Some days ago Sarah informed James (and indirectly me) that he would be taking a bath every day this summer instead of every other day, due to the heat and the sunscreen he has to use every day at tennis camp. (It irritates him if not washed off.) James was fine with the idea. Daddy, not so much. Every other day was tough enough.
Evening baths are a very uneven success story in our house, which means in part a non-success story. Any number of factors can throw it off, mainly related to the mood, patience or level of fatigue of both bather and bathe-ee. Lack of patience, in particular, constitutes a major reason I am still bathing my eight-and-a-half-year-old son, who has over the years shown little inclination to do it himself, let alone thoroughly or in a time-frame short of geological. Even as a joint venture, the spirit of cooperation can be lacking, as failure of good relations between parent and child can emerge at any point during the course of it.
Flashback to the typical scenario. First, preparation is crucial to success. James must be warned in advance, a time set, and agreement obtained. He must be attentive and responsive during this engagement, or the information imparted will go in one ear and out the other. If necessary, the television should be stood in front of to secure attention. Between his agreement and the deadline, the tub must be filled with water, towels, night clothing and tub toys placed ready to hand, and toothbrush loaded. At the proper moment I then descend on him again, proclaim bath time, and if all goes well, a compliant offspring proceeds to the bathroom. Big if.
Television is a factor. Am I interrupting a particularly crucial episode of a particularly favorite program being watched for the umpteenth time? Then perhaps he can be gentled into the proper frame of mind by handing him the loaded toothbrush; by the time he is done brushing, we may have reached an acceptable point for pausing the program. If not, the distraction will have to be turned off and the consequences faced.
Disposition is a factor. Is James in a challenging or giddy frame of mind? Then he must be herded to the bathroom, even though it's directly opposite his bedroom. Allowed the slightest opening, he will escape to the parental bedroom, Mom's office, or the downstairs, forcing me to capture and lug back a squirming, protesting, 100-pound octopus. This development can arise spontaneously or in response to a mishandling of the TV issue.
Once James is in the bathroom, he needs to go potty. He may not admit the need, or claim to have already gone recently. My response tends to be informed by skepticism, coupled with a judicious faith in childhood dishonesty. Otherwise he may decide to go while in the tub, an action not conducive to a happy conclusion of the cleansing process. This hurdle leaped, the next goal is getting him in the bath. The presence of favorite tub toys has lately become a sufficient attraction; should these fail, he may have to be physically carried in. Woe to Daddy if the water's a tad too hot or cold! Then the next moment will find him standing on the sill of the tub, refusing to get back in! The threat of getting sprayed by extendable showerhead may enforce compliance, or, if he's in a receptive mood, the offer of letting him use it himself. But in the latter case, I chance having it directed outside the bathing area, most likely at me!
When James is finally in the water and out of fight mode, actual bathing can commence. Distracted by tub play, he rarely objects to having his back, front, arms and side lathered up and rinsed. Washing his hair, alas, is quite another matter. As the texting generation would input: OMG! Daddy is determined it shall happen. James is equally determined it shall not. I negotiate if possible, ambush if necessary. In either case, I can expect to hear the words "Nooooo! My ears! My eyes! My nose! Maaaaaaaahm! Help!" I try to get through it as quickly as I can. Backing off does not make it any more pleasant, but merely turns it into a lengthy series of grim skirmishes. If I've time and patience enough, I sometimes let him to do it himself. This also draws out the process, if with fewer clashes.
With hair out of the way, James gets to decompress with more play time, after which the challenge shifts to getting him out of the bath. Left to his own devices he will stay in until he's as wrinkly as a prune, so for this to happen by bedtime I must resolutely pull the plug. At that, he will continue his play until the water has completely drained. By that time I have a towel in place for him to step out onto and another to dry him. It's safest to tackle the hair last, as drying his hair elicits as much protest as wetting it. Then I try to persuade him to put on his night clothing. If this fails I bite the bullet and do it for him. Now James is finally ready to say his goodnights and wind down to a good bedtime story.
All of this strobed through my mind in the seconds following the maternal edict doubling James's bath dates. SO... take a breath. Remain calm. "James, if this is going to be every night, we've GOT to come up with a way to do this so that neither of us gets hurt, upset, or mad at anybody." "Okay, Dad." He looked thoughtful. He seemed to mean it. I know I did. We would see.
So that night the groundwork was laid with even more care than usual, and at hair time, after the usual protests, I told my son "It has to be done. If I don't do it, you have to." Atypically, the latter was agreed to. More atypically, glaciers failed to advance appreciably in the time it took him to get done. After a tentative beginning, he decided dumping water on his own head was fun, and went on to do so many more times that I would have attempted. Even more remarkably, he did it utterly without the excessive solicitude for the concerns of ears, eyes and nose ordinarily exhibited. When the deluge subsided, the towel was presented and he wiped the water out of his eyes. Alas, he still had to be ambushed with the shampoo -- some things never change. But the rinsing went without a hitch.
Play time, out time, dry time -- I showed him various techniques for doing it including the popular taking the towel by the ends and essentially shoeshining your back with it. Popular in concept, but he's still uncertain on the execution. Fortunately aid, in the person of Self, was at hand. Then -- "I'm ready for bed, Daddy!"
Who would ever have guessed the transition would be accomplished so easily? Well, we'll see what tomorrow night brings, I told myself. And indeed, the next night wasn't quite as smooth. Okay with the hair, not as good with the drying. Still, progress was made. We'll keep working on it.
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