Imagine a gigantic mountain of golden sand, the finest of grains tumbling between your toes. A rolling sandy slide on the other side promising to fill your shorts up. The treasures hidden just beneath the surface if you only dig down far enough. The clean grains that fall right off you and don’t stick to your hands like clay or mud. The fresh smell that a pile of sand gives off after it has been recently turned. On top of the artificial hill you feel like you are on top of world itself. You can now imagine what my children feel like.
Now imagine all your children engaged in a free-for-all brawl on top a pile of unstable dirt complete with rocks and all kinds of unsavory subterranean insects. Multiple blonde heads have transformed into chestnut brown. Their little faces are sporting raccoon-rings around their eyes. There is dirt in pants, dirt in diapers, and dirt in eyes. You have lumps on heads from rocks, scraped knees from rocks, and stubbed toes from rocks. You have a crying baby, weeping children, and all around mayhem. You can now imagine what Wife feels like.
Imagine now a bathtub full of dirty, giggling children all splashing each other while desperately avoiding their mother as she makes the shampoo rounds. There are children scrubbing, squirming, splashing, as well as screeching, squealing, screaming. Wife is scolding one for splashing water out of the tub at the same moment as she vigorously shampoos out all of the dirt that was dumped into the hair of the younger sibling. The children are dried, dressed, and sent to bed. And on the way to bed I hear one child say to another, “Tomorrow, lets play in the sand pile again.” There is agreement all around. You can now imagine what a warm spring evening feels like in our home.
Truth be told, if not for Wife, the children would not get bathed.