sometimes god closes a door

I've been really gun-shy about giving Chicken a bath while home alone with the two boys. I don't think I need to elaborate on all the ways such an endeavor could end in tragedy. Or at the very least, alcoholism.

But you know, life has a funny way of inspiring you to tackle your fears.

In my case, life inspired Chicken to give himself a cream cheese hair treatment this morning at breakfast.

Option 1: Use baby wipes to get out most of the chunks the best I can, call it good. Pro: don't have to deal with giving Chicken a bath, get to find out which pieces of furniture and art Chicken rubs his head against every day. Con: fruit flies will colonize Chicken's creamy cheesy follicles and we will have to shave his head, which will be just another surface we have to slather in sunscreen every day, and which will lead strangers to be extra-kind to us because he looks capital-S-Sick.

Option 2: suck it up and bathe the Chicken while Buster sleeps in the ergo. Pro: I feel like a boss, and it's the most direct form of cleanup. Con: That would break Chicken's 3-day no bath streak, seriously jeopardizing his chances at the playoffs. Also, if something were to go wrong, wet slippery toddlers are probably the worst ever.

I don't think that my hatred of fruit flies can be overstated. I hate them even more than I fear bath disaster. So I took the road that clean, hygienic people travel by. 

Plus finger paints. 


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