Let's just say that in the interim between the hard drinking and soft rocking days of Fooled By April I have devoted my time to pointless employment and spreading my seed. Good? Good.


SCENE - Climbing the stairs shortly after caving in to a Grahamtrum and allowing him to have a popsicle. I generally hate giving in to such behavior but Jesus Christ, sometimes the path of least resistance is just too tempting.

Anywho, Graham is ahead of me, I'm holding Jakey and the pace.... is.... agonizingly.....slow....

Graham: Why are we going upstairs?
Mr. Dad: Well, we need to take a bath and then have stories....
Graham: (screaming) I don't want to take a bath!!!!
Mr. Dad: But buddy, you're really dirty and it will be fun, right? (imagine cheerful tone)
Graham: No! (begins crying and stops on stairs)

At this point, I am starting to get a little fried after our aforementioned dinnertime tantrum and Mr. G's general recent ill-temper. The terrible twos are not misnamed. Oh, did I mention that I also have an aching broken foot and that climbing stairs is a bit of a challenge right now even without battling a toddler?

Mr. Dad: Come on, buddy.
Graham: AAAAAAYAYYYIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE (sits on stairs)
Mr. Dad: I really need you to make a good choice here (Note: Am I serious with this shit?)
Graham: AAAAAAYAYYYIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE

A few minutes of cajoling and promises of stickers (mostly promises of stickers) finally does the trick and we're on the second floor. I go to run the tub.

While the tub runs I get Jakey and Grahambo down into diapers. We enter the bathroom, whereupon Jakey spits up all over my shirt. No harm no foul, I just pull the hem of the shirt up and wipe him off. I feel a little wet and gross, but this is old hat by now.

I start to put Jakey into the tub when I notice Graham reaching into the toilet.

Graham: What's in here?
Mr. Dad: Graham! Please don't....

So of course Graham pulls out a wad of toilet paper from the bowl and I kind of bark at him to drop it, which he does...on the floor. Awesome. Additionally, the bark melts him and he starts screaming again. Then he sits on the toilet paper. Whatever, one issue at a time.

Just to catch you up, I am now standing over the tub in a pukey shirt with a baby in one hand while trying to manage a screaming toddler who is sitting on a sopping wad of dirty toilet paper. Did I mention my foot is in a cast?

I decide to deal with Graham in a minute and pull off Jakey's diaper. As I lower him into the water my hand gets strangely warm. Please, please, please, for the love of Allah let this be #1. Nope.

My only consolation is that the turd is small and can wiped on my pants via my one available hand. I do this without even thinking. Parenthood is awesome because it allows you to make previously unconscionable decisions about your personal cleanliness.

"This bath will go on!" I declare determinedly. I put Jakey in the tub, turn, grab Graham and then turn back to Jakey just in time to see him drop a giant doo doo bomb. He smiles.

Again, so we're clear, at this point I have one hand on an infant who just shit everywhere in the tub and the other on a small childlike banshee who has dirty toilet paper hanging from one leg. While not crying, I am covered in poo and puke and bathwater (which is really essentially just extra watery poo at this point).

Mr. Dad: Well, Grahambo, I guess you don't need to take a bath tonight.
Graham: (collapsing in a heap) But I want to take a bath!!!!!!!!AAAAEEEIEIEIEIGHGJJSIASJsdnvkj  abcligrqpiuwec;kjnsdcpgwe!!!!

Then I get foggy on the details since I committed seppuku.

OK, there was no ritual suicide, but good lord how it was contemplated.

Needless to say, we eventually recovered and now the boys are in bed. I would have considered this bedtime a total failure were it not for this touching exchange as I said good night.

Mr. Dad: I love you, Grahambo.
Graham: Do you like staying home with me?
Mr. Dad: (genuinely moved) Of course! You're my best big boy, I LOVE staying home with you.
Graham: I love staying home with Mommy.

Game. Set. Match.