Five Minutes' Peace

I picked up a book at the library earlier this week that I just knew from the cover was telling a story I am all too familiar with. Sure enough, poor Mrs. Large just wants to take a quiet bubble bath with her tea, but her three little children have no intention of giving her five minutes' peace.

I read this book to Ella and Dash (and Max, although he was mostly interested in his pacifier) last night.  And while they thought it was funny, I'm not sure they understood the message I was trying to send to them.

This was confirmed this morning when Ella raced through her breakfast (most unusual for the world's slowest eater) so she could come be in the bathroom with me while I took a shower.  And not just in the bathroom, but actually in between the shower curtain and the liner, perched on the edge of the tub, often pushing her arms and legs directly into me through the plastic, chattering constantly.  This was not the five (or ten...) minute escape I was hoping for to start another frantically busy day.

I feel you Mrs. Large, I really do.

Every night

Nearly without fail, Dash and Ella take a bathroom break during dinner. I don't know if it is habit or some sort of GI stimulation (food in = food out) but it's one of the most regular features of their schedule.  These bathroom forays are often quite extended for reasons I've never fully understood (and to be honest,  I haven't inquired too deeply because I am a little afraid of the answer). When Josh was out of town for work recently,  I found myself eating nearly my entire dinner at the tiny kids' art table all by my lonesome while Ella and Dash made their nightly pilgrimage.  At least I had Max on the baby monitor to keep me company.

Little brother to a big sister

I found Max asleep in the Mamaroo wearing a jaunty girls beach hat this afternoon.  Ella claimed responsibility.   I am sure this is the first of many get-ups Max will don at Ella's will.