Sometime between Thursday afternoon and Saturday morning, we sprung a leak in the basement. At first, it appeared to be coming from the washing machine, but by yesterday morning, it was clear it was coming from the hot water heater. A plumber came over and confirmed that the hot water heater tank is cracked and it needs to be replaced. Unfortunately, we do not know when that will be.
In the meantime, we had to shut the hot water off yesterday and drain what is left in the tank to avoid further flooding. So I am boiling water on the stove and wishing I had a real fireplace with a big, black kettle over it, to save on gas (and to fulfill a childhood dream of living like Laura Ingalls Wilder). I piled the dirty dishes on the counter, filled one sink with hot (2 parts boiling water from the stove and 1 part cold tap water) soapy water for washing and rinsed in the other sink, using the dishwasher as a drying rack. That’s what I did when I was single and living alone: used the dishwasher as a drying rack. This morning I had to teach B how to take a sponge bath.
B: Yes! I love baths!
Me: This isn’t a real bath; it’s a sponge bath. I’m going to give you a bowl of hot water, a washcloth and a bar of soap. Stand on your towel in the bathroom, lather up your washcloth and wash your feet, pits and manly bits. Then rinse off with more hot water, dry and get dressed.
B: Wait. Backup. Wash my what?!
Me: Your feet, pits and manly bits. You know, your feet, your arm pits and the area covered by your underwear.
B: “Manly bits“? Where do you come up with this stuff, Ma? And when I take a real bath, the bubbles in the water do all the washing for me.
Me: Once again, this is not a real bath; it’s a sponge bath.
B (mumbling as he walked up to his bathroom): It shouldn’t have “bath” in it’s name than.
Poor kid. He’s got it so rough, doesn’t he? LOL I’ll address the fact that he is letting the bubbles do all the washing for him the next time he takes a real bath. ;o)