Soaked & Steamed

When I went downstairs to fetch the kids for lunch, I found them giggling, near-naked, in the bathroom, splashing water by cupfuls onto the tile floor.

What the f**k? They know better than that!

I was speechless. I finally said, "Please wipe that up." I handed them towels and watched while they did so. I took away their clothes and anything else they might keep warm with.

"I'm gonna pick out clothes," K said.

"No, honey," I replied, gently.

"But I'm cold, Mom," she said.

"Too bad, honey," I said, with all the sympathy I could pretend to have.. "I'm sorry your clothes got wet. Please pick up those towels, guys, and come on up for lunch."

So they did. They ate naked, sitting on our two remaining dry towels.

I separated them after lunch while I cooled off a little, then I put them down for Quiet Time. I consulted with each about what might help them remember not to splash water on the floor, and we agreed that we will no longer keep cups in the bathroom. (An adult will carry them in and out for toothbrushing. Or not bother.)

I am exhausted from several weeks of short sleep, overwork, schedule changes, commitments, holidays, birthdays. We leave for a weekend at the Cape tomorrow and haven't started packing, and rain is expected--where there's nothing good for little kids to do indoors. My longterm writers' group meets tonight, and I have been robbed of prep time. (That was during M's nosebleed on Monday.) I am desperate for time to prepare to teach next weekend at a conference away from home--but, since I'm wife and mom, I'm not expecting to find it.

Today, I hate being a mom.