I Do It.

Zoe and Xander like to take their baths together. Correction. Mr. & Mrs. like to give the kids a bath together, making it a half-hour bathing 5K as opposed to an hour bathing marathon.

Xander has graduated from his bath seat. He knows this means freedom with a capitol F and he likes to do a slippery death wiggle to the side of the luge, stand up, and hold onto the side and jump. Jump. On the same legs he doesn't trust himself to propel his body forward in the same fluid motions the rest of us just call walking, he jumps on the slippery slopes of a Jazuzzi tub with a built-in wave maker.

The wave maker stands about 35" tall, has light yellow hair, and takes pride in soaking anything within five feet of the tub.

Little Miss Wave Maker and X played in the bath while cleaning the bathroom floors by slopping out soapy water and throwing rubber ducks and foam letters out of the tub to skid across the floor and do more cleaning than mommy does on a usual monthly-rotation.

"You missed that corner!" I said as a purple Z whizzed by my head.

Zoe took aim and used a small rubber duck to detail a cabinet corner that hadn't been wiped down in awhile.

Xander just laughed and tested his luck (and tried to determine if it's little boys or cats who have nine lives) by cruising by the wave maker and all around the Jacuzzi tub, little dimpled hands clinging to the slippery ivory cast that is supposed to look like ceramic tile.

Time for suds I called out either in my head, or aloud, as I grabbed the Burt's Bees and started to lather X-man up.

"I do! I do it!"

"No, Zo, I'll wash him." I tried to stay calm as she wrestled the bottle of not-cancer-causing children's wash from her rather impressive grip.

"No. I. Do. It."

"You may wash his belly and feet," knowing what argument would ensue. "feet and belly only."

"No. I'll get his Peanuts."

Zoe is enthralled by the tiny appendage just south of his belly button and takes any chance she can get to explore.

"Nope, Momma already did. But you can do his feet."

"Nooooooooo! I clean his peanuts!" Now, granted, his peanuts was within inches of her shoulder as he completed his lap around the tub, and she did have a significantly better angle on it, but I had to defer that task to myself.

After he was lathered and she was slipping a hand or limb in to make sure his 2000 parts were not only clean, but sparkling, I turned the Burt's Bees on her.

"I. DO. IT!"

Nooooooooooooooooooooo! I'll do it, for the love of God. I'll throw some soap on you, bubble you up, rinse you off, get both of you out of the bubble bath before I, who am not partaking in any submersion, prunes, and off to bed before I commit myself.

Instead, I handed her the bottle and let her start at her face and work her way down to her sweet pruned toes. She is so good and thorough, and takes her time. As in, each hair must get a bit of a massage, fingers splayed, she gets between each one, and she makes sure that even behind her knees have been  washed and rewashed within an inch of their life.

So, we talked and talked. About play school, her best friend Zoe, and why Xander liked to walk around the tub over and over and over and over and over again. We both laughed a few dozen times and I started to relax - hell, a few towels will clean up the moat around the tub and it's just water saturating the baseboards. What's a little water when you are kneeled down next to your greatest gifts giggling as the sun goes down?

Mr. was done with the dishes and came in to giggles and smiles. He smiled, kneeled down, and plucked the X-man and his glory from the tub, wrapping him in a Xander-sized hooded towel.

"Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!" shouted Zo. "I want to be Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!"

Mr. and I looked back and forth at one another wondering how the conversation took a drastic shift to a religious conversation neither of us were excited to explain that there was only one Baby Jesus and he wasn't ready to hand over his crown of thorns to our only daughter quite yet.

"Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!" shouted Zo. AGAIN. "I want to be Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!"

With a look like, Have Fun, Momma! Mr. turned to leave the soak zone and glanced in the mirror. Burrito Boy was wrapped in a large bath towel with only his little bare feet and round face sticking out. Just like Baby Jesus in our new kid-friendly cresh.

After determining Zoe wanted Daddy to hold her all wrapped up like Xander, he handed X off to me and grabbed Zoe's treasured butterfly towel. And she went balistic.

When I say balistic, I say this with the complete respect for the way a two year old was programmed to do - the finest 0 to 60 you've ever experienced, really. She went from pale to red to purple as she held (and held) her breath til the breath, Zo, breath chant in my head started. Her lips blue, she let out more air than a depressurizing scuba tank unleashed.

The roar ripped through the bathroom and tore off the blinds. The roar made walls shake, hair stand on end, and the trash can fall over. Nope, that was the Doodle who had been cowering in the corner tearing out of the bathroom and knocking into the trash can in her rush to leave me alone with the Beast.

Mr.'s head popped back into the room as he shouted, trying to make his point over the roar, to no avail.

"Do. YOU. want. a DIFFERENT. TOWEL?" he shouted, third time's a charm.

"Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!" shouted Zo. "I want to be Baby JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSussssssssssssssssssss!"

Mr. started ranting, I started working on the migraine of all migraines, and X started to crawl back into the standing water in his clean jammies.

Jumping off the soaked stool, I grabbed him and gladly gave Mr. and Zo the bathroom to have a showdown.

Screaming ensued, Daddy cursing started as he tried to get the slippery seal out of the tub as she went boneless and skated around, just out of daddy's reach, all over the bottom of the large luge.

I threw Xanders towel in, hoping another towel on the floor could soak up some of the remaining moat and create a less slippery footing for Daddy, and she stopped.

The Beast was no longer roaring. Beauty took his place. She stood up, let the water out of the tub, stepped through Daddy's arms, and picked up the towel, wrapped it around herself, and hopped into his arms.

A stunned Daddy turned as he held a Burrito Girl.

"Baby Jesus!" she shouted with glee.

Apparently Baby Jesus is only authentic if wrapped in a pink and navy floral towel her parents got on their honeymoon in Hawaii.