Shower Power

It’s evening and M-ito has to take a shower. I still shepherd him into the bathroom and wash his hair – though many of M-ito’s friends already wash themselves he’s only partially reached that goal. He mostly laughs while he washes himself, tickling himself and playing all the while oblivious to the T-word, time. His technique for washing his feet is to put the washcloth on the floor, step on the washcloth and move around on it, sometimes dancing the Mexican Hat Dance. It’s ingenious in its own way.

But I digress.

Getting him to take a shower is still a fight. From the moment we tell him he has to take one – at this point only once every three days or twice a week – to the attempt to get him in the bathtub. Once he’s in these days it goes pretty smoothly. I sit back and watch while he showers until it’s hair time, trying not to fall asleep.

But getting him to take his clothes off and actually step into the shower, very similar to the longest ten steps to the front door, is almost impossible. And at 6pm after a long day at work and the commute home, it’s even harder for me. I have little patience left in me and if I’m not in touch with it I’m in big trouble because a yelling match will ensue followed by guaranteed tears. I can tell I’m on empty too. I can feel the gas tank meter knocking on the E and the light on. I can feel the feelings of frustration rise up into my chest and throat from my belly. But sometimes I just can’t do anything about it. It works that way with me.

Two feet from the bathtub… yet so far.

Five minutes of telling me stories about Pokemon and he has finally taken his shirt off.

Another five minutes of telling me about Humphrey the Hamster and his pants go wizzing by over my head while I duck.

Wondering about the nature of Phineas and Ferb and his favorite episode where Doofenshmirtz and Perry the Platipus fence with bratwurst and hotdog ends with his underwear off.

I’m not kidding you. It really goes on this long. The socks, one at a time.

Then he plays with his penis, wondering why it looks sometimes like a tree and sometimes like a rocket, and sometimes just sits there staring back at him, pondering the possibilities. “Dad-dito, what does it think about?”

If I last this long I’m usually steaming by now. If I can’t hold it in anymore I usually yell, “GET IN THE TUB!”

Friday last week this comment made M-ito say, “Why are you so angry at me? You just got home and you’re already yelling. Why?”

My son knows how to get to me. I lowered my head, shook it from side to side and said, “I don’t know.” Other days I add, “I’m  sorry. I’m tired.” Or, “Work with me here, will you?”

What to remember?

1. My son likes his time with me and when he talks he’s enjoying telling me about what’s important to him. So, even if it seems unimportant to me, I need to remember it’s important to him. His world is Pokemon and Phineas and Ferb. Mine is yoga, HIV/AIDS, and Drug Treatment. One is not more important than the other.
2. I need to warn him – which sometimes I do – that I’m losing my patience and that I’m tired so he needs to move it a little. This helps me to remain calmer a little longer – staves off the yelling for another minute or two. Letting him know it’s me, not him is a good thing.
3. Sometimes you just have to let things take a long time. I find I’m always trying to make my son go faster. Why? Whose deadline is it? How important is that we’re on time? What does it mean to be on time? Can we instead be in time? What are we late for? Can it take twenty minutes longer? I have to remind myself to take my time – allow him to take his.
4. And last but not least, it reminds me that it’s the simple, mundane things that make up being a Dad-dito, not the big things, which come up rarely. Why? Because the small things come up every day. Or in the case of the shower, at least two times a week.