Rub a dub dub, 3 Men in a Tub!

Last night I attempted the impossible-giving tubbies to all three boys by myself. At the time, I thought I was honing in on my time management skills. I mean, doesn't it make sense to wash all three at once? Not as easy a feat as I imagined.

In actuality, I can't take all of the credit. Ben did wash Carter's hair before running downstairs to "tend the fire" (aka watch "Family Guy" or "Sports Center" or any combination of the two). And while Carter conjured up a conversation with his Papa on his pretend cell phone/rubber ducky, I prepared Landon for the big event. Reid held down the fort on the changing table. (Before you go calling child services, please note that the changing table is in fact located in the bathroom!)

As I eased Lando into the tub and onto his tubby lounge chair, the screaming began. Now mind you, the tubby water was a tad deeper than I anticipated, thus I had to hold him up with one hand while cleansing him with a washcloth with the other hand. Picture a wiggly, slippery little nudie baby, screaming like his life depended on it. All the while, Carter played merrily beside him, blissfully unaware of the waves he was causing with every movement he made. I decided Landon was done and swiftly lifted him out of the tub, lingering soap suds and all. "Oh well", I thought to myself, "At least he's cleaner than he was before". Within seconds he was wrapped in a towel, binky strategically corked in his mouth for sanity purposes (Mommy's sanity, that is). After a speedy lotion/diaper application, Landon relaxed on the changing table and Reid was up to bat.

I stripped him down and plopped him into the tubby. One thing Miss Brilliant neglected to do, was check the tubby temp, which had dropped significantly. More screaming. Also, the soap suds had pretty much diminished due to the big guy's splash fest, so now I was left with no soap whatsoever and no hand to get any with. I put down the washcloth, grabbed the soap and squirted it onto Reid's tummy. Again, freezing cold. The poor boy almost jumped out of my hand. The screaming increased. Carter tried coming to the rescue by pouring water on him. I had to cut this party short, so I pulled Reid out of the tub and the "penguin plunge" was over.

As I lotioned and diapered Reid (or Dor-reid-o as we like to call him) I sensed some activity going on behind me. I turned to see Carter stepping out of the tub and matter-of-factly stating, "Me all done now". So I wrapped him in a towel, which lasted 2.2 seconds before he was off and running, in all his nudie-ness. Reid, still screaming, had now disturbed Landon who chimed in while both squirmed restlessly on the changing table.

Enter Carter, still naked, who I promptly placed on the potty. Carter peed, then said he was all done, sliding himself off of the big pot. I turned to help him and only then did I spot the fresh poo sliding down the outside of the toilet bowl. The point of origin was clear, however a skid mark ran down his leg and onto his foot. Unsure of how this occurred exactly, I wiped him up with baby wipes since (just my luck) the tub had now been drained. I did a drive-by diapering of the big guy, and quickly threw his jammies on, ran a comb through his hair and sent him on his way. I finally turned my attention back to poor little Reid.

Although the entire incident only lasted about 25 minutes...it sure was eventful. It prompted me to realize that maybe it's OK to ask for help and that maybe I don't have to strive to be supermom (I said maybe). Because ultimately, I wind up looking like a frantic Lucille Ball or at the very least, Uncle Jesse from "Full House".

"Would you like fries with that?"

So we bit the bullet and vowed to really work on Carter's potty training. We decided to go "balls to the wall" in our method, or in simpler (and perhaps more appropriate terms) no pull-ups or diapers. It's officially undies time.

Now, one thing you should know about our eldest, is that he is quite positively his parents' son in that he is easily swayed by the prospect of food. "Treats" to be specific. Therefore, when we explained that he would get an M&M when he peed on the potty (2 M&Ms for poo) he pretty much trained himself.

Yesterday he spent the whole day in big boy undies (except for nap time). He even pooped on the potty before school. When we got home last night, we realized that we hadn't really planned dinner and asked Carter if he would like to go get a Happy Meal as a special treat for staying dry all day. Of course he said yes and thus we prepared for a family outing to up and coming Canaan, CT (sarcasm) otherwise known as the real life Farmville. Carter was psyched to get apples in his happy meal. At the risk of sounding like a commercial mommy, I was equally as happy that he wanted apples and dislikes french fries-options like this lessened the sting of guilt for feeding fried, processed food to my two-year old!

Mind you, our little jaunt to Mickey D's was only the fourth place we've ventured with the twins. What a twisted little minds we have thinking it's OK to subject them to the aroma of a bubbling fry-a-lator and the impending doom of ketchup smeared napkins abandoned at most every booth. Needless to say, they did not leave their car seats.

As we walked in, a good-natured grandpa looked at us and immediately stated, "Wow, I thought I had my hands full", nodding to the two little boys who hung from the bench, chocolate milk dripping off the table. We offered a knowing laugh in return and staked out our spot in the corner.

A brief synopsis: Ben left to order the food while I held down the fort with the boys. Next thing I know, Carter is off and running. I look at him, I look at the babies. I look back at him and decide that yes, I should probably chase him and leave the babies. Carter goes to Ben. I go back to the twins. Carter wanders back. Repeat above synopsis.

In what seemed like light years later, Daddy finally returned with our tray of greasy goodness. After bite #1 of his cheeseburger, Carter decided he needed to use the potty. Although Ben insisted he didn't have to go, being the ever-nagging wifey, I lectured that we need to take him anyway to encourage his training. Seconds later they returned, because like his Mommy, Carter seems to have a great distaste for public restrooms. "Too yucky", he announced.

In no time, tears ensued when a chunk of Carter's cheeseburger hit the ground. Then, the babies began turning into little strawberries, overheating in their snowsuits, hats and blankies. Oh, and did I mention that this classy establishment does not carry apple slices? Or that my son was terrified of his wind-up walking Chewbacca toy? You'd think the kid saw a ghost. Finally, one more trip to the bathroom, this time the ladies room, and the discovery of the hand dryer. Again, you'd think the kid saw a ghost. Who knew my child was so jumpy?

Amidst the chaos, my hubby and I caught each other's eye for a brief moment in time and he said, "Did you ever think that when we got together 5 1/2 years ago that we would end up with 3 little boys, eating dinner at McDonalds no less?"

"Definitely not", I replied as I surveyed the scene of crinkled up papers and empty cups. Looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.