LAKESIDE REVIEW, March 7, 1984
One of the things they don't tell you in those parenthood preparation courses is that if you're going to have children, you're going to have to share your bathtub with their toys.
"What are you doing?" I asked my husband one afternoon, as he headed for the bathroom with a thick Turkish towel draped over one arm.
"Getting ready for a bath," he said in the tone of voice that means if you'd only open your eyes, you wouldn't have to ask!
"Uh, uh," I tried to let him down gently. He had come home from work with tired circles under his eyes and the kind of look that says I need a couple of hours to soak and meditate.
"You'll have to go downstairs and take a quick shower. Barbie and Ken have first dubs on the tub for their afternoon swim."
"Afternoon swim? Can't those two swim in the sink?"
"I don't think so. It's not big enough to accommodate all their beach toys. Besides, Barbie's little sister Skipper has already set up her Jacuzzi in the sink."
"Jacuzzi? I suppose you're going to tell me that our daughters have contrived a working whirlpool for a doll in our bathroom washbowl!"
"Yes, they use my eggbeater to create the bubbles."
"Great," was all he could muster. I could see from the way his shoulders drooped that my worn-out spouse had resigned himself to taking a quick shower in the downstairs bathroom.
"By the way," I hardly dared break the news. "I don't think there's much hot water left in the tank. Rub-a-Dub Doggie just got finished with his shower-powered sauna!"
