Splish splash, look who's taken a bath!

Well I guess it had to happen.

I got home from client visits yesterday to find Wayne & Braeden outside in the brief sunshine, enjoying the seesaw Wayne picked up from Trade Me. Braeden was on the seesaw, and Wayne's arm was on the other end providing the necessary counter action.

Bubs saw me, and hurtled towards the car. I'd anticipated this, so had completely stopped & had the door open when he reached me. Without much more than a welcoming (or celebratory?) chuckle, he roughly clambered over the top of me and scuttled around the car pushing this knob & tweaking that dial. Wayne hauled him out as I wrestled the client boxes into submission and carted them inside.

I'd no sooner got in to the office when I heard "Braeden, NO! Braeden, STOP!", immediately followed by "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"

Brae had decided freedom was too much fun to relinquish so soon, and had headed off towards the island at a great rate of knots.

Thing is, there is this small matter of a wide & fairly deep water race between the lawn & the island. Wayne said Brae actually imitated Wyle E. Coyote for a moment when he ran out of bank, and was momentarily airborne over the water.

For a great brouff boy he can still wail exactly like a small infant when given a short sharp shock. That water is snow-fed, so you can imagine what a nasty surprise he got to be plunged into it, and it just got worse when he emerged covered in silt & pond weed, soaked to the core.

I ran to fill the bath, and returned to give Wayne a hand to strip off a thoroughly sopping and distraught baby person. Wayne quipped "I bet this is a wet nappy!" as we reached the inner layers of clothing. I was briefly distracted by the dreadful state of Braeden's new white sneakers, before scooping up a cold, terribly unhappy wee man and racing down to the bath, yelling over my shoulder to Wayne "You'd better strip too! There's no WAY he's going to submit to a solo bath after that mishap!"

I'm happy to report that Dad and Baby had a great old time in the bath, as evidenced by four sodden towels, an emptied shampoo bottle (mine!), and pinkly gleaming happy bodies afterwards. Dad did grump that HIS clean dry clothes weren't warming by fire, but hey, there just wasn't room.

(Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it)

We are hoping (but not counting on it) that Braeden will be a bit more wary of that water race in future. He's 22 months on Sunday, and is of an age where he's remembering lessons... when it suits him, naturally.

All ended well, with Brae not getting a relapse of his flu despite his dunking.

And the shoes went into the washing machine, and are still drying by the fire, packed with newspaper. Just can't seem to get the insides as pristine white as they were before, however. Ah well ;-)