First three rows will get wet

The Dude was in a really good mood today. I mean, he's normally in a good mood, but this was one of those good moods where I wished I didn't have to put him down for his nap. You don't get many of those, whether you're the baby-sitter or the parent, I've learned.

He wasn't overly bouncy or asking questions that seemed to result in an endless series of 'why's. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with a three year old who feels the need to respond to every answer with a 'why?' It's cute the first few times, but eventually you slip into the 'because' mode. It's either that, or answer every time, and lose a small piece of your ability to be a normal person in the process; I say 'why?' more than I did a year ago. Which is arguably a good thing, but I was happy to not always feel an urge to ask why.

Anyway: He was excited about having gotten to go to a petting zoo with his preschool, and, as a result of the field trip, had to have a bath. Baths and the Dude always seem to go well together-though I have to start it with the knowledge that my nice, dry, warm clothes are going to be soaked within seconds of him diving into the bathtub. (And I'm not kidding about the diving. He LOVES water.)

I have no problem with bath time. It is one of the few occasions where I am allowed to fully participate in whatever game he has made up for that moment. Most of the time, I get told that what I just said for the doll I'm holding is NOT what it was supposed to say, and then told what I am supposed to say. Thankfully, we don't play with dolls much. Or are they action figures when you're a boy? I mean, they don't look like action figures.

Today was no exception to the usual awesomeness of bath time. Especially the part where he decided to splash me to the point of my hair being soaking wet and my pants and shirt looking like I just spent ten minutes in a drizzle, artfully missing select drops so as to accomplish a nice splatter pattern. It always starts with a few splashes from him throwing something in the air, and next thing I know, I'm wondering if the door should have as much water on it as it does. He gets 'bath' and 'pool' confused, I think, because I didn't get splashed that much over the summer, when we spent a multitude of hours playing with his kiddy pool and the hose.

I don't think he'd do it if I didn't put up with it, but if there is one thing I'm known for with that kid, it is putting up with stuff. There was one point last year where I was carrying around my dinner for the night in my bag, and he eventually figured this out. From that point on, I learned to pack more food, because he could easily down half of my dinner, and to be prepared for him to go diving in my bag, asking what food I had with me today. Which, while proving that my mom is an infinitely awesome cook, also completely reorganized my bag so that I didn't have to worry about him tossing my CD wallet across the room in search of some fake tuna casserole.

After his bath, he decided to crash for nearly three hours. It always seems to work out so that the days I'm willing to listen to him play drums for an hour straight, he passes out for the majority of the time I'm there. Sure, I get a lot of homework done, but I always feel a little guilty, like 'I was supposed to hang out with you, but because you slept all afternoon, I basically just sat and did nothing.' I don't think he cares, but I do, and sometimes it bugs me. Not today though. Today he was happy and I was happy and there was no major mayhem or destruction involved to get there. Today just kicked ass.