My favorite hour, when the children are clean and supple. I love them from the sudsy tub, to being rinsed and extracted. And then wiping the droplets of water off of their skin with a soft, filled with fabric softener, towel and then smooching where I just wiped.
Ooo- I love it.
This is when I think most intensely about eating my children. Like ripe strawberries just pulled out from under the stream of water from the kitchen sink. After rolling around in the colander, getting perfectly washed for consumption. Yum.
This "hour," donned by my half rhyming, Dickensonian sisters as towel hour, is the most precious hour of the day. We come downstairs and I douse them with hugs and sometimes tickles. Calvin streaks across the living room to jump on Pete's back or to make Harrison laugh. Smiles are tossed across the room, along with bouncy balls sometimes. We finish up with some sweet smelling lotion and then soft, cotton clothing to snuggle them into sweet dreaming.
I love this time.
Sounds perfect. What time does towel hour start?
ReplyDeletethis post convinces me that girls will be girls and boys will be boys and never the twain shall meet.
ReplyDeletedo NOT ever let your sons read this post-- you will suck the manhood from them.
My son needs a better mother. He's going to bed three hours late, naked, and smokey from the city.
ReplyDeleteDave - how is this not masculine?
ReplyDeleteRene - naked and smokey can be good sometimes too. what kind of smoke are we talking?
Was ironic that I was eating strawberries while reading that very cute and eloquent post.
ReplyDelete