Rub-a-dub-dub. Who's in the Tub?

Around here we looooooove our evening bath. We play, we chortle, we find all sorts of interesting new things to do with bath toys, which, by the way, can be anything from an egg beater to a squashed in the middle Twix bar still half in it's wrapper, you never know what will show up. Morning baths however? Oh no, no, NO! Apparently, an embargo has been imposed on any bath attempting to commence between the hours of 7am and noon. Oh the protests when I blatantly attempt to disregard this ban on pre-noon bathing! You would think I'm trying to dip him in boiling oil. The squenching up of the face, the whole-body writhing, the "how could you torture me like this, don't you love me?" look in the eyes...he has it perfected. It would be easier to give the cat a bath.

But back to the beloved evening baths we do so enjoy, and the original tub tale I started with.

Recently, while running him an evening bubble bath, in order to gather various and sundry post-bath items, I walked out of the bathroom for one second (ok more like 6 seconds, but it felt like one). Waltzing back into the bathroom, hands full of jammies, towel and the requisite Burt's Bees Apricot oil-what, oh what, did my weary eyes behold? One half-full tub with one fully dressed, delighted with himself little boy sitting crosslegged IN the half full tub. Complete with courduroys, sweatshirt and socks. Nearly, falling on the floor laughing, I stumbled over to lift him out of the tub, dripping everywhere. Instant protests ensued from his lips! He wasn't done with his bath! How dare I? He had only just gotten in. To which, still laughing myself to tears, I replied, "I know I know, but I think you skipped a step"...