the underwear drawer

no respect

Last night after I gave Cal his bath, I decided I needed to clean the bathtub, because looking at all those dirt-rings was making me dizzy. It was like peering into the Grand Canyon or something. So after setting Cal up with a bowl of grapes and a book, I decided to have at it.

The problem with our bathtub is it's one of those with the sliding shower doors, which makes it very difficult to access the entire tub at once. So I was hanging over the edge, the door rail digging into my stomach, attempting to work some magic with the Soft Scrub, when I hear a soft noise behind me. It was Cal, who had gotten up onto his little step stool, and who was peering over my shoulder eating grapes and watching me work. Oh fine, let him stay there, I thought, maybe he'll learn how to do this and in a year I'll have him wash the tub while I sit on the couch with my feet up watching my stories. There was something sort of bread and circus about it, though, having him chilling with his snack and being a spectator to my sweat and HUMAN MISERY. There's really few things I hate more than cleaning the bathroom.

I figured there was a good lesson in there somewhere for him, whether it be about cleaning or responsibility or not eating bleach, so I craned my head around and said cheerily, while sloshing my sponge around in the briny muck, "Look Cal! Mommy's cleaning!" Unimpressed, he finished his grapes and threw the empty bowl into the bathtub.