… is like going to war.
The toilet is the battlefield. You need to find the opportune moment to attack. Shampoo is your weapon of peace destruction. There is much screaming. Your clothes are soaked, shampoo hats are discarded and there is a sudden tangle of arms in which you realise that the same head has been shampooed twice and the other gone scot free. Sometimes you’re too tired to care.
Mummy is definitely the enemy. Mostly because shampooing indicates the end of a bath – which in Bratspeak is ‘just not on’. And like war in the real world – there are casualties on both sides and you can never really say you’ve won.
The OA is yet to solve the mystery of why children stand up the minute you pour water on their heads. ‘Does the water activate some mechanism that makes them shoot up like Jack in the boxes?’ he wonders…
The other big questions of the day are – Why does shampoo always get in the eye? Why can’t they keep their hands out of their eyes? Why do they scream like stuck pigs? How long do you think it is before the neighbours complain of the routine shrieking from our house?
All very valid questions.
For now, the day is over, the war is won, err.. the bath is done. I gather up loads of bath toys, bundle up sweet smelling kids and pretend that I won’t have to go through it again the next day. After all, as that wise woman said – tomorrow is another day…